On Monday morning, we woke up to find that a vehicle had
been stolen from our property in the middle of the night. It was there when we
said goodnight, and it was gone when we said good morning. Nothing left behind
except broken glass.
Instead of saying the words that might have popped into these oh-so-holy missionaries’ minds, we
started the morning giving thanks. The visiting team was borrowing the vehicle
and lost a credit card and an expensive baby stroller and carrier in the theft.
They set the tone by praying for the thieves. And speaking blessings over the
baby that would be carried in the carrier. The mother even said that although
her first instinct might have been to
rip the baby-carrier away from someone if she saw it walking down the road, she
would, instead, give away the extra accessories that hadn’t been in the vehicle
when it was stolen.
We sang to our God and declared him the victor and the giver
of good things. We gave no credit and no attention to the one who comes to
steal, kill and destroy.
As the dust settled on University Village (the property we
call home) on Monday morning, we headed straight for the red dirt of Dwaleni. I
took a team to visit a family of five – five children living within four
windowless walls, which enclose just enough space for the queen-sized bed they
all sleep on. HIV has wrecked their immune systems, and none of them has been
able to escape TB (Tuberculosis) in their cramped quarters.
Their father is dead. Their grandmother abused them. The
mother steals money and disappears. They are 20, 17, 15, 9 and 2 years old.
They cook on a pile of sticks on the days they have food. When I asked what
they wanted prayer for, they asked if we’d pray that they could get
electricity. They’ve been waiting on the electric company since 2010.
With tiny, 2-year old hands wrapped around me, we prayed for
more than electricity. For the Power and the Light that are everlasting… and
for electricity too. And food. And comfort. And provision. Prayed for a way to
build them a bigger house. For the oldest to be able to go back to school. And
for the perpetual abandonment by their mother to be cut off in the name of the
Father’s Family.
That was Monday.
And Monday was the day we started calling this week Miracle
Week.
The same Monday we woke up to find that something had been
stolen from us, God gave so much more
than that. He provided in full, on that day, enough to secure our home,
this fertile soil for discipleship, community and a hope to rise up. This week
the money was wired over to purchase University Village - $77,000 in the last 2
months!
And the same Monday we found a house full of orphans with
nothing of value on this earth, we called them family and wrapped them in love
and new blankets.
“Africa time” was overcome by the agenda of the Kingdom this
Miracle Week.
Within one week of meeting this previously forgotten family,
God provided food, education, school uniforms and supplies, the beginnings of a
process for financial and physical security, and tear-streaked hope.
On Monday, there were empty eyes. On Wednesday, there were
streaming eyes and a trembling voice saying, “I am happy.”
Weary and revived.
Longing and satisfied.
Desperate and thankful.
This is what Miracle Week looks like.
We live in the middle of miracles every week. This week we
looked for them. We had to.
Jesus kept his disciples confused by saying things like,
“The Kingdom has come and the Kingdom is coming.” The promises, the provision,
the hope, the everything has been finished
by His death on a cross. And it’s all coming.
Lifa and I love each other completely. His biological family
calls me his mother. So does the Father. We are family. A Miracle family. That
has been fulfilled. Finished.
I haven’t seen him in 7 weeks. The news I received this
week, during Miracle Week, says that the times we’re together are only be getting
shorter as the times we are apart will get longer. There is not a document at
all, much less one that calls us family. Nothing on this world seems to align
or agree with the promises we know.
The promises have been made. He does not conflict Himself.
He cannot be unfaithful.
In making the promises, they have been fulfilled.
The Truth has come and the Truth is coming.
That’s the miracle.
It’s full of tension because we were designed for the
fullness of heaven, all promises completely fulfilled, His Kingdom Come… and
we’re here on earth bringing it as best we can.
Miracle Week isn’t full of rainbows, butterflies and fairy
Godmothers.
There’s no magic wand. Not even glitter.
Miracle Week started on a week called Passover 2000 years
ago, and now it’s every week. Miracle Week has come and is coming.
Miracle Week has left me with swollen eyes, a sunburned
face, a broken heart, a consuming peace, a lot less gas in my car, sticky
kisses, and a new playlist on my iPod.
Miracle Week is pregnant with promise. Miracle Week gave
birth to hope.
I couldn't resist... |
Call out the miracles with praise.
Cry out from the in-betweens in thanksgiving.
He’s faithful. He’s good. And He’s the only Constant.
He hasn’t forgotten and He will not forsake.
“The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some
understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but
everyone to come to repentance.”
2 Peter 3:9
Faithful local volunteer carrying donated food to the family of 5 |
Oh, my heart! Thank you for allowing God to guide your fingers to type words that blow people away!
ReplyDeleteThis is a beautiful blog, Kacy ... Knit-a-Square is blessed to share in your ministry, your love for people and your infectious attitude of gratitude !!
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