As the sun rose in the distance, I checked the time on my watch, 28 minutes 19 seconds.
“OK, I thought to myself, I’ll stop running at 30 minutes flat.”
As my morning run was coming to an end, I noticed a young Maasai girl carrying an empty water jug in front of me.
“…Alright, I’ll run and finish as I pass her, then I’ll stop.”
My plans changed soon, however, because as I strode hard and huffed and puffed—getting closer to her—she turned around to me and smiled, said something in Mah (the Maasai’s language) and I gathered that she wanted to run alongside me (as a lot of the children do whenever they see the “muzungus”, white people, run).
I laughed and pointed forward saying “I’ll race you to the bridge!” As I motioned for her to come along, she laughed and we both set off in a mad 100 meter dash toward the broken down bridge in front of us—we ended up tying.
When we crossed the bridge and caught our breath I started to try and talk to her—she didn’t really understand and I couldn’t really get her to tell me her name (yay language barriers) so I just started calling her “Mary”, as a lot of the born-again Maasai women choose that as their new name in Christ.
As we walked along I began praying for her out loud, and within a few minutes, she motioned to her bracelet, almost as if to say, “you wanna buy this?” I waved my hand and politely declined—which is when the thought came to me to ask her if she knew Jesus.
Of course, getting the words out like “Jesus”, “God”, or “church” in Mah are nearly impossible for me—but I tried anyway. The conversation ended in furrowed brows and questioned looks followed by laughter and shoulder shrugs.
That has never really happened to me before—normally, when I at least say the name ”Jesus”, who ever I’m talking to could at least recognize the gist of what I’m trying to say—but not my poor Mary.
A second thought came to me—PICTURES! I suddenly stopped walking, bent down to the cool, damp, red rocky dirt and drew a cross. Motioning towards it I said, “Yesu?”
No response.
So then I drew a stick figure hanging on the cross and decided to tell her the story in English—even though she probably couldn’t guess two words I was saying. I began telling her about Jesus' death, drawing an arrow from the cross to a new picture of a closed tomb with a sad face beside it. I then had to laugh as I drew the final arrow and the new stick figure with radiant beams coming out from Him, talking about His resurrection.
As this was all going on, I just realized that telling people about the Gospel isn’t limited by my words alone—pictures work just as well!
“Aaaand that’s the Gospel! Jesus lived a perfect life, died for you in your place, defeated death, rose again and ascended into Heaven! If we believe in Him, we will too!”
I said this with a smile, stretching out my hands to my pathetic drawings.
Mary just stared at me, so I smiled and decided we should walk on. We ended up coming upon a fork in the road and she took the trail to the right that led to the well, and I continued on my route into town. I waved Mary goodbye as she walked away—both of us still smiling.
About five minutes later, I saw her practicing her running in the distance with her empty water jug in hand, her Maasai cloth cape blowing out from behind her and as she ran, I prayed that she will one day know the hope and love of Jesus as her personal Savior.
As the sun steadily rose—now out of the clouds—and I entered back into my little town, I thanked God for how His Gospel is so perfect for everyone around the world and that there’s no one who is unaffected by it’s Truth. No one is exempt! I thanked God that he loves me so much, when I was least deserving, and called me out of the darkness into His light—and that that’s the truth available for every tribe tongue and nation all around the world, from Maasai Mara, Kenya to Sanford, Florida!
