In the Presence of My Enemies: Week 3

Chapters 6, 7, & 8

The beginning of chapter brought back great memories for me—my husband was a pilot with Mission Aviation Fellowship, and we have similar stories of bringing the holidays to missionaries living in the remote jungle areas of Venezuela. One Christmas, my husband and I and our two elementary aged children flew all the food and trimmings to a village that had an airstrip. From there, we had to take a canoe up the river for about one hour to reach a family who had recently moved to their village that was nestled up close to the river.

Deep sand formed the ground and where ever you walked, you basically waded in sand. The village people had provided a used chicken coop for our friends to live in, but because of the filth in the sand, their little one year old child was either held, or sitting in her high chair, or in her bed. The two older children were free to run around to their hearts’ content—but the baby couldn’t walk or crawl for fear that her hands would bring the filth to her mouth. I remember we had a wonderful meal and then spent the afternoon cooling off and playing in the river before our canoe ride back to the plane and the flight home. That night, as I put my children to bed in our primitive home in town, it seemed like we lived in a palace. My “suffering” was nothing compared to what I’d seen that day.

We can each compare our situation to others and find circumstances that are more challenging than ours. At the WOTH Furlough Retreat this summer, we learned about some cross-cultural workers in the Middle East who had gone on a picnic over a year ago and been attacked. Three single women were killed while a man, married but not accompanied by his wife that day) and a family of five disappeared. Months later, two of the children were discovered and it seemed they had been well cared for. No one knows how they got to where they were discovered or what has happened to their baby brother, parents or the man who was with them. The two little girls are now in a European country where they are being cared for by extended family. And, a lamp burns in hope to remind people to pray at the headquarters of the organization where these people served. (I’m writing this 12.2.10—maybe this will have changed by the time this post is published.)

When I read Gracia’s story and hear of stories like above and reflect on people who’ve lived incredibly challenging lives, I have to pay attention. Questions fly in my mind and there are no easy answers.

This week, would you share two things with us, please?

• First, has there been a story of suffering—or life challenges—that has challenged you?
  
• Second—What questions do Gracia’s and other’s stories raise for you? Have you found any answers to them?