Praying or Pleading?

For you are great, and do wondrous things; You alone are God.

 Teach me YOUR way, O Lord; I will walk in YOUR truth.  Psalm 86:10-11 (NKJV)

I love watching my African sisters carry everything from fruit and vegetables to firewood on their heads. They do it with such beauty and grace.  Their example reminds me of the burdens I take up every morning when I leave my quarters.  Poverty, death, illiteracy, corruption, starvation, and witchcraft are just a few of the burdens that I must carry here. The load is heavy and uncomfortable, and while I certainly do my best, I'm not sure that I demonstrate half as much dignity and grace in the process.

A few weeks ago, the street boys of Kakamega asked to take the Hodder family on a tour of the town as they know it.  They wanted to show us how and where they live.  As we began our walk, two of the youngest took me by the hand, eager to protect me.  Another boy, who unfortunately is addicted to sniffing glue, kept his eye on the traffic.  Whenever we stopped at a busy intersection, he would grab my arm to make sure that Mama made it safely to the other side.  The boys took us to the trash dump where they scavenge for food, and then to the dilapidated mud huts where some of them sleep.

At one point, an older boy stopped me and bent down to tie my shoe.  As he did so, my heart broke when I noticed that not only was he shoeless himself, but his feet were covered in horrible sores.  Another reached out to steady me as I crossed a rickety wooden plank that had been laid over an open sewer, and then asked if we could go to the hut in which he lives.  We agreed, and once we arrived, Ken was asked to enter and bless the "home" with a prayer.   Dozens of other residents, who had all come out to greet the visitors, asked for a similar blessing.

In another hut, I saw through the darkness that the walls had been decorated with charts of the English alphabet, addition and subtraction, and the spelling of simple words.  That hut was fortunate to have parents in residence, and I was learned through our translator that their eldest boy had recently started attending our makeshift school at Territorial Headquarters.  Although uneducated themselves, the parents stood tall and proudly announced that their son would some day be a teacher.  After praying a blessing on their humble home, I quietly slipped out, hoping they did not see me wipe away a tear.  

The tour lasted for several hours, and I never stopped praying for miracles the entire time. Lord, I prayed, how can this happen?  I felt hopeless, discouraged, and even a bit angry. Why, Lord?  Why did you send me here?  Why have you given me these boys to love?   How can I sleep at night knowing they are hungry? 

Martha's Boys with the Hodders and Major Eleanor Haddick, our Social Services Secretary

Throughout the following week, I found myself begging God for resources to meet the demands of our ministry.  I  found myself pleading for Him to lighten my load.  

It was during one of my quiet times about two weeks later that the Lord finally spoke to me through a quote from Henry Blackaby's book, Experiencing God:

God invites you to become involved with Him in His work.

It occurred to me that, instead of constantly praying for God to do this or that based on my own vision and plans, I should try to put myself in tune with what He is already doing.  I should simply make myself available to do His work, according to His perfect plan.  When I stop to consider how these boys are slowly being transformed,  I can see that God is up to something big.  Really big.  And I want to be part of it.