The entire time we were in Burkina Faso we were imbued with the fine red dust arising from the red clay soil. Any shuffling foot, passing moto, or arid breeze would give rise to swirls of red dust that colored everything and filled the air. The scene in every direction was like a painting on a dull, red canvas.

Half-way through our stay and in our struggle to keep the dust out of our apartment,... our clothes, our laptop, our food, and our noses and mouths we surrendered to its inevitability. The dust was unrelentingly pervasive and invasive—it was to be a part of everything. Clothes are now died a ruddy color. I believe that there may even be traces of the dust incorporated into our DNA. Resistance (as the Borg would say) was futile.

Then it struck me how much the red dust was like God’s love. The dust, much like God’s love is visible everywhere. It fills and covers everything. It finds a way inside even after our best efforts to keep it out. Like His grace, it is irresistible and it becomes part of us. It covers us like a blanket. And when we think that we have succeeded in removing every trace of it we find that it has avoided our best efforts and is still very much present.

Much like the heat of the sun in Psalm 19, there is no escaping the fine red dust or God’s love. We may think we have it for a moment only to discover that it is still very much present.

Thank God.