Abdul.
He looked like an Abdul.
His name rang through my head and stuck. I could remember that name. He stood out among the group of a dozen or so men we were talking to. Literally- he was one of the only ones standing, arms crossed, stern look on his face- ready for a debate.
We had come to the ports of Treichville in Abidjan, Côte d’Ivoire- the capital city of Ivory Coast, home to over 12 million Africans- half of the entire country’s total population. A place where truckers from all over Western Africa gathered to wait for their shipments.
The government is very corrupt here. Some truckers park their trucks here for a day maybe, while others can be left waiting for a month. Bribes are commonly accepted here and so if you don’t have money, you are likely stuck here- in limbo- at “the ports“.
No one in Abidjan wants to go to the ports. It is filthy dirty, the smells are other-worldly, the traffic is ungodly, and through the smog, pollution, and sand blown down from the Sahara desert, the sky is literally a dust bowl.
The taxi drivers don’t even want to go to the ports. Days on end we would stand on the street corner trying to hail a taxi and time after time we would be turned down, not even for extra money did they want to go! One time, out of desperation, we had to walk the whole way there because no one would drive us.
These truckers live in atrocious conditions. Everything is covered in layers of dust and motor oil, including the men. Most have make-shift hammocks made from fishing nets hung from underneath their truck as a shelter. Others use their prayer mats as a bed. Lucky ones have actual cots with a tent covering. Almost everyone has a tea kettle- tea seems to be a necessity here- much like coffee in America. But here tea kettles are universal in their use- used to heat water for tea, but also used as a container to hold drinking water, bathing water, and cooking water. And that’s it. The clothes on their backs, a prayer mat or fishing net for bedding, and a tea kettle. That’s all they have.
As we walked through these ports every single day for the entire month of December, I would have to guess that about 95% of all the men here are Muslims. Many come from the northern countries in West Africa which are all heavily under Islamic influence. Almost all were born into the Islamic religion by means of their family and have never known anything else. Some have never dared to know anything else simply because to deny your faith in Islam is to be excommunicated from your family.
Prior to last month I had never once met a Muslim in my entire life. Growing up and living through 9-11, the automatic feeling I had associated with Muslims was fear. So, coming into this month, I had no idea what to expect. Coming out of this month, I can tell you that Jesus is not afraid of Muslims, and neither should we be. In fact, He deeply loves them, and has called us to do the same.
It is a fact that according to the Koran, in order to be a devout Muslim, killing Christians gives you brownie points, and the only assurance of salvation is to die for Allah- the Arabic word for “god”. But countless Muslims that I met this month either were unable to read or had only read a small portion of the Koran and could not give me specific references, in fact I never once even saw an actual Koran all month. Yet, all these men, were Muslims. Some actually prayed on their prayer mats, but several only used them to lounge on.
Many actually were very accepting of the name “Jesus”. Muslims believe that Jesus existed but they believe that He was only a prophet, sent by Allah, just like all the other prophets- including Mohammed- who is documented to have had 11 wives, one of which was 6 and the marriage was consecrated when she was 9 and he was 52.
So as we began to share Jesus with this group of a dozen or so African Muslim men, Abdul’s stern look and furrowed brow caught my attention. This was a man who was really seeking. He was looking for something. But not just anything, he wanted the truth.
In the Koran there are 99 names for God- none of which are “love” or “father“. Muslims are taught that in order to get to paradise your good works must outweigh your bad works, which is why prayer is done 5 times a day and is held so religiously. But even after all this, when they come to the end of their life, Allah still gets the final say if they get in to paradise or not. According to the Koran, the only assurance that they have of salvation is to die a martyr’s death in the name of Islam.
I love getting to share the Gospel with Muslims. Because when you believe in Islam, and then you hear the Gospel message, it really is GOOD NEWS! God is love– He loves you personally, and the thought of spending an eternity separated from you was too painful for Him to bear. You didn’t have to ask Him for it or work to achieve it, He gave His love freely, as a ransom for the world, on an old rugged cross, over two thousand years ago. And it still rings true today.
As we began to share the Gospel message with Abdul and his friends, he became more outspoken and he seemed to become more confused. This new message was so contrary to the one he had believed his whole life. Could Jesus actually be the Son of God and not just another prophet? God loves me? I don’t have to earn it? I can know for certain that when I die, I will be in heaven with God?
We stood in the hot African sun for over an hour answering his questions, sharing God’s love, and pouring out His mercy. Finally, he said, “I am looking for the truth! If Jesus changes my life or does something big in my life, then I will believe what you are saying. I will come to your church on Sunday to see if what you are saying is true.”
Our ministry host, Marius, took down his phone number and promised to call him. A few days later Marius let us know that he had called Abdul and talked with him for quite some time and that he wanted to meet with us because he had more questions, he had found a New Testament and had been reading it.
So, we met with him again. This time, was a whole different experience. Gone was the Abdul with the furrowed brow, he was not stern looking, he looked more his age, more light, more peaceful. He came running out from the lumbar mill with a smile across his face to greet us. He shook our hands and we walked to a quiet place to sit and talk.
My favorite day of the Race so far was this day. The day that Abdul accepted Jesus into his heart.
He had come to the decision on his own, and had even called his mother to talk with her about it. The response had been very discouraging though. She yelled and asked him why and told him it was not the right thing to do and basically if he became a Christian, he would not be welcome home anymore.
His eyes were black and full of deep sorrow. “How can I become a Christian if my family does not want me to and the Bible says I must honor my father and mother?”
Immediately, the Holy Spirit brought this scripture to my remembrance.
“He that loves his father or mother more than Me, is not worthy of Me… and he who doesn’t take up his cross and doesn’t follow after Me, is not worthy of Me. He who finds his life will lose it; but, he who loses his life, for My sake, will find it.”
Matthew 10:37-39
Our ministry host, Marius, added, “On judgement day, it will not be your mother or father there, it will be you, only you.”
I continued, “God is a personal God. But, He is also a jealous God. He wants you. He wants a personal relationship with you. But He won’t force Himself, you must choose Him, because that is the difference, that is love.”
He paused and pondered a lot. Our ministry host spoke a few more words in French to him and then Marius looked up and said, “He said ‘okay, I want to accept Jesus’ “.
My heart could not contain the joy that sprung up instantly from hearing these simple words. As he prayed the sinner’s prayer in French, I shared with God my joy. And in return He shared with me, His joy. I could hardly hold in my own tears as I relayed it to Abdul.
“When Jesus was on the cross, He was thinking of you, Abdul. He died so you could know Him. As you prayed and accepted His love, He had tears in His eyes and the multitudes of heaven broke out in singing and dancing. For you.”
I got to see Abdul a few times after this and even had the honor and privilege of being able to buy him his very own first Bible. That day, he shared with us that in Islam, when you convert, you must change your name, so he asked if since he was a Christian now, he needed to change his name. We shared that God had already given him a new name- His beloved.
So that’s what I wrote in His Bible, “To: Abdul~ Beloved of God”.
I was even able to give it to him on Christmas Eve. He could not believe it was really his at first, he was in disbelief, but he was so thankful and so happy. That was his single request from us- a Bible of his own.
One of the very first questions he asked us after he got saved was, “How can I make Jesus love me more??”
What an incredibly sincere question of love from this Muslim man who had been starved of love his entire life. Unconditional love is one of the hardest attributes of God to be able to grasp. But how many of us Christians, have that kind of fervor in our being, “How can I make Jesus love me more?” Of course the answer is, we can’t- we are loved multitudes above what we can possibly imagine, but still.
What if we loved Jesus like Abdul loved Jesus after only a day of knowing Him?
What if we were so in love with Jesus that we were willing to give up everything we had ever known, give up our family, our friends, our loved ones?
What faith.
What fervor.
What love.
“For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”
John 3:16
Blessings from Ivory Coast <3
