Nit-Picking

     "Dónde está Lucy?" asks one of our youngest Micah boys, in search of his typical homework-helper.
     "She's at our neighbor's house," I respond.
     Lucy, our newest Micah missionary, has taken a special interest in the kids across the street. A house infested with need--abuse, neglect, delinquincy--you name it. Sweet, compassionate Lucy has been investing time weekly reading the often-alone kids her bilingual Storybook Bible, playing with their gone-unnoticed special needs brother, and speaking kind words to the all-too-frequently called-a-"demon" and shoved-aside-by-the-community little girl.
     Smiling at the thought of my tender-hearted sister's reason for missing homework hour, I follow her example in service and add, "But I can help you."
     My Micah brother accepts my offer and pulls out his Social Studies notebook. As I lean over him to see the assignment, I suddenly find myself looking at the boy from a different angle. Straight down at his spiky-styled locks and right into the too-small-to see-but-I-know-they-are-there eyes of the little white specs known as... lice.
      Now, this is not my first experience as a nit-picker. Having worked at a camp and now with street children, I've become accustomed to finding the little buggers. Still, just thinking about them makes my own head itch.
     "Hey, Nity," I address him by his nickname (Honduran slang basically meaning spotless or pristine--like when you clean the house and bam it's sparklin'--that's 'nity'... although I can't help but notice the irony here...) "I'm going to go get some special shampoo and we'll get those right out, okay?"
     He nods unconcerned and keeps working on his homework assignment. Meanwhile, I search for our lice treatment kit, and as I do I run into a few more boys. I can't help myself, I check them, too. (Or try to, anyway--not all of them let me).
     "Ugh no! No tengo!" one of the teens who has lived with us four years now insists he doesn't have any and refuses to let me look. The past street boy who was once crawling with the little creepers is unable to even associate himself with the possibility of re-infestation.
     "A mí! A mí!" one of our younger, still street-edged kids eagerly asks me to check him. I look, and sure enough he is infected, too.
     "Sorry, bud, it looks like you've got lice," I say, "I'll help you after Nity."
     "Espulgáme!" that same boy commands me to 'delice him' and turns his head towards me. I've seen the street boys do this for each other before. They pull a few out of each other's hair, then get bored and move on--letting the infestation remain while feeling better that they've at least "done something."
     "There are too many, bud," I tell him, "We have to do the full treatment."
     He doesn't like this--too time-consuming. If it can't be done right here and now--not worth it. He spends the rest of the day avoiding me. "Voy a cortar mi pelo!" he says he'll just get a haircut and runs off.
     I return to the first victim and pull him into the bathroom to smother him with the lice-killing shampoo. Nity already doesn't like the few minutes of waiting required pre-rinse. I foresee a battle coming over getting him to sit still for the nit-picking. Sure enough:
     "Ya ya! [Enough already]!" he squirms after two quick comb throughs.
     "Not yet," I remind him. "There are still more."
     Nity doesn't seem to find the benefits of no-itch and insect-absence worth sacrificing his precious technology time. Throughout the whining, his impatience rubs off onto me, and I become less picky. After a quick scan for any remaining white spots, I decide to let him go.
     I search for the I'll-just-get-a-haircut boy. He's on the soccer field. "I'll do it later," I tell myself. "Besides, I've already told our coordinator," I add a second justification for letting him avoid me. "It'll get done."
    Time passes. I "forget" about the lice. Actually, I haven't really forgotten, I've just shoved the thought out of my mind and told myself "It'll be fine" when the promptings to deal with the problem resurface.
    More time passes. I hang out with the boys, I play with the boys, I sit with the boys, I hug the boys--I love these boys.
     This morning, I return to thinking about the lice. All of a sudden my head starts to feel itchy (my typical mental response). I think about having my roommate Lucy check me "just in case." I dismiss the thought, "Nah, my mind's just playing tricks on me--I'm good," And yet... that little doubt creeps in. "But what if I'm not?" At first, I find myself responding like the repulsed teen from before, "Not me! I couldn't possibly!" And yet, if I "couldn't possibly" then why am I so afraid of having someone check?
