Christmas Day 2013 in the Village
THE TUTUMA FULL OF MOQOCHINCHE (the traditional gourd village bowl full of spiced juice made of dried whole rural highland peaches) THAT DOÑA ABUELITA PASSED TO US.
Gathered for breakfast at that same wooden round table Christmas morning we discussed a bit of Dallas Willard, where, in particular in his “The Spirit of the Disciplines” book he waxes eloquent in communicating his passionate belief that modern-day dichotomization of life into “spiritual” versus “nonspiritual” categories, is DAMAGING to persons and to the church, and that the practice of basic “spiritual disciplines” such as prayer, Bible reading, silence, solitude and SERVICE, among others, can be extremely helpful to the Christian.
Just then, ancient Doña abuelita’s cane was heard tap-tapping slowly on the cement walkway just outside the village house and her ancient, grizzled head, topped by the ubiquitos black dusty misshapen felt bowler hat appeared outside the screened window. One of our group quickly went out to speak in Quechua – her only language – with her and returned to announce, “Doña abuelita needs 80 adobes moved, so, how about it, boys?”
Seeing as the “boys” in question were our four sturdy and kind-hearted HUSBANDS, all in their fifties! – it touched my heart to see how our “boys” immediately mobilized themselves to rush out there on Christmas morning and practice a bit of what we’d just been “preaching” to ourselves over breakfast – service to widows (of which Doña IS one – an 85-year-old widow, in fact, whose only home and extremely scant possession was a tiny adobe block two-room hovel and bare mud courtyard just outside the house of our friends).
Three hours later (!) our “boys” reappeared in the kitchen, sunburned, covered in bee stings and red dirt, panting and exhausted, and with a couple of three-inch cactus thorns having pierced their shoes. Adobes are HUGE! Each one weighs at least 25 pounds! Doña was content, even happy, and our “boys” were FULFILLED with the activities of their very unusual Christmas morning! Later we heard that it was all over the village that the gringos had moved adobes for old Doña abuelita.
Isaiah 43 and Isaiah 58
From Isaiah 43:
Do not be afraid, for I am with you. I will bring you children from the East, and gather you from the West, I will say to the North, ‘Give them up’, and to the South, ‘Do not hold them back.’ Bring my sons from afar and my daughters from the ends of the earth – everyone who is called by My Name, whom I created for My Glory, whom I formed and made.
‘You are My witnesses’, declares the Lord, ‘and my servant whom I have chosen, so that you may know and believe Me and understand that I am He. Before Me no god was formed, nor will there be one after me. I, even I, am the Lord, and apart from Me there is no savior.
From Isaiah 58:
Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter – when you see the naked to clothe him and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood? Then your light will break forth like the dawn and your healing will quickly appear. ……………… If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness and your night will become like the noonday. The Lord will guide you always; He will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land. He will strengthen your frame.
There are those…
“There are those who, while they love the altar and delight in the sacrifice (Tozier is speaking of the Old Testament imagery of the ancient Israeli altar building, out of stones, and animal sacrifices upon the altars, which were a “figure” or “proto-type”, looking ahead, toward the once-and-for-all sacrifice/atonement for sin of Jesus, the “Perfect Lamb of God”, on the cross.)………are yet unable to reconcile themselves to the continued absence of fire. They desire God above all. They are athirst to taste for themselves the “piercing sweetness” of the love of Christ about Whom all the holy prophets did write and the psalmists did sing.” – A.W. Tozier in his book, “The Pursuit of God”.
