While in Swaziland I was driving down the city street.  As always, there were many people walking along the busy street.  In the midst of typical African city hustle and bustle for some reason my eye caught a scene that has been seared into my memory.  It returns as a haunting vision that replays in my mind's eye day after day.  It happened in a moment, probably less than 2 seconds.  And it is somehow changing my life in ways I don't even yet understand.

 

I want you to picture a small family.  A father, mother, and 5 year old child.  The threesome is standing still on a section of concrete along a broken sidewalk.  See that the husband is a tall willowy figure, subtly but painfully rocking as he stands along the road.  He has death in his eyes - the sunken face, the dry lips, the bony body under old clothes.  He barely stands as his wife holds his arm. 

 

Look at the woman as she looks into the eyes of her husband with concern governing her expression.  Her entire body posture exudes fear and helplessness.  All she can do is hold his arm to steady his frail body.  There is no escape from the inevitable.  She has questions about his future, her future, the future of their child.  There are no answers.  No one to help.  No where to turn.  She is alone as the protagonist of her own tragedy. 

 

Now see the child.  Holding onto mothers dress.  Looking on the scene of mother and father in desperation.  She's afraid.  She wants to be comforted in her fear but there is no margin for that nurturing.  At this young age the story playing out in front of her demands the release of her innocent childhood and prepares her for a life full of hard realities.  She is certainly part of the story unfolding in her family.  But mom and dad are too consumed with the truth of their own harsh world to see her little heart break.  Her need for tender nurture will go unheeded.  Her present is heartrending and her future is uncertain.

 

I don't know how I saw all this in 2 seconds.  I don't know why I still see it every day since.  I don't know what I am supposed to do about it.  I do know that this is also what God saw on that sidewalk that day and that it broke His heart.  So it is a good thing that it breaks my heart.  My heart is broken for that little family.  I wonder what they are doing today.

 

And while this story is not about me, how it effects me is about me, right?

 

I heard a message recently on being consumed - that God is a consuming fire.  Stories and images like the one I described above make me feel like I am being consumed.  I feel like the oak log you put on the fire when it is already blazing.  As the log burns it changes.  I am being changed.  The log comes from a tree that is strong and weathered many storms.  The ashes I take out of the fireplace and spread around the garden or the woods.  There are a lot of analogies to draw from this one about fire and oak logs but that is for another time.

 

For now I am still thinking about that haunting image of a struggling family along the street in Africa and giving myself over to whatever process or purpose God has in reminding me of it every day.