Seeds in the sand
My name is Lucy. In the spring of 2017, I was an American teenager in the heart of the Middle East. I was surrounded by approximately 70 young refugees from various backgrounds lifting up their voices in worship. From the depths of their hearts, they were singing the chorus of the song, “Good, Good Father,” in Arabic. It was a wild moment for me, an American, to witness them declaring the truth about who the Father is, which is so against the grain of their culture and religion. Little did I know, it was only just the beginning. These dormant seeds in the desert were being watered, and sprouting to life.
How did I get there? Well, I was invited to go on a short- term mission trip with MAPS Global called the “50 Hours.” We were to be there for ten days, with 50 hours of those days spent in non-stop prayer and worship. My team leadership invited me and other teenagers on my team to lead a “youth group,” which was really a group of both teenagers and young adults from both Muslim and Christian backgrounds. We were to lead them in worship and prayer. Seeing the young refugees invoked many feelings in me. I felt the heartbreak. I felt the Father’s heart for the oppressed. But I also had this feeling, at the same time, of hope. Hope of redemption. Hope that God does go into the dark places. That He does meet the oppressed. That He does father the fatherless. I was seeing first-hand those that had no home and everything was stripped away. The refugees had lost everything, and yet they clung to hope. As one of the teenagers chosen to help lead the group in worship, I was a singer. It felt like an honor to be there in that basement, stewarding and watering the seeds the Lord had planted, and lifting up worship to the Father.
We worshiped wholeheartedly, but the moment the Arabic chorus of “Good, Good Father” broke out in the room, it was like the desert bursting to life. There was no going back. The instruments would stop and they would just continue to sing this chorus over and over and over again. It went on for two hours. To me, it was so powerful, because in Islam it is declared that “God is not a father, and he has no son.” But here they were, declaring the truth over the land. They were able to hear their own voices singing the truth about who God is.