I have such a hard time remembering things." The pastor noticed she had written many notes to herself on the palm of her left hand and asked, "Why do you do that?" How could God ever see her, know her, love her? She told the pastor, "I just don't know how God can love me." She felt small, lost in a sea of despair. She was abandoned by her father, had lived in poverty, been surrounded by drugs and alcohol from the earliest age, dropped out of school when she had several children by different fathers, and was now probably in her thirties with no life or hope. From Mae's story, it was clear she had been looking for love her whole life and had never found it. One day, after he had preached a short sermon in a park about God's great love, a woman named Mae came up to him with drug-deadened eyes that couldn't hide her anguish. The pastor told me stories of his ministry in this area, working with the homeless and those with mental illness. Old cars littered the streets warehouses with windows broken out were slashed by obscene graffiti, while unemployed men and women sat around lifelessly. Not so long ago I was affected by something a pastor and his wife shared with me as we drove through the neighborhoods where they do inner-city missions work. How can we know for sure God is thinking about us today? There are so many people in this world, why would He be personally interested in us? Author: Shaunti Feldhahn "See, I have written your name on the palms of my hands." Isaiah 49:16a (NLT)
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