Sao Paulo: Joy in the morning

The long silence represents so many things: travel foibles; sleepless nights spent coughing till I choked; a packed yet delightful schedule; weariness beyond words. We spent the night in Washington D.C., ousted from our plane after many delays and settled into the Sheraton at 2:00 a.m., then up early to get a flight the next day. I was so grateful that the sinus pressure did not increase en route, another testimony to the radiance of the prayers I have been basking in.

Our arrival time in Brazil was late at night, and I had hoped to get right to sleep, but lay awake with a tickle cough that would not be nursed into submission though my tongue was swollen from so many lozenges. I spent the time praying, but wondering if I should have come, and recognized that a quiet despair like a black cloak had stolen over me. Why are things so hard? Am I always going to be sick and struggle? Fears and debilitating thoughts wove in and out of my small prayers for faith and trust that God is the one who brought me here.

My group had swarmed on me within minutes of meeting them in D.C., declaring prayers of healing and strength loudly amidst a crowd of on lookers. Some speculated that the Lord would bless my choice to come in face of such odds. He is already touching me deeply through this little band of believers as they continue to pray in faith for me, and check in on my health with tender hearts.

My first morning, Wednesday, I drew back the curtains to gaze out at clear blue sky and take in the sights of the world's second largest city, Sao Paulo. Beauty amidst chaos, wealth with a back drop of poverty, colors painted over concrete with lots of graffiti. Bustling sounds of traffic and construction set the sights to industrial music. Tropical in climate, the foliage is lush, and as I looked down the first thing that caught my eye was a tree with bright pink flowers, stretching its limbs out wide, some covered with verdant leaves and some branches stark, with only a magenta flower at the tip. It is a place of contrasts, and my heart filled with gratitude that I am here, if only to pray for a people who hunger, as I do, for the tender touch of God amidst life's trials.

As we rode the bus to the church, I noted the markings of a place teeming with life, with people of all walks and shapes and sizes. There were modern buildings with beautiful apartments next to concrete hollows, occupied by the poor. The people at the church were warm and so full of loving welcome, with faces shining and gestures of greeting from smiles to waves to hugs. With such signs of love, language knows no barrier! I reflected back over what I had just seen on my way there: the sea of needy humanity, some with sorrow etched on their faces, others with determined forceful looks. Signs of fear were everywhere -- bars and bolts on all the doors and windows whether storefront, or apartment, or driveway, or meager shelter. So much of life boils down to such fundamental emotion -- fear or love, and where we can we learn to live in and choose one over the other.

Representative of our time here, we conduct morning and evening services, then as a team we line up at the front to pray for those who would like to receive a touch for whatever reason they come: salvation, rededication, deliverance, healing, surrender, and anything else that comes of human need. So twice yesterday, I was privileged to take the hands of many people with gentle brown faces, some whose eyes were filled with tears, some fighting darkness or disease, others hungry, with a longing deep within for more of God, and pray. And He came. He came with power, with healing, with joy, with tears, with shaking, with falling, with a beckoning for some to come to their knees.

And as though I stood underneath a giant cup that was being filled with heavenly water, spilling out refreshment on all around, I experienced His presence in these ways as well. I slept through my first night last night without coughing, and I could actually lay down instead of balancing on pillows to stay upright as I tried to find a position of comfort. The mantle of despair was trounced and exchanged for a lighted cloak, a reminder that I belong to a heavenly family, and His love and light are part of our heritage, my truest identity. Indeed, it has been a time of contrasts.

Hear, O LORD, and be merciful to me;
O LORD, be my help."
You turned my wailing into dancing;
you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
that my heart may sing to you and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give you thanks forever. Psalm 30:10-12