I believe in connectedness. I am certain that actions and people in this world are connected, that there is meaning in everything, and that meaning is only found by visits to the past. Life events don’t always make sense, and although over and over we may be told that what we are doing is important, if we can’t make sense of the meaning, we can easily lose heart.
In Zambia, we were uncertain of the meaning of our work. We simply did what was asked of us. We scooped porridge into bowls for children. We fetched water for a poor couple with AIDS. We swung our hoes into the wet earth to loosen the weeds. We dug holes with our hands for the fence posts. When you have to attend to things of that sort, to the mere incidents of the surface, the reality—the reality, I tell you—fades. The inner truth is hidden—luckily, luckily.
I have to accept that the truth is that somehow God used these seemingly insignificant actions of mine to do a great work and touch the lives of the people I served. Sometimes I must remind myself that it is the Spirit working in me, using this dead flesh to do good works.
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