thirsty

It's the Fourth of July, a day of celebration, family, good food, and an appreciation for our abundance and our freedom.

Why do we celebrate? I know I've celebrated a nice plate of BBQ, deep-rooted traditions of lakeside fireworks in my hometown, and a nice big cup of sweet tea. But have I ever really understood the value of freedom?

I'm at my home in Cary, NC and things have been quite interesting the past few days. First our air conditioning blew on the main floor, last night the refrigerator stopped working, and now our upstairs air conditioning just gave out. Talk about a relaxing holiday, right? I'm the first to complain of the hardship to walk down to the fridge in our basement, complaining of the terrible inconvenience this is. Or talk about how hot 82 feels in my room. But aren't I still free? I don't mean this to be some guilt trip blog post aimed to condemn our wealth, but rather a perspective check for myself.

I have a roof over my head. I have a bed to sleep on, a real nice one. I have a full closet. I have a supportive family. I have a faith that cannot be shaken. I have a Savior who forgives and redeems and loves fiercely. I have shoes. I have plenty of food in my pantry. I could go on and on about the things I have.

My world got rocked this morning waking up to this text from Elina, one of my dear, dear friends in the Ng'ombe compound in Lusaka, whose story can be found at www.clothedinhope.org/stories.

"Hi Amy, how are you? last year we experienced a water shortage. we are facing the same problem again... the water situation is not ok. the children wake up very early in the morning only to have a chance to draw water in the afternoon. children are complaining as you know this is winter and they wake up as early as 04:00hrs."

This means this family is thirsty. Desperate. Facing extreme difficulty, one we will never be able to imagine. The kids have to go out in the 40 degree dark morning for the chance to fill up a bucket of unclean drinking water, but water nonetheless, risking their lives for this chance at provision for their family for that day. I don't know if we can quite understand this. The kids could be taken or hurt if they go alone at 4am. But they could become severely dehydrated with the possibility of death if they do not go. And it's not just 8 of them. It's 80,000 in Ng'ombe. 80,000.

Why? What happens now?

My heart screams at this injustice. Hurts. Shatters to the core. WHY?! I frantically just emailed every well-drilling organization I could get my hands on, even Jef from the Bachelorette's organization (talk about desperation, right?!). I screamed out for help, for someone to listen to this need and do something about it.

I googled verses that I could post that would soothe this pain. My soul is thirsty for an answer, for something to be done.

My Father knows. He screams, hurts, shatters to the core. He hates sin, the sin that makes my dear friends lives be so difficult. He rejoices in their hope, in their reliance on Him. But He is angry at their suffering. He is crying at their physical thirst and immense need.

I can't do anything from here. Except keep praying. And keep searching for open doors. God wants to help, I know He does. And He says that He uses us as His hands and feet. He provides opportunity to express His heart.

Can you help? Email me! Can you pray? Do it. Can you take a second today to consider just what freedom means, what thirst means, and open your heart to see more of God's heart? You won't regret it.