Driving through Lilongwe in the World Vision staff bus I saw a beautiful people. Wearing suit jackets and cardigans. Babies on shoulders and wrapped on backs. Bicycles, much like mine at home strapped with supplies and clothing.
They walked through what looked like fields to me. To them, sidewalks leading to their lives, to their homes, to their jobs.
The shock I thought I’d feel didn’t come. It was a gratefulness and an opening of vision that came instead.
We are just beginning to see and understand.
The shock I wasn’t expecting was in my own soul.
Staring up into the Malaria net that covers my bed in a hotel that is much nicer than I ever expected. I’m doubting.
Why am I here?
My baby girl starts school tomorrow?
Why did I need to do this??
Am I just jet lagged?
Where is the passion I felt two days ago?
Waking up at 2AM…
Startled from a vivid dream, detailed with both joyful and scary moments, I think, “didn’t I choose the doxycyclin over the malaria meds that can cause you to hallucinate?” Why am I dreaming like this?
I’m hot. I’m cold. I’m sweating. I need to go to the bathroom. Where is the bathroom? How do I get out of this net?
I pray. I need you God. I need you to help me.
Doubt (again?) I’m shocked at my own lack of faith.
Thinking of the time my daughter will be waking up for her first day of school and wondering how I can connect with her before we get on the bus for a four hour road trip to the Mutendere area.
Praying, I trust in you. Help me to sleep one more hour.
A new day. And a prayer. Maybe I needed this night Lord? In a place where everything is literally out of my control. To experience what it feels like to trust you. It’s a wild feeling. But I think I’m ready. I’m open. I will trust you and I won’t forget how good you are.
And…this one is hard Lord. I trust you with my baby girl. As she rides her bike to school thousands of miles away. With her daddy and sister at her side. I know that she is held, not only in their care, but in yours. And I’m not afraid. Tears well up because I know she is beloved. I ask for you to give her courage and joy and understanding. I trust you.
I thought I’d be shocked by what I saw here. Instead, I’m shocked by what I saw in me.
The truly unbelievable part of the aftershock is that there was and is so much grace and mercy for me. Only love. Only encompassing embrace by a Father who knows my heart, when I wake up, and what I need.