These are the prayers He answers.
During rest time at camp I sat in a pew with Que under one arm and De'Andre under the other. Malipo sat on the other side of De'Andre, holding onto my fingers. Every once in a while their little bodies would shake with laughter, or one of their heads would fall back on my arm in exhaustion. I sat still, worried if I moved I might shatter the moment. The purest moment of innocence and love I had felt in ages. Something reached deep inside of me and gripped my heart. And there was no where else in the world I would have rather been. Contentment.
Later on Thursday I was standing in an open field, listening to the testimony of half a dozen men who are following Jesus. Who have dedicated their lives to glorifying our Father with their art.
I realized, standing there in the heat, how long it had been since I had explained the gospel to someone. How long it had been since I had taken a moment to let the reality of sacrifice and atonement sink deep into my heart.
It is sacrifice, after all, which leads me to do what I do. If not for Jesus, all this would be worthless. It wouldn't mean a thing.
Standing in that heat, I whispered some dangerous words. Words I know He hears. He always hears them.
While I was watching him, I saw Another. Standing against the fence. Dirty feet in worn out sandals. Dark, cracked skin. Sunglasses. I lost my breath for a moment. On the wind was carried the sweet words I knew to be true. "I am here. I see them. I am here."
Yesterday was the last day of camp. As children poured into the church, they would race down the steps and run up to me with arms open wide. Some would jump up into my arms, others wrapped their arms around my waist and squeezed as hard as they could. Yesterday, as much as I reprimanded, I hugged twice as much. One of the prophets stopped me as I walked past him at lunch. "Miss Anna," he tugged my shirt and began to tell me how he had asked Jesus into his heart in the bathroom that morning. "Now I don't have to worry about everyone else, because Jesus is on my side."
The last day of camp was almost over and we were in art class. Se'Vion, who had made it his mission all week long to make sure I didn't get lost in the church, handed me a rock. He had painted it and he put it in my hand. "This is for your memory, Miss Anna."
I stared at the rock, my heart all kinds of torn up. "What do you mean, for my memory?" I asked him, pulling him in for a hug.
Good grief.
We went to worship one last time. And during worship I repeated the dangerous words again. With children singing and dancing on either side of me, my heart whispered:
"I have not felt very loved by You lately," I accused cautiously. "I try and I try to feel You. But if You've been trying to love on me, I'm not getting the message. I feel like I've been doing all the work. All the pursuing. All the talking. All the loving on others. And all you freaking say is to be quiet."
The children started singing. "You're the defender of the weak / You comfort those in need / You lift us up on wings like eagles".
And I started crying. Even as I write this, tears are welling. Because in that very moment, He bent low. Scooped my heart up in His hands. Thank you for loving them as much as you can. If you only knew, if you only realized, I love you just as much. I am their Defender. I am their Provider. I am their Protector. You are mine and I am yours. It is through them I show you My love. And it is through you I show them My love.
Camp ended too soon. I had to be at work at 5, which meant I left earlier than everyone else. I held it all together until I pulled out of the church parking lot. Then the tears started flowing uncontrollably. I tried to repeat Colossians 3:23 over and over again: "Work willingly at whatever you do, as though you were working for the Lord rather than for people."
But in that moment, frozen yogurt didn't matter. In the moment, my heart cried out to God the Father. Reminding Him, just in case He forgot, that it was HIM who gave me this heart. HE was the one who led me straight into the lives of these children. HE was the one who put them in my arms. HE was the one Who had set my soul on fire. Had He forgotten HE was the one who had put this mission on my heart?
Why in the world can I not be one of those people who gets to do that for a living? Had I not found enough favor with Him? Was I not doing my job well? Was I not good enough? Why am I not one of the lucky ones whose work is also her passion, her job is also her calling? The tears didn't stop. My heart swelled twice its size in my chest. Did He not realize how it felt to be separated from them?
With that thought, the tears only got worse. Of course I do. That is what this story is about, beloved. Why do you think I've been trying so hard to get them back? To get you back.
A friend heard this story last night, and with a smile on his face he whispered, "well, well. Aren't you loved, Miss Anna."
Had I had any tears left, they would have come. But I was fresh out. My heart knows this to be true. My heart knows this to be the kind of truth that sets you free, that gives you life, that comes straight from Jesus. He is calling me to be faithful. To Him. To His children.
This is what happens when you ask for a greater capacity to love.
He will stretch your heart. Pull at its edges and stretch out the seams. He will give you more to carry, so you will grow in strength. He will send you more, to fill up the hollowed out spaces. He will pour Himself into you, even as you are pouring yourself out for Him. And although He continues to whisper "now" and "not yet", the "now" is sticky and sweet and strong.
He will give you new words. And new eyes. And new ears. He will permeate all you are with His boldness and His grace. He will whisper truth into you about what it means to hurt and heal. And in those places you remain weak, He will ever be strong.
Anna, He whispers, this is for your memory. I made them. And I'm giving them to you. So you don't forget Me.
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