This is why I do what I do. Send people to minister to the broken-hearted, yet in the process, our hearts break. The only way for Kingdom to manifest itself in these places is for Light within us to step into the darkness, and prove to the world that there’s a greater Hope for it.
From Stephanie Fisk, this heart-breaking story:
It was the typical story. A family of 6. The mom left for
work two years ago and disappeared somewhere in Kazakastan. I assumed a
case of human trafficking. The dad was a shepherd and an alcoholic. The
13 year old was left to take care of her
younger brother and two sisters. They
were awaiting the return of their mom. She was going to rescue them.
work two years ago and disappeared somewhere in Kazakastan. I assumed a
case of human trafficking. The dad was a shepherd and an alcoholic. The
13 year old was left to take care of her
younger brother and two sisters. They
were awaiting the return of their mom. She was going to rescue them.
They slept above the stove and on a dirty mattress right
beside the cat and her three kittens. Brightly
colored bandanas covered uncombed, lice infected curls. Blackened pots and pans with weeks old,
molded food sat on top of the broken chest. Mounds of clothes were strewn across the dirt floor. The smell of
dampened hopes hit me as I entered the room. Through the streaked windowpane, a single beam of light cast a spotlight
on the shattered dreams that hung defeated on the broken bed frame. I could not shake the feeling that something
ugly had taken place in here before.
beside the cat and her three kittens. Brightly
colored bandanas covered uncombed, lice infected curls. Blackened pots and pans with weeks old,
molded food sat on top of the broken chest. Mounds of clothes were strewn across the dirt floor. The smell of
dampened hopes hit me as I entered the room. Through the streaked windowpane, a single beam of light cast a spotlight
on the shattered dreams that hung defeated on the broken bed frame. I could not shake the feeling that something
ugly had taken place in here before.
We cleaned. We
burned, a lot. We cut hair and gave
bathes. We painted doors blue and tore
down cracked walls. Then the mom came
home. True story. The reality was the mom standing in front of
me, holding her 3 year old daughter. The
kid hung on to her mom as though she knew her. The mom had the opposite
affect on the 13 year old. Did the mom really just reappear after two
years? And ironically during the time the church was coming to their
aid? Was she trafficked in the past? What was the
true story?
burned, a lot. We cut hair and gave
bathes. We painted doors blue and tore
down cracked walls. Then the mom came
home. True story. The reality was the mom standing in front of
me, holding her 3 year old daughter. The
kid hung on to her mom as though she knew her. The mom had the opposite
affect on the 13 year old. Did the mom really just reappear after two
years? And ironically during the time the church was coming to their
aid? Was she trafficked in the past? What was the
true story?
I do know she cried. Actually, she wailed. She also
yelled. While I do not know the whole
truth of what was happening before my eyes, I do know there was pain and
brokenness. There was desperation and
separation. I wish that I could wrap up
this ‘story’ for you so it could be beautifully wrapped with a happy ending,
but I cannot. I do know that the church
body in Slobozia is still working on the house and the mom is present. But other than that, the memory remains fresh
and continues to paint a very real picture in my spirit of life in
Moldova.
yelled. While I do not know the whole
truth of what was happening before my eyes, I do know there was pain and
brokenness. There was desperation and
separation. I wish that I could wrap up
this ‘story’ for you so it could be beautifully wrapped with a happy ending,
but I cannot. I do know that the church
body in Slobozia is still working on the house and the mom is present. But other than that, the memory remains fresh
and continues to paint a very real picture in my spirit of life in
Moldova.
