Picture this: a cool moonlit summer evening, relaxing after a hectic day and then you hear it. It begins as a distant high-pitched whiny noise. The sound moves closer, seemingly zeroing in. And then you feel the lightest of caresses, brushing up against your skin. Too late, you swat, and within minutes your skin begins to itch. Mosquitoes!
Last week, while visiting Kigali for the weekend, I had one such encounter. While lying on the couch attempting to fall into a restful slumber, I heard the all-too-familiar whine of what seemed like a swarm. The background hum of their wings was so loud it reminded me of a symphony, softly tuning their stringed instruments.
They had come.
They had come to feast … but I was ready. Before bed, just as the directions indicated, I liberally applied the one hundred percent deet bug spray and even borrowed my teammates mosquito net for added protection.
Even my best preparation was no match for these seasoned African professionals. They got me! Within minutes, I found myself violently scratching my entire body. Little tiny swollen bumps were everywhere. Laying there trying to keep my mind on anything but the insistent buzz encircling my head, I began to see the mosquitoes as far more than just my present annoyance.
I closed my eyes and had visions of those I had encountered on the race. Those who just like me had guarded themselves but were no match for the vicious cycles and ultimately became a product of their environment. That night I entered battle. Not only in the physical sense but also with my heart.
In Cambodia, a single mother of two who was looking for work in order to support her growing babies, was offered a job working as a waitress in one of the country’s ever-popular karaoke bars. Within days of starting this new job she began to receive unwanted advances from the bars predominately male clientele. It began with simple grazes as she walked by but soon turned more extreme. They would forcibly grab her, pull down her clothing and violate her right there as she worked. She had complained to the owner but it was no use. You see the manager not only supported this behavior but he welcomed it. She would have quit but the manager threatened her and her family.
Before long, she was forced to have sex with the men who frequented the bars. She was raped several times a day. Just like the mosquito, the men used her body for temporary fulfillment. Night after night, the men would return to penetrate her without invitation and like me, her body displayed the effects. Small, red, swollen bumps … Herpes! It is a constant reminder of the reality that had become her life. She has since been rescued from this painful existence and now works in a coffee shop for women who have also been rescued from the industry.
In Costa Rica, a man who was estranged from his family and forced to live on the streets had struggled with substance abuse for years. He was an addict and living an empty shell of a life. He stole anything he could get his hands on to support his habit. Like the mosquito, he had no regard and desperately looked for any hole to invade to get his fix getting whatever he could from them. He broke his family’s trust and subsequently found himself living a life of desperation and pain. Now he is clean and has returned to the loving arms of his family.
I just sat in silence and reflected on these people’s lives and why they had been brought to mind. What was I to learn? The Lord pointed out that although difficult, all of these stories ended ultimately with recovery and renewal. I feel the Lord was showing me that he is a God of healing and restoration and he desires to do the same in my life. He wants to bind us the broken places and bring healing to my heart and to my life. He makes all things new!
He also brought to mind a small 3-year-old Thai girl who had no family or at least one that cared for her. Her father was in prison and her mother remarried. Her new husband was not accepting of her child and she chose to move to another province and leave her behind. In her tiny village she was forced to live alone. She became just another one of the street kids with no one to protect or care for her. She was now at an extremely high risk of being forced into a life of sex slavery. She was rescued from this life of desolation and now lives in a children’s home dedicated to giving her the life that she deserves.
As I lay there, the mosquito netting that was draped across my body became symbolism of the protection in her life. Although her father made very poor choices and her mother loved her new husband more than her, God was the netting and her protection; His love is a covering over our lives.
In the quietness of that summer night the Lord used a nuisance to remind me of his constant presence in my life. He sings His song of Mercy and Grace over me everyday. This time instead of the hum of a pesky mosquito, the symphony I heard was that of love.
The love of Jesus!
