I walked through the market, with my eyes fixed on the dirt before me. The vendors were animals, bombarding every muzungu in sight. Looking down kept me out of the potential situation of forcing the word “no” off my lips. I’m not good at saying no, especially when needy eyes are peering at me. A short table came into my sight. A copper object caught my eye. I stopped, and unlike the other tents, I wasn’t bombarded immediately. A soft raspy voice, greeted me. “Hello Madame, how are you?’ I nodded a friendly nod, focused on a interesting piece of jewelry lying on the table near my feet. At once, I had a handful of bracelets. Exploring them with my fingertips. They were made of black pieces of plastic wrapped with intricately bent copper wire; but they were special for a different reason. Their significance laid in the creative mind that shaped them into the form that caught my eye. With satisfied eyes, “I’ll take them! How much?” I inquired. “But please, not muzungu price, I’m a broke missionary.” He smiled. “I’ll give them to you for Malawian price.” The numbers he threw my way were much cheaper than what the other vendors asked for. I handed him the Kwacha and smiled. He took my hand and gently shook it. “What’s your name?” he asked with genuine eyes. I replied. “Jaimie” revealing more teeth in my smile. “And yours?” He clasped his hands and slightly bowed his head in a nod. “My name is Hope, nice to meet you Madame.” What a beautiful name I thought and turned. Onward I walked, knowing I wouldn’t come across another vendor as genuine as him. Its people like that in the world that make small moments sincere. I arrived to where the bombarding quieted. It was time to turn around and head back the way I came. I looked forward to passing Hope once more. Most vendors have one desire and that is to rip you off because you’re white. But not Hope, he was different. I approached the table I had shuffled through previously. Hope greeted me like an old friend. It was sweet. In the market most Malawian’s don’t want to be your friend, all they are after here is your USD. I lingered, chatting with him about his business, like a curious friend would. I touched everything on the table as we chatted, knowing I wanted to buy something else. He paused. “I can make you a special bracelet like the ones you have there, custom design just for you.” My eyes lit up. “Okay, but only if you teach me how you make them!” In excitement I followed Him behind his table of goods. He grabbed me a small wooden stool to sit on. He sat down beside me on a crate with his supplies in hand. His materials must have been fresh from some sort of electrical dump. The black cord looked like the cord to my phone charger. He untangled a wad of copper wire. In seconds he had it straightened out like he had done it a million times before. My eyes followed his hands as he carefully bent the once worn looking wire into beautiful forms. I watched as he talked about his love for making things with his hands. He was an artist, not a salesman. He was so friendly I wondered why he was so different from the others. He showed interest in knowing what I was doing here exactly. I explained my plight as a missionary, and my passion for spreading the gospel. He listened with understanding eyes. His smile grew warmer. Its happening, at once, word vomit spewed. “Do you know Jesus?!” I asked eagerly with my faced drenched in joy. His eye brows shot up. “Yes. I’m a Christian, have been my whole life.” His smile showed more of his teeth. That’s it! He knows Jesus, that is why he is so different! The realization appeared on my face in an affirming smile. “Come back with a bible and we’ll talk more.” His eyes wide and inviting. Wow, A Christian that actually wants to sit and talk about Jesus. He finished up the bracelet and secured it on my wrist. “Thank you so much Hope!” Appreciating his work with my eyes. I handed him the Kwacha. “My pleasure, Madame.” Joy parted his lips into a sure smile. BAM! I paused. The Holy Spirit hit me with revelation. Hope just took something bent and broken from the trash and by his careful hand turned it into a beautiful piece of work. What?! My Jesus does that! He watched me awe over my wrist. Hope had eyes that looked at garbage and saw what it could be. So does My Jesus! I looked up and waved goodbye. Hope knew that once he got his hands on some broken cord and trashed wire, it would be transformed into treasure. That sounds like My Jesus! My Jesus, who turns ashes into beauty, like Hope does with trash. I smiled a big smile and went on my way. My eyes no longer fixed on the dirt but instead on my wrist. Jesus whispered to me in the market. “I take crooked things, and straighten them out. But I don’t stop there, I mend and bend them into beautiful things.” I was sure of it then that nothing and no one could ever be too mangled to be made beautiful by the hand of My Jesus.
