As I look out the window of my 14th floor hotel room here in Guangzhou, I look out onto many apartment buildings. Some are old, dingy, 9-story buildings. Other more recent ones tower to 25 or 30 stories. The old ones all have plants on the balconies and on the roofs. The taller the building, the fewer the plants. The older buildings all have laundry hanging out. The 20-story apartment buildings have some. The tall ones have none. Whites and pinks are the colors of choice regardless.
From the spacing of the balconies all of the apartments are tiny by what I am used to. They would be astounded with the amount of space that my family and I take up. I would probably be embarrassed. But each apartment is a person, a couple, a family. Each apartment is someone’s home. Each apartment is the place of comfort each one returns to, no matter how humble.
Do the thousands of people hidden within have joy? I learned long ago that the size of home had nothing to do with being filled with joy. Do all of them count on luck or do any of them know Jesus? Is there a house church or two meeting within? I would love to meet with them, encourage them, worship with them.
As Brandon Heath would sing, “Give Me Your Eyes.”
From the spacing of the balconies all of the apartments are tiny by what I am used to. They would be astounded with the amount of space that my family and I take up. I would probably be embarrassed. But each apartment is a person, a couple, a family. Each apartment is someone’s home. Each apartment is the place of comfort each one returns to, no matter how humble.
Do the thousands of people hidden within have joy? I learned long ago that the size of home had nothing to do with being filled with joy. Do all of them count on luck or do any of them know Jesus? Is there a house church or two meeting within? I would love to meet with them, encourage them, worship with them.
As Brandon Heath would sing, “Give Me Your Eyes.”
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