God will test your ‘yes.’
I had an encounter with God after returning from Morocco a year and a half ago.
Jesus came and stood in front of me, and I dropped to the floor sobbing and shaking uncontrollably.
He told me to look Him in the eye and I wrestled myself to meet his gaze. The moment was so weighty and I was overwhelmed. The intensity of His eyes…I’ll never forget it.
He asked me if I would give my life to love Muslim people, and to serve in the Middle East and North Africa.
I said “yes” – having no idea what that answer would fully cost me, or require of me.
As I near the end of month nine on this Race, I am growing increasingly thankful for what the testing of my ‘yes’ has brought me.
Like in marriage, when you give your ‘yes’ to someone – you’re committing to what you know of them in that moment, to everything that was before you met them (their history), and all the things still to come (the unknown).
Giving my ‘yes’ to God has challenged me to grow in my understanding of His character and personality, continuing to build a history of trust, communication, and intimacy.
This original ‘yes’ is an all-encompassing-yes followed by countless taking-it-as-it-comes-yes’.
It’s one thing to commit and agree to go into the world where Jesus calls you,
But it’s another to make those daily choices that back it all up.
This why I have become thankful for the testing –
Because it’s teaching me the areas where my ‘yes’ is strong, and where it is weak.
From the rooftop of the church we are living in, I can see the Syrian border and the lights of the refugee camp as I meet with Papa each morning before the sun rises.
My heart doesn’t break for them like I thought it would…
Apparently I came here with expectations about that.
Instead, He has challenged me to notice the Syrian’s eyes.
The name Mafraq (the border town we are living in) also means “crossroads.”
Truly, what God is doing here is breath-taking. The culture He is redeeming and recreating is something only His beautiful mind could have conceived amidst such brokenness and loss.
This place is a cross-roads in more than just the physical – many are encountering it spiritually and emotionally as well – refugees, Jordanians, and volunteers.
I sat with a family this week who’d come from Syria three years ago. Our translator had been meeting with them for nearly a year already. There apartment was simple: Two rooms, tile floors, foam matts that double as beds for sleeping and coaches for sitting, a tv, and a fan. The mother was injured and could barely walk because of the screws put in her leg. The father looked tired and worn, but brightened slightly when he told us about the work he used to do in Syria. There was three elementary school aged children and a baby in the room.
I connected with the little girl mostly. She was probably seven or eight. At first we just smiled and laughed at each other, but quickly figured out how to communicate using gestures and actions. Kids are great at that. We practiced counting to twenty in English.
By the time we had to leave, I scooped her up in a huge giggling hug…followed by about three more hugs because she wouldn’t let me go. We were having fun.
Not all the visits go like this, but one thing has become a common theme for me: their eyes.
In their eyes, I have seen great pain…depression, confusion, anger, questions, hopelessness…the whole gambit of what surviving trauma, war, and displacement brings.
But I have also seen light in a person who feels seen, heard, and valued…that faint glimmer of hope being tasted.
Sometimes we share stories with them about Jesus, and sometimes we just listen to their stories. Regardless, it’s the gospel spoken through relationship that is being emphasized in these visits.
In that particular little girl’s eyes, I saw a child who was curious about who this blue eyed woman with dreadlocks was sitting in her living room/bedroom speaking a different language. I saw a courageousness in her to learn, a willingness to engage and try, a desire to be loved, celebrated, and seen.
Oh how her deep brown eyes would shine as she grinned at me and watch me curiously.
It was like she was asking me if I wanted to know her.
Something we all long for, I think?
I didn’t come to Mafraq expecting anyone to remember my name, or anything that I did during my time here….
I expected my heart to break for these people…
But it hasn’t.
Even as I have heard horrific story after story…
God is impressing on me His heart for their future.
Hope. Peace. Justice. Rest.
So far serving in this part of the world has not looked like I imagined…
My ‘yes’ has been tested.
To be honest, I was worried at the state of my heart when I didn’t feel what I expected regarding these refugees.
This caused me to seek God for His perspective on how I am to view what I am experiencing here.
He said: “You are a carrier of Hope. Look like Hope.”
I am learning what that looks like here.
