“I wake up fully rested, feeling the warmth of the sun shining through the window. I smell sweetened chai tea heating up on the stove. The Maasai women who cook for me are singing praise songs as they prepare my breakfast…”
Finally had some time with just the boys of our squad during (Man)istry. I can write with confidence that the past ten days with the Maasai in Enesampulai have been my favorite on the World Race. Why? Besides the textbook African beauty, brotherly fellowship, initiations by fire, and brandishing of weaponry… and besides the passionate debates over politics, theology, and philosophy, living with the Maasai granted me ten days of wholesome serenity, ten days of matchless challenge, and ten days of breathtaking intimacy with the Lord my God…
“Listening as their voices harmonize, I quietly praise God for the day. Taking my good old (African) time, I eventually rise to take tea. Wandering into the kitchen, I am greeted with smiles and how-are-yous. Like every morning, we fourteen men split up into pairs for fellowship. My partner and I take our tea outside to the adjacent hill overlooking the farmlands below. We admire God’s splendor, pray for each other, cast vision for our ministry, and unveil our hearts…”
There is nothing quite like guys sharpening one another in loving brotherhood. It’s hard to envision any other time in which I’ll spend virtually every waking moment with thirteen godly prayer warriors and accountability partners. It brought about a fresh level of intimacy, vulnerability, and-ultimately-freedom in Christ…
“Refreshed by God’s grace, we finish together and take breakfast at our own leisure. Some of the guys are praising God through song and guitar before beginning our daily ministry. I listen in high spirits while deciding instead to dive into my own worship through scripture today. Embracing my liberty, I read until my heart’s content, and then head to church to partake in fellowship…”
Here church praise and worship begins as soon as the first people arrive, but the actual service doesn’t start until the majority of people have come. We get there when we get there and can immediately jump into the worship that is usually already going strong. The different perspective on time was one of the aspects I missed most about Africa last time I left it behind (Botswana, Summer ’07). There is no concept of being late or early. No one gets upset or stressed out over trifles with time. They place importance on things outside of rigid schedule and maximum efficiency, such as personal and relational contentment. Contentment-now there is a lesson I could stand to learn back in the States…
“The bright-eyed children dance their hearts out to a familiar Kenyan church rhythm. I often join in, but occasionally take a step back to reconnect with my King in my own way. I most enjoy simply observing the Maasai people praising God. As I look for Christ in each one of their varying smiles and dances, I can’t help but smile myself and thank God for everything…”
Here in Enesampulai, I have tasted a wide variety of Maasai living. I was fed by the monkey skin-wearing, red-dyed, bejeweled groom in a traditional wedding; I have shoveled dirt onto the casket of a recently deceased village matriarch (allegedly 125 years old) in a celebratory funeral; and I have even partaken in-unflinchingly so as not to bring shame upon my family-a series of decorative burnings. I bought a machete, sharpened it, and journeyed into the bamboo forests to cut down and fashion for myself a walking staff. I drank fresh milk straight from the cow. And I, alone, was invited to the chief’s majestic home in the midst of dense bush, to speak face-to-face with a Maasai legend, and to sit in awe of his elaborate and gorgeous decorations, complete with ancient shields and weapons, wood carvings, and other items of cultural importance. He even gave me something…
“The Holy Spirit, my bladder, or a curious combination of the two, compels me to leave the church service. The sky outside couldn’t be any bluer. As I’m admiring the scenery during my walk through the village, a man runs up to me with urgency. He holds out his cigarette. ‘Why do I need this?’ he asks. ‘Are there unclean spirits attached to cigarettes? I can’t put them away!’ I believe this was a divine appointment because, after answering a few questions, I find myself surrounded by more than a dozen supernaturally convicted and inquisitive men who would otherwise never be found near a church-and here I was in the middle of them, armed with the Word of God in my hands…”
In ten days my heart grew very fond. Perhaps my quickness to love is redolent of what my mom might call, “The Bachelor Syndrome,” in which the sensational and exotic locales coupled with new and exciting people fabricates counterfeit emotion that rarely lasts. Or perhaps God quickens to my heart genuine and pure affection for His children because He wants to stretch out His loving hand to them through me. I’m not much of a cynic, so I’ll choose the latter…
“I preach about drunkenness, denominationalism, love, and forgiveness. Listening intently to every word, the crowd was ravenous to learn God’s truths and several men genuinely wanted to better the community and to change their own lives around. I spoke life into them and encouraged them to stand up and lead the community as godly men. The breeze picked up and I let it carry me around town as I make small talk to shop keepers, inviting them to come to the revival at night. A group of little girls attach themselves to me and beg for a song…”
I desperately want to take hold of the growth I’m experiencing on the mission field. I want to share my passion for the Bible with family and friends. I want to spread my growing desire for intimacy with Christ to the local churches. I can hardly wait to apply eleven months of godly fellowship to my current and future relationships back home: to better honor my family, to further challenge my friends, and to better love my future wife…
“I sing to them in Swahili and they quickly join with their sweet voices. They seem unable to refrain from touching my arms, stroking my hair, and clinging to my hands. I buckle under their will (and their combined weight), and plop myself down in the soft meadow. Like the Pied Piper, my songs attract more and more children, and we sing praises together to the Father. One seven year-old girl was carrying a baby on her back, and the baby spit up on my sandals. The little girl bent down, unraveled a cloth from her hair, and with her own clothes wiped my feet and sandals clean…”
Often I wonder what God would have me do after the World Race. Sometimes I want God to tell me exactly what to do, but so often I overlook the fact that He is instead trying to teach me exactly how to live. Recently I’ve decided that, while it’s great for me to pray for future guidance and direction, I also want to seize each day: to take hold of the life lessons I am learning here on the field. I want to rediscover each day how God would like to use my circumstances to sculpt me more into His likeness so that I can continually allow His daily presence to have a lasting impact on the rest of my life.
“My day continues beyond my time with the children, and truly picks up significantly in terms of what God does next, but my journal is filling up quickly and I want to save some surprises for home.” ☺
