Enter in. My creative journey into the heavenliness, into the heart of Love, where intimacy with my King overflows in ministry, mercy, missions, miracles, music, and mysteries.
"For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, "Abba, Father." Romans 8:15
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
To Tell Their Stories: CHRISTINE.
I've decided to tell their stories. The stories of the people I've met. The stories of the lives I've seen changed or maybe just wanted to see changed... This is the first of a series I'm going to write...TO TELL THEIR STORIES. Hope it will awaken something in the hearts of those who hear...their stories through my eyes.
She slept in a room with a concrete floor no bigger than a closet. She was always awake around 6am running to wash the dishes. Then she would begin washing clothes by hand scrubbing her fingers raw. She built a fire and boiled water for drinking morning tea. She continued her chores throughout the day, scrubbing floors, cooking meals, washing more dishes and clothes. She was a hard worker and she was only… 14. She was shy with a quiet humility but her mouth always smiled when you called her name. I wondered how she’d gotten there…what her story was.
Her Mom had become sick and alone in the village. She couldn’t take care of her. She couldn’t afford to feed her, clothe her, or much less, send her to school, so she was sent out to the city as a worker. The catch was that she wasn’t being paid for her labor. She was a domestic child slave.
I burned at the thought. She should be in school. She had such a sweet spirit and a deep strength about her. She deserved a chance in life just like everyone else.
The only thing I knew to do was to get her into school and out of the house she was working in. The team I was with banded together to make it happen. We agreed and committed to sponsor her monthly, to lay down our lives, to sacrifice, in order that she might have some freedom, hope, and a chance at fulfilling the calling of God on her life. We knew it wouldn’t be easy for us to do, to afford, but we agreed to do it...together. She beamed with delight and wept with joy when we told her.
I later found out that when she was 9 she watched as her father was murdered before her eyes. I would stay up at night with her as her grief was finally released years later through her sobbing. A soaked pillow and jumbled English about how much she missed her Daddy, about how much she loved her Daddy reminded me of my own journey. I let her cry and reminded her of her Heavenly Daddy who is always with her, watching over her, providing for her, healing her heart, and will never leave her. I also learned that when her father died...she had to quit school since her mother was unable to afford it.
Tears filled my eyes when just a while later I was told that her mother finally came to salvation in Christ, overwhelmed at the kindness of God to send Christine to school. I was overwhelmed by the thought. A small gesture led to the salvation of a soul. A destiny was fulfilled, and a soul was saved. The entire village was brought to revival by the mercy of God. I was publically honored with singing and dancing and a joyful parade of African song at her village’s church, which seemed so unbalanced compared to the gift. I realized through that experience the significance of educating an African child.
It was such a small step. It was just the right thing to do. It was justice for what was robbed from her. It was God in His mercy watching over His precious daughter. It was God in His mercy breaking a heavy burden off of a desperate mother. It was five young people feeling God’s heart and trying to make a difference in someone else’s world. It was a wave of gratitude sweeping over a poverty stricken village.
It was love. And this is love. To remember. And to tell her story.