The roads are dirt,
and so is my skin
after the bus ride in.
Curled up on a foam mattress
on the floor
I don’t have anything more
in me.
We walk slowly
through the street
people try to greet
us with the only English they know.
We’re on display, a show
.
Here we go.
An hour to get to ministry
in our same town
but by the time matatu drives us around
it’s late in the morning.
Here! Speak without warning!
Most of the time confused.
But that shouldn’t be news
by this point in the game.
Same same.
I feel lame.
Or maybe that’s the malaria.
What’s a little parasite?
Everything is alright,
but most of the time it feels like it isn’t
because I’ve hit my limit.
So I’m glad God is limitless.
Trying my best,
but that’s not very good.
Neither is the food.
Oh, my mood.
It’s pretty bad.
Trying to be glad,
but my flesh thinks it’s entitled to stuff,
and what I have isn’t enough.
Even though joy isn’t based on circumstances
.
I’m so glad for second, third, a hundred chances
that God gives me to repent
and fight this earthly tent
I’m living in.
Each month a new sin
for me to fight.
A new chance to choose to walk in the light.
So glad my Father hears my pathetic plight.
Because sometimes I take my eyes off of Him
and put them on the washed out road instead.
Potholes, mud, fear up ahead.
Miserable flesh.
Trying my best
to be like Paul,
rejoice, joy through it all.
But I still fall.
And then I learn
more about what I can’t earn:
His grace.
Because I fall on my face
so much, I should be one big bruise.
But God is an amazing plastic surgeon.
Fixes my skin
and underneath it too.
Better than new.
Relying in Him to get me through.
I can do
all things through Christ who gives me strength.
I think
I’m going to make it.
I can take it.
Because He’s taking it with me.
And also helping me see
just how blessed I am.
For the rain, and roti, and bus rides that don’t make me cry,
and the people who just try
to make us feel at home
And Sabina and Grace
and the music at this place
And our own space
in the house
and now in the hotel.
All is well.
I fell
but he loves me in my mess.
So I guess
I guess that’s what Tanzania is teaching.
I need to start listening to the stuff I’m preaching.
Because I need to hear it too.
Joy is found in You, Father.
Joy is found in You.
Please continue to make me new.
