A little over a year ago, I pulled into Malawi on the back of a flatbed truck with 27 of my teammates. Did I mention we were in that truck for 30 plus hours? It was probably one of the worst experiences of my life and I can’t really say I grew stronger from it, but I have a killer story to tell at least. I think during that horrible ride, entire hours went by without anyone saying a word, and all of us just staring blankly at each other. In short, it was miserable.
Needless to say, I wasn’t extremely excited about climbing into my tent or anything else Malawi had in store for us. Selfishly, I just wanted to disappear for a little while, (kind of like Jesus, but totally different motives) but I knew we had another month of ministry to get started and some decisions to make. I had no idea the blessings that were in store for me.
I teamed up with a group that I had worked with several times before, but it had been a few months since we were last together. I was excited to see the growth they had gone through. In our first meeting, our contact Medson, who looks very much like an African Mr. Magoo, laid out what was expected of us during the next month. Basically, we would go to different villages all over southern Malawi and meet with pastors and teach them the word. Currently in Malawi, Bibles are very scarce. Even pastors are having to re-teach material or go to sessions like ours to hear the word preached because they don’t even own a Bible themselves. Our assignment was for all seven of us to teach everyday, for three weeks.
It was quite the task and most of our group was very hesitant about it, but it was fun to watch God stretch all of us. Back to Medson. After our first meeting, I just wanted to be around Medson and his wife Rose. I have never seen someone so embody joy and childlike faith. He can’t be much taller than five foot three, but when he starts talking about God and the Bible, you would think he was ten feet tall and bullet proof. He had a way of presenting the Gospel that not only reached his congregation, but would make anyone stand up and shout (yes, even you Southern Baptists…).
Over our three weeks there, we spoke everyday. It got exhausting to stay up late or get up early to prepare, but we knew what was expected of us. Every time I tried to make an excuse about speaking, I reminded myself that Medson was speaking seven times a day because of translating, and I had never seen so much joy from one man. This man lives his life totally based on the Gospel of Jesus to where he literally has nothing else to sustain him. We stayed in his home for three weeks, and I kind of wanted to stay longer.
Now for Rose. I have never met someone that serves more selflessly. Everyday we would come home, exhausted and starving, and food would be waiting. My bed would be made and any dirty clothes that I left on the floor were washed and folded (all by hand). I even had a shirt that had a stain on it several months before I left for the World Race, and she got it out with her bare hands. She wasn’t much of a talker because of the language barrier, but I loved standing beside her for the prayer, holding her hand or with my arm around her shoulder. Rose loves supporting her husband and loving the God they both serve, even if that means rarely being seen.
The biggest blessing from my time in Malawi came when Christmas rolled around. We were in a city with no long distance communications, no Christmas trees or decorations, and really nothing to give as presents aside from basic necessities. However, it was one of the most meaningful Christmas Eves and Mornings I ever had. We had no lights in the house for Christmas Eve, so we had a house candlelight service. It was just the seven of us, Medson, Rose and their family. Medson was moved to tears during the remembrance of the day and asked us to lead his church in the same service the following morning.
So after our time of prayer and worship, we went to bed and woke up the next morning to spread the news. The church building was packed and we celebrated with people from all over. We taught them the meaning of Christmas and what it celebrated, and then we just worshipped and prayed. Many of the people had no idea who we were and only came because they heard about white people and a roof. They stayed as long as they wanted and we continued to sing. It was truly a special Christmas.
I tell you this a few weeks before Christmas, because I think it’s necessary for us to evaluate how we spend the holidays. How can we reach out to our family, including the ones that don’t share our last name? How can we eliminate the ways we take advantage of this time? What do we need to do to not just make this day special, but make it worshipful? After all, this isn’t your typical birthday party…
