This week I was finally able to visit one of the Orphanages here in Bamako. I will be working there once a week, not only holding babies and taking care of their needs, but doing my best to practice Bambara, and look for opportunities to minister to the ladies that work there.  After my visit, I felt the Lord speak to me that holding and loving on the babies was not enough.. If I want to have a long term affect on the children, I must impact those that are raising them. The workers there are indeed Muslim, as it is a Muslim orphanage.  I am so excited to see the doors that God opens there. Pray for the women that care for the babies, and ultimately have a say in how the children are raised.

Not only was I privileged to be able to visit and explore Dogon country this past week, but I was also able to visit a mosque for the first time. I honestly did not really know what to expect, other than the fact that I had to cover my head, and take off my shoes. I have only ever read and heard of what goes on inside of a mosque and was therefore rather intrigued to learn more about the primary religion of the people that I now live amongst. Upon our entrance, I was told that because I was a female, I would not be aloud to enter into the same room of prayer as the men.  So, the rest of the females and I began on our adventure up a staircase and into the area where women are aloud to pray.  As I slipped off my sandals before entering, I was reminded of Moses’ encounter with God at the burning bush, where he was told to take off his shoes for he was on holy ground. Sadly, I was taking my shoes off for ground that is only thought to be holy.  There is no presence of God that rests inside of that place, calling and comforting the people that enter into it. I walked forward to a wall with small holes in it, so that women are blocked from being able to look fully down into the room where the Imam will speak, and where the men pray. They are separated and often uneducated about their own religion, although expected to follow through with the daily requirements of it. I immediately felt a physical pressure that weighed on my entire being.  I began to cry as I watched a lady start to pray. I felt the Lord just speak to me and say that He hears every single prayer that is lifted to Allah. It would be as though my father were standing right in front of me, but instead I turned to a different man, and begged and pleaded with that man for my life. But that man cannot do anything for me, because he is not my father, and my father could not do anything for me because I am not speaking to him. The Lord is beginning to give me an understanding  of the hearts behind the people that stop what they are doing five times a day to pray to the god of Islam.