Christmas Day 2013 in the Village
THE TUTUMA FULL OF MOQOCHINCHE (the traditional gourd village bowl full of spiced juice made of dried whole rural highland peaches) THAT DOÑA ABUELITA PASSED TO US.Gathered for breakfast at that same wooden round table Christmas morning we discussed a bit of Dallas Willard, where, in particular in his “The Spirit of the Disciplines” book he waxes eloquent in communicating his passionate belief that modern-day dichotomization of life into “spiritual” versus “nonspiritual” categories, is DAMAGING to persons and to the church, and that the practice of basic “spiritual disciplines” such as prayer, Bible reading, silence, solitude and SERVICE, among others, can be extremely helpful to the Christian. Just then, ancient Doña abuelita’s cane was heard tap-tapping slowly on the cement walkway just outside the village house and her grizzled head, topped by the ubiquitous misshapen felt bowler hat appeared outside the screened window. One of our group quickly went out to speak in Quechua – her only language – with her and returned to announce, “Doña abuelita needs 80 adobes moved, so, how about it, boys?” Seeing as the “boys” in question were our four sturdy and kind-hearted HUSBANDS, all in their fifties! – it touched my heart to see how our “boys” immediately mobilized themselves to rush out there on Christmas morning and practice a bit of what we’d just been “preaching” to ourselves over breakfast – service to widows (of which Doña IS one – an 85-year-old widow, in fact, whose only home and extremely scant possession was a tiny adobe block two-room hovel and bare mud courtyard just outside the house of our friends). Three hours later (!) our “boys” reappeared in the kitchen, sunburned, covered in bee stings and red dirt, panting and exhausted, and with a couple of three-inch cactus thorns having pierced their shoes. Adobes are HUGE! Each one weighs at least 25 pounds! Doña was content, even happy, and our “boys” were FULFILLED with the activities of their very unusual Christmas morning! Later we heard that it was all over the village that the gringos had moved adobes for old Doña abuelita.
Christmas Day 2013 in the Village
THE TUTUMA FULL OF MOQOCHINCHE (the traditional gourd village bowl full of spiced juice made of dried whole rural highland peaches) THAT DOÑA ABUELITA PASSED TO US.Gathered for breakfast at that same wooden round table Christmas morning we discussed a bit of Dallas Willard, where, in particular in his “The Spirit of the Disciplines” book he waxes eloquent in communicating his passionate belief that modern-day dichotomization of life into “spiritual” versus “nonspiritual” categories, is DAMAGING to persons and to the church, and that the practice of basic “spiritual disciplines” such as prayer, Bible reading, silence, solitude and SERVICE, among others, can be extremely helpful to the Christian. Just then, ancient Doña abuelita’s cane was heard tap-tapping slowly on the cement walkway just outside the village house and her grizzled head, topped by the ubiquitous misshapen felt bowler hat appeared outside the screened window. One of our group quickly went out to speak in Quechua – her only language – with her and returned to announce, “Doña abuelita needs 80 adobes moved, so, how about it, boys?” Seeing as the “boys” in question were our four sturdy and kind-hearted HUSBANDS, all in their fifties! – it touched my heart to see how our “boys” immediately mobilized themselves to rush out there on Christmas morning and practice a bit of what we’d just been “preaching” to ourselves over breakfast – service to widows (of which Doña IS one – an 85-year-old widow, in fact, whose only home and extremely scant possession was a tiny adobe block two-room hovel and bare mud courtyard just outside the house of our friends). Three hours later (!) our “boys” reappeared in the kitchen, sunburned, covered in bee stings and red dirt, panting and exhausted, and with a couple of three-inch cactus thorns having pierced their shoes. Adobes are HUGE! Each one weighs at least 25 pounds! Doña was content, even happy, and our “boys” were FULFILLED with the activities of their very unusual Christmas morning! Later we heard that it was all over the village that the gringos had moved adobes for old Doña abuelita.
Remembering my “Aunt” with Joy
This, in the photo, is my “Aunt” Marabelle Taylor, a close family friend and colleague of my parents in Cameroun. When I was 19 I bumped in her truck down interminable red dust roads by her side, spending part of a summer learning from her in the context of a small internship for one of my university classes.
Aunt Marabelle was a cross-cultural worker with a huge God-given, life-long love for and commitment to underprivileged children and teenagers and their relatives. She saved hundreds, maybe thousands of orphans from the Babimbi Hills region of French Cameroun during the Basa terrorist uprisings of 1960 – 1965 and their long and horrible-for-children aftermath. Originally from the U.S., she was a nurse and invented high-protein baby and child “physical salvation” formulas out of local, easily-available ingredients like canned sardines and powdered milk and pulverized Australian spinach, to bring the war-starved orphans back from the brink of death. She became well-known in the nation in the sixties decade for being able to work her benificent “magic”, bringing a fragile infant back to health when nobody else could, and Camerounians in the aftermath of that war brought her orphan babies from all over the region and beyond. She spent 40 or 50 years serving in Cameroun, eventually retired and returned to America, lived to an extremely ripe old age and is now “graduated” to Jesus’ presence, joyful and problem-free for eternity with Him. What I remember most about my Aunt Marabelle is her love for me and her love for Jesus.
