When I’m With My Daddy
Mycross-country trek began last Friday and my first stop was Cairo, IL-where I
currently still am until Wed. morning. I have written about Cairo on this
blog numerous times. I called this place home for 2.5 years, and I found my covenant
family here as we struggled, contended and grew in a place together that most
of the time felt like it was straight out of Isaiah-barren, desolate, no sign
I have been around this place-weird huh?) the whole bit. A town where
every kid lives below the poverty line, most people don’t have jobs, and racial
tension and strife leftover from the civil rights movement exists to this
day. Let’s just say, this was great training ground for me to understand
spiritual warfare, standing in the gap, and the power of God’s promises-and
declaring them over places, regions, and nations. Coming back is always a
unique feeling-like coming home, but sort of like when your home is war torn
Sudan or Iraq. I forget what reality here can mean sometimes.
Yesterday, I was reminded.
I
joined two of my former staff mates as they did their weekly prayer/ministry
time at the projects. There are two housing projects in Cairo, and they
switch off between the two on Monday afternoons. There is no set plan:
just whatever God wants them to do each time: intercede, talk to people, pray
with people, etc. As we pulled up to the place, one of the girls shared a
story from earlier that day at one of the elementary schools. Without going
into detail, the discovery of inappropriate sexual behavior was found happening
at a school function. This is happening and being dealt with at
ELEMENTARY school age. I probably worked with some of these kids as sweet
2nd graders during my time here. We sat in subdued silence for a long
time in the car, words being few and prayers hard to formulate. I gazed out the window, at the
trash littering the ground, the concrete of the buildings and the screechy bass
of the cars passing by outside blaring music that promotes and glorifies the
exact thing we sat there reeling from. My next thought was: Of course. Where else do these kids have to turn?
Look what surrounds them: Filth-not just in the form of the trash no one cares
enough to pick up, but in words that are said, in actions, in what they watch
on T.V., in how they see their parents (some who are basically teenagers
themselves) interact and respond to those around them. I just sat there looking down
at my bible, asking God for His reality and what He thinks there needs to be a
release of here.
The
words of a Rick Pino song came to my mind: innocence is restored, when I’m with
my daddy. The song goes on to
prophetically declare the restoration of the innocent ones, for confusion to
end, and for fear to cease. I
began to ask for God to release the realization of himself as Daddy over that
housing project. For kids who have
never known the true love of an earthly father to encounter the heart of the
One who weeps over their sin, but waits in eager expectation for their
realization as heirs-sons and daughters of the living God, to be revealed
(Romans 8:15-16). That is it. Not by any human effort, or control,
or behavior modification, but by an encounter with the heart of the
Father. It’s a joyful realization,
even as I look at my dear family that is still here in the thick of it: Not by
power or might, but by His Spirit.
can I say? Cairo, I love ya. It’s always good to be back. 🙂 If this is any indication, the rest of
my across the nation jaunt should be pretty awesome. I’ll keep you updated!
