Flying

Flying- Our heads pushed back into the seats and we took off into the sky.  Surrounded by gigantic, white, fluffy clouds and a never ending blue horizon.  Then suddenly, a dark triangle extruding from below the clouds.
The top of Mt. Kilimanjaro. A new perspective.

I looked out my window and snapped a quick photo.  It is not everyday you see the top of a mountain when it hides in the clouds.
A new perspective.  From above we saw this bigger picture- the world outside of the walls of the USA.  We stepped onto the plane and we stepped out of our comfort zones.  We left all things comfortable for all things foreign.  We once looked up to a journey ahead, now we looked below from a journey's end.
Flying over a new world.  A new horizon.  A new point of view.
The top of Mt. Kilimanjaro.  A new perspective.
From below we observed is the journey ahead.  The end of the hike out of reach.  The top hid in the clouds.  A walk by faith, not by sight.
But from above we observed the journey's end.  The end of the hike at our fingertips.  The top of the mountain resting in the floating clouds.
The glory of a walk by faith.

Flying- Our heads pushed back into the seats and we bounced onto the runway.  Surrounded by green fields and rolling hills.  Then suddenly, a memory of the flying and the dark triangle.
Mt. Kilimanjaro. A new perspective.

He clothed me

A tiny little child slowly following behind my every step.  She tugged at my skirt with lifted hands and silent smiles.  A barefoot child in tattered clothes with a dirt covered face gazing at me.  I reached down to pick up the little girl.  Her tiny hands exploring my face, feeling my skin, poking my teeth, and pinching my cheeks.  I wanted to hold her forever, but I put her down and reached into my bag.  I grabbed a rolled up green and white dress tied together with a white ribbon.  She reached for the sky and I placed the dress over her shoulders.

What was once a tattered piece of cloth covering her tiny body, now was a pretty dress.  Her dirt-covered, crusty face smiled big at me.  She tugged on my skirt to be picked up.  I held her in my arms and told her my story.

Like her tattered pieces of cloth covering her tiny, fragile body, I was once clothed in tattered rags.

Like her dirt-covered face, I was once dirt-covered by my own choices.  I tugged on His robe.  I smiled silently up at him.  I did not know what to say.  He reached down to pick me up.  I explored His Truth and discovered who He was.  

Jesus Christ my Savior.  He clothed me.  He clothed me in a garment of salvation.  He clothed me in a robe of righteousness.  He clothed me in the gospel.  He clothed me in the blood of His son.  He covered my shame.

A tiny little child slowly following behind His every step.  I tugged at his robe, with my lifted hands and silent smile.  A barefoot child in tattered clothes with a dirt covered face gazing at her Savior.  He reached down to pick up this little girl.  Her tiny hands exploring His face, feeling His skin, poking His teeth, and pinching His cheeks.  He wanted to hold me forever, but He put me down and reached into His bag.  He grabbed a rolled up green and white dress tied together with a white ribbon.  The child reached for the sky and He placed the dress over her shoulders, the dress of salvation.

This is my battle...

"For whoever loses his life for My sake will find it..."
This is my battle...
My battle of questions, of doubts, of fear.

Here in a desert land of the spiritually dead, I ask, "what will everyone think of me?"

While, a daughter hears gunshots, before she hears of the Risen Christ.  A son sees the blood of his mother spilled, before He sees the blood of Jesus on the Cross.  A father tastes the sting of death, before he tastes the sweetness of His love.  A mother touches the coldness of death, before she touches the nailed scarred wrists of her Savior.
I question....
This is my battle.

"If anyone will come after me and deny Himself..."
This is my battle...
My battle of questions, of doubts, of fear.

Here in the states, in a place where they ask, "Why", I ask, "Why not?"

While, the people thirst for a living water they've never tasted and hunger for the Bread of Life, they have never met.
I question...what holds me back?
This is my battle.

"For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses himself?"
This is my battle...
My battle of questions, of doubt, of fear.
Here on my couch, with my headphones in, and the fan spinning.
While my brothers and sisters around the world fight for the spreading of the Gospel.
I question, but then I remember, there is hope.  Our God is sovereign.  So I wait.
I will deny myself, I will lose myself to follow.
This is my battle.

Jesus

Each day we walked from hut to hut to tell families this message.  I told them about the strength in my life.  My soul's delight.  My purpose to fight.

Jesus.  This is the story of His life.
A man who walked alongside the broken life, fishing for men.
A man who breathed life.  A man who healed.  A man of compassion.  A man who loved and changed the course of history.
This man they crowned King of the Jews.  This man they hated.  This man gave us life, and in return had his life taken from him.  This man with nail scarred hands.  This man they spat on.  His flesh torn and his clothes stripped.  This man gave up His life.  This man gave up all things comfortable.  This man even left his Father.  This man left all His possessions.  All because He loves us.


Three days of tears for a lost friend.  Three days of rejoicing for the death of an enemy.  Three days of tears, then eternity of an empty tomb.
This man who walked the earth was lifted in the sky.

This man who breathed life and healed now sits at the right hand of God.  This man they call Jesus.  They call Him Messiah.  Alpha and Omega.  Crucified as the King of the Jews, now the King of Kings.

Three days and this man conquered the grave.  Stone rolled away.  Nail scarred hands.  Three days of tears now an eternity of hope.
Jesus.  This is the story of His life.

Jesus.  This story of His life changed the lives of thousands in Tanzania and Malawi.  These people finally heard about the Christ who died for them.  Hours away from any city.  No electricity.  No store for food.  Only sunlight and fields to farm.  Eyes had never seen a white person.  Ears had never heard this story.  Hands that have never touched a Bible.  They heard.  They saw.  They believed.  And they told.  And they sing.

A light

A dead end, a sharp pain, a screech, and a cry.  A life in darkness full of agony and misery.  The path to pain.  A life in the light full of healing and rejoicing.  The path to freedom.

While the feet are dancing, with a voice rejoicing, the bottles emptied, the bruises healed, and the life was saved.

Quietly she revealed her secret, a darkness brought to light, like the break of dawn in the coldness of night.

There was a new beginning, a "thank you" whispered, a tear falling, and the chains collapsed.

A light breaking the darkness.

The life of a daughter.  

Sip by sip

We hopped out of the jeep each day when we reached our village.  Each day would bring new stories and new battles.  We would divide up the our national friends and begin our journey hut-to hut.  But each day we would find time for one thing.

My friend, Mary, and her students

At 1 PM each day she would pour a concoction of hot fresh milk, real sugar, and hot black tea into our small cups.  Sip by sip, we would lose ourselves in conversation, after losing ourselves in all that happened that morning.  

Sip by sip-

Rather than gulp by gulp.

Glancing over the landscape around me.

Sitting under the mango tree.

Our friend Joseph-
he accepted Christ the first day,
then took us to his family

Slowly, the beauty captured me.

Sip by sip.

We shared our stories.

Joseph took us to his wife and children.

Mary taught her students.

This man led his dad to Christ.

Slowly, amazement settled in.

Sip by sip.

Thousands heard the Gospel.  

Thousands received the Good News.

Slowly, reality began to settle in.

Freedom

It was the last day.
Our last few hours on bumpy roads.
Our last day spent in Mitundu.
Then we would climb the steps to board our plane back to the states.



I am set free.
It is for freedom, I am set free.
Chains are broken, so-
     Our hands may reach out to save
     Our feet may take a stand
     Our voices may declare the Truth
     As ear may turn to hear
     Our light shines in the darkness.
It is for freedom, I am set free.

Chains are broken, so-
     The drugs can be flushed away.
     The alcohol can be emptied.
     The fist can be released.
     The bruises can heal.
It is for freedom, they are set free.

On our last day, singing flooded the streets of Mitundu, as we declared the Truth.  Lives were washed clean, as our hands reached out to save.  Grace covered lives, as our feet took a stand.  Ears heard the Truth so that hearts were changed, and lives began to heal.  The Gospel was shared.

The chains of sin were broken by the blood of Jesus.  In Mitundu, the drugs were flushed down stream.  The alcohol bottles were emptied.  The fists were released, and families began to heal.

For freedom I am set free to proclaim, so that for freedom they may be set free to do the same.