By Zach Dodd, WEGO Executive Director
It happens every single time.
I go to the bank to transfer money to one of our ministries and I just feel shady. I feel like I’m doing something wrong and everybody knows it, but nobody has the guts to speak up. I just assume they’re tracking my every move behind my back. Sometimes I smile and nod to the camera to let them know that I know what they think they know. I mean, who walks into a bank and sends three grand to Mongolia?
I think the source of my discomfort is a trip to the bank a few years back. We sold a broken-down bus that was originally donated to our ministry in Nicaragua by the Japanese embassy. I walked into Wells Fargo in Cocoa Beach carrying $15,000 worth of Cordoba’s to deposit, as they were the only branch nearby that dealt with foreign currencies. I had a big satchel of it but didn’t think it would be a big deal. They were a bank after all. That’s what they do. But as I laid it all out on the counter the whole mood changed.
Four or five tellers gathered around behind their plexiglass curtain and started whispering. They kept looking at me, looking at the money, then eyeing each other. I got dizzy watching their eyes. I guess I thought I’d get in front of it all and make a joke to clear the air. Without really thinking, I said….
“I promise I’m not a drug dealer”
That actually didn’t help. The air thickened all the more and the tellers started blushing. My suspicions were confirmed. They definitely thought I was a drug dealer. I think I felt like one, too. I quickly pivoted and over-explained the whole situation.
“OK, so we are a ministry and we used to have an orphanage in Nicaragua but now it’s a school and we have this van and then there’s the Japanese embassy part and also some of the money is from a truck we sold that looks like a Zebra and I used to be a worship pastor but now I’m doing this so please don’t call the international banking transfer police or my mom.”
Surprisingly, my explanation went over pretty well and the vibe lightened. They took my deposit, police-free.
So, with that experience firmly lodged deep in my nervous system, I still feel shady every single time. It happened again yesterday as I sat down with a new banker to send Mongolia their monthly budget. But I’m learning to get ahead of it. Instead of a joke, I looked at her and let her know the transfer was to care for some awesome kids at an orphanage in Mongolia. She responded in the warmest way.
“I think I’m going to cry”
We then talked for a minute about what churches we attend and some mutual missionary friends we have in Malawi. But her comment really got me thinking, because I get it.
I’m not typically a crier but I have been crying a lot these last eight years. Just this week…
I cried several times Monday writing the ‘Big News #1’ newsletter about our new home being funded.
I cried several times Tuesday writing the ‘Big News #2’ newsletter about one of the kids we serve.
I cried several times Wednesday in the car on the way to write “Big News #3” as I was pleading to God for people to respond.
That was just this week. I think I cried every day on a recent trip to Mongolia. I even cried on our December team trip to Nicaragua over cows we had to sell.
But why? Why do I find myself so constantly moved to sobbing? Why did that banker feel like crying with the mere mention of an orphanage?
Certainly, a part of the answer lies in my personal calling. When the days get tough, I know that no other job makes me cry. Well, not at least these kinds of tears. My crying tells me I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I am the luckiest man alive to be in this role. Spending my days tapped into the part of my heart that moves me emotionally is a gift I don’t take for granted. But I think there’s even a truer answer here.
We don’t just feel that lump in our throats because we are just drawing closer to our own hearts. We cry because we are drawing closer to God’s.
I think of Matthew 9:36, “When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” I remember Jesus weeping over Jerusalem and Lazarus. My mind recalls an image from my childhood Bible of Jesus sitting on a rock surrounded by children. My heart beats faster as I remember Psalm 34:18, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted”.
Our tears of compassion reveal something sacred. They are like a metal detector that beeps faster as it hovers closer to gold. This tenderness is not a human invention. The Lord is close to the neglected and vulnerable. He is already there sitting in their midst and weeping with them. When we join Jesus in places of suffering, our hearts begin to match His beat and His tears begin to flow from our eyes. Like Moses at the bush or Isaiah before the altar, our hearts tremble in His presence. Tears flow and compassion is ignited like a wildfire in our souls.
That is why I cry. I’m experiencing something of heaven in this beautiful work. I am feeling God’s own heart beat inside my chest. I love these kids and the people we get to serve. But He loves them more.
That’s my story and I long to keep drawing closer, even if that puts me in bank transfer jail. How about you? What makes you cry? What puts that lump in your throat? What pricks your heart and causes your tears of compassion to flow?
I pray you find it and find it quickly. Life is short, you know? Discover these pockets of compassion and open them up wide. Follow your tears to find God’s heart.
Need some help? We’d love to walk with you along the way.