What Hope Looks Like

Sitting across the table from me, she didn't seem very interested in anything about me. She didn't look at me, and she didn't appear to want to talk. Maybe she was skeptical, maybe she was intimidated. I began to wonder if I had chosen the right thing. 

She was about fifty-five years old, just a few years older than my own parents, but the hardness of life had added age to her body and wrinkles to her face. She sat uncomfortably, but that was because she has had a prolapsed uterus for the past five years, and she can't sit or stand in one position for too long without hurting. 

I've taken on the role of "medical case manager" on our team, which means that any medical cases that we hear about get referred to me. The more we help, the more people find out that we can help, and the more people come and find us to ask for help. You can see how it can get crazy pretty quick. I want to help everyone who comes to the door, but I'm beginning to realize that I don't have the financial resources to do that, nor is it what is always best for the kingdom of God. It can turn into one of those "when helping hurts" things. 

That's why the discernment of the Holy Spirit is critical in determining who to help and when to say no. When I heard about this particular woman, Poulezaola, I began to pray for God's wisdom to know if and how to best help her. 

I couldn't sleep one night as I lay in bed praying for her, and a Scripture from James came to mind. "Anyone who knows the good he ought to do and doesn't do it, sins." 

In that moment, I realized that I was thinking too much about 1) my money and 2) the future. Yes, there may come a day (very soon) when my money will be spent and I don't have the resources to take on another medical case for a little while, but that time has not come yet. Until then, I will spend my ressources on behalf of the poor, and I will use it all up in response to the people that God brings to me. 

That's kind of what I told her as I looked across the table at her eyes that wouldn't meet mine.

I said, "Jesus was always healing the sick, and I believe that he has called me to come alongside the sick people here in Burkina as they search for healing. I honestly don't have what it takes to help every single person, but today, God has given me enough to help you." I pulled a few bills out of my bag and continued, "That's why I want to give you this gift today to help you go to the city and have a consultation with a doctor and maybe even an operation to help you find full healing. But don't consider this a gift from me, consider it a gift from God to know that he has not forgotten or abandoned you." 

Her head lifted and her countenance shifted. She looked at me, blinked a few times, and I noticed tears welling up in her eyes - something I have never seen since moving to Burkina over a year ago. I've never seen someone cry or even show emotion in this way, and it touched my heart deeply. That's what hope looks like. 

She opened her mouth and began to praise God. With my limited Dagara, all I could understand were the words for "God", "he is good," and "he helps." That's all I needed to understand. 

Rebeca translated the rest. "She says that when we gets better she is going to come to your house and you will glorify God together." 

I knew that God had led us to this woman, and I knew he had spoken personally to me about saying yes to her cry for help. One word kept coming to my mind: Hope. 

Funny how that's my middle name. I want to live up to it. I want to be the hands and feet and hope of Jesus to the broken people of this world who are so close to believing they've been abandoned or forgotten by him. I want to offer and extend that hope like a gift that comes straight from the heart of God. 

Poulezaola gave me that vision. She reminded me of that hope. I saw what it looks like when it swept across her face and filled her eyes with tears. And I can't wait for that knock on my door one day when she comes and we will glorify God together.