My God Is Powerful

I know what it’s like…

To feel the cool breeze in the morning while laying in my hammock over looking the beautiful sun coming up over the horizon-touching the hills far away to the tops of the coconut trees around me. I know what it’s like to be far away from technology-where nothing buzzes or beeps and the only people to know how I am doing are those around me. When we ate, there weren’t computers or phones out, only conversations focused solely on the person talking. Magic, these past ten days have been. I’ve been covered in dirt with no way to wash it off and running up hills laughing and smiling. I know what it’s like to appreciate the smell of clean skin and the thankfulness of indoor pluming, but honestly, it’s worth the trade off. 

I know what a real community of people looks like. They care and love so deeply about each other and even to a little group of strange people that come ranging in on them. As I sit and talk with these people after moments of showing up, I’m reminded of back home. Back home, where if someone were to walk down the wrong street, guys with guns would begin to ask you why your on their street-in their community. It’s a hard and cold way to protect each other, but here, I know what it’s like for a community to open its arms to what has to be a group of some really strange people. They have very little from those back home, but will give you everything. It’s just there way. Actually, if you measure wealth by money, you’ll never be rich. Wealth is measured by the riches you have with others that is given and invested.

I know what it’s like to love. It’s not a give and take, but a continual giving-not because of anything, but because you can. Love is not knowing what someone is saying, followed by a big hug and kiss. (Language barriers). 

On another side, I know what it’s like to be hungry-an actual hunger. I can picture what it’s like for millions of children all over the world who don’t have enough food, but forcing themselves to walk-to keep going on. In these past 10 days, I choose not to eat some days, because I wanted to know what it was like for some many children and people. I understand how cold a night can get and how precious a river bath can be on a dusty day. I know what it’s like to appreciate health and healthcare where others may take their mouthful or teeth out because they don’t know when they may see another dentist again. I know what it’s like to treasure water and why those in Africa seem to fight over it. It’s what keeps is alive and I’d be lying if i didn’t say that every morning I was somewhat selfish as I firstly ran to our gallon container of water to fill my bottle of water just to make sure I had some in case we were to ever run out.

Most importantly, I know what it’s like to really value a social worker’s perspective. People are people no matter where you go, Each has their own hardships either with teacher in schools, hunger, thirst, domestic violence, gambling, drinking, smoking, corruption, wars, divorce and so on. Everyone does through something. Were all human beings no matter where we live. None better, none worst. Each like another. We all only know the world around us that we see. Either huge cities of wealth like in the US or small wooden shacks like in Nicaragua. Sometimes we don’t understand what we have because we don’t know what others have to live without. We also don’t understand the beauty in the simple things like the nature around us until you know how beautiful a non-technological world is. Most of the time, we think how poor other countries are and value ourselves more, but we have a lot to learn. People every where see their little world day in and day out, same needs, same problems, Were all in need of others though. Love matters, love has purpose, without it, evil blurs in. But still, we meet people where they are at, listen to what their needs are and not what we think they are, give them hope, hugs, and love. Like one social worker I ran into in Nicaragua said, “There is no reason to cry, through education there is hope and future.”

I always here people telling me that I’m so bold in my faith or my mom telling me that I don’t need to share everything. My view, is that our secrets are prideful. All those cobwebs spun around corners of my heart where I hate to enter or look at— and to actually clean, would be all too painful. Those types of secrets where you don’t like to tell, those that are kept to seem better than the world. Those prideful secrets that we keep from others. I can’t express to you enough how amazing it is when you humble yourself and you talk about abortion, rape, lust, or whatever the Holy Spirit nudges you to share, revealing so many people who needed to hear that they aren’t going through it alone. So yes, it’s pride in my life that keeps those dark places hidden, but if humbly exposed, God uses for His glory.

So, I hate secrets and will loudly tell anyone who listens, that I am a wretched sinner, knowing that it’s not about me, my reputation, my anything, its about my Jesus. Not us, but Him-to Him goes all the glory, not  us like we some how jumped out of the pit-with our hopeless lost selfs. 

“What happened wasn’t God’s will (Sin enter the world and therefore theres evil not), but God can always use what happened for His will” (Using Jesus to save us, us helping others)

We pray for children
Who sneak popsicles before supper,
Who erase holes in math workbooks,
Who can never find their shoes.

And we pray for those
Who stare at photographers from behind barbed wire,
Who can’t bound down the street in a new pair of sneakers,
Who never “counted potatoes,”
Who are born in places we wouldn’t be caught dead,
Who never go to the circus,
Who live in an X-rated world.

We pray for children
Who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions,
Who hug us in a hurry and forget their lunch money.

And we pray for those
Who never get dessert,
Who have no safe blanket to drag behind them,
Who watch their parents watch them die,
Who can’t find any bread to steal,
Who don’t have any rooms to clean up,
Whose pictures aren’t on anybody’s dresser,
Whose monsters are real.

We pray for children
Who spend all their allowance before Tuesday,
Who throw tantrums in the grocery store and pick at their food,
Who like ghost stories,
Who shove dirty clothes under the bed and never rinse out the tub,
Who get visits from the tooth fairy,
Who don’t like to be kissed in front of the carpool,
Who squirm in church or temple and scream in the phone,
Whose tears we sometimes laugh at and whose smiles can make us cry.

And we pray for those
Whose nightmares come in the daytime,
Who will eat anything,
Who have never seen a dentist,
Who aren’t spoiled by anybody,
Who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep,
Who live and move, but have no being.

We pray for children who want to be carried and for those who must,
For those we never give up on and for those who don’t get a second chance.
For those we smother … and for those who will grab the hand of anybody kind enough to offer it.

-Ina J. Hughs