The dark

The dark is so mysterious – all the creatures and dangers lurking within its shadowy cloak – that I keep my eyes peeled.
It makes no difference. Blink, black. Blink, black. Only black.
It might explain why I nearly toppled over when I looked up.
My unseeing eyes were trained on the invisible path through the bush. My senses were heightened to anticipate the slightest shift on the trail or rustle in the grass. It never occurred to me to look up before. Way up. And when I did, my previously blind eyes suddenly saw. There they were, like millions of little gems, a tapestry of stars. It was the kind of spectacle that unwittingly drew a gasp from between my gaping lips. All I could do was stagger backward, hoping my stumbling feet would not catch a tree root or a wandering snake. But even if they did, the view would have been even better lying helplessly on my back.
To think, He knows them all by name.
And this is how beauty keeps creeping into my life. I am just wandering around, minding my own business when suddenly I am confronted by something so marvelous I not only can’t find words, I find I’m staggering backward, trying to get the whole picture.

The dark is indeed so mysterious – all the disease and dangers lurking after hours – that I keep my eyes peeled.
It makes no difference. Blink, despair. Blink, despair. Only despair.
It might explain why I nearly toppled over when he spoke up, my new friend Zachariah.
My faithless eyes were trained on the invisible path through the bush. My senses were heightened to anticipate a solution, any solution to ward of the despair. How DO you let this happen, Lord? All these orphans! It never occurred to me to look up before.
My new friend, Zachs, speaks with compassion in his eyes. He speaks for the gogos and the mages, the brave women of Africa who are humbly bringing the kingdom of God.
“She may not have money or a nice car or a big house – so no one wants to hear her at church. But to that dying man she visits, as she washes his body, as she sings to him, as she hears his story and asks, “Do you know how much Jesus loves you?” she heals his heart. She is the hands of Jesus.”
It’s not about food. It’s not about education. It’s not about AIDS.
To think, He knows them all by name. Every man who lies dying in his hut right now. Every little girl who in this moment just became an orphan.
All I could do was stagger backward, hoping my stumbling feet would not catch a tree root or a wandering snake. But even if they did, the view would have been even better lying helplessly on my back. It might have foreshadowed how humbled I need to be.
And this is how beauty keeps creeping into my life. I am just wandering around, minding my own business when suddenly I am confronted by something so marvelous I not only can’t find words, I find I’m staggering backward, trying to get the whole picture.

Did you know Africans volunteer exponentially more time than any other people in the world?
Did you know the women who do the actually caring for orphans for Hands have been known to carry food parcels to children, when they and their families have themselves not eaten for days?
Did you know that God uses the foolish things of this world to shame the wise?
I just found this out.