Dry Season Harvest
Greeted by a wave of children running excitedly towards us, I could barely park the moto in time before ten little hands were reaching out to shake mine. I pulled up under the shade of a mango tree in the front of the courtyard, whose limbs hung low with ripe fruit. Mango trees are pretty amazing actually, the way they produce the most delicious, sweetest fruit in the middle of the hottest, driest season of the year. Because there is such little rain, the tree directs all its water and nutrients into producing its fruit. The mangoes are therefore concentrated with sweetness because of the lack of water. In fact, too much rain during mango season dilutes them and takes away the richness of their flavor.
After parking, we did the culturally appropriate thing by going around to each person to shake their hands, including each of the children who wanted to shake multiple times. It was pretty much the closest I've ever been to feeling like a celebrity.
These kids know us from kids club, and they called us "Tanti Ashli" and "Tanti Amelie" with wide, snaggle-tooth grins. It's amazing the impact a home visit can make. It says, "I made an effort to come to you. I want to be with you. You are important."
The real reason we came was to see sixteen-year-old Agnes, the older sister of the family. She has a chronic infection that has left her with lower extremity muscle weakness and pain, and we came bearing the good news that she now has the opportunity to go to Ouaga for further diagnostic testing and treatment. When I first met Agnes, she never smiled. On this day, I finally got to see how beautiful her smile is.
We sat under the shade of the mango tree for a little while, continuing to talk to the whole family and play with the children. The kids particularly enjoyed taking pictures and then seeing themselves on the touchable screen of my tablet.
As we left, I turned around and saw Agnes studying the piece of paper I gave her - a handwritten Psalm 121, which speaks of our guardian God who protects us from all evil during both day and night, a God who never sleeps and who watches over our comings and goings both now and forevermore. As I drove off, she was still holding it, reading it under the shade of her family's mango tree, the tree that bears fruit in the dry season.
Sometimes the grace of God is planted in the heart with a miraculous encounter where the heavens are spectacularly opened and Christ is proclaimed. Other times, I think God's grace is planted like a tiny seed by an encouraging word, a prayer, a smile or a hug, and an offer to walk alongside someone in their times of need. With time, God sends more rain, and the plant bursts forth to bear much fruit. And often, the sweetest fruit is produced in the driest, hardest, most difficult and desolate seasons.
Let us not forsake the seed-planting work. Let us not forget that the richest, most concentrated sweetness comes from the water that we soak up from reaching down deep into our roots during the dry season.
After parking, we did the culturally appropriate thing by going around to each person to shake their hands, including each of the children who wanted to shake multiple times. It was pretty much the closest I've ever been to feeling like a celebrity.
These kids know us from kids club, and they called us "Tanti Ashli" and "Tanti Amelie" with wide, snaggle-tooth grins. It's amazing the impact a home visit can make. It says, "I made an effort to come to you. I want to be with you. You are important."
The real reason we came was to see sixteen-year-old Agnes, the older sister of the family. She has a chronic infection that has left her with lower extremity muscle weakness and pain, and we came bearing the good news that she now has the opportunity to go to Ouaga for further diagnostic testing and treatment. When I first met Agnes, she never smiled. On this day, I finally got to see how beautiful her smile is.
We sat under the shade of the mango tree for a little while, continuing to talk to the whole family and play with the children. The kids particularly enjoyed taking pictures and then seeing themselves on the touchable screen of my tablet.
As we left, I turned around and saw Agnes studying the piece of paper I gave her - a handwritten Psalm 121, which speaks of our guardian God who protects us from all evil during both day and night, a God who never sleeps and who watches over our comings and goings both now and forevermore. As I drove off, she was still holding it, reading it under the shade of her family's mango tree, the tree that bears fruit in the dry season.
Sometimes the grace of God is planted in the heart with a miraculous encounter where the heavens are spectacularly opened and Christ is proclaimed. Other times, I think God's grace is planted like a tiny seed by an encouraging word, a prayer, a smile or a hug, and an offer to walk alongside someone in their times of need. With time, God sends more rain, and the plant bursts forth to bear much fruit. And often, the sweetest fruit is produced in the driest, hardest, most difficult and desolate seasons.
Let us not forsake the seed-planting work. Let us not forget that the richest, most concentrated sweetness comes from the water that we soak up from reaching down deep into our roots during the dry season.
AMEN
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