I can't help but think of that tug-of-war feeling that crowds out the space in our hearts.
Do you know it?
That pull to help only how and when it's easy; that push to stop by, but never, ever stay. And, so, as I think about our artisans—their beautiful faces, their scar-stitched hands, their eyes that tell stories of where and who they've been—I have to believe:
Serving others isn't easy money, paid with credit card chips and plastic swipes. Serving others isn't a whispering of well wishes under quiet breath; it isn't good intentions typed with intangible words, digital ink.
Serving others is showing up—in the flesh, in audible sound—like God come man, the Word become flesh. Not speaking at us, or to us, or about us, or around us—but speaking with us. Exchanging breath, while the feet of sinners rest in basins drawn by Savior. Serving others is wiping sweat off of your brow because you have knelt down under the scorching heat of another's sun. It is your tight-gripped hand entangled with theirs—your worn-out wrinkles pressed hard against theirs. It is living knee-deep in the business of their lives, even in the middle of the busyness of yours.
And when we serve to be actual outpourings of ourselves—emptying, riding, losing it all—we come to find that we don't come up empty at all. Instead, we are full and filled to overflowing—an insatiable cycle of boundless, joyful service.
This is the work of Fashion & Compassion, the work of and for our artisans. The pretty pearls and the wonderfully woven baskets are more than art. They are acts of service—both the making and the buying of them.