Delia.

Kneeling on the dirt floor of her makeshift porch, the touch of her wrinkled, weathered hands in mine, to hear the sound of roosters cockadoodle doo-ing in the yard. The wind making it’s way between scrawny wheat stalks, the smell of fresh born puppies and cow dung. The nuisance of flies. The layers of sweat caked with red dirt. The chickens meddling beneath my soles. The chicks gawking around corners of milk crates.

Here you enter.

Here you come through.

Here your glory beams down through the slats of her palm roof.

And angels of the heavenly realms surround us here. As my tears roll, the flow of compassion whose headwaters begin in Him, they pool in a small puddle of mud on her dirt floor. The two elements mixing as one to form a new mess. They mix as Jesus’ spit did on the dirt roads so long before me. And with each dropping of this sphere shaped element, the blurred picture becomes that much clearer.

That the sinner may see your face. That your glory may be revealed here even in the midst of addiction, abandonment, incest, disownment, and bottomless disbelief. That your love may triumph all these battles and win. That the mud pooled before me may wash away the doubt and unclarity of my own salvation. That my eyes would open to the freedom in which I live.

That I am just the same as Delia–because now, yes we are sisters.

We will be reunited one day. The trumpets will sound and the clouds roll back and we will bask on the streets of gold. Instead of looking at her Maker expressionless on judgement day, she will reply, ‘Because I love you Lord.’

Hallelujah, She is my sister. She is but one, but she is one sister.

The dirt that unveils our faces, carries fresh perspective and new joy and consecrates intentions. I am the needy beggar, born blind for the sake of magnifying the Lord. So plainly and obviously full of mistakes that God may be glorified in my neediness.

Neither has sinned. But this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life. John 9:3

My soul magnifies the Lord. This rubbing of dirt in my eyes, is the sting of salvation. The pain of realizing just how insufficient I am. The beautiful disparity of just how much I need Him. And when the mud is washed from my eyes, I may see His face more, just as Delia saw his face for the first time.

Lord now indeed I find,

Thy power and Thine alone,

Can change the Leper’s spots,

And melt a heart of stone.

When faced with eternity, she at first pointed down, through to the pits of hell. Upon conviction, she can now faithfully point up. Concerned with her children and grand children, she worried for their futures. She is now the Abraham of her family. That He may abundantly bless her with more fruit than stars in the sky, and to spread the gospel to all nations. She is a light in a darkened, corrupt village, and the Lord will bless and honor her step of faith. These contradictions, and revelations are so obscure to our human minds. That He would love and yearn for us while we are still living in the midst of our sin is incomprehensible and hard to recieve. She, like many Nicaraguans, was fearful to come to Christ in the midst of her sin, her mess, her mud. She saw the conviction that would be upon her and was hesitant to walk in a life of freedom. She realized the weight of glory. This living for something more than right now, the right in front of you, the momentary satisfactions. She realized that in order to be found in Christ, she first must lose herself. And thats the beauty of it, the contradiction of it. Christianity is a juxtaposition of what we think it should be, the way we perceive things to work, against the ways they actually do. Constant opposites. His ways are far higher, so may we be found in Him.

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