Everyday we walk 45 minutes to get to ministry. The last part of the walk is a massive hill that leads us to the village where we are serving, and after sunday dinner and a nap its hard to get motivated to climb this hill and go to church. Yesterday as I was walking I noticed all the children filling up water jugs from the muddy creek at the bottom of the hill. Instead of internally whining I decided to get some perspective and climb the hill the way they do everyday, with a 2 gallon jug full of water in each hand. I thought it was hard carrying myself up the hill, but with water in each hand my arms quickly got tired and every part of me wanted to drop the jugs. But the giggling children shouting “mzungu” and running to get a glimpse of the white girl carrying water spurred me on.
When I finally reached the top and strolled towards the church, my exhaustion kicked in and I did not want to join the wild worship that was going on inside. By God’s strength I entered the village’s church, a hollow brick room with a tin roof and red dirt floor. As soon as I walked in the presence of the Holy Spirt swept over me. The weariness in my achy muscles faded and the joy of the Lord invaded!
These people climb down a hill and back up just to have water in their homes. Their clothes are as filthy as their bare feet, and they still dance uncontrollably praising the Lord. They literally jump and dance so hard that a cloud of red dirt forms around them.
I thought to myself, “There is no way I can keep up with these Africans.” Still, God is made stronger in my weakness and we danced for hours with the Holy Spirt and red dirt covering us.
