“I tell you the truth, the Son can do nothing by himself. He does only what he sees the Father doing. Whatever Father does, the Son does also. For Father loves the Son and shows him everything he is doing. He will show him HOW to do even greater works.” John 5:19-20
As I step foot upon this red earth again, I remember why I need Father so much here.
Feeling broken by my own inadequacy to know how—how to bring revival here, how to heal hearts, and change lives for eternity.
When everything is so much harder here. Raw.
The culture-shock hits me full force as the traffic piles up and people jump into the road with no thought or care to their lives. When we realize the truck is broken because the mechanic we trusted gave it to someone else who stole parts out of our engine, when no one takes responsibility for their actions, when I’m sick with the flu still, and jet-lagged, constantly sweating without ac or a fan, where everywhere I turn is a face that looks hopeless or empty, where so many things are out of my control, and when I feel the full weight of this ministry on my shoulders—all the people we need, all the resources to fulfill this call—
this world can often seem too much.
Especially when I remember there’s no delivery pizza.
The burdens pile high. The losses feel too real. And there have been a lot these past months.
Loss of friendships and betrayal,
Loss of the baby and miscarriages of friends,
Loss of rest,
Loss of trust,
Loss of baby Faida who died somewhere in Congo when I wanted her so badly to join our home
Loss of “Precious,” fought so hard for out of the slum, only to lose her back to a life of selling her body
The losses can seem too much.
The clouds roll in thick and ominous.
The storm is coming as dark as my soul feels in this moment.
But I’ve missed the storms here so much.
I sit on the porch trying to feel my Jesus. To get hidden inside His heart.
Am I ready to come back to all of this? My heart a patchwork of scar tissue, still tender where He’s put me back together. Time and time again.
I read through John and I see my Jesus again. How he’s felt everything I feel.
I see him teaching and giving away, healing, and getting hidden again, feeling anguish, feeling concern for his disciples, praying that they will love each other in unity, being frustrated, being joyful, but always listening to His Father’s voice and beginning again.
And I see him suffer. Lay down his life for the ones that he loves, for his friends.
And that this is the life we are called to. To suffering, to joy, and to dependence.
“The spirit alone gives eternal life. Human effort accomplishes nothing.” John 6:63
That’s from the Bible. I let it sink deep into my soul on this porch in Uganda where I feel His pain, my pain, and my own frailty.
His spirit, is the only thing that matters.
And I feel the strongest desire I’ve ever felt, just to be with Him, in heaven, just to look into his eyes and have him tell me that it’s all going to be ok. Just to hear him say, “well done.”
But it’s not time yet.
And I know that I can’t run away.
Africa is a mirror. Where you have to look deep into your soul and see that you are not enough.
Some people crumble up under it.
But I know that He is. His spirit gives life, where there is no life.
He breathes, and situations shift.
I do not have what it takes, but by His spirit, everywhere my feet will tread, He will give to us.
I am weak. And I can do nothing on my own. I’m completely dependent on Him.
And perhaps my surrender, perhaps my “can’t,” perhaps my weakness is an opportunity for Heaven.
And perhaps this is where He wants me. So desperate, hiding away in Him.
Only able to fumble through imitating His goodness.
I do not know the “how.”
I only know Who.
But I trust,
that He is always enough.
And slowly, I remember this is part of what I have come to love about living here—amongst the poor, amidst the challenges—how easily it exposes my need for my Savior, for my Father—for a goodness and a love that is beyond myself.
And that it’s ok to be needy for Him.
For His words, for his breath, for His spirit.
And it’s never too late to get hidden.
