headlamp, listening to rain fall as thunder and lightening enter the sky. This
village has not seen rain yet this year. Dirt is cracking. Crops are being
harvested dry. Drought is in full force, yet here I sit.
I am reading Redeeming Love right now and can’t begin to
tell how much it resonates with me. I relate more than I would like to think,
and it is clearly a tool in my breaking process. So as I hear the pitter
patter, I think of her as she puts out tin cans in the rain to have her own
symphony.
I am the only one outside, mainly because dinner didn’t
agree, so the potty shack and me were staying in close proximity. As I sat
there, I thought about hearing how earlier today, the girls prayed for rain and
a drizzle happened. But as we killed the power in the house, our host said to
stop praying for then they will not come to fix the power… Ironic isn’t it.
So back to me sitting as my stomach did gymnastics, I prayed. Prayed for God’s
tears to fall on this place; for the people to see how much He missed them,
wants them, and needs them to know Him. And here I sit in His tears… God isn’t
just crying over Ocnitsa. He is crying over ME. Bambi Bigley. California
native, serving in Moldova. He is crying for my pain, my frustration, my
longings, ALL of ME. He is sad I am still mine, and not all His, and He is
showing me- as I always say, “I need tangible..”
So here I sit, wanting it to wash me clean; wanting to be
engulfed by Him; but all I do I sit and watch from a covered space. For if I
went into it I would not do much but make me cold. I am to hard, just like the
dirt. The rain hits the ground and that is it. No mud is made, for it is not
soft enough. But in time the dirt will soften as the rain continues to fall,
just as in time, so will I as God continues to cry over me, rejoice over me
with tears of sadness and tears of joy. In time I will become soft…
