“How precious did that grace appear, the hour I first believed my chains are gone, and I am set free”-Amazing Grace
Streams of water pour forth from my eyes, dampening my cheeks and chin. A faint sob escapes my lunges, slow and steady between gulps of breath. My eyes closed tight, I sink into the moment, into this moment. A moment of such grace, such beauty, and such power. An endless montage of beautiful faces rolls through my mind, pounding away madly at my heart. I feel the sweet and beautiful wreckage of this moment and I revel in it, for this is the gift the Father has given to me in such lavishness.
It’s sometimes difficult to capture in the most eloquent or finest of words the very movement of the Lord in my life, yet perhaps in vain I attempt to collect the myriad of thoughts and emotions into one single page, one single blog post. India has captured my heart and run away with it in wild abandon. It wasn’t in the breathtaking landscape that can only be viewed through the mere roll of film at the cinema, yet in the most unlikely of places, the slums of Bangalore. Let us go back to the beginning.
During our seven-hour layover in Moscow, I found myself anxious and restless, stir-crazy from the endless hours of travel both behind and ahead of us in our journey to India. Taking comfort in the companionship of my ipod and Bible, I began to pray over the month ahead. Nervous about the challenges ahead, my heart thirsted for more, for God to do more in me. I prayed a simple prayer, that God would wreck me in such a beautiful way this month for His people, for His children, for His kingdom. That I would fall madly in love with His children, that my heart would see and feel the things that He sees and He feels. That I would see through His lenses and have my heart broken for the things that break His. I simply asked for God to wreck me.
Fast-forward to our first day of ministry in the slums of Bangalore, and the Lord did just that, He wrecked me to my inner core. He began with a man named Lureka. While cursed with the strange combination of dibates and HIV, more than a moments glance into this mans eyes I found find such joy, such hope that in the few feet of that dirt covered alley way, I nearly fell to my knees overcome in tears of thanksgiving and praise. His toothless grin spreading ear to ear, revealed to me the heart of Gods beautiful child. And He wrecked me.
Almost content with the brief minutes spent in the company of this sweet man of God, our pack of ten continued deeper into the slums to the wild and violent wreckage ahead. At the home of a small community of believers, our hearts were broken at their stories of obedience, of a love deeper and stronger than earthly bonds and relationships amongst a culture thickly laden with the religion of content. The wreckage came like a tidal wave, when our small number was prompted to pray the mighty prayers of healing over a young believers eye would had gone blind from infection.
Praying over this man’s eye I found myself begging and pleading with God for healing, my heart aching to see the miracle at hand. My prayers growing stronger and stronger, tears streaming down my face in a violent fashion, I was captivated by the beauty of this moment of power and victory and all the prayers singing wildly around me. Prayers of faithfulness, prayers of restoration, prayers of praise and thanksgiving. Over and over the words of Amazing Grace found there way pounding into my head. “How precious did that Grace appear, the hour at which I first believed my chains are gone and I am set free.” The hour at which I first believed. The hour at which I first believed.
Sobbing hours later on the rain-dampened rooftop in India, fireworks a burst across the horizon, I feel the physical weight of my afternoon in the slums. I try to shake the gravity of the moment, shake myself into a place of comfort, yet my heart aches in a wild and rampant way. The tearful eruption doesn’t lighten the load, but my heart is joyful nonetheless, a confusion to the senses. "God why I do these tears flow? Why am I broken for your people? Why I am overwhelmed?” The sweet melody rings inside my head once more. “How precious did that grace appear the hour I first believed my chains are gone, and I am set free.”I believed that hour. I believed my God, my King, was the Healer of man. I believed in the His restoration, in His redeeming graces. “How precious did that grace appear the hour I first believed.”
My heart exploding in wild thanksgiving, a flash back of the purity of the moment our friend covered his eye and searched for the light. Searched for the light. And he saw, the gleam, the sliver of the flourenct bulb above, and his heart rejoiced. My heart rejoiced. He couldn’t see the fingers thrusted before him in a wild attempt at sight, yet his smile spread, and my heart ached. It still aches, that strange joyful ache. Begging for an articulation of these wild emotions, I opened the pages of the book I’m currently reading One Thousand Gifts and found the profoundness of these very words fitting to my souls rejoicing:
“The lunar pearl overwhelms and I am all eye to the world. It is strange, how joy pains. In the burn of the ache, there is this unexpected sensation of immense moon slowly shrinking and God expanding, widening and deepening my inner spaces. Is that why joy hurts-God stretching us open to receive more of Himself”
-One Thousand Gifts
I’m told to savor this place, to savor the beauty of my heart breaking. As I question why something so precious can hurt so much, I feel the weight of his wreckage on my heart, and I explode into thanksgiving for God widening and deepening my inner spaces. I take such joy and delight that He is stretching me so that I may receive more of Him. More of Him. I’m thankful for the wreckage, for finding such sweet, beauty in it. For it is the hour at which I first believed.
