"And EVERYONE who hopes in Him purifies himself as He is pure" – 1 John 3:3
Dear Diary,
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! HALLELUJAH!
I can see again. With tears streaming down my face and the glory of the living God shining in my heart, I can see. I see no darkness around me – only light. I see the light that I saw every so often in the midst of my youth. As you know, life hasn't been easy this past year. I always thought taking care of a family was going to be a walk in the park…but it isn't. Whether it be the crying at a time when I'd rather sleep, not enough food to go around, or just the bitterness towards the community who looks down on what I do to make money…life isn't easy.
When I saw the crowd on the street outside of the barber shop, I knew something must be going on. If nothing else, a lot of people in one area meant it would make it easy for me to find some money for the evening. Then I heard the voices. Not of my own kind, but of the white people. The mzungos. Why were they here? I've seen white people before, but never in the village. They don't come to these parts. They are usually better than that. Why did they come all this way? And why were they inside that barber shop talking to the men with such passion? I didn't understand any words they were saying at first…then I heard a name. Jesus.
Jesus. Jesus was a man I knew once. I had looked to Him for the answers and He showed me the way. When things got hard though, I turned from Him. My life got flipped upside down and when rough times hit, He was nowhere to be found. So I turned to another man. Then another. Then another. Night after night I would go with men…sometimes not even to a bed in a house, but to a field down the road or sometimes on the road, and they would have their way with me. For a couple hundred Franks, it was worth it. After all, if Jesus wasn't going to provide for me, then I would have to provide for myself. That's what we do in Rwanda. We fight. We survive.
You know the rest of the story. I've written about it countless times. Jesus was nowhere to been seen in my life. I like to think that He was there though. Maybe it wasn't rain all those days? Maybe it was His tears for me? Who knows. I just didn't know why was He showing up at a time like this? As the white people walked out of the building, I saw them gather around two young men. They began to circle them and pray for them. What were they saying? Why was I so intrigued? Why did I feel a tugging?
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
I'm glad I did because what happened next was nothing I had expected.
As I saw them get done praying, I saw the respected man I had once known. Pastor Robert. I was reminded of a time in my youth when he helped show me the way. As I talked to him and some of the white people, I realized I didn't know what words were coming out of my mouth. “I need to repent” , “I don't want to be lost”, “I need help” … “I need the Jesus you were just talking about”
The more I spoke, the more the crowd grew. Not every day people see white people surrounding a prostitute…at least one in rag clothes like what I'm wearing.
The white people had asked Pastor Robert if they could go back to my home. My home? What home? I live in a box. Two other girls share it with me. It isn't a home…it's hell. But before this moment, hell was everywhere I looked. Something inside me told me to do it though. Allow them to come. So I did.
As we got to the house, only a few of the white people came in. The women were beautiful. And the man was quiet…but I sensed confidence. And gentleness. In all of them. They all looked different. They were happy. They were not just a dirty street whore like myself, but they were everything I wanted to be. Why were they so lucky? I was hoping they could show me the answers…and they did.
When they entered the room, I fell to my knees. I knew I had wanted Jesus back in my life. I wanted to feel the God they were talking about. I knew what I needed to do. So in tear filled yells, I began to scream out the things of my past. The things of my past that I knew were not worth carrying around anymore. I confessed. I repented. I begged for forgiveness. As I was doing this, I felt their hands. I felt the power with each touch on my body. With each touch, something inside me … this Holy Spirit they were praying about, overpowered me. I was filled with emotion like I've never felt and the tears rolled for what seemed like hours. The words 'freedom' , 'worthy', 'daughter', 'pure' and 'redemption' filled the room as the white people yelled them out to their God …their Jesus.
The one girl placed her hand on my head and begged God to free me of my past. When she spoke, she spoke beyond the surface of my dark skin. She spoke to my soul. Each word was the breath of fresh air that I had been searching for. These prayers of the white people were my heart's longing. They were saving me from the drowning of my life.
As I sat there, I felt one last touch. It was gentle. It was filled with peace. Filled with joy. It was of Him. Of Jesus. The one they were talking about. I saw His face. I heard His voice…
…the same things were said. Freedom. Worthy. Redeemed. Daughter. Princess. With each word He spoke to my heart, my past began to erase itself from my heart. The scars of being a prostitute and adulteress woman were healing. I was being made new. I was being made perfect in this man's image. He told me it was how it would be from this point. How He would hold me in His hands. Despite not knowing exactly what was happening…I trusted. I trusted for the first time in years.
With prayers and tears filling the house for the next thirty minutes or so, I started shouting out the victory in my heart. The freedom that rushed through my blood. I'm sure the white people thought I was crazy. After all, they don't seem to know much Rwandan.
With each praise I gave, I only felt peace. I realized that the street whore was not my identity. That my past sin and struggle will not define who I am in the image of this Jesus that is alive in my heart. He's always been alive in my heart. I just covered Him up with dust of the streets. And now…now I choose to live in the joy, not the dust. My weaknesses will never defeat the work of Jesus on the cross. I am Fiet. And I am free. I am worthy. I am a daughter. A beautiful, pure, holy daughter and now I have a Father. A strong Father. A Father who will provide. A Father who will sustain. A Father who can protect. And that's enough. That's enough for me for the rest of my life.
When the time came for the white people to leave. They told me their names, but I didn't remember them. But I will remember their faces. Each one etched into my heart and memory forever. Beautiful. Not just mere white people, but brothers and sisters in Christ.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Amen to Him.
***The picture above shows Fiet. She's in the middle. Not only did she have Jesus come back into life, but she got up in front of the church on Sunday and led a worship song. Such a strong testament of the power of God and the beauty that comes with redemption. ***
The events of the day I wrote about above are true. It may not have happened just as I said, but it's how it felt. My team and I got to pray for a group of women who wanted to turn from their ways and have Jesus fill their heart again. Each one carrying more hurt and pain than I've ever seen. As I did my best to capture the moment, I only scratched the surface. The power of the Holy Spirit in that room was too much for my words. It was overpowering. Whether it was Fiet coming to know the Lord and hearing her screams and yells of repentance or Clementine being so overcome by the power of the Holy Spirit rushing and pumping through her body that whatever was inside of her was cast out, I can't explain what fully happened. I don't have the answers, but I do know that God was in that room. And that there is POWER in the name of the Jesus. And that we are a generation who has the power to do great things for the Kingdom and that we will do things that are greater than that of Jesus. We just have to trust it. We have to allow the Spirit to use us…and we have to welcome it.
First off, thanks for everybody for the support that has been given. I made it to Africa safe and sound a couple weeks ago. However, I am still a little bit away from being fully funded to continue the rest of this incredible journey that I'm on. If you'd like to partner up with financially and help me reach women like Fiet and Clementine you can do so two different ways and now would be the PERFECT time.
First, you can click the "Support Me!" tab on the left of my blog and it will take you directly to the website to donate by credit card. Or, CLICK HERE! Secondly, if you'd like to partner up with me by check, you can do that as well! Make it out to AIM and on the memo line write CRANFORDKENT
Send it to:
Adventures In Missions
PO Box 534470
Atlanta, GA, 30353-4470
Each and every donation goes 100% towards helping me show the love of Christ and to expand the Kingdom of the living God.
Thank you and much love all around!
