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Saturday, April 25, 2009

Not My Will

That is our prayer, as we sit in the old colonial gardens of a hotel
in Naivasha, Kenya's Rift Valley, studded with yellow-barked Acacia
trees, and flowing with a palette of bougainvillae. As we face the
cup of this world's sorrow and brokeness, we reflect upon the hours
Jesus spent in a garden, too. God takes the dissolution of His
creation seriously, so seriously that the cup of His wrath spills over
into consequences of disease and hunger and isolation and despair. We
pray to see that removed, but we acknowledge, soberly, that the way of
removal may involve our tasting. Pray with us that we would trust the
love of our Father, and his all-things-are-possible power, so that we
hold with both hands the cup He hands us in this time of planning, and
swallow His will. And that we find the cost of such a draught dwarfed
by hope, for ourselves and for Africa.

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