I consider myself an athlete. (Although now I should probably include the word old.) I took my athletic self on an old wooden roller coaster ride at Mt. Olympus Park in Wisconsin this summer with my family. After I got off, I could have used a chiropractor.
That memory came flooding back to me as we traveled down the narrow dirt road in Africa on the way to our first village church. Our team laughed as we clutched onto anything we could for stability. As our Land Rover powerfully tackled the uneven terrain, we struggled to keep ourselves from falling helplessly over one another inside. On one bump, all nine of us popped out of our seats like a jack-in-the-box and we all spoke the universal language….”Oooohhhh.”
As we wound our way through this foreign territory, we tried to soak it all in. We watched the children running and shouting behind us, trying to keep up. We looked at the small brick homes made with a doorway but no door. We watched the women cooking outside over the open fires. We marveled at how poor the people seemed, yet how clean and organized their villages appeared.
After winding our way through the village, going deep into the bush, we finally turned our last corner and heard it- The full sound of the African women singing. The music carried from their mouths straight into my soul. I felt alive at that moment. Alive with the music and with the reality that I was sharing in a moment of what heaven must be like. How could it be that our lives were so different, yet the God of all binds us together as one?
As I listened to the music of that moment, I tried to remember it for a lifetime. I wept- and forgot about my need for a chiropractor.
In : FIA
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