Written October 11, 2012
As we set out to climb the mountain,
my heart was a llittle apprehensive.
I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to ignore the things in my heart for much longer…
As we came close to the summit, the incessant thorn bushes gave way to rocks.
Big ones.
Rocks that were hot to the touch and held for a moment,
but then slid away under our unknowing feet, giving us a false sense of security.
We climbed and climbed until we finally reached the very top.
We stared out at the sea of acacia trees and mud huts below us,
and the herds of goats and the occasional camel swimming amongst them.
The wind was blowing,
and as we sat down to worship and pray over this land,
my heart was overwhelmed.
As I looked out,
I couldn’t help but cry for the people who live here.
They are so lost…
So broken.
So longing for someone to love them the way they were meant to be loved…
I don’t even have words to describe the pain I’ve seen in these people’s eyes.
And in two days we will be gone from this place, never to come back.
I don’t understand God.
I don’t understand what the point of this is.
What is the point of mutilating young girls and then selling them to 45 year old men?
What is the point of a life spent being a slave?
What is the point of a culture that says women are not allowed to go to school?
That they are worth nothing…?
What is the point of a culture that says men are allowed to sit around and drink all day, and then come home and beat their wives?
What’s the point of a life with no hope?
How do I walk away from this and never come back??
How do I just leave these kids knowing that in a few years, they will be mothers?
Now that I have seen it,
I can’t ignore it.
I can’t pretend these things aren’t happening.
But I also can’t fix them.
Not on my own at least.
Sometimes being a missionary is so flipping hard.
Sometimes I don’t want to look at all the disgusting perversion this world has to offer.
But it’s the least I could do.
Because if I don’t look, who will?
If I don’t sit on the floor with a naked baby and wipe their tears away, who will?
If I don’t cry with a women who’s son has been murdered, who will?
If I don’t laugh with a 15 year old who already has 4 children and make her feel like she is a kid again, who will?
If I have to live in this culture and see the pain and the sin and the evil for two weeks,
it is the absolute least I could do.
Because I know that I get to go to a nice house with hot showers after these two weeks.
And after that, I get to go home to a family who so loves me and a father that protects me, who will never sell me.
I get to go home to a bed and a shower and more food and money than I know what to do with.
And they stay here.
I don’t understand why.
I don’t understand why I was blessed enough to be born in Canada and not here.
I am no more worthy than they are of that life.
I am no more deserving of a hope and a future than they are.
And yet in all my brokenness that I feel for these people,
I know that God is good.
I have to know that He is always good and always has a plan.
I have to know that even though I am leaving this place and most likely won’t ever come back,
that God will never leave this place.
He will take care of the children I’ve come to love.
I have to trust Him.
And trust that He sees what I cannot.
That He knows what I can’t know.
And that He loves with an unrelenting, all-consuming love.
And as I slid my way down that mountain,
my heart ached.
But I know that my God is greater.
And maybe that’s all I ever really need to understand…
