Sunday was one of the most dreaded days for me in March, yet yielded the greatest blessing. I was completely defeated from the grueling day before, I was exhausted from being awake for several hours in the night, and I was nervous about leading a session for the widows. Yet once the worship service started, God proved himself faithful, and through the music and atmosphere, caused peace and joy to come crashing over my spirit like waves.So I was pretty excited for Sunday to come this trip.
I started the morning out of sorts with God and man, for no reason other than my own selfish tendencies, and struggled to put my attitude in the proper perspective. I wanted the whole day to be perfect according to my standards, but that is rarely ever possible—a lesson one would think I would have learned by now! But once the service started, God had his way with me again.
The Malawian singing was amazing like always. Stacy gave her testimony and did a fantastic job. A small group of us sang the Doxology, first in unison and then in parts, and although it was rough around the edges, it was a joyful experience to be a part of. Doug Sarver preached a sermon that was hand-crafted to match and address the events that had been happening over the last couple of days. When I asked for confirmation, I heard what I already knew: that sermon had been written weeks in advance. God alone could take the credit for allowing just the right words to be preached “for such a time as this”.
After lunch, we were treated to a performance by some of the local cultural
dancers. I enjoyed watching them even more this time, because I 
recognized several of their songs. Many of the other team members joined in the dance, dressing up and laughing as they tried to imitate the steps. I carefully positioned myself behind my camera again, safely tucked away on the porch area!We split up for the rest of the afternoon. The Pastor’s Conference had its final session while the rest of us headed out for village discipleship. The widows that came for morning worship had headed home and there were no other adults waiting for us, so my group joined the ones teaching the children. I enjoyed getting to walk around, listen to the stories, and photograph the children—a first-time opportunity for me since I am usually busy with the adults. Silly bands were passed out at the end of the session, and it was mass chaos as the children attempted to line up and receive their gift. Children shoved and jostled for position, as children do, and it was easy to feel mob panic. But yet, every time I fumbled and dropped a band to the ground, the child who snatched it first solemnly gave it back to me with big eyes. I couldn’t help but feel proud of them, and as crazy as it was, I was happy to be a part of doing something so little.
God is good, and Sunday was a Zosangalatza day! 
No comments:
Post a Comment