Burning Sands

     The daughter found herself in a barren place. Her Father said, “In this place I will give you the peace you are longing for. Here I will give you spiritual food that will nourish you. You are always with Me – no matter what the circumstances – and all that I have is yours.”

     Then the Father, with great gentleness, drew the daughter to Himself. Quietly, He said, “I am the One who allowed you to come into these humbling circumstances, and allowed you to hunger. I did this so that I might feed you with manna – My bread from heaven! Only in this way could I help you know that you cannot live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from My mouth.”

     The daughter said, “Give me this bread always!” And when she grew thirsty she learned to cry … “The light of Your face is my life!”

     Later still, the daughter wondered why one like herself, who is so richly fed and cared for at times, should at other times feel so poor and needy and thirsty.

     Her Father replied by asking four questions:

     “Can someone who has never thirsted know how precious is My living water? Can someone who has never discovered rivers of these living waters flowing on barren heights – can she ever lead her thirsty friend to those rivers? Can someone who has never walked the deep valleys of the spirit help a friend who is fainting – or lead this friend to the wellsprings that will save the life of her soul? Can someone who has never seen burning sands in the wilderness turn into a refreshing pool – can she speak in praise of My marvels, or My power?”

~ Amy Carmichael

This little story came to me at the perfect time and comforted me greatly during dark days. As I wrote before, we are in a spiritual battle here at the Children's Home. Sometimes … such light – the bright eyes of children as they listen to a Bible story, dozens of dark heads bowing in prayer, the sun itself burning fiery orange against the palm trees. Sometimes … such darkness – a child returning to the hostel with her head shaved from worshiping at the temple, girls acting in violence towards one another, little ones crying because they’ve been abandoned.

Every morning after gathering for prayer, little Kaviya comes to me, as I’m putting away my shawl in our room. She says, “Sister, jabam!” (meaning prayer). So we pray together, sometimes just her and I, sometimes other girls join us. First, I’ll pray in English and then she’ll pray in Tamil. The only words I understand in her prayer are “sister” and “Jesus.” Her earnestness just touches my heart.

Sathya’s father died a year ago. He committed suicide by pouring kerosene over his body and setting himself on fire. Oh, the agony these girls have suffered! The Lord led me to write a little letter to her, with the verse, “Yet I am not alone, for my Father is with me” (John 16:32b). There’s an older man in our village, whom we call Tata ("grandfather"). He has been very kind to me and was willing to translate my letter into Tamil so Sathya could understand it. She is such a sweetheart. I’ve never seen a more avid listener during prayer times. She sits cross-legged, hands folded, not moving at all, her eyes fixed on Mary, the warden, as she speaks from the Bible. There is a seriousness in her eyes, but a longing as well, I think, to soak up these words of life.

Vijithra is a frustrated little girl who is constantly finding herself in trouble. She needs to be told things several times before she will obey them. My heart is burdened for her, because she isn’t saved. She’s frustrated, because she’s still stuck in her sin and she needs Jesus to cleanse her. God has given me love for her, even though sometimes she can try my patience.

One night I was sitting on the verandah at the hostel, reading my Bible as the crickets sang, and one of the older girls, Murugeswari, came and sat beside me. She took my Bible into her hands and marveled over the writing and pictures in it. Then she noticed the world map that was beside me. The headmaster let me borrow the map so I could show Canada to the girls. With wide-eyed curiosity, Murugeswari traced the countries, rivers and seas with her fingers. I don’t know why, but this small moment touched me deep inside. She was so sweet and earnest, like a flower opening its petals to the rain, like a hungry soul in need of water. I found out from Mary later that her father is a “drinking man,” and she’s the youngest of four girls. I can’t even imagine the hurt and pain this young girl has experienced.

Anitha, fourteen, is mature way beyond her years. Each day she faithfully assists Mary, as her special helper. She's always respectful and kind, always smiling, never complaining. Whenever I ask her a question she says with perfect politeness and sincerity, “Yes, sister.” Or “No, sister.” Her innocence is precious.

Oh, that they would all know Jesus! That is my heart’s cry and prayer for them. Sometimes my heart seems to ache for this. These girls need HIM and Him alone so desperately. Some of them are living in so much darkness and chaos. Places and situations I can’t even imagine. Yet even the smallest candle can bring much light in a dark place.

God gave me a verse the other day that spoke to me deeply: “The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love” (Galatians 5:6b).

Am I willing to just trust the Lord, knowing He will see me through each day?

Do I trust Him enough to know that He will fill me with love for these children, that He will show me how to help them? (Sometimes it is so overwhelming. I am only one person. There are 100 girls here).

Am I willing to accept hardship (which lately has come in the form of exhaustion) as coming from His hand, as well as the blessings?

Can I be perfectly content in any and every situation because of Christ?

Can I die daily?

Vijithra.

My beautiful hostel girls.

Vinothini and Chithra.