An outstretched hand, a sick woman, and a blind man.

I've been thinking a lot about the stories of the people in the gospels. The many people who believed in who they knew Jesus to be. Not just the 12 that followed Him around, but the others.

Like the man with leprosy who had faith to ask the Lord of Lords to make him clean, or the sick woman, who believed and had faith that even just to grasp Jesus's cloaks would heal her. And the blind and the mute, and the paralytic. I mean the list goes on.

But these people had faith to move mountains and faith to believe that they could be healed. And I think, all too often, that we forget that the God, the Jesus of the Bible is the same Jesus we have today. Sure we have faith in little things, like praying for a light to turn green when we're running late for work. But what about bigger things?

I mean He is God over ALL, our limits do not limit Him,

This thought brought me to women and men I would pass when I would go to Mwanza City in Tanzania. I don't know why there, but I've realized that most of my thoughts lead me back to Africa. But these men and women and sometimes children would be stretch out on these dusty, dirty mats, legs tangled together, crippled. Sometimes no legs at all. And they would shake their cup at me and I would walk past, because it was instilled in me for safety reasons not to give them money or stop. So instead I would walk by and shoot up a prayer;

"God I don't know what you'd have me do, but I do ask for those legs to untangle themselves and those feet to learn to move again, all in your name."

Many moments I wish I would have stopped, just asked to pray with them and give them a few shillings, at least to have just known their names. I don't know if it was the safety preaching I received coupled with the language difficulties, but I never stopped and sometimes it still haunts me because I know Jesus would have stopped.

And I ask myself, was I Jesus to them. No, not enough. But the wonderful thing is God hears my prayers. I don't know and may never know if they are healed and walking around over in Tanzania in this moment. But that prayer was my reach to touch His cloak, the words "I am willing" from a blind believer. And God's reach is immeasurable and I know He will continue to work.

But I also know that He is asking me to reach out more and be His hands and feet. He reminds me of praying for the man in the village with the broken collarbone, to reaching my hand out and stretching my fingers across his ebony skin, and reaching for Jesus's cloak. He's calling me to say "I am willing" and reach. To stop walking past in a daze. To stop. To truly see people. See their hurts, their pain, their needs and reach out my hand.

I am not called to live a life of walking by, I'm not called to be safe, I'm promised that when I am in danger, when I'm in those tough moments, I reach out my hand and God is right there with me. And with Him there is no better place to be, there is nothing I can't do, with faith and an outstretched hand.


Reaching out,


  HIS and yours,


    Cami