I am too big for buses in Africa.
It take me about 20 minutes to get into the bus, ducking my head under the door and avoiding the exposed edges of the metal. My knees jam into the seat in front of me or pour over into the person beside me. My head hits the ceiling and I almost concuss myself on every bump, which happens every few minutes. Africa loves its speedbumps.
I don't like minibuses.
The man teetered into the minibus. The side panels and floorboards have long since been stripped of any comfort like carpet or leather to guard the jagged metal corners on seats and doors. On the way in, he hurts himself.
He selects the seat next to me, becoming the fourth person in our row that would have been uncomfortable with two. His breath smells of locally brewed beer, the best bang for your buck if you're just looking to get drunk. It's 10 a.m.
"Where-re-re are you from?" he asks me.
The rest of the men on the minibus, including a Pastor we're working with, are laughing at him as he stumbles through the words. He's stumbling through his morning.
Ministry begins at 11 a.m. We walk from the Pastor's partially roofed house, through the congested market with people yelling "Muzungu" at us, and into the village where we're going door to door to tell people about Christ.
Our first stop is at an auto mechanic's shop. There's a woman making corn snacks to sell and two men sleeping in a minibus they're supposed to be repairing. They see me and my pastor and perk up to greet us. They invite us into the minibus with them.
The engine is exposed and its inner-workings are like tangled vines. There are pools of water and oil on the floor and only two seat benches have retained their peeled leather covering. The men introduce themselves and the Pastor asks me to share my testimony with them. They say they have been to church before, but they're not believers.
After about five minutes, another mechanic enters the car from the driver's-side door. After another five, two more men come into the sliding door. Finally, a man enters through the passenger-side door. There are six people here now, led by the Spirit, to hear what He is telling me to talk about.
A conversation begins among us, and they ask me how they can get to know God better. They ask me how they can live eternally. They ask me how they can live free on this earth.
One of the men is addicted to alcohol, and he wants to be free.
We all want to be free.
After two hours of talking, all six of them are so moved by the Spirit that they accept Christ as their Savior.
Even when we're comfortable — actually, especially when we're uncomfortable — Christ has a call for us. He has a purpose for us in every place He puts us.
Even if we don't fit.
Even if the person next to us makes us uncomfortable.
Even if no one else understands.
I'm beginning to like minibuses more.
