When we first stepped foot into Botswana, I had no idea what to expect.
Our ministry during the month of February was campus evangelism and disciple-making, and I have personally never shared the gospel through evangelism before.
I won’t lie to you, I was absolutely dreading it. I’ve always looked at evangelism as a special spiritual gifting that only certain people have.
All the rest of us average joe’s just spread the love of Jesus through good old-fashion relationship-building, discipleship, praying for salvation from afar, and let’s be honest, just sitting back and letting others take the evangelism lead, praying all the while that the awkward “So, have you ever heard about our personal Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?” conversation would never, ever come up.
Spoiler alert: It does. Inevitably.
My advice would be to stop praying for a conversation to never happen, and to start praying for the strength to follow His will, because let me be the first to tell you: God wants you to tell people about Jesus. I promise.
He wants that to be a thing. Buckle up, kids!
What I learned during my month of walking up to complete strangers and asking them if I could pray for them was this: God wants us to tell people about Jesus, and better yet, He’s already preparing the people He wants us to tell to be ready to hear what we have to say.
Let me tell you a story about the first day we did door-to-door evangelism in the capital city of Gabarone. It was a Saturday, around 10:30am. We were driven to a neighborhood a few streets over from our own, and then we promptly piled out of the van and were instructed to knock on doors, asking to help with chores or weekend projects.
The idea behind this was simple: to come alongside and serve our neighbors, showing them Christ’s love through a heart of servanthood, and then, while working side-by-side, striking up that initial “Hey, have you ever heard about this super cool dude called Jesus? Conversation.
The first few houses we petitioned, nobody answered. Trying not to let the complete lack of acknowledgement or response deter us, we kept going. Finally, one gate opened. A woman in worn-out, Saturday-chores-clothes came running out of her house. She was sweating, visibly distressed, clearly very confused and also amused by the sight of the three white girls toting backpacks and Bibles on her doorstep. We greeted her as best as we could with a native, “Dumela-ma!” And then proceeded to explain our presence and our missive. I was almost positive this woman would send us packing, as she was clearly in the middle of something. But to my incredulous surprise, her eyes began to fill with tears, and her hands went immediately to her heart.
“Oh,” She began tenderly, “I just prayed to God that he would send someone to help me today!” Our mouths dropped open, dumbfounded.
She continued, “My housekeeper didn’t show up! But God is so faithful. Here you are, offering to help wash my car. My car! You came all the way from America to see if I needed help washing my car!” Her tears turned into loud peals of laughter, and before we knew what was happening, she had ushered us into her home.
Almost immediately, she set us on a mission to speak to her elderly father. “I need you to talk to my father. He is very old, and very sick, and he doesn’t listen to me anymore. You must talk with him.”
“Does your father know Jesus?”
“He says he does, but he doesn’t believe Jesus is the same as God. He doesn’t think he needs a savior like our Christ.”
She proceeded to tell us that it was unheard of to her that we should show up on her doorstep, asking if she had any grass to cut, or dishes to do, or cars to wash, because people in Gabarone don’t even do that for each other.
She told us that no Botswanan was about to offer to help with common labor. I’ll never forget the way she said, “They all look to America as an example, and here you are! Three Americans in my house, offering to help carry my burdens. God is faithful!”
Her tone turned urgent again, “Please talk to my father. I fear he will die without accepting Jesus.” We smiled and tried to look brave. I gulped. No pressure, right? Let’s just waltz in off the street and lead a grumpy old man to Jesus. Sure thing. We’ve trained for this…Haven’t we?
We filed into her living room to meet her father. He was a very frail looking man, who was seated at the dining room table, watching cartoons and eating his morning breakfast. His eyes widened in shock as the three of us, plus our Zimbabwean friend Levi, plopped in front of him. What a colorful array of guests to have arrived so unexpectedly!
We greeted him formally, kindly, and he instinctively reached to shake our hands. Over the next fifteen minutes, there were a lot of awkward silences, a lot of pointed questions, an incredible amount of labored breathing on his part, and yet an INFINITE AMOUNT OF ROOM FOR THE HOLY SPIRIT TO MOVE!
This man started out our conversation by telling us he was too tired to argue with young people about Jesus, and that all he wanted was to finish his breakfast respectfully, in peace. I felt like I couldn’t blame him for feeling that way, but I also wasn’t about to give in that easily when I thought of his distraught daughter who had prayed for help to arrive only moments before Jesus brought us to her doorstep. A purpose was meant to be fulfilled, darn it. Respectfully peaceful breakfast or not!
We timidly pressed further.
He entertained our questions, and the conversation wound its’ way to him describing his past to us, telling us of the many years he had spent as a teacher instructing English courses and traveling, and how his greatest fear is that his children and his grandchildren would never find fulfillment or happiness, and it ended with him admitting that he did, in fact, believe that Jesus was his Lord and his Savior. He allowed us to share with him the truth of what it means to have had a Savior die on the cross for his sins, and then by no small miracle, he allowed us to pray for him. The same man who only moments before had, in the politest way possible, basically told us to “get the **** out of my house, please and thanks.”
Naturally, pray for him we did. We prayed for his family, and for healing of his sick body. We prayed for his heart, for his salvation, for peace, and for the generational blessing of his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Once we had finished, he had tears in his eyes. We shook his hands, thanked him for his time, and went back into the kitchen so he could finally finish his breakfast alone.
The Holy Spirit had clearly prepared his heart to hear what the Holy Spirit had prepared us to say. Was it scary to sit there and tell someone about something they may have rather not heard about? Yes.
Was it awkward, the pointed silences passing by where nobody knew what to say, until the Spirit intervened and words just came bubbling out? You bet your bottom dollar it was awkward.
I can’t promise you that sharing the gospel with people is always easy. But I can promise you that God has already done all the work for you, and He is preparing the hearts you reach to receive the words your heart has been given to share.
You have no idea the amount of impact you will hold in a person’s life, but you can always trust that the Holy Spirit will guide you and use you whether or not you understand it at any point in this life or beyond.
I still to this day don’t really know if the old man was authentic with his tears, or whether or not he really accepted Jesus into his heart that day. I may never know. But what I do know is that we were not brought to his neighborhood, nor did we knock on his door by pure accident, chance, nor a random lottery of impossible possibilities.
I don’t have to recognize all of the pieces to understand that God used us to connect a few more parts of his grandiose puzzle that day. And that alone is enough for me to know that one Saturday morning in Gabarone, Botswana, is one that I will surely never, ever forget.
