Savior of all People

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She shakes her head, and points to her son. "He likes to fight. It's not good. I try to tell him not to, but he is always fighting." Her young eyes look pained. Her husband died two years ago, and the only reason she has left to live is for her eleven year old son. And here in camp, he is always causing her grief.

The six year old is sobbing and shaking. Her mother has just beaten her, and she is scared and upset. We hold her, and try to comfort her. She doesn't want to go back to her house, but we need to take her. The mother takes her from our arms, laughing.

He comes running behind me, and kicks me in the shins. I turn around for a hug, but he withdraws, and grins mischievously. Everyone, including his mother, calls him Crazy, and it is easy to see why. When the other children high-five and hug as a greeting, he throws punches and kicks violently. But he has seen way more than a six year old should have to see. He has seen blood, war, bodies. He has experienced a traumatic boat ride, he has hid from whistling bullets, he lost his father, and he has lived in a camp with 2500 other people for four months.

Everywhere I look, I see pain. I see sad eyes. I see tears. I see chaos and imprisonment and binding powers. I feel oppression and depression and darkness.

But God is a God of miracles. He is the Healer of broken hearts. He can restore. He knows what pain is, and he brings peace. He provides a future -- He is the future. He is a Redeemer. I choose to believe in my God, because I know He is a miracle-worker.