I paint sitting on a mixture of trash and hot sand. Dust and smoke mingle together as they fill the air that surrounds me. I can see the vague impressions of grandiose mountains not so far away. Wild dogs, squealing pigs and countless flies are the only evidences of wildlife around me and the other people working at the trash site.

I remind myself that I am only here for a couple of weeks. But those around me have been here for months, years, decades, and they will remain here long after I have moved on. How do they stand it? How do they not suffocate from the hopelessness thatโ€™s as thick as the smog we are breathing? Where is the beauty of creation? Where is the promise of a faithful creator God?

It is coming; The promise of refreshing is coming. God has already seen the need and answered the call. He has raised up a scrawny little artist with a joyful heart and an eye for beauty. He has filled me to the brim with life and light so that I can pour out everything I have and everything that I am into this dry and weary land. I am so overwhelmed by His goodness. No corner of this world goes unnoticed by him.

I am small but God is so big. For the next two weeks I will get to watch as he uses my paints and brushes to pour out His living water into the middle of this desert land. What an incomprehensible honor.

May it be a beacon of hope, an invitation to come and drink from the well that will never run dry. May it serve those who remain, long after I have left. May it be a constant reminder of Godโ€™s faithfulness in the most hopeless of situations.