Love, Joy & Pain: Walking With the Women of Vanuatu.

Yesterday I woke up with a rare anticipation and joy. I had been asked to preach at our church for the second time.  This is significant because: 1.) I'm a woman and 2.) it wasn't Mother's Day. The church I'm referring to meets under a mango tree and we always enjoy our time there. The pastor typically preaches but believes this: man or woman, young or old, everyone should be able to speak in church. He receives a lot of flack for this conviction but continues to allow everyone to share their heart with his congregation.

I was excited because God had given me some very specific things to speak about. He wanted me to share His heart and different facets of His love. We have seen a lot of rules and religion here but what I find troubling is a lack of passion or joy. They sing songs like “Jesus, i likem olgeta,” “Jesus likes everyone.” In their head they understand that God is love but I'm not sure how many, if any, have experienced God's love in the deeper places of their heart.

The service was full of tears (mostly from me) as I shared my stories of how God has shown me His love. How I came to an understanding of just how much God loves His people. How there is an infinite God left to be discovered and of His longing to be with His creation. I shared a picture God had given me in prayer a few days prior where God lovingly, and with great care, created each person in that congregation. I saw every detail of their faces and the great time He took with each one. Not a factory, not hastily slapping some paint on one and moving to the next. No. As God's creation, we are His handiwork. No mistakes, no junk, we are His.

Driving down the road a few hours later I experienced something that I don't yet have the right words for. Something I hope to never see again. Along the main road I saw a woman lying in a lump with a man standing over her. He was waving his arm at passing cars. In my ignorance I flipped my car around only to see that he was waving people by, not flagging down help. He did the same to me as I approached but I stopped my car anyway. I repeatedly asked if she needed help and then realized what was really going on. He kept ripping at her arms in an attempt to get her up so I would leave. Her wailing and cries of pain were like nothing I've heard before. I flagged down another truck and asked for help. A man got out helped the young woman up and into his truck. She was unable to walk and her face, the face God meticulously created, was bloodied and beaten beyond recognition. 

As I drove home I questioned my actions over and over. Why wasn't she getting into my truck? Why can't I be with her now and offer love, hope, something!? Other questions disturbed me. Why wouldn't anyone else stop their cars? This happened in plain sight on a busy road. Why didn't anyone stop him? I knew the answers. Culturally, men are allowed to “discipline” their women. They own them. The sight of this woman being pummeled was simply not that out of the ordinary for others passing by.

I cried. I shouted. I prayed. God had filled me with so much love for these people as I had prepared to speak. He had given me His eyes for them, shown me just how much He adores them. I only felt a small portion of the grief that Jesus felt for this woman and I was a wreck. How much more God's heart must break at the evil in this world!

Now, I know domestic violence happens everywhere. I know there is an enemy that comes to steal, kill and destroy. I know it's bigger than this one woman. It's an issue of sin and a battle for the hearts of man. But this happened in front of me, on my road. I saw her face. I heard her cries. It's personal.

A couple months ago a Christian asked Jeremy, “Why does Merissa spend any time with her? You guys know about her right? She's a mess.” Yeah, it is messy. The tears they cry, the pain they feel, that emptiness in their eyes- but  Jesus brings hope. Hope, that there is a God that will never leave them. Hope, that there is a God that sees their beauty and pursues them. Hope, that there is more, that “life abundant” is a reality. Hope, that they can experience peace in the midst of storms. Hope in a defender, a loving Savior, that longs to be with them.

Jeremy's answer to the man that questioned my motives in hanging out with the "undesireables" of society went something like this: Luke 5:31- Jesus answered them, “It is not the healthy that need a doctor, but the sick.”

It's why I'm here. I pray God will continue to bring me close to the brokenhearted. I don't want to look away and I won't keep on driving.