To Set the Captives Free…It is a gorgeous day. I am sitting on my front porch in my Adirondack chair with my feet up on the rail and a breeze shussing through the trees. This porch has been the first sign of our homecoming for nearly 15 years of life on the Flint Hills. It has been stage for tea parties, battlegrounds of toys and more, quiet times in snow, sun, and fall colors; and shelter in the lightning and thunder clashes of the central plains.
Friends are just a well-aimed water balloon toss away. I know exactly how many miles the hill and zombie” runs are from this this porch and how many miles it is to pedal to the Konza. Our family’s history is rooted deep into this place. The eclectic furniture is mostly gone and the details of our life here are slowly packed away into boxes and bins as moving day, July 5, arrives. Sometimes I still ask myself, “Why on earth would you leave this life?”
Adventures in Missions. A few years ago, I stumbled across a blog written by Seth Barnes. Though not a big blog fan (the irony), I began to regularly check in. He seemed to offer “real life Jesus” rather than “American Jesus” or “denominational Jesus”. He did not sacrifice truth nor did he fling it and flail the poor in spirit. He just wrote about what he and his teams were doing in serving an unseen God and a hurting world. His words were few.
Pictures. It was really the pictures on his blog that clinched it (www.sethbarnes.com). After responding to a few posts, I began to dive through his photos: little kids in the Philippines eking out a few coins a day sorting trash in stinking mountains of refuse. A bowl of rags that had been used to wash the feet of AIDS orphans in Swaziland. Moving rubble in Haiti. Standing in the line of fire in Mexico. Among the Roma in Europe. Kids…people worshipping in their poverty. Photos of AIM’s World Racers abandoning their abundance for poverty and 11 months to serve – to work hard – and to worship. And their were pictures of very young girls being traded-commoditized-in dark and distant places. A photo of a tiny young boy of maybe three years old who had just been sold to a known “sex trader.” And through these an unseen God seemed to be whispering “Follow me.”
Madi and Kenan will continue to stretch and live their magnificent lives. The house here will sell. Friends will meet for Tallgrass or coffee. They’ll watch their kids grow, they’ll run races, and discuss books. I have no idea of what I’ll be doing in the everyday, but I hope to make you proud-my family and friends. I hope to be part of “healing the brokenhearted and setting the captives free.”
