Satisfaction

Scrubbing off the dirt from the garden, I rinse the sweet potatoes and chop them. The fresh orange keeps its color as I toss the veggie in the skillet with garlic. I rinse the yard-long beans and cut them bite sized. In the pan they go as well. Next the chard is shredded, lemon squeezed, pear cubed. On the stove top amaranth simmers. I made the guacamole earlier. Chard, parsley, sweet potatoes, beans and lemon came from my own garden. The satisfaction of making my own food in my own little kitchen, with food I grew myself is a delight. I am thankful.

Simultaneously, I am deeply aware of the situation that thousands of widows are facing. Some of the Impact Teams are in frontline areas I am not, and the reports are sobering. When it comes to orphans the numbers climb even higher. Chaos means these sweet women have lost husbands in wars inflicted by terrorists. Real terrorists. The kind that are coming into communities and slaughtering the men and enslaving the women and children. Power-hungry, blood-thirsty, conquest-minded, demon-possessed terrorists who are leaving women and children without.

Without the satisfaction of growing simple things, in peace, in one’s own bit of dirt. The satisfaction of having a husband who provides and stands up for what’s right. The satisfaction of children around the table to eat the food, and grow, and go to school, and learn, and discover, and dream of doing great things for others in the world.

Their satisfaction is dashed, and they are forced to become victims. Dazed, bewildered, heart-broken, they struggle and are forced to become recipients… if they fortunate. Recipients of the kindness of those few who care, who give, who send Impact Teams, or who go and serve with Impact Teams. They are forced to receive. The beans and rice they hope to be able to cook will get to them only if there is a link between donors and Impact Teams; prayer teams and those on the ground. In many cases, the chaos is so great they are fortunate to have a tent, to have a canister of gas to cook on, to have a blanket … to even have some of their children who survived and have not been killed or enslaved.

I am so, so thankful that, for now, I live in a time and space where that is not my own personal experience. I’ve lived through wars and revolutions. I know and understand the miracle of surviving. But even in my thanksgiving, my heart flips over inside of me thinking about these dear ones. And I know, because I’ve been in the tents, and walked alongside, that when someone else comes along, they add water to the soup, they cut the blanket in half, they share.

And there is a gift God gives those who walk with Him. These widows do find a Satisfaction. They catch that ray of sunlight and give thanks. They measure out the oil and give thanks it hasn’t run out yet. They add a pinch of salt and give thanks that they have it. They hug their children in ways those who haven’t walked in their shoes may not comprehend. And give thanks.

Every day, when I give thanks in my Satisfaction, I pray for them. And I hope I live my life in such a way that I can be generous and be among those who help to provide for them.