Last
Sunday I came to the end of myself. It was an exhausting,
heart-breaking, agonizing, freedom-filled day. And I don’t want to
ever forget it.
It
began as soon as I woke up with waves of extreme fatigue and nausea.
I had volunteered late the night before to give the sermon at one of
the two churches we were scheduled to visit, and so when we piled
into the matatu (mini-van) after breakfast, I still was unclear about
what God wanted me to preach on. As soon as the matatu was on its
way, the nausea and fatigue worsened. I strained to hold up my head.
The spiritual, physical, emotional and mental attacks this month
finally broke me.
“God,
I can’t do this today. I’m done! I’m over Uganda. I’m over the
spiritual attacks. I’m over the sleepless nights. I’m over leading.
I’m over preaching. I’m over being a missionary! I can’t do this.
Please, Jesus, I can’t preach today! I don’t even know what you want
me to preach on.”
“My
power is made perfect in your weakness.”
“Huhhhh.
Okay, Jesus. I’ll preach, but please tell me what to preach on by the
time I stand up in front of the church. And please don’t let me be
sick on the dirt floor.”
We
arrive at the small church late and everyone’s waiting for us in
their Sunday best. One child is naked. As soon as we arrive, we’re
introduced by our very own pastor George to the new congregation. It
was our first visit to this church. While Martha gave a testimony
about the recent healing of a woman’s tumor in a nearby village, I
looked over at Pastor George. He looked so sad and defeated. You see,
his six year old niece had died the day before from malaria. His own
six year old daughter was sitting on a bench listening to Martha’s
story. I suddenly got furious at satan’s schemes and I knew what God
wanted me to preach about on this particular Sunday – The Armor of
God and Freedom in Christ! Thankfully, the Lord gave me the
scriptures needed to share His message.
I
stood up and instantly felt dizzy. “God, give me strength.”
“My
power is made perfect in your weakness.”
“I
believe you Lord.”
I
prayed and I preached, and I didn’t throw up on the dirt floor. God
is faithful. It wasn’t my best sermon by any means, but the pastor of
the small church said he was encouraged. And I heard several
times,”Amena! Amena!” from our pastor George. I prayed that he
was comforted and empowered. If he wasn’t though and no one else was,
at the very least I was obedient. Kicking and screaming, but obedient
nonetheless. That’s all He ever asks of us.
Be
sure to read Exhausting, Heart-Breaking, Freedom-Filled
Day Part 2
