A few times, I have been able to go to the prison in Toliara.
This prison has absolutely nothing western. There is nothing to even compare to anything familiar except, perhaps, a concentration camp. Upon entering the prison, one must walk through the male dominated area consisting of an open dirt field with trees being chopped, meals being cooked and complete oppression drifting in with the occasional breeze.
I walked past a guard sitting under a tin roof sitting with his back against the wall, legs spread and arms crossed, locked, over a machine gun. Other than the gun, nothing really set him apart from a normal civilian.
We reached a rusty tin door, knock a few times and an inmate would open the gate to let us into a smaller but similar area to the men’s. Then we sat down with all the ladies needle working, cooking food and we began singing, studying the Bible and praying.
Every time, I’ve sat in that spot– on dirty straw mat on top a concrete ground chicken poop to my left and chicken poop to my right– has been beautifully special but there’s this one time I’ll never ever forget. After the “service” had ended and the final prayer had been a prayed, a lady brought her beautiful handiwork to me… I was so amazed by the creativity and resourcefulness she brought forth. She brought items made from all sorts of simple means yet made utterly lovely by her skillful hands. I found myself asking, “How much is this, ma’am?” I ended up buying several and then buying from a few more ladies as well. This was not something I had been in the habit of doing but I so clearly felt the Lord drawing me to make this exchange that I had to.
The three ladies I had bought crafts from looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Praise to God. Now I can buy food today.” That line was said with such sincerity I was brought to tears.
These ladies are in prison, in isolation and hopelessness, for the most petty crimes, waiting on the longest most corrupt court process while slowly starving, slowly giving up. And yet, because my God greatly cares for them and deeply loves them he fed them twice in one day: even through the hunger deeply rooted in oppression and isolation, he fed them His Word and gave them his church for company and even through the rumbling stomachs and mouths begging for food, he provided a means to renew their bodies.
I was so humbled to watch as this God I serve immensely provided in yet such a simple way. It reminded me of the story in John 6 where that little boy had a faith bigger than the food his little hands offered to Jesus… he had a faith so big that he knew Jesus could fill baskets upon baskets with the little bit his hands could offer. In the same way, those three women came to the Bible study expecting to be spiritually fed, offering what little they could in encouragement and presence, and yet, even still, they were physically fed as well.
We serve a God that multiplies. He multiplies time. He multiplies talent. He can take whatever little bit our tiny hands offer and multiply it to reach the coldest hearts. He can take whatever little bit our tiny hands offer and multiply it to reach the farthest nations. He can take whatever little bit our tiny hands offer and multiply it to reach and do things our minds can’t even imagine. The only thing he asks is that we take our tiny hands, stretch them out and offer whatever contents are in them. We must be willing and then he will make us vessels.
as always, Anna 