I’m posting 2 blogs today, in a short series about where my heart’s been. Both were written around the same time, but I can’t choose between the two – and in all honesty, it’s not like I’ve got an overwhelming number of blogs posted about the month of July 🙂
A Drunken Proposal, the Last Sunday, and a Swahili Song
There’s a man sitting at a table with a beer in his hand,
already half empty at 6pm. By 9:40pm, you’d think he’d have moved, but he’s
still just sitting there. His eyes are glazed over and he has the look of
someone who’s shut himself away; rebellion, fear, pain – something’s brought
him to this place. And it’s this man, with his glossy eyes, who states that
he’d like to marry me. It’s this man, who’s spent most of his night drinking himself into oblivion; this man, who knows nothing about me beyond my name; this man,
with alcohol on his breath and something vile lurking in his eyes – this man
who asks, no, STATES that he wants to marry me. It’s not flattering, not at
all…it’s frustrating, I’m disgusted, I’m tired of it, I want to tell him what I
think of him and give him the reasons why I would never even consider marrying him – but
there’s a voice, a quiet one, one that demands stillness, peace.
Calms the storm. Reminds me gently that I don’t know his
story, just as he doesn’t know mine. Tells me that to love him best, I will
calmly walk away; accept God’s peace to reign over the anger…not demand to know
what right he thinks he has to ask something so bold of me. It says, “Love,
child.”
“Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts…you were called
to peace…”
As I make my way to the front of the church, it’s more
routine than anything else. I’m not proud of it, but this time I don’t even
pray. The guitar in my hands feels like it’s become a part of me, like an addition to my arm or something – I’ve gotten so used to it that I’m more comfortable with it
than without it.
But the worship songs feel routine. I forget the purpose
behind the words; forget the reason I have for singing them. Until the words,
“...I don’t wanna talk about you, like you’re not in the room…I wanna look right
at you, wanna sing right to you...” and it’s like I wake up. I close my eyes and
finally mean the words I sing, and suddenly I find myself slipping away from
where I’m standing, and all that matters is me and God. No one else.
And before I know it, it’s over. And then the service is
over; the last I’ll have in Africa for this season of my life. And I had
expected something extraordinary to happen – expected something that would give
me closure that the time I’ve spent here was for a reason; as if I deserve to
be given a solid reason. But we’re leaving, saying goodbye…
And then a tall man walks up to me. He shakes my hand, and we
exchange friendly smiles, and then he says to me, “Thank you – very much,” I
smile and nod, wondering what he’s thanking me for. He continues, “When you
sing, God’s love for us…I just…” at this point he places his hand on his heart
and looks toward the ceiling, but looks beyond it. A look of peace and joy
floods over his face, and suddenly I understand. I’m once again overwhelmed and
humbled, and I wish so much that I could melt into the floor; Oh Lord, all
these things I don’t deserve to be a part of…and pride just seeps its way back
in and I forget. I forget so quickly, Lord…forgive me…
“…and be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly
as you…sing songs with gratitude in your hearts to God…”
And a girl. Maybe 12 years old…she follows me for a few
seconds before I free one of my hands and hold it out to her. She runs and
latches on to me, pride beaming in her smile as if to say to the other
children, The muzungu is holding MY hand. We continue walking, and she shows no
sign of letting go of me. I sing quietly to her, Mambo sawa sawa. And then
I wait to see if recognition lights up her eyes. It does. And she sings it to
me, Mambo sawa sawa. Then we sing together, Yesu akiwa enzini, mambo sawa
sawa…her voice and mine. The language is suddenly more beautiful than I could
ever explain to anyone; can’t even explain it to myself. Her smile is brighter
than the sun to me. Her tiny, sweet little voice is more powerful than anything
I’ve ever heard, and her laughter brings warmth to my heart. I’m so thankful to
have this moment, so humbled and so thankful.
“…and whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in
the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him.”
I am nothing without love. Isn’t that true? NOTHING without
love. If that’s true, then why is it so easy to forget? Some of the greatest
blessings I’ve received have been in the little things…tiny experiences and
seemingly small miracles…things that might be ordinary at best to everyone else
but are extraordinary to me. Because God makes them that way. So often God has
to show me the purpose before my heart is in it – this blog is a blog of MY
failures, and HIS redeeming strengths in the midst of them. It’s a glimpse into
the world He’s placed me in, and the fact that I can’t do anything good on my
own. On my own, I’m pretty self-absorbed. He’s got to push us, and we’ve got to listen.
He challenges me to love in all situations, and sometimes,
probably more often than not, I fail. I fail to choose love. Compassion. Some
days the love of God is NOT on my lips…some days I decide that His grace will
not be something that I give…some days I’m tired and drained and I think I’m
entitled to a break from everything, when really, the life I’ve chosen is the
furthest from all that.
I chose a life of loving the Lord, and loving others with His
kind of love – a love that’s covered in a grace that never runs out; a love
that stands strong on genuine, pure mercy; a love that is limitless.
“Therefore, as God’s
chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion,
kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience…forgive as the Lord forgave you.
And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in
perfect unity.”
Colossians 3:12-17 (very paraphrased)
