A Light In Dark PlacesMuestra
Prayer Changes Our Perspective
We are sitting amongst women who are sharing their stories about female genital mutilation in this remote place in the Horn of Africa, when suddenly a colleague rushes in and whisks us away ‘for security reasons’. When we make it back to our team, we find out that our neighbours, who work with a partner organisation, have been attacked. One of my co-workers knows them well, they are friends, and she goes to provide first aid before their medical evacuation. When she returns, she is shaken to the core: they were so badly beaten she could hardly recognise them. Beyond simply providing first aid, it was praying with them that comforted her.
Later, the police caught the perpetrators of the attack. The motives identified show that it is unlikely we will be targeted. We don’t need to evacuate.
When we get back to the compound, a team member suggests we take some time to pray. What a great idea! Until she gets out her guitar… I don’t say anything but I’m not comfortable. We’re the only foreigners for miles around. Do we really need to ring the church bells and provoke the minarets? Even though the incident isn’t related to religious differences, isn’t it wiser to keep a low profile? Moreover, I don’t feel like singing. At all. But I know she’s right. We gather together. Outside. I’m scared. It’s a moonless light. The kerosene lights are flickering. I can feel the emptiness of our neighbour’s house behind me. We’re surrounded by the bush and the huge rocks towering over us. Everything is incredibly oppressive. I’ve rarely felt such terror that goes beyond the fear of physical harm. Darkness. We start singing. Shy at first, then with more and more conviction. Until those huge threatening rocks send back our worship to our Lord Jesus, our Saviour, our hope, our rescuer. The meaning of his sacrifice becomes clearer. He died for their sins. For our sins. The prayer time that follows continues lifting the veil. The heavens open. The night is beautiful. The bush noises are familiar. Nothing has changed but everything has changed. Christ is King. God is sovereign. All is well.
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How do you keep your hope anchored in Christ in the face of so much suffering and injustice in the world? One of our former aid workers shares three testimonies of how God lifted the darkness in three different circumstances while she was serving the most vulnerable on the frontlines. **The photos used for these devotionals are from Medair locations not associated with the stories. **
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