Teach My Song to Rise to You
I am not a crier. So when tears dripped down my cheeks mid-way through a session of MegaBloks this morning, Josiah just looked at me thoughtfully. He had been singing along, cheerfully, to this song:
Hearing my son join the voices of these beautiful children, many of whom had suffered in ways I cannot even imagine, something in me broke. To me, missions had always meant Africa: declaring the goodness of God in lands of poverty, war, and disease. But God may have something (or a somewhere) different in mind for us.
The concept of "unreached people" had not even crossed my consciousness before I met Ethan. Now, it defines nearly all of our future plans. At this point, I do not know where God will teach our song to rise to Him. My tears may have been over the loss of the dream of working with African orphans in a place like Uganda. Or perhaps, over the granting of a dream I cannot yet even envision. Wherever we go, I know we will need Him desperately.
Hearing my son join the voices of these beautiful children, many of whom had suffered in ways I cannot even imagine, something in me broke. To me, missions had always meant Africa: declaring the goodness of God in lands of poverty, war, and disease. But God may have something (or a somewhere) different in mind for us.
The concept of "unreached people" had not even crossed my consciousness before I met Ethan. Now, it defines nearly all of our future plans. At this point, I do not know where God will teach our song to rise to Him. My tears may have been over the loss of the dream of working with African orphans in a place like Uganda. Or perhaps, over the granting of a dream I cannot yet even envision. Wherever we go, I know we will need Him desperately.
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