Sitting on a broken bench taking in the beauty of the Anchor Center and its vast characteristics I caught a quick breath of ease. I wasn’t yet at home but there was a peace in my heart that I hadn’t felt the first three or four days.
Motions of life surrounded me. A gesture of people cleaning up and grooming to the best of what they had for Sunday morning service. Service was held in a room that served partially as sleeping quarters for our team, quickly transforming into a house of God for Swazi children.
I found myself outside myself soaring like a kite in the breeze. The air was damp and fall like in many ways familiar to home. This was a rare treat for our geographic. Nsoko, Swaziland is well known for its parched lands and dust storms. This morning however was different, it was wet with anticipation and a sort of confidence in spirit like God was going to provide.
One of our more urgent prayers for this country was for rain. And I never knew by sight, how without the presence of water life would grip for existence. Water; an entitlement in my mind became like Gold or a precious recourse for vitality the moment I met the community I was living in. And it both amazed and tainted me that us western missionaries living with less than ever before, were still given more in a day than an entire week or sometimes month supply of what those native to the community received.
She came up to me in the midst of my breath, eyes beaming with curiosity and gladness like I have never seen before. Her little fingers coiled into mine so effortlessly and wrapped in warmth that brought me back to my childhood. She wore a darling red beanie and scarf, sown from the same thread, probably by an older sibling or village woman in her community. She gazed at me. Her face had a way of telling a story of old and new. I walked with this little one into the Multi-purpose room across the playground where church was being held. She allowed me to pick her tiny little body up and place her on my lap, while we waited for service to begin.
Service was like nothing I had ever experienced before. A woman from the back began leading the entire room of Swazi’s in a rhythmic friend’z that seemed to message “He is my Hope”. Many different songs were sung with echoes from their cultural tongue, however I couldn’t begin to describe what it sounded like. It was beautiful. The power in observation drew out emotions in me that I hadn’t felt in so long. It was as if the atmosphere around me was symbolic for the type of spiritual life I was walking, Christ was bring me out of a dry land and into something of great revival. Through the hands of a small child and tranquility in the room I felt known. I felt deeply loved and pursued, and closely wrapped in the arms of the Father.
