Listening

In the book of Isaiah, chapter 7, an army was marching toward Judah to attack it. The Lord promises the king, though, that the army will not destroy them. He tells the king of Juday to ask Him for a sign to confirm that promise...but the king would not ask. He was given a chance to see firsthand proof that God was at work, and he chose not to.

Did he not believe that the Lord would show up? Or did he simply not want to hear what the Lord had to say?

I have to ask, what would happen if the Lord asked the same of us? Would we ask Him for a sign? Would we even hear Him at all?

The truth that you may or may not believe is that God still speaks. This is a truth that I questioned, and that the Lord answered in South Africa. I had heard from other people that it was true, that one could hear from the voice of God, but I had never experienced anything other than a feeling of the Lord's presence.

On a Saturday morning at Logos Christian Church, I sat with my head in my hands, wondering if I were doing the right thing by moving to Boulder, if God would provide for me there, if I were going to 'make it.' I was sitting on a curb of the parking lot, crying out to the Lord, when a woman walked past. She started talking to me in Afrikaans, so I waited about ten seconds then told her I didn't understand what she was saying, thinking she was telling me I had to move, or asking what the crazy white girl was doing sitting in the parking lot.

Without skipping a beat, this is what she said to me:

"You will pass, sister, you will pass. Don't worry! All the questions you have, the Lord will give you the answers. Is this the first time someone's told you this? Don't worry!" Then she walked away.

Maybe just a coincidence? Maybe she was just crazy?

The specificity of her words to me cause me to believe her words were from the Lord. And here I am now, in Boulder, slowly but surely making it.

God still speaks. Why would He not speak to His children?

We just need the ears to listen.

Africa

I read somewhere that once the dust of Africa touches the soles of your feet, you will never be able to shake it off.

Cape Town, though, is probably not how you picture Africa. There's no monkeys wandering around the washed-out dirt roads. There's no women clad in bright, geometric prints, carrying baskets on their heads. Most of the people speak very good English.

But on a clear night on Signal Hill, I see the spread of city lights, a collar of diamonds around the endless, black Atlantic. Every day we see the clouds pouring down over Table Mountain, primitive in its rugged beauty. A less than five minute drive in any direction reveals stretches of aluminum shanty towns--some with no electricity or running water, with litter-lined sand "streets" where one of every two children you pick up in your arms is directly affected by HIV.

This is when I know I am in Africa.

The Lord is here. The Lord is wonderful.