Light My Lamp

I patiently waited outside the “douche” (or “shower”) and stood guard for Emily because this “shower” was not exactly what you might think of when you think about the shower in your bathroom. It had four concrete block walls, but such a large door that, practically speaking, there were only three. Your head could peek over the top and see the wide-open space where people walk to haul their water from the well. Oh, and did I mention the shower head? There’s not one. Just the bucket you bring with a little cup to use to pour on yourself.  

After Emily finished, she complained of feeling a little sick, so I told her “no problem” and let her go on back to the house. I didn’t mind being alone for a little while. I hung a piece of fabric to serve as a shower curtain. It didn’t stay up by itself, so I used my clothes on one side and my soap on the other to hold it up at the top.  

By this time, the sun had set and the stars were coming out. I turned on my headlamp and set it on top of the concrete wall so that I could see. The tiny sliver of the moon peeked over the horizon, and I felt quietly peaceful by myself on the African plain.

Until my headlamp rolled off the wall and everything went suddenly dark.  

I froze with my head in the upside down position because I was washing my hair. 

I waited for my eyes to adjust. They didn’t. I flipped my head back, slinging cold water down my back, and waved my hand in front of my face. I still couldn’t see a thing. We are talking middle-of-the-African-wilderness, deep-cave-like darkness here. I reached down only to find that the batteries had spilled, so I fumbled around in blindness trying to figure out which ways the batteries fit. My heart was beating so fast and my hands were trembling so much that I underestimated my own strength and broke the plastic casing right off the headlamp. I dropped everything again and just left them there this time.

I thought about yelling for help, but the house was a good 100 meters away, and I honestly couldn’t bear the thought of waiting and not knowing if they heard me or were even coming to help. I reached for my clothes, only to knock them off the wall with a splash. Of course they landed in my bucket of bath water.

The only thing left was the shower curtain cloth, so I pulled it down and wrapped it around myself. I only knew the general direction of the house, and there was no way I could find the path, so I started high-kneeing it through the tall grass, trying not to think about snakes and scorpions and lions and tigers and bears…oh my.

I am sure that I was a sight to behold when I finally made it to the house, which by the way feels more like 400 meters in the dark. Wrapped sloppily in a piece of fabric with hair tossed back, water dripping off my nose, and a look of “I just survived the African wilderness” in my eyes.  

We got a good laugh out of the incident that night, and Ruth and Emily still make fun of me. “You should write about that on your blog!” Emily said.  

“Emily, you find a spiritual application, and I will write about it,” I replied while still slightly frazzled from the experience.  

But the message came to me the following morning when I sat down to read my Bible. I read Psalm 18.  A section of it says: 

For it is You who light my lamp.

The Lord my God lightens my darkness.

By you I can run against a troop
And by my God I can leap over a wall.
This God – his way is perfect;
The Word of the Lord proves true.
He is shield for all who take refuge in Him.

I thought about how scared I was in the thick darkness the night before. I remembered how fast my heart pounded. I am usually a pretty fearless person, so I had tried to reason with myself in the moment to no avail.  Everything is worse in the dark.  

And these people of Kimini, they dwell in absolute darkness. A darkness thicker than what I experienced. It is a darkness of heart and soul because they do not know Christ. How terrifying it must be to live in fear and bondage to the kingdom of darkness and the ways of the world, which say that God is distant, uninvolved, and must be constantly appeased by ritual and sacrifice. It is like not being able to see your hand in front of your face, not knowing how to put life together to make the pieces fit, not knowing which way is home or how to get there.

After I made it to the house, Emily gave me a solar lamp that allowed me to wash the soap out of my hair and finish my shower. Just that tiny light brought such a great amount of comfort and security. I was no longer afraid.

In the same way, the name of Jesus “lights my lamp” and shatters the darkness. These people of Kimini must not be left in the dark. Not after what I experienced, and not after realizing that their darkness is a thousand times worse and a million times more real.

The passage from Psalm 18 ends with this promise. “The Word of the Lord proves true. He is a shield for all who take refuge in Him.”

God promises that He will gather the nations to Himself and collect a body of worshippers from every corner of the world. He promises that when He sends His Word out, it will produce fruit. I believe that God has a chosen people in Kimini, and He knows who belongs to Him. He will be their shield. He will light their lamp and flood the land with hope and truth and salvation. Because of this, I take great hope in reading, “The Word of the Lord proves true. He is a shield for all who take refuge in Him.” 

Until then –until the kingdom comes and the light of the gospel pierces the darkness – please join me in praying for the Lord to light lamps in Kimini and shatter deep darkness. Pray for the gospel to burst forth in glorious, hopeful, brilliant light.