I wrote this during my trip to Kenya last month while on the Parent Vision Trip. This is a true story of what happened on the last day of ministry, during our “ATL.”
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Today we woke up and told the teams it would be an "ATL" day since normal ministry days were over, and with it being Sunday, we figured some would want to experience church, African style!
(This was a church service I attended while in Mozambique on the World Race in 2011)
We began the morning with worship and everybody was broken up into his or her teams. However, being that I had paired with team #1 all week, I figured it was time to do my own thing and let the team be alone on this one.
While teams worshipped together, they were also asked to pray and do some “Asking The Lord” and “listening prayer.” And so they did.
Afterwards, we didn’t share specifics really of what the Lord said, but more of just a general idea of what each groups plan was for the day.
Team #1 decided to attend the local Baptist church worship service and then head to town. Another team decided to attend the Baptist church as well and Megan, one of their members, would be bringing the Word during the service. I'm not sure what the third team had planned.
(During the church service in Maai Mahui, Kenya in September)
So there we found ourselves worshipping alongside the Kenyans and having an amazing time! African worship is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced in you life.
Eventually, worship came to an end and Team #1 left for town to prayer walk, minister, and sing on the street. I originally had every intention of tagging along, but something told me to remain there and listen to Megan preach.
As Megan preached the message, I found myself sitting on the back row next to Danielle, one of the racers, and her Mother, who was along for the Parent Vision Trip. And as in most African church services, it wasn’t long before we were joined with a handful of African kids!
(Danielle and her during the worship service)
As bad as I hate to admit it, I can sometimes cop the attitude of, “Been there, done that, held all the African babies before.” And unfortunately you can easily grown “numb” to the things you see and experience in the 3rd world. Occasionally, even those precious, dirty, little faces. The next thing I know though, I’m met with a dirty, little hand, reaching for mine.
Again, typical and expected, but this time, it was different.
I picked the little boy up, who couldn’t have been more than 2 ½ or 3, and propped myself up against the wall, and set him in front of me as if I were driving a moto with him on my lap.
His pants were torn, muddy, and wet, and the more time passed, the stronger the scent of urine and poop became. You see he was covered in both.
I can do a lot of things and not much bothers me, but bodily waste isn’t something I handle well. My future wife is gonna have to be strong in that area, because I struggle.
There we set though, listening to Megan preach, while I held his dirty little hand.
He didn’t smile or speak, but would occasionally turn very bashfully and stare at me with his dark brown, precious eyes.
The message eventually finished and what was about to happen next, was completely unknown to any of us.
(Baby feet)
Today there would be a child dedication service, followed by a baptism.
“Alright”, I thought. “This should be cool.”
Then a group of several parents, along with their children approached the front of the church.
TO BE CONTINUED…
