As the sun began to set with its golden African crown of mixed yellow and orange, I stood with one of the girls, soaking in every last ray before darkness set in with its winter chill. She shared her worries about life outside of Hosea’s Heart – will she fall like her older sister or feel hopeless like her younger one? “Will I have a chance?” her question aimed at heaven. When we finished our conversation, the sun had long gone down, but we didn’t feel the chilly air. We prayed together and were filled with a peace that seemed to even warm us. She left me with the biggest smile and longest hug she’s ever given. I said nothing extraordinary to deserve such a hug; I simply reminded her what she is worth and what she is capable of. It’s these moments I know I am right where I am supposed to be.
Later that same night, another
girl came to me for prayer as she’s been struggling with physical pain attached
to some deep, deep emotional wounds. I tried helping her uncover lies she’s
believing; some she let me peel back, but others she wouldn’t let go of. “I
can’t say it’s a lie if I believe it’s true,” she said. Though I knew it’s this
very lie at the root of all of her anguish, turmoil, and even physical pain –
“I am damaged goods; I can never be restored” – I couldn’t force her to
see the light when she’s still feeling the winter darkness.
So I said instead, “Do I
have a chance?” She looked at me confused, so I continued. “Is there any chance
I can try to prove to you this is a lie?” She cocked her head in question. “Or
do you feel like you’re going to believe this no matter what I say?”
The faintest smile began to
curve on her lips and she muttered, “You have a small chance.”
“How small? What percentage?” I
asked.
She answered bitterly, “Two
percent.”
Now I smiled. “That’s all
He needs.” She curved her brows in a frown and I answered the question she
didn’t ask. “The two percent you’re offering – it’s not for me. It’s for God.
That’s all He needs – just a chance, the smallest opening, even the weakest of invitations.
So I’ll take the two percent!”
After we prayed, the air around
us that was heavy and dark lifted. She left me with a smile on my heart and I
thought, “This is right where I’m supposed to be.”
Sometimes we think our faith has
to be huge to be worthy, notable, true. But Jesus says even if you have faith
the size of a mustard seed – a mustard seed – it’s enough (Matthew 17:20). In a
world where we are constantly given the message that we aren’t enough, and in a
ministry where girls have to perpetual battle the lie implanted in them at such
a young tender age of abuse that they will never be good enough because they
are damaged goods, how amazing is it to remember that our two percent is
enough. We don’t have to be 98% confident, we just have to be honest.
The place where Jesus meets us, whether
in the winter darkness or the beautiful sunset, is right where we need to be.