The other thing that most impresses me about her is the way she always seemed “charmed” and safe, no matter what happened to her and in spite of what many might term an overly adventurous and spartan life. I will never forget waking up each morning before the crack of dawn, from a hard borrowed bed, in one of her friends’ little flea and mosquito-ridden mud huts with a thatched roof, to the scrape of her placing the water kettle over the gas burner to make us each a hot cup of stale Nescafe! Meals seemed to consist mostly of canned sardines and crackers bought by the side of the road. She went through her days cheery and singing, traveling a tremendous amount, helping care for each of the beloved orphan babies, their extended families, small kids and “adopted” Camerounian high-school-aged “daughters”, two of whom she named “Agnes” and “Sweetheart”. Never choosing to marry, Aunt Marabelle had the biggest and most loving (to her!) extended family – from what I could see at the time it seemed to consist of the majority of the population of southern French-speaking Cameroun – of anyone I have ever known. One time, when I was 19, her Camerounian driver, Ibogo dozed off at the wheel and wrecked her vehicle – that’s what the photo shows. Aside from scrapes and bruises, both of them escaped unharmed. Thank God.
My Aunt Marabelle quietly, unassumingly, unsentimentally pointed every person she came in contact with to Jesus, trusting only Jesus hourly, daily, weekly, monthly and yearly to take CARE of her AND HER WORK, in His love plan for all the peoples of the world. This mindset allowed her to live with peace and joy.
She did talk of Jesus, softly, a lot. And she was silent sometimes too…….
Aunt Marabelle, you’ve been gone for awhile now, but I feel like I’m STILL learning SO MUCH from you! Thank you for including me in your life and letting me learn from you!
Little Sneakers Slung over a Sagging Electrical Line
Yesterday. How will I ever forget? I want to forget, and yet, I don’t. It’s burned on my heart forever, I hope. With my friend, the same one I’ve been writing about here for awhile, we took a walk together through the “neighborhood” and she pointed out the “homes” of our children to me, by name.
The narrow roads were unpaved, just mud and heaps of garbage. The stench of human urine and feces was strong enough to be oppressive. S. explained to me that the dwellings have no plumbing, and no electricity, that the tiny dark rented rooms where our children live are usually so small that not even one little table and chair can fit, and that sometimes up to eleven people live in this windowless cell together. I asked, “What about a kitchen?” “No kitchen”, she replied. “The families don’t prepare their food. When hungry, they walk out and they buy a bottle of soda, or a pack of cheap biscuits, or, look (gesturing down the road), in that spot one can buy a paperful of fried chicken, for only a little bit of money.”
With sadness in her brown eyes she paused a moment, looking into mine. “These children get nothing but junk food.”
She pointed above us, in the intersection of four rutted dirt lanes.
Two pairs of dirty, worn-out canvas shoes hung suspended over the sagging electrical lines.
“You know what that means, right?”
Feeling a little foolish, I replied honestly to my friend, “No. I don’t have any idea. What does that mean?”
“It’s the current signal, meaning that in this place, drugs are sold.”
“Oh. What kind of drugs?”
“Cocaine and yellow glue.”
________ __________
In my less sanguine moments, in all my moments, really, I don’t believe I have what it takes to be involved in this kind of ministry. Last night I could not sleep. Now, I need to tighten up my spiritual armour, raise high my SHIELD of faith, tighten my HELMET of God’s salvation! I KNOW God has the strength to help me and my sisters and brothers who are working with and on behalf of these 57 children. I KNOW that even though I personally have NO SPIRITUAL AND EMOTIONAL RESOURCES to confront this kind of evil, oppression of women and children, and powerful systemized corruption, this kind of a spiritual BATTLE, God does.
God does.
And, we have prayer, together, in the Body of Christ.
Christmas Day 2013 in the Village
THE TUTUMA FULL OF MOQOCHINCHE (the traditional gourd village bowl full of spiced juice made of dried whole rural highland peaches) THAT DOÑA ABUELITA PASSED TO US.Gathered for breakfast at that same wooden round table Christmas morning we discussed a bit of Dallas Willard, where, in particular in his “The Spirit of the Disciplines” book he waxes eloquent in communicating his passionate belief that modern-day dichotomization of life into “spiritual” versus “nonspiritual” categories, is DAMAGING to persons and to the church, and that the practice of basic “spiritual disciplines” such as prayer, Bible reading, silence, solitude and SERVICE, among others, can be extremely helpful to the Christian. Just then, ancient Doña abuelita’s cane was heard tap-tapping slowly on the cement walkway just outside the village house and her grizzled head, topped by the ubiquitous misshapen felt bowler hat appeared outside the screened window. One of our group quickly went out to speak in Quechua – her only language – with her and returned to announce, “Doña abuelita needs 80 adobes moved, so, how about it, boys?” Seeing as the “boys” in question were our four sturdy and kind-hearted HUSBANDS, all in their fifties! – it touched my heart to see how our “boys” immediately mobilized themselves to rush out there on Christmas morning and practice a bit of what we’d just been “preaching” to ourselves over breakfast – service to widows (of which Doña IS one – an 85-year-old widow, in fact, whose only home and extremely scant possession was a tiny adobe block two-room hovel and bare mud courtyard just outside the house of our friends). Three hours later (!) our “boys” reappeared in the kitchen, sunburned, covered in bee stings and red dirt, panting and exhausted, and with a couple of three-inch cactus thorns having pierced their shoes. Adobes are HUGE! Each one weighs at least 25 pounds! Doña was content, even happy, and our “boys” were FULFILLED with the activities of their very unusual Christmas morning! Later we heard that it was all over the village that the gringos had moved adobes for old Doña abuelita.
Vignette # 7 from the Children
#7 Amanda, 5 years old, kept complaining to the adult monitor that some of the little boys kept calling her a SPIDER (araña)! They kept insisting that they were not! (a lot of these little ones seem to have lisps and slight speech impediments) Several of the other kids chimed right in and they all had a little philosophical discussion about it.
Vignette # 7 from the Children
#7 Amanda, 5 years old, kept complaining to the adult monitor that some of the little boys kept calling her a SPIDER (araña)! They kept insisting that they were not! (a lot of these little ones seem to have lisps and slight speech impediments) Several of the other kids chimed right in and they all had a little philosophical discussion about it.
Christmas Day 2013 in the Village
THE TUTUMA FULL OF MOQOCHINCHE (the traditional gourd village bowl full of spiced juice made of dried whole rural highland peaches) THAT DOÑA ABUELITA PASSED TO US.Gathered for breakfast at that same wooden round table Christmas morning we discussed a bit of Dallas Willard, where, in particular in his “The Spirit of the Disciplines” book he waxes eloquent in communicating his passionate belief that modern-day dichotomization of life into “spiritual” versus “nonspiritual” categories, is DAMAGING to persons and to the church, and that the practice of basic “spiritual disciplines” such as prayer, Bible reading, silence, solitude and SERVICE, among others, can be extremely helpful to the Christian. Just then, ancient Doña abuelita’s cane was heard tap-tapping slowly on the cement walkway just outside the village house and her grizzled head, topped by the ubiquitous misshapen felt bowler hat appeared outside the screened window. One of our group quickly went out to speak in Quechua – her only language – with her and returned to announce, “Doña abuelita needs 80 adobes moved, so, how about it, boys?” Seeing as the “boys” in question were our four sturdy and kind-hearted HUSBANDS, all in their fifties! – it touched my heart to see how our “boys” immediately mobilized themselves to rush out there on Christmas morning and practice a bit of what we’d just been “preaching” to ourselves over breakfast – service to widows (of which Doña IS one – an 85-year-old widow, in fact, whose only home and extremely scant possession was a tiny adobe block two-room hovel and bare mud courtyard just outside the house of our friends). Three hours later (!) our “boys” reappeared in the kitchen, sunburned, covered in bee stings and red dirt, panting and exhausted, and with a couple of three-inch cactus thorns having pierced their shoes. Adobes are HUGE! Each one weighs at least 25 pounds! Doña was content, even happy, and our “boys” were FULFILLED with the activities of their very unusual Christmas morning! Later we heard that it was all over the village that the gringos had moved adobes for old Doña abuelita.
Little Sneakers Slung over a Sagging Electrical Line
Yesterday. How will I ever forget? I want to forget, and yet, I don’t. It’s burned on my heart forever, I hope. With my friend, the same one I’ve been writing about here for awhile, we took a walk together through the “neighborhood” and she pointed out the “homes” of our children to me, by name.