     Lucy looks...
     Sure enough, I have lice.
     The truth hurts, but it is better than the fear that had been keeping me in denial. Better to know and deal than ignore and have a swarm of hatched eggs later.  My resolve to destroy the nits overpowers my revulsion. Even so, I hate the lice. I want them out--all of them. Now.
     I wash my hair, I wait through the treatment, I go to Lucy. She is "happy to help." I sit, she picks. I wait, she combs. I rest, she works. I think, "she is serving me right now." But why? Why would she be willing to get so close to lice-infested me? Her compassion. She has had lice before, she tells me, she knows how it feels. And even more importantly, I know she loves me. She sees me, not the lice. Well, yes, she sees the lice, but she doesn't see the lice as me. She takes them off of me. And obviously I let her. I know this is an inconvenience in her day, but I want them gone, so I accept her sacrifice.
     Hours later, I am lice-free (supposedly... here's to hoping). Granted, there is still more to be done. My clothes and bedding are in the wash. I need to re-check my hair in a week (probably more considering my environment). And then there's everyone else. Lice-free me doesn't mean lice-free everyone. I've got some nit-picking to do. This time around, I hope to show a whole lot more compassion and patience--because, well, I've been there. And I'm not ashamed to tell you that.
     Speaking of, I have another confession. Of somewhere else I've been--somewhere way more disgusting than in a head full of lice. I've been in the pit of sin. I was born into it, and there have been many hatched nits of it along the way. Now, I'll admit, there are times when I react to my sin like the street boys to their lice--"Who cares if I have it? So does everyone else! Let me go play..." Other times when I respond like my pridefully pampered self-- "No, no! The dirty people have that stuff not me! I'm just here to help all of them." I've even been the in-the-Micah-house-4-years boy, low on compassion because I've forgotten what God has done for me. That's not how I want to respond to my sin.
     Sin is gross--shameful. But I am not ashamed to tell you that I am infected, because I am not ashamed of who has saved me from it: Jesus--the totally compassionate, loving, gracious sin-picker. The only uninfected one, and yet the one who began and will complete the good work to clean us up so that we can be with him. You see, Jesus doesn't have sin, and neither does his House. Rather than kick us out to the streets to live like the lice that live on us, He comes out to where we are. He gets in the dirt and nastiness of our lives, and he "nit-picks". Not because he is a nag, but because he is perfect Savior. He is gentle and patient and kind and loving and utterly holy--sin-free. And being sin-free, he is incredibly concerned with our holiness, too. He doesn't turn a blind eye to our licey lives; rather, he helps us clean house so we can be a part of His. This is a far more loving act than if he were to just shrug his shoulders, look at our rotten sin-infested hearts and say, "Whatever, everyone has them." Instead, he gives new, clean hearts. And he takes time with us--to help us throw off the sin that so easily entangles. He serves us--washing our feet and going to the cross to die for us. He helps us on the road to holiness--convicting us through his Spirit and guiding us to truth, to freedom. Jesus. Gently plucking. Always loving. Washing our clothes. Bringing us home.
     And in this process of de-licing our hearts, he also gives us greater compassion to see those around us who are in need just as we are. The way Jesus loves us is the way we are called to love others. After all "those who have been forgiven much, love much" right?. Speaking of... I've got some of my own nit-picking to go do. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only lice-infestee of the day, and I don't want to be the last lice-free*, either. (Don't worry, as I go back out I recognize I'm still susceptible to re-infestion. That won't stop me from going out into this sin-filled lice world, but after a day in the dirt and grime, it's always a good idea to give a good comb through before putting my head on the pillow).

*Lice-free though I may be, sin free I am not. By the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ he has paid for all of my sins once and for all, but I am still "in the picking process" so to speak. But I trust in my Lord Jesus that he will bring to completion the good work he started in me (Philippians 1:6) so that I can be with him, sin-free through his free gift of grace, forever.