“Volunteers, would you come and make groups and pray with the kids?” The youth leader asked, looking at my team as we sat, spread out around the gymnasium.
It was the end of Youth Group on our last Thursday in Namibia (sorry for the throwback, we’re talking the end of February). Thursdays were always much longer than any other day of the week, usually by two to three hours, and this Thursday was scheduled to go even longer as the Youth Leader asked if any of the kids present wanted to accept Jesus into their hearts.
I’d like to say I was so kingdom minded that I was so ready to be the missionary I’d come on the Race to be, but honestly, after nearly ten hours of playing with preschoolers, going on a 7 person, 4 cart grocery shopping trip, and teaching math to grade’s 1-7, I was about out of steam. And by “about out,” I mean half asleep on the cement steps at the back of the gym.
My team made our way to the center of the room where the entire youth group had responded to the impromptu altar call, and instantly, my teammates were surrounded by groups of kids, ready to be prayed for. I, meanwhile, hung on the outskirts of the circle, feeling completely inadequate and rather than a group of kids, I felt a single hand slip into mine as I stood on the outskirts of the circle. I looked down and saw a small girl at my side. She was one who I’d seen sneak in late with a group of kids my mind had instantly labeled “the cool kidz.” The two of us made our way back to the steps I’d just left, and sat down.
I asked her what her name is.
“Shay,” she replied. (Not her real name)
“I’m Emma.”
“Teacher Emma.”
I laughed, still unused to how much respect teachers in other countries receive, even if you’re not even an actual teacher. I asked, “How old are you?”
“18.” (She did not look 18, maybe 14 or 15, so that surprised me.)
“Wow, I’m not that much older than you are! I’m 21.”
She nodded.
She started to tell me about how she accepted Christ a few years ago, but fell away from her faith because of friends and school, and the inability to go to a consistent church.
In spite of the fact that I’ve never prayed with someone who’s recommitting their life to Christ, it is a relatively straightforward prayer, and we prayed it together.
After we’d said “amen,” I asked her how she was going to make things different from here on out.
I asked her if she had a bible.
“My mom does,” she said, “but it’s in Afrikaans, and I can’t read Afrikaans. It would be much easier if I had an English bible.”
It was then that I was painfully aware of my backpack sitting on the other side of the gym, and even more aware of my bible sitting inside my backpack. I felt Jesus tell me, quite clearly, “Give her yours.”
To which I told Jesus, “No.”
We’re talking about my bible, here. My bible. First of all, if –hypothetically- I gave my bible away, I’d have no way of getting a new one. And I’m a missionary, with four full months of mission left. I kind of need a bible.
Second of all, the bible I have is one I bought specifically for the Race, to fill with everything that I learned, everything the Lord taught me. That thing was marked up almost all the way from beginning to end, with highlighter, pen, and pencil marks, water color paintings, and post-it notes. The pages were filled with love notes from squadmates, the most perfect maple leaf in all of Bulgaria, pressed flowers from Zambia—that book was evidence of the fullness of life I’d lived in the last year, like hell I was going to part with it.
But the fact remained the Shay needed a bible. For the next 24 hours, I kept trying to come up with a solution to Shay’s lack. In my head, it was all a matter of who would know where a bible would be sold, who would be trustworthy to give money to, to purchase it, how it would be gotten to her- but nobody answering any of those questions presented themselves.
The whole next day we were getting ready for a rummage sale, and I was fully expecting to unearth an English bible in the midst of all the stuff we were sorting –but again, nothing. It was actually depressing, waiting for God to show up. Especially with that niggling thought at the back of my mind, “Just give her yours.”
That was our last day of ministry in Namibia, marking some of our last days in Africa. Saying goodbye wasn’t easy. I loved Africa, loved Namibia, loved the organization my team had worked with that month. I got back that last day on the verge of tears, having been on the verge of tears all day. I couldn’t wait to be alone, to process through, to cook some chili for dinner and sing jazz music and just be– but my team called a supplementary team time, attendance required.
I was, needless to say, most displeased.
We gathered in one of our bunkrooms, and after about thirty seconds of us awkwardly standing there, they all started singing happy birthday, and they were all looking at me. My first thought was, “Oh, boy, they’re a month early. Awkward.”
But they handed me a comic book wrapped package and all sat back, grinning excitedly. “My birthday’s in March,” I said, holding the present out in front of me.
“Yeah, we know. Open it.”
“But it’s February 24th.”
“So what? Open it!”
I opened it.
Inside was a NKJV journaling bible.
Actual first thoughts: “Okay, Jesus.”
I’d mentioned probably a quarter of the things in my head to my team, and I hadn’t mentioned to them how the Lord had asked me to give away my bible. Regardless, they’d been planning on buying me a bible since January, and had decided to wait to purchase it when one of my teammates went home to the US for a wedding in the beginning of February. They’d been carrying around the bible for a couple weeks, trying to figure out when to give it to me, when that morning, they’d decided to give it to me that afternoon, having no context besides their own convictions.
The Lord couldn’t have been clearer.
On one hand, it was like He was reiterating was I was supposed to do with what I had been given. That which I was so completely privileged to have, I now had two of. Like, really, in a matter of seconds, I’d become the wealthiest person for miles as far as bibles (and many, many other things) were concerned, what was I going to do, keep them both? Great question. I honestly feel like if I’d been given my new bible two days before or after, I probably could’ve convinced myself that I was capable of carting both bibles around the remainder of my race.
On the other hand, it was Him showing me that He wasn’t going to leave me stranded in the middle of Africa, alone, without Him. From how it was delivered to me, in the form of a gift, to how it is a bible that fits actually every bit of criteria I had for what I wanted in my next bible – it was Him showing my half-hearted expectations of His showing up were seriously not doing Him justice.
So, I mean, the story ends here with me emptying my old bible of all the post-its and random crap that had accumulated in its pages and stuffing it all in an envelope. I wish I had more details about what happened to the bible after I gave it to one of the teachers, but I really only have the hopes that it made it to Shay and that she’s reading it.
