Sweet Babies

9/1/2010

I’ve travelled a lot.  At this point, I’ve landed on almost every continent, and I’m starting to get used to being in the minority of any given group.  (Living in Africa for two years will do that for you!)  I’ve been to Asia, to India, to parts of the Middle East and Africa where most people do not agree with what I believe.  Knowing that makes me sad, but it’s part of life.  As my friend Mandy once reminded me, to most people, Jesus is offensive.  And, if I’m going to follow Him, that means I’ll be offensive, too.

I’m on a plane going from Khartoum, the Muslim capital of Sudan, to Cairo, Egypt.  It’s the middle of Ramadan, the Muslim holy month.  (No, we didn’t check the Islamic calendar before we booked this trip!)  I look around this plane and realized that, to most of my fellow travelers, I am an infidel.  They think Jesus was a blasphemous lunatic, not the loving Son of God.  And though it saddens me, I can accept that.  I’ve been in situations like this before.

Only, this time, one thing is different.  In the rows just in front of and behind me, there are five children under the age of 8.  Every one of them is absolutely beautiful.  Loving.  Precious.  Every one of them is positively adored by their Creator.  And, unless someone steps into their life offering the Truth, none of them will ever know just how passionately the God of the Universe loves them. 

I have no way to communicate with them.  I can’t tell them how much Jesus loves them.  I don’t even know the names of these sweet babies.  But my Father does.  He knows them even better than their precious mothers, covered from head to toe, do.  All I can do is pray for them, that someday, somehow, the Father who loves them will find a way to romance their hearts and draw them to Himself.  And right now, I have to trust that prayer for them is enough.