Out in the Open

Hallelujah grace like rain falls down on me

Hallelujah all my stains are washed away

The Williams family (www.williamsinthewilderness.com) and I sang together as Kenneth led us in worship. 

He stopped in the middle of the song and said, "Imagine yourself standing in a field with the rain of Karamoja falling on your face. You're not hiding under the shade of the tree, you're out in the middle, out in the open. The hard rain of Karamoja beating down on you, like the grace of God, washing your stains away". 

He's right. The rains of Karamoja come hard and strong, beating down everything in it's path.

But what caught my attention the most was the idea of being out in the open, fully exposed to the grace of God.

In Celebration of Discipline, Foster states, concerning living in the spirit, "There is no longer the tiring need to hide our inner selves from others." 

Isn't that the truth? Sometimes it's just exhausting trying to hide the sinful thoughts and motives of our hearts. 

But this is truly the way I wish to live, not having anything within my inner life to hide away. 

Not under the tree, missing out on the weight of the rain. 

Not under the tree, hiding in my shame. 

But out in the open. 

Dancing in the forgiveness and grace of Christ. 

Yes, it leaves us vulnerable. Maybe the hard rains of grace are sometimes even uncomfortable, stripping away things in us that are painful, like our selfishness and pride. 

But isn't this the grand plan? Didn't Christ die for our sins to be washed away so we could be made right with God, and walk freely out in the open with him?

There, my friends, is where we are called to be. 

There, out in the open, is where we will truly find life, and find it even more abundantly. 

Take a Look

I knew what the Lord had been speaking to me as I asked him for something specific I should do here in Kacheri. He said to go pray for the sick. Simple.

I was walking to a village nearby when I saw my shepherd friend, Lokong. (He sells us fresh cow's milk each morning that we pasteurize ourselves.) 

I spoke the words I had just learned and rehearsed. "Ayei itwon ediaka? Achamit ayong nga kalipa kin."

Is there anyone sick? I want to pray for them. 

He said yes and began leading me through the field.  He told me there was a woman who had lost her baby that morning. He said, "she is wanting to hang herself with the rope." I said, "you must take me to see this woman." 

As we entered the family's manyata,  she was sitting in the shade of her hut. Beside her, the ground was freshly stained. 

Not from tears, but from milk. 

She was draining her milk, the  one substance God had given her to provide for her baby. It had failed her. I wondered if she felt as if God had failed her also, or if she even knew who God was and that He cares for her. 

I knelt down beside her, and held her hand. And I prayed. I prayed for God to give this woman peace of mind and to come and comfort her. I prayed for that family to come to know Him. 

When we were leaving, I saw the fresh dirt from where the baby had been buried. 

"There's people hurting all around us. Ain't it a shame, we're too busy to see them, too busy playing games."

I bet if you look around at the people you're with right now, people in the store, or your class, your work, your church...I bet if you really looked at them, they may not be crying, but I bet some are hurting. They're all around us, just take a look.