I’ll never forget that sound. The sound of a crying 2
year old screaming at the top of her pediatric lungs, which seems to pierce the
ear drums of anyone in a quarter mile radius. Screaming to be held. Not just
held by anyone, but the screams to be held by her mother. The only issue, her
mother will never wrap her arms around this little girl, her seven-year-old
sister or estranged husband again. Her and her sister are now one of the 16.6
million children orphaned by HIV, this disgusting virus that overtakes your
body and quickly turns a cold into a death sentence.
Three weeks ago, I experienced my first Ethiopian
Orthodox funeral. I can say that was not something I’ve ever had on my bucket
list. I watched for an hour and a half, completely confused at what exactly was
going on and completely heart broken at the same time. I watched people come
from all over the Korah area to pray over this dead body and beg that she be
allowed into heaven. I watched people fall on their faces believing this was
the only way she would meet Jesus.
What many of them don’t know is that for the last year she
has heard a different way; a free way. As I sat there watching the scene unfold
before me, my heart broke. Begging and pleading for eternal life is not what was
intended for us as humans. I don’t know if she ever fully embraced grace and
mercy and freedom. But what I do know is I am so thankful for the ministry in
which God has called me to be a part of. A ministry who believes that transformation
of life (and spirit) comes through love, despite what you believe.
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