After a day spent at a local school we got our hosts key and walked home – briskly I might add, the streets aren’t the nicest place to be at night. However, when we arrived at our home, instead of slipping quickly inside the warmth and security we faced a slight problem – a door.
Normally doors would be of no concern, but this door isn’t just any door, this door is broken.
We were stuck outside for about 20 minutes. It was dark and we were cold. I was sure every person who walked past was planning on beating us up and robbing us – having just done a skit on the Good Samaritan at the school, it was fresh in my mind.
We called a friend to ask our host the trick to unlocking the door but he simply replied, ‘Pray, ask Jesus how.’ This was not what we wanted to here. We wanted the door to unlock. Instead of praying we began to throw ourselves uselessly against the door.
Suddenly two guys pulled up on a motor bike, their arms roughly the size of my thighs. They were greying and weathered in appearance, but if anything that made them more frightening. They came towards us speaking loud and intimidatingly in Spanish. We don’t speak Spanish.
As they slowly approached we explained, in very broken Spanish, that we speak English and are guests of the family. It didn’t seem to work, they came closer and closer. In one man’s hand he held his phone, half covered, yet I could clearly see 911 waiting to be called. Our situation was quickly turning into a run in with the Argentinian police, who only speak Spanish, and whom I doubt would take kindly to Englishmen looking very much like they’re trying to break into a house. My heart dropped, everything seemed to leave me.
In my desperation I threw out my heart, praying, begging for someone that would listen. “Please! Help! Anyone?”
And God heard my cry. My friend attempted one last time to get the door open. He leaned against it and then it silently glided open. We all tumbled inside, our hearts thumping double time. We were safe, we were home. We closed our door, quickly locking it behind us.
I was so relieved, and at the same time, heartbroken. In my moment of need I didn’t run straight to God. I’d tried to do it on my own, tried to solve my own problem. It wasn’t until I had no other options, when my back was literally up against the wall, that I gave in. I accepted I couldn’t do it alone, accepted that I needed help.
In my brokenness He appeared. In my weakness He protected me. In my unwillingness to trust He stood firm at my side.
I learned something that night, I can either be ashamed of my refusal to trust that God protects me, or I can declare all the louder that in my weakness He is good.