Day One – 40 Days of Silence

As recorded in my journal:

 

      Day One – The marathon has begun – and marathon is exactly what it feels like.  You know the task before you is daunting, but you must begin with a single step;  and though you are not immediately tired from the thing itself, the weight of what lies ahead is undeniable and heavy indeed.  I was so blessed by the love, support, encouragement, and prayers of my brothers as I entered into this period of silence.  And I cannot even begin to describe the feeling as I spoke my “last words,” my lips becoming sealed for the next 40 days.  It was as Armstrong setting foot on the moon or Columbus setting sail for uncharted waters. 

     Though surely this has been done before, I personally know of no one who has, willingly and in good health, given up the spoken word for such a time.  In a sense I feel alone “where no man has gone before.”  I still do no know the exact reason why I feel God has called me to this, though new possibilities enter my mind often.  But as Braedon encouraged me today as we walked through a field to an African funeral to journal throughout the process, I knew instantly that this not only should be done but may in fact be one of the most powerful aspects of this fast.  So here goes nothing.

     I feel that if I were speaking today, I may have taken the day for granted as is so often the case.  I believe I’m generally able to appreciate things as they are happening – without needing time to enhance the memory – as well as anyone.  But I, too, can sometimes get caught up in the similarities from one day to the next, allowing them to blend together instead of standing out uniquely as each a precious gift from God.  Today, however, that was impossible  Even as I sit and walk right beside my brothers, I am simultaneously removed from the situation and able to look down as if seeing it from above.  My brothers, who are speaking, may fully realize just as much as I, who am not, that this was an incredible day that frankly very few westerners will ever get to experience.  But it surely didn’t capture their thoughts all day as it did mine.

     The morning began by hiking down and up a valley to a home perched on the side of a hill.  Here was the humble yet picturesque abode of a woman who, having attended one of our open-air crusades the afternoon before, was ready to accept Christ as her personal savior and just needed a little more help.  I got to witness Ben, Brandon, Jeff, and Patrick clear up the gospel message for Betty and lead her to her acceptance.  Most encouraging of all, she made a couple comments which clearly indicated to us that her decision was both personal and genuine – as is not always the case when it comes to African “salvations.”

        As we exited the single dark room where we all prayed, I noticed
that she has as beautiful of a front-porch view as nearly anyone in the
world.  Acres upon acres of essentially untouched rolling fields
extending in every direction separate the hill on which her home rests
and another mountain across the way.  Descending back down the dirt
path, I marveled at God’s creation and for bringing me here to see it. 
I also can’t help but question if there is any greater color
combination as that of a crystal clear “Carolina blue” sky meeting with
the pure and natural greens of the land.

     After lunch, our group attended the funeral of a woman we had gone to pray for just two days earlier.  Whether true or not, her stated date of birth during the ceremony was 1884.  While I have not attended too many funerals in my life, I do have enough experience to contrast this one.  Instead of a service inside a nice church and a message delivered by a close pastor or relative, we each took our seat in the grass – men on one side, women on the other, and mzungus in the middle.  Many of the women wore traditional Masai garments and some of the men leaned against the wooden posts connecting the barb-wire fence.  Directly to my right was the freshly dug deep pit with a huge mound of dirt on either side.  Then our brother Jacob got up to deliver the message.  He spoke of death in this world and life in Christ, especially rejoicing that the woman had come to know Jesus as her savior – for approximately the last 5 months of her 125 year life.  Finally, this was the first time I have ever seen the filling in of a grave.  After all else was finished, some leaders of the ceremony put on some joyful music as if to celebrate the life that was, and men – including Aaron and Ben at times – took turns shoveling the dirt over the casket that they had just lowered.  

     At dusk, just before dinner, a few guys started up an impromptu baseball game using bamboo sticks – which we had personally chopped down from the forest with newly acquired machetes – as bats, and clean ears of corn we had just finished snