One year ago today I woke up with a song of determined hope
in my heart that, against all odds, we would hit water in the stubborn ground
of the village of Lomas del Pansillo; because I was not more sure of anything
else than my uncontested belief that our God is a God of miracles.
One year ago today I was kneeling on Nicaraguan ground,
with empty, mud-caked hands raised praying for God to shatter the earth below
our feet.
One year ago today I was sitting at the controls of a drill
rig humming, Hosanna, save us,
because we needed a savior that day.
One year ago today I stood paralyzed, not knowing what I
was feeling - the words to describe it still escape me - as we were told that the
ground was unbreakable with the only drill we had available to us.
One year ago today I asked God to break my heart for what
breaks His.
One year ago today I stood looking into the beautiful face
of the little boy who just the day before had stolen my heart a little more
with each pass of the soccer ball, toss of the football, dip of the bubble wand
back into the bottle; as he asked me (in Spanish), “Did you find water?”
There is not one moment before or after that
day where I have felt so helpless, so powerless as I did then. Never. Not only because I couldn’t
figure out what he was asking and needed our lead driller and new friend,
Douglas, to translate, but because, no,
we didn’t find water. We didn’t accomplish the very thing we [thought] were
there to do and there was nothing we could do about it. “La roca… la roca es…
um…” I struggled to explain as I helplessly looked at Douglas and he told
Christian that he should go home and talk to his mom about it. With eyes, words and a heart full of grace, Christian looked up at
me and said (in Spanish yet somehow I understood it clear as anything), “You
don’t know much Spanish do you?” “No”, I laughed through tears. “It’s okay, I
don’t know much English,” he sweetly replied as he smiled and walked off and
out of my life. More tears then. Even more tears now.
One year ago today I was sobbing in a rocking chair as I
listened to worship music trying to make sense of it all. Endless sobbing that
made my eyes hurt.
One year ago today I tore apart every word of John chapter
11, trying to figure out what it was that God was trying to tell me as my
prayers started to sound like those of David in the cave, wondering why God had
forsaken his people.
One year ago today God used that chapter in John to remind
me that he had not forsaken, and will not ever forsake his people. That nothing
is wasted and all, good and bad, is for His glory. I was steadfast in my belief
that no hardship would ultimately end in death but that God would be glorified
through it and that if I believed, I would certainly see His glory (John 11:4;
John 11:40).
Above all, I was convinced that Jesus
loves us. He loves every
single person on that trip and every single person in Lomas del Pansillo that
still does not have access to clean drinking water. Yet, He is sustaining them.
He is protecting them. He loves them. Oh, how he loves (John 11:33, 35-36, 38).
I was sure of
all this yet, I was weary. I was
worn to my end. I was done. But we still had work to do. A new village. New
people. I didn’t want to do it.
One year ago tomorrow a little girl refilled my heart with joy
as we pirouetted and danced through her home. Her smile reminding me of the
hope that we have, the love that there is in this life. Her sass and
“I’m-in-charge-here” attitude showing her strength and reminding me that there
was still something to fight for. Her bliss
brought mine back.
Our God is faithful.
In the past year
I’ve learned more than my head and heart can contain as a result of the pain
and joys of that trip. Actually, I think I knew all of the things that I
“learned”. To say, I now really, truly, with everything I am believe these things, is a better
description.
I believe that it is important to think
critically, but not to be overly critical because, to some degree, you’re
probably wrong anyway.
I believe that our God is a God who breaks chains.
He showed me this when he ceased an anxiety attack within minutes of me crying
out to him. The only reason I had the strength to cry out was because I
remembered what it felt like to realize how much Jesus loves me, and to
understand how sovereign He is. I was loved, I could know - have known - peace.
I believe that Jesus loves
us. Oh, how he loves us. How his very heart beats only for us alone.
I believe with much more
fervor and fight now, that all people are beautiful. So, so breathtakingly
beautiful. Talented, worthy, intelligent, capable, made for a purpose beyond
what any of us will ever be able to comprehend.
Out of her own
experience of unexplainable suffering, Sarah Bessey says, “And because of the joy made deeper by suffering, my own soul was
hungry for meaning and purpose and wisdom.”
Yes.
I wrote all this
and almost decided to not post it. I needed something for myself. Something
that was my own. Sharing meant someone else could take ownership of my
experience and I didn’t like that. This is mine. Yet, what good is unspeakable
joy if it is not shared? What good is experience, revelation, knowledge that
changes your life if it is not shared? What good is knowing how to love but not
loving? None.
So here I am,
sharing, loving, hoping, dreaming, believing, crying. I would love for you to
join me.
Clothed in abounding hope, joy, and peace,
Kelly
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