Faith In Her Eyes
I walked softly and delicately into the courtyard and gently approached the elderly woman laying on her mat. When I came close, she sat up slowly and extended her hand to greet me in a beautiful expression of Dagara hospitality. She was wasting away; skin clung to her collar bones. Her cheek bones jutted out, making her sunken eyes even more noticeable. It was like all the life left in her shone through those brilliant, bulging eyes and in those white teeth that glimmered when she smiled.
I didn't know what to do when I saw her. I wanted to weep at her frailty, I wanted to shout in anger at the injustice of her poverty. I wanted to scoop her right out of her suffering. But when I saw the way her eyes sparkled and the way her cheeks wrinkled up when she smiled as she talked about the Lord, I wanted to wrap my arms around her and praise God with all the joy in my heart.
The unwavering faith of people in poverty and suffering astounds me. It washes over me and transforms me from the inside out. It makes me ask if I would be as faithful in such circumstances. It makes me wonder what she knows and understands about God that makes her sparkle so.
They brought me a chair, but I sat down beside her and shared her mat on the hard ground. I extended a black plastic sack with some fresh bananas from the market as a gift, and she accepted it like it was a pot of pure gold. As we sat under the shade on a hot afternoon, we talked about how God is the shade at our right hand when life is heated up by suffering (Psalm 121).
We prayed together. She wants nothing more than to gain enough strength to walk so that she can go to church and praise God in the presence of many people. God will grant her request, but I don't know if it will be on this earth or not. He is totally able to heal her to walk again, but we also know a place awaits us in heaven - a mansion with many rooms prepared for us by the Savior himself - where there will be no more tears or mourning or suffering or pain or death or poverty or HIV and tuberculosis. Where she will not only walk, but twirl and dance without pain and trembling. I prayed along those lines, knowing that God will answer this prayer; we just don't know if it will be in the way we expect.
He gives and takes away. May his name be forever and always blessed.
She told me about an event coming up this weekend on a sacred mountain in a nearby city. People from many different religions go up on it to pray and fast all night. "Do you think I will be able to make it to the mountain to pray?" she asked with sincere desire in her eyes. I looked at the woman before me, struggling to breathe as she sat up and leaned back on her fragile arms. "You don't need to go to the mountain to pray," I responded. "It doesn't matter where. It matters to whom you pray and how your heart is before him. God hears our prayers whether we are on a sacred mountain or sitting right here on this mat. What matters is that your heart believes."
Watching people hurt is hard, but watching faith shine through in the darkest moments is something so beautiful that I wouldn't trade it for the world. It is seeing faith like this that makes me know that God is here in Burkina Faso, that he resides in the hearts of those who believe in him, and that his kingdom is coming.
I didn't know what to do when I saw her. I wanted to weep at her frailty, I wanted to shout in anger at the injustice of her poverty. I wanted to scoop her right out of her suffering. But when I saw the way her eyes sparkled and the way her cheeks wrinkled up when she smiled as she talked about the Lord, I wanted to wrap my arms around her and praise God with all the joy in my heart.
The unwavering faith of people in poverty and suffering astounds me. It washes over me and transforms me from the inside out. It makes me ask if I would be as faithful in such circumstances. It makes me wonder what she knows and understands about God that makes her sparkle so.
They brought me a chair, but I sat down beside her and shared her mat on the hard ground. I extended a black plastic sack with some fresh bananas from the market as a gift, and she accepted it like it was a pot of pure gold. As we sat under the shade on a hot afternoon, we talked about how God is the shade at our right hand when life is heated up by suffering (Psalm 121).
We prayed together. She wants nothing more than to gain enough strength to walk so that she can go to church and praise God in the presence of many people. God will grant her request, but I don't know if it will be on this earth or not. He is totally able to heal her to walk again, but we also know a place awaits us in heaven - a mansion with many rooms prepared for us by the Savior himself - where there will be no more tears or mourning or suffering or pain or death or poverty or HIV and tuberculosis. Where she will not only walk, but twirl and dance without pain and trembling. I prayed along those lines, knowing that God will answer this prayer; we just don't know if it will be in the way we expect.
He gives and takes away. May his name be forever and always blessed.
She told me about an event coming up this weekend on a sacred mountain in a nearby city. People from many different religions go up on it to pray and fast all night. "Do you think I will be able to make it to the mountain to pray?" she asked with sincere desire in her eyes. I looked at the woman before me, struggling to breathe as she sat up and leaned back on her fragile arms. "You don't need to go to the mountain to pray," I responded. "It doesn't matter where. It matters to whom you pray and how your heart is before him. God hears our prayers whether we are on a sacred mountain or sitting right here on this mat. What matters is that your heart believes."
Watching people hurt is hard, but watching faith shine through in the darkest moments is something so beautiful that I wouldn't trade it for the world. It is seeing faith like this that makes me know that God is here in Burkina Faso, that he resides in the hearts of those who believe in him, and that his kingdom is coming.
You have many gifts, not the least of which is your ability to use written language to share your feelings and emotions. Thank you for what you do, may God continue to bless what you do.
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