Out of Control

I can't help but weep as I think of her smile. I can't help but weep as I dream of her grasp on me. I can't help but weep as I desperately cling to this fading memory. Where is she now? I shudder just thinking of this question, but it lurks deep inside of me. Is she even breathing? This girl whose name I never even learned has changed my life, opened my eyes, and has been used to capture my heart forever. Because I held her for fifteen minutes, I can't ever let her go. She's my baby. My sweet, smiling, dancing African orphan.
When I recall my trip, she's the face I can't get out of my head. We spoke a different language, yet I understood what she needed without uttering a single word. She needed to be held, to be lifted off the ground. She needed hope, and love, and peace, and rest. And in that moment I was able to give her enough. Yet, the one working there wasn't me. I may have been there physically, but in reality it was the Lord using me to touch that precious girl that was really satisfying. But as I set her down, and walked away, I caught a glipse of the immense love the Lord has for His children. I couldn't bare leaving her in a place out of my reach. I pressed my sweaty palm to the window of our departing van, as I watched her smiley face fade away. I tried to hold onto any control I had left, hoping my will could prevail. I weeped as we drove away. What would happen to my baby in her poverty stricken, parentless, and seemingly hopeless world?
As these thoughts spun through my head, my longing turned into anger. I didn't understand how my loving God could let that girl suffer. I sat in bed, pounding my fist into my matress, but no amount of force could take the piercing sting out of my heart. Friends told me I couldn't be angry with the Lord, that this isn't his fault. But that just made me more angry until I was out of control. And that was just it, just what I had to realize. I'm not in control.
See, I believe Satan was playing a game with me. He was forcing my mind to go to the worst places. I would imagine my baby being a victim of rape. I imagined her starving, helpless, hopeless, and alone. I was trying to protect her anyway I could, but from and ocean away not much could be done. I needed a solution.
And then the thought came back to me. I'm not in control echoed through my head. Finally I realized that I had to give control to the Lord. He's the solution, not the cause. I fell on my knees and I pleaded with the Lord. I begged Him to save my girl. I cried out to Him saying take control, Lord take control. I asked Him to protect her, to provide for her, and to let her know that He is her forever Father. I continue to pray for her everyday, for all the children the Lord used me to hold, and for the ones out of my grasp.

As I continue to pray, another thought rolls through my head. I pray for the Lord to cure sickness and pain, and to make His truth known throughout the depths of the world, yet I realize now that the church is the way His will can be accomplished. He wants to use us to make his truth known, to spread his love, and to love on the orphaned, the sick, the impoverished, and the starving. We are his hands and feet, his body. It's not enough to just pray. Don't get me wrong, praying is so, so important, but as His body we need to act. We are called to love actively and generously, and we don't have to go half way across the world to do that. Is your neighbor a Christian? Have you loved on them recently? We aren't called to force the Lord upon them, we are called to love, and hope that through that love they may see Christ. Sure we can share the love of the Lord with them through words, but if those words aren't backed by action, what good are they? What meaning do they really have? So let's love, and as the body let's take action. Let's not let one more child live with a heart that reads starving. Let's not let our neighbors live with a life that screams lost. Let's allow the Lord to work through us in love, so His will may be done. Let's be equipped with ears that hear the whisper of the Lord, so we may follow Him all the days of our lives, loving with the abundance that he loves us with.
That's my only hope anyway, that's my only hope for my prayers to be answered. I may not be able to touch my girl from America, but God can answer my prayers through someone nearer to her, and use them to hold her while I'm here. God's arms stretch farther than I can imagine, and His church is everywhere. I am comforted because I know that as I pray, God is sending a servant to hold my girl, and He, He's holding her precious heart.

Father of the Forgotten

She weeps
Body sprawled upon a diminishing heart beat
Without peace
Not understanding what this means
The dirt floor becomes mud
Drenched with the downfall of tears
From not one, two, or three
But six
Now orphaned children
They watched their mother leave
Half relieved she's escaped the pain of her disease
HIV
Where will they turn now?

Add six to the millions
Of parentless children
Roaming the streets
Forgotten

She screams
Sold to slavery to provide for her five siblings
Not knowing it meant losing her body
The memories flashback
Like a hurricane of pain
If only she could escape
But she's bruised and lame
Where could she go anyway?

Add one to the millions
Of sexually abused girls
Just trying to provide for their family
But not understanding reality
Forgotten

She sinks
Hollow cheeks
Cracking bones
Never has she felt so weak
Her mouth dries out
Unable to remember her last drink
A drop of water falls from the pipes
Like a helpless child she sticks out her tongue
And it tastes so sweet
A glance of hope in her starving world

Add one to the millions
Of starving children
Just striving for a possibility of provision
But never getting rescued
Forgotten

He bleeds
Filled with pain and anguish
Abandoned and weak
Hung out to dry
Spit on and mocked
His bones are broken
Hands and feet with nails driven through them
Totally alone
Separated from the greatest love He's ever known

He's the one who feels the crucifying pain
He's the one that knows what it's like to feel alone
He's the one who stands with the forgotten
Because He knows their story
He recognizes them as His own
And He, He remembers them
The forgotten
They're His children