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As I’m sitting here, staring at those four simple, self-explanatory words, I’m suffocating under my inability to form a decent thought.
How!?
The cursor blinks. And blinks. And blinks. After a ridiculous amount of procrastinating, I’m convinced it’s mocking me.
How could I possibly glorify Him and His Greatness through a few measly words? How could I possibly illustrate the awe-inspiring, jaw-dropping beauty I’ve beheld in only two weeks? How could I possibly describe the satisfaction of neatly hoeing little rows for corn, and cabbage, and peppers, under a crystal clear sky? And, Lord, how could I possibly depict the pain in the eyes of a woman in bondage?
I’m constantly dumbfounded by the ways in which the Lord manifests himself in nature. A towering waterfall, spilling over a cliff, vast valleys alive with mesmerizing greens, and yellows, and blues, majestic layers of mountains, enveloping Thailand on all sides.
I’ve ultimately determined that nature is the Lord’s canvas; a vivid painting emphasizing His Promise for abundant life.
Unpredictable, undeniably beautiful, abundant life.
Now, imagine…
There’s a farm.
Its tightly nestled in a valley surrounded by soaring mountains.
A small creek races through the bursting rice fields, lightly twinkling as it pours life into the green stems. Prickly pineapple branches sprout upward, quietly swaying in the breeze. Perky seedlings rest in neat rows, standing proudly against the warm sun.
A bell, tied snuggly around a goat’s neck, sounds in the distance. A pig snorts. A rooster crows. Somewhere, a bird gently sings.
There is peace. There is stillness. There is life.
This is the ministry the Lord has called me to. He humbled my spoiled, prideful spirit, and handed me a shovel.
He enlisted me to dig a pig pen. To milk a stubborn goat. To weed a pineapple plant. To chop firewood.
And to approach a woman who’s suffering under the weight of her chains.
*Note: Before I continue along this path, I feel led to assure you all, I am safe. I am protected. I am in no danger.*
Bar ministry. (I’m wrongly tempted to add an ominous “dun, dun, dun“.)
The bustling streets of Chiang Rai are utterly consumed by bar, after bar, after bar. Beautiful, young, women pose seductively at the entrances, calling out to weary travelers, curious foreigners, and ravenous men seeking pleasure.
This wasn’t the farm.
I couldn’t dig a pig pen. Or milk a stubborn goat. Or weed a pineapple.
Instead, I stood, face-to-face, with a bar, its blinking lights illuminating my frightened features.
I doubted my discernment. I doubted God’s will. I doubted my ability to love; love not only these women, but the broken men who trailed close behind.
But I entered.
I bought a coke.
I played 3 games of pool.
And I showered three incredible women in their Creator’s affection; pure, unconditional affection.
I’ll let the Lord do the rest…
