Then said I, Woe is me! for I am undone; for mine eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts.
One of my prayers for my team in the months prior to our going to South Africa and Swaziland, was that they would meet God in a way that they never had before and that they would be “undone” by their experience. That *I* would be undone by mine. I prayed that we all would be “ruined” forever for the Lord. That we would never again be able to look at our own lives and at the world in the way that we had before.
My prayers were more than answered.
How can you look into the face of a woman who has lost most of her family members to AIDS and yet beams with the joy of the Lord and not be ruined? How can you hold a child whose face shines like a new penny who, despite, at only four years of age, is the head of his household and is the primary caregiver for a 2 year old sister, and not be ruined? How can you walk amongst hundreds of people, many who walked miles and miles and may have quietly waited all day to see the doctor at a mobile medical clinic at a school to get “tablets” for various maladies that we can’t even imagine suffering from in the west, and not be ruined?
How can *I* hear “my kids” talk of the things they are saw, and smelled, and were immersed in, and then listening to them talk about how they see God in all of it, and not be ruined?
As we drove away for the last time from all the kids we spent our time with, I listened to the quiet sobs of my American children who have been gloriously ruined, and I was undone, for I saw the King, the Lord my God, in that moment, too.
Woe are we.
Woe is me.
For we have been undone.