muddy unpaved roads

I don't know what uncovers the memories - so vivid and full of color and sound and smells - of distant times and places. The unleashing of these images in my mind could be triggered by images before my very eyes of muddy unpaved roads, children singing in another language, a curtain for a door, or even simply rising before the sun to get on the road. Could it be the time spent in prayer over demon-crawling shrines to the dead? I don't know.

But it all seems to be tucked away in the same corner of my mind. I remembered the night so long ago, a group of friends and I flew into the tiny Caribbean country of the Dominican Republic and rode in a cramped van to the apartments we'd stay in for the next 10 days. I remember the music, the thick humidity pressing against my skin, the daily afternoon shower slamming against the tin roof over Melina's house, the tambora beating as we had church in her apartment, the loud worshiping that leaked out to the streets, and then we walked out to live with the community and simply love. How beautiful it was to stand at the edge of a cliff and watch the turquoise-crystal sea crash against the rocks below and simply breath "How Great Thou Art!!"


My spirit wanders to more recent memories in which I run across the Frankfurt airport with my last breath to catch my connecting flight to one of the most diverse cities I've ever been in. Jet-lagged and out of breath, I climb aboard the jet that will take me to Koeln. My mind takes me to the steps of the Dom... I stand there trying to understand the unfathomable greatness of this building which was initially built for the worship of Father. My legs take me past the crushing crowd of tourists to the elaborately massive doors taking me into this gothic cathedral. A hush of whispers constantsly floods the atmosphere, and the holiness is interrupted by the flashing of cameras, the honor is stripped, and the place is raped. We sit in a pew, silently trying to restore its sanctity, yet asking ourselves how God turned into a commercialized tourist attraction...

The last two nights, I sat in small surviving churches - one in the heart of and another in the slums of Nuevo Laredo, Mexico - with a heart that beat so loudly it was more than audible! My favorite part was the time in which they opened up the floor to any member of the congregation that wished to express gratitude for anything! What a beautiful thing it was to see! And after the singing and free participation in the service, the warm fellowship that followed was alive and jubilant!

It is in these moments that Christ becomes so real to me, so near. It is as if He is standing before me asking "Who do you say I am? From what you see, hear, taste, smell, feel - who Am I?" And my answer can never encompass Him - who He is - His essence - I can't do it with words, or song, or even jumping or falling on my knees in raw adoration. It is more than I can fathom. Love, Atonement, Freedom, Redemption, Rescue, Savior, Grace, Righteousness, Mercy, Beautiful... All this and more!!

I'm searching deep within the depths of my soul and become frustrated with the inability to find the song that will do His praise justice.

So my mind simply takes me back...

Muddy unpaved roads.