She woke up that morning to the sunshine and the sounds of a noisy African household. Screaming children, chickens outside the window… all too familiar since arriving weeks before. She recovered from the floor, put on a simple skirt, brushed her teeth with bottled water, and looked to her team for a word of prayer. Nothing was unusual or expected from the routine door to door schedule planned for the day. Her feet, placed one in front of the other, took her up the road to the small town that was Isibania. The regular smiles and calls of “muzungoo!” and “how are you?” followed her most of the way. Prayer in the tin roofed church was brief, and then the ministry began.
Going from house to house telling her story again and again was exhausting in more ways than one, but there was no stopping. She continued to recite in her mind that this was work worth doing. Telling every person about her life and about the change occurs when God’s love is accepted probably seems like just a nice story, but her thoughts were wondering… discussing the past. A few houses came and went; she was tired, distracted. Women were about their business, washing clothes for the day, cooking, awaiting their children’s return for lunch. An African woman’s work is endless, never finished. Every encounter felt like an intrusion and unmerited welcome, but still they smiled, put down their clothes, food, buckets, and children to smile and say “Karibu.”
Continuing down the street, young African translator paused at a small gathering that looked promising on the side of the road. The two women on the straw mat were doing something with corn that was unfamiliar to the young American missionary, but then again, everything was unfamiliar except learned schedule. “Can these women minister to you?” the Swahili flowed effortlessly from the translator. The Americans were given stools to sit on as was the demanded custom of the wonderfully hospitable women. That’s when the words came. The young, unlearned “missionary” began to tell what God meant to her for what felt like the thousandth time. Children were all around of course and her voice was broken by passing cars, cow herders and customers. Although she said it a so many times before, telling her story still jerked her heart, and she knew that the Father was still in love with where He has brought her. Finally reaching the end, the girl gave an invitation. She asked each of the women if they wanted to be born again, to abandon their lives in return for a new one.