The narrow roads were unpaved, just mud and heaps of garbage. The stench of human urine and feces was strong enough to be oppressive. S. explained to me that the dwellings have no plumbing, and no electricity, that the tiny dark rented rooms where our children live are usually so small that not even one little table and chair can fit, and that sometimes up to eleven people live in this windowless cell together. I asked, “What about a kitchen?” “No kitchen”, she replied. “The families don’t prepare their food. When hungry, they walk out and they buy a bottle of soda, or a pack of cheap biscuits, or, look (gesturing down the road), in that spot one can buy a paperful of fried chicken, for only a little bit of money.”
With sadness in her brown eyes she paused a moment, looking into mine. “These children get nothing but junk food.”
She pointed above us, in the intersection of four rutted dirt lanes.
Two pairs of dirty, worn-out canvas shoes hung suspended over the sagging electrical lines.
“You know what that means, right?”
Feeling a little foolish, I replied honestly to my friend, “No. I don’t have any idea. What does that mean?”
“It’s the current signal, meaning that in this place, drugs are sold.”
“Oh. What kind of drugs?”
“Cocaine and yellow glue.”
________ __________
In my less sanguine moments, in all my moments, really, I don’t believe I have what it takes to be involved in this kind of ministry. Last night I could not sleep. Now, I need to tighten up my spiritual armour, raise high my SHIELD of faith, tighten my HELMET of God’s salvation! I KNOW God has the strength to help me and my sisters and brothers who are working with and on behalf of these 57 children. I KNOW that even though I personally have NO SPIRITUAL AND EMOTIONAL RESOURCES to confront this kind of evil, oppression of women and children, and powerful systemized corruption, this kind of a spiritual BATTLE, God does.
God does.
And, we have prayer, together, in the Body of Christ.
On the subject of stress management…
On the subject of stress management Dr. Roger Mellot said, “Identify your values and support them behaviorally”. (Decide what’s important to you, and then live in a way that’s consistent with those values.) – David Posen, M.D.
Christmas Day 2013 in the Village
THE TUTUMA FULL OF MOQOCHINCHE (the traditional gourd village bowl full of spiced juice made of dried whole rural highland peaches) THAT DOÑA ABUELITA PASSED TO US.Gathered for breakfast at that same wooden round table Christmas morning we discussed a bit of Dallas Willard, where, in particular in his “The Spirit of the Disciplines” book he waxes eloquent in communicating his passionate belief that modern-day dichotomization of life into “spiritual” versus “nonspiritual” categories, is DAMAGING to persons and to the church, and that the practice of basic “spiritual disciplines” such as prayer, Bible reading, silence, solitude and SERVICE, among others, can be extremely helpful to the Christian.
Just then, ancient Doña abuelita’s cane was heard tap-tapping slowly on the cement walkway just outside the village house and her ancient, grizzled head, topped by the ubiquitos black dusty misshapen felt bowler hat appeared outside the screened window. One of our group quickly went out to speak in Quechua – her only language – with her and returned to announce, “Doña abuelita needs 80 adobes moved, so, how about it, boys?”
Seeing as the “boys” in question were our four sturdy and kind-hearted HUSBANDS, all in their fifties! – it touched my heart to see how our “boys” immediately mobilized themselves to rush out there on Christmas morning and practice a bit of what we’d just been “preaching” to ourselves over breakfast – service to widows (of which Doña IS one – an 85-year-old widow, in fact, whose only home and extremely scant possession was a tiny adobe block two-room hovel and bare mud courtyard just outside the house of our friends).
Three hours later (!) our “boys” reappeared in the kitchen, sunburned, covered in bee stings and red dirt, panting and exhausted, and with a couple of three-inch cactus thorns having pierced their shoes. Adobes are HUGE! Each one weighs at least 25 pounds! Doña was content, even happy, and our “boys” were FULFILLED with the activities of their very unusual Christmas morning! Later we heard that it was all over the village that the gringos had moved adobes for old Doña abuelita.
Vignette # 7 from the Children
#7 Amanda, 5 years old, kept complaining to the adult monitor that some of the little boys kept calling her a SPIDER (araña)! They kept insisting that they were not! (a lot of these little ones seem to have lisps and slight speech impediments) Several of the other kids chimed right in and they all had a little philosophical discussion about it.
