I spent the night for the
first time last week in the house on the land. A rickety ladder and no walls,
but what a glorious time! I feel God closer there, for some reason.
There are no distractions (yet) to be had. It is quiet there, and the
breeze is always sweet over the valley, unless it's windy, then it's
downright wild. Walking across the wooden bridge to Paraíso, the
songs of the different frogs were captivating. One high and sweet,
and the other low and explosive, as if the frogs were little boys
playing a game of war. The house is the last house on the road into the forest, our plot the last plot that the city has agreed could be settled and developed and not many have come to live on their land yet. The nearest neighbors are carbon makers, and their flashlights were dancing as fireflies as
they were preparing to rest for the night. I expect my flashlight marked a first point of light in the house in the black of the night
as I carried my dog Máscara (the Mask in English) up the ladder to sleep. He went resignedly, for
he hates to be lugged about, but I didn't want to make him sleep
downstairs and was happy enough for the company upstairs.
This last week has seen its fair share
of ups and downs. A family that I know only indirectly through a
nephew of theirs, lost a wife and mother to a sudden illness, leaving
a gaping hole in the lives of all around her. Not yet 40 years old, Anita died leaving six young
girls who now will grow up without a mother's advice when they have
their first boyfriend, when they walk the aisle toward the young man
of their choice, and will achingly feel her absence when their first
child is born. A mother leaving a son is heartbreaking enough, but a
mother leaving a daughter behind is to me an unparalleled loss.
After the ceremony at the cemetery, I
left hastily, having forgotten a commitment the previous day to pray
for the elderly mother of another man I know. He had asked me to come
pray for his mother the day before, but in the news and shock of
Anita's death, the commitment had slipped my mind, and repentantly I
hurried to fulfill the missed appointment. I arrived to find her son
out fishing and so went alone, only to hear that her body is now
rejecting the IV she's been on for months. Her time is short and her
son was worrying to me the day before that he's not sure she's made
her peace with God. Unable to speak, her communication is limited to
nods and head shakes, but after praying with her, I dearly hope that
in her nearest thoughts, God and her have made peace and she is able
to go trustingly.
After the dismay of these two
gut-wrenchers, I returned to the son's house to find his wife also
feeling unwell and disheartened with a long bout of on-and-off-again
sickness that has left the doctors confounded and herself despairing.
We prayed together also, and it was such a welcome relief to see how
God lifted her spirits and took away her bodily affliction. She was
in a much better state when I left her, and again when I saw her the
next day she was completely well, for which I am still so very
grateful to God and thankful for the way He allows us to minister
with Him. I wish I understood why in some cases He choses to heal,
and in others He doesn't, but I am inexpressibly grateful for the
times He does.
I confess this week also that I have
been feeling reclusive, glad that the children on the street are in
school in the mornings and desiring to shut myself in my house until
the heat becomes too oppressive, then glad enough to escape to the
internet or to my hammock downstairs. Partly due to a nasty cold, and
partly because there seem to be patches of time where I don't feel
like I have either the oomph or the inclination to continue pouring
out into the lives of my neighbors and those who cross my path. So I
try to close off the path, keeping myself out of others' way as much
as possible, God forgive me. The continual need around me, the
repeated asking for money on almost a daily basis wears on me and my
reserves of patience and love run out much faster than I would like.
How did Jesus do this, I wonder? I know the answer comes from a
continuous connection to the heart of the Father: that well of love
and compassion that never runs dry, as well as the source of all
wisdom that knows when to feed the thousands, and when to tell them
that it's an “evil and adulterous generation (that) seeks a
sign” (Matt 16:4), sending them discontentedly on their way.
Sigh. I have so far yet to go, may God have patience with me and not
abandon His work in me! May I learn the full meaning and experience
the live truth of Psalms 87:7 “...all my springs are in you.”
