It seemed like any other day. The African sun was shining bright and everyone was ready for another day at the refugee camp. We hopped on the bus to journey that bumpy yet very familiar road. As we rolled up to the camp we noticed less kids than usual, but I just figured they had already gone to class. I started walking to our little tin classroom. As we approached the room, there was none of the usual ruckus. In fact, there was no noise at all. Each wooden desk was empty. My team and I turn to each other in confusion.
“Where do you think the kids are? Do you think there is a holiday?”
With no response or idea of what was going on, we decided to leave the room to meet with our ministry host. He told us we would have to leave, so we all met back up on the bus.
“What is happening?” I say.
One of our ministry hosts, Jordan, said, “The refugees’ religious leader told the kids to not go to class today. They don’t want the frenchies (that’s us, and what white people are called in Ethiopia) to talk to the children about their religion.”
My thoughts started swirling around in confusion. This whole statement was odd to me. We had been going to the refugee camp for 2 months now and never spoke a word of God to the kids because we were informed not to from the start. Why, all of a sudden, did the religious leader tell the children to not speak to us?
We had only loved on those kids. We never once harmed them. How could this happen with only a few weeks left in this country?
I came back to reality, by now the chatting on the bus had grown in volume. I overheard a conversation of someone saying that they were hit with rocks and told not to hold the kids. After hearing about this occurrence, a scripture came to mind:
“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have troubles. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
John 16:33
Even though our situation was not to the extent of how religious people in the past have been treated for their beliefs, I could not help but feel persecuted. That was something I had never dealt with before. It was all so new to me, but that’s when I realized that the spirit of mercy had visited me. I did not hate the Ethiopians, I did not want to hurt them, or stop seeing them. No, I wanted even more to fearlessly love them.
We were not sure if we would be able to go back to the camp, but with hours of prayer, we saw the Lord’s faithfulness at work. After a couple of days we were allowed to see the children again. The mountains that God had moved for us to be able to go back to the camp were so very evident.
When reflecting back on this day, I see how God was preparing me for what is to come in my life after the Race. When thinking about going back to the states, I have plenty of fears. One of my biggest fears is that people are going to look at me differently. That they are not going to understand why I am not the same Abby, why I am not partaking in old habits. But as I write these words, I realize of how sweet it is to have people look at me differently. I have an identity in Christ. I have a powerful story that testifies God’s glory and mercy. All I endured was because of God’s grace. I could have never made it to see this day if it was not for Him meeting me in the pit that I had put myself in. So it’s simple, I would be a fool to not live this life for Him.
If people are not looking at you differently, if they are questioning your joy, if they do not understand why you are loving those who persecute you, then maybe there is more you need to surrender to Him – because I’ll tell you one thing: once you encounter the Holy Spirit, there’s no doubt that you will want to live this life completely for Him.