Christmas Day 2013 in the Village
THE TUTUMA FULL OF MOQOCHINCHE (the traditional gourd village bowl full of spiced juice made of dried whole rural highland peaches) THAT DOÑA ABUELITA PASSED TO US.Gathered for breakfast at that same wooden round table Christmas morning we discussed a bit of Dallas Willard, where, in particular in his “The Spirit of the Disciplines” book he waxes eloquent in communicating his passionate belief that modern-day dichotomization of life into “spiritual” versus “nonspiritual” categories, is DAMAGING to persons and to the church, and that the practice of basic “spiritual disciplines” such as prayer, Bible reading, silence, solitude and SERVICE, among others, can be extremely helpful to the Christian. Just then, ancient Doña abuelita’s cane was heard tap-tapping slowly on the cement walkway just outside the village house and her grizzled head, topped by the ubiquitous misshapen felt bowler hat appeared outside the screened window. One of our group quickly went out to speak in Quechua – her only language – with her and returned to announce, “Doña abuelita needs 80 adobes moved, so, how about it, boys?” Seeing as the “boys” in question were our four sturdy and kind-hearted HUSBANDS, all in their fifties! – it touched my heart to see how our “boys” immediately mobilized themselves to rush out there on Christmas morning and practice a bit of what we’d just been “preaching” to ourselves over breakfast – service to widows (of which Doña IS one – an 85-year-old widow, in fact, whose only home and extremely scant possession was a tiny adobe block two-room hovel and bare mud courtyard just outside the house of our friends). Three hours later (!) our “boys” reappeared in the kitchen, sunburned, covered in bee stings and red dirt, panting and exhausted, and with a couple of three-inch cactus thorns having pierced their shoes. Adobes are HUGE! Each one weighs at least 25 pounds! Doña was content, even happy, and our “boys” were FULFILLED with the activities of their very unusual Christmas morning! Later we heard that it was all over the village that the gringos had moved adobes for old Doña abuelita.
Little Sneakers Slung over a Sagging Electrical Line
Yesterday. How will I ever forget? I want to forget, and yet, I don’t. It’s burned on my heart forever, I hope. With my friend, the same one I’ve been writing about here for awhile, we took a walk together through the “neighborhood” and she pointed out the “homes” of our children to me, by name.
The narrow roads were unpaved, just mud and heaps of garbage. The stench of human urine and feces was strong enough to be oppressive. S. explained to me that the dwellings have no plumbing, and no electricity, that the tiny dark rented rooms where our children live are usually so small that not even one little table and chair can fit, and that sometimes up to eleven people live in this windowless cell together. I asked, “What about a kitchen?” “No kitchen”, she replied. “The families don’t prepare their food. When hungry, they walk out and they buy a bottle of soda, or a pack of cheap biscuits, or, look (gesturing down the road), in that spot one can buy a paperful of fried chicken, for only a little bit of money.”
With sadness in her brown eyes she paused a moment, looking into mine. “These children get nothing but junk food.”
She pointed above us, in the intersection of four rutted dirt lanes.
Two pairs of dirty, worn-out canvas shoes hung suspended over the sagging electrical lines.
“You know what that means, right?”
Feeling a little foolish, I replied honestly to my friend, “No. I don’t have any idea. What does that mean?”
“It’s the current signal, meaning that in this place, drugs are sold.”
“Oh. What kind of drugs?”
“Cocaine and yellow glue.”
________ __________
In my less sanguine moments, in all my moments, really, I don’t believe I have what it takes to be involved in this kind of ministry. Last night I could not sleep. Now, I need to tighten up my spiritual armour, raise high my SHIELD of faith, tighten my HELMET of God’s salvation! I KNOW God has the strength to help me and my sisters and brothers who are working with and on behalf of these 57 children. I KNOW that even though I personally have NO SPIRITUAL AND EMOTIONAL RESOURCES to confront this kind of evil, oppression of women and children, and powerful systemized corruption, this kind of a spiritual BATTLE, God does.
God does.
And, we have prayer, together, in the Body of Christ.
Little Sneakers Slung over a Sagging Electrical Line
Yesterday. How will I ever forget? I want to forget, and yet, I don’t. It’s burned on my heart forever, I hope. With my friend, the same one I’ve been writing about here for awhile, we took a walk together through the “neighborhood” and she pointed out the “homes” of our children to me, by name.
