Six days from this very moment, I’m supposed to be waiting in a terminal for an airplane that will take me to these children I’ve been praying for these past months.
Five days ago, I discovered that the visa I was going to buy at the airport in South Sudan is not issuing them on-site any longer.
Three days ago, I was planning on staying in Ethiopia for a few days to get my visa from one of the three South Sudanese embassies in Africa that issue the visa.
Today, I learned that, effective immediately, Ethiopian Airlines is no longer servicing any flights to South Sudan.
When you add the factor that Omar al-Bashir, the president of Sudan, promised today to “free” South Sudan from their government, the picture looks increasingly grim.
It has been a tumultuous five days. I haven’t felt like I knew anything permanently. I was coming to terms with the fact that this trip may not happen in the time frame that I had hoped. And, unbelievably, I’ve been okay with that.
On the World Race, we were constantly told to keep all things in “open palms”. Meaning that, should the Lord decide to take away what He’s given, that we don’t scream and cry and play tug-o-war with white knuckles. We simply let the Lord have what was His all along to give… Or take away.
Tomorrow looks promising. I believe the Lord is not only opening doors, but He’s doing it in a better way. In a way that will all make sense. I believe this. And I speak it into being.
However, if He doesn’t, my palms are open. I’m holding nothing, save what He sets in my hands. Because everything I have, everything I dream, everything I hope, it’s all for Jesus. All of it.
Maybe I’m heading into tranquility. Maybe I’m running headlong into a war zone. I’ve been assured the town we are going to is and has been peaceful, even when the rest of the country has been overwhelmed with conflict. But this whole thing has made me think about a radical concept.
Giving.
Jesus.
Everything.
What if He calls me into a place where war is about to be declared? What if He leads me into a desperate place where I have no answers to all the pain around me? What if I’m with Him in one of the literal darkest, most frightening places on the planet?
As terrifying as this seems, my soul says,
Who is the Gospel for, if not the most desperate?
What is the Gospel made for, if not the most dire situation?
When is the Gospel to ever find a more perfect time than people looking for a miracle from God?
I’ve realized that skirting the dangers for my benefit is not what the Gospel demands.
If I can think of one place that needs the Gospel, it would be a place that, after more than fifty years of civil war is on the brink of another. It’s a place where 85% of people are illiterate and 90% unemployed.
It’s a place that houses 15 of the world’s 16 most deadly diseases.
It’s a place considered one of the least developed regions on earth.
It’s a place recently classified as the poorest nation on the planet.
It’s a place where an estimated 97% of people do not know who Jesus is.
Maybe South Sudan is a potential war zone from a mortal perspective, but it has been a spiritual war zone for years.
I believe God is sending his army, and Satan is doing everything He can to keep us out.
I believe that I’m ready to go wherever He calls, to do whatever He says, and to lose all of myself in the process. I am not afraid of what lies ahead because of The One who has gone before, The One who lies within.
If Jesus is close to the brokenhearted, He is in every aspect of this country. And He wants to put a voice to His presence.
He’s sending us.
And though, tomorrow might bring disappointment, I still will trust.
And though tomorrow might bring jubilation, I still will trust.
And though tomorrow might bring war
and famine
and poverty
and widows
and orphans
and death
I still will trust.
God is never giving up. He’s pursuing His children with all He has. Declarations of war do not surprise Him, neither do they matter. He is bringing His light in the midst of darkness, His comfort amidst the carnage, His truth against the lies.
God is so much bigger than the war. Jesus, much more powerful than the echelons of man. Holy Spirit, more tenacious than any army.
This country will know peace. Though it is not a state of being.
Peace is a person.
He will be their Prince.
Tomorrow, come what may, I know God has a plan. And whether I am jetting towards those red-dirt roads in days, months, years…
God is there already.
He always has been. He always will be.
But He’s letting me be a part of it. He’s giving me the gift of making my life count. Not in the spotless halls of corporate wealth, but in the dirt, holding onto the ones He loves. He’s never letting go of them.
Come what may, He’s never letting go.