The narrow roads were unpaved, just mud and heaps of garbage. The stench of human urine and feces was strong enough to be oppressive. S. explained to me that the dwellings have no plumbing, and no electricity, that the tiny dark rented rooms where our children live are usually so small that not even one little table and chair can fit, and that sometimes up to eleven people live in this windowless cell together. I asked, “What about a kitchen?” “No kitchen”, she replied. “The families don’t prepare their food. When hungry, they walk out and they buy a bottle of soda, or a pack of cheap biscuits, or, look (gesturing down the road), in that spot one can buy a paperful of fried chicken, for only a little bit of money.”
With sadness in her brown eyes she paused a moment, looking into mine. “These children get nothing but junk food.”
She pointed above us, in the intersection of four rutted dirt lanes.
Two pairs of dirty, worn-out canvas shoes hung suspended over the sagging electrical lines.
“You know what that means, right?”
Feeling a little foolish, I replied honestly to my friend, “No. I don’t have any idea. What does that mean?”
“It’s the current signal, meaning that in this place, drugs are sold.”
“Oh. What kind of drugs?”
“Cocaine and yellow glue.”
________ __________
In my less sanguine moments, in all my moments, really, I don’t believe I have what it takes to be involved in this kind of ministry. Last night I could not sleep. Now, I need to tighten up my spiritual armour, raise high my SHIELD of faith, tighten my HELMET of God’s salvation! I KNOW God has the strength to help me and my sisters and brothers who are working with and on behalf of these 57 children. I KNOW that even though I personally have NO SPIRITUAL AND EMOTIONAL RESOURCES to confront this kind of evil, oppression of women and children, and powerful systemized corruption, this kind of a spiritual BATTLE, God does.
God does.
And, we have prayer, together, in the Body of Christ.
Untitled.
“Let no one apologize for the powerful emphasis Christianity lays on the doctrine of the world to come. Right there lies its immense superiority to everything else within the whole sphere of human thought or experience. When Christ arose from death and ascended into heaven He established forever 3 important facts, namely, that this world has been condemned to ultimate dissolution, that the human spirit persists beyond the grave, and that there is indeed a world to come. We do well to think of the long tomorrow.” – A.W. Tozer
Little Sneakers Slung over a Sagging Electrical Line
Yesterday. How will I ever forget? I want to forget, and yet, I don’t. It’s burned on my heart forever, I hope. With my friend, the same one I’ve been writing about here for awhile, we took a walk together through the “neighborhood” and she pointed out the “homes” of our children to me, by name.
The narrow roads were unpaved, just mud and heaps of garbage. The stench of human urine and feces was strong enough to be oppressive. S. explained to me that the dwellings have no plumbing, and no electricity, that the tiny dark rented rooms where our children live are usually so small that not even one little table and chair can fit, and that sometimes up to eleven people live in this windowless cell together. I asked, “What about a kitchen?” “No kitchen”, she replied. “The families don’t prepare their food. When hungry, they walk out and they buy a bottle of soda, or a pack of cheap biscuits, or, look (gesturing down the road), in that spot one can buy a paperful of fried chicken, for only a little bit of money.”
With sadness in her brown eyes she paused a moment, looking into mine. “These children get nothing but junk food.”
She pointed above us, in the intersection of four rutted dirt lanes.
Two pairs of dirty, worn-out canvas shoes hung suspended over the sagging electrical lines.
“You know what that means, right?”
Feeling a little foolish, I replied honestly to my friend, “No. I don’t have any idea. What does that mean?”
“It’s the current signal, meaning that in this place, drugs are sold.”
“Oh. What kind of drugs?”
“Cocaine and yellow glue.”
________ __________
In my less sanguine moments, in all my moments, really, I don’t believe I have what it takes to be involved in this kind of ministry. Last night I could not sleep. Now, I need to tighten up my spiritual armour, raise high my SHIELD of faith, tighten my HELMET of God’s salvation! I KNOW God has the strength to help me and my sisters and brothers who are working with and on behalf of these 57 children. I KNOW that even though I personally have NO SPIRITUAL AND EMOTIONAL RESOURCES to confront this kind of evil, oppression of women and children, and powerful systemized corruption, this kind of a spiritual BATTLE, God does.
God does.
And, we have prayer, together, in the Body of Christ.
GlobeRoamer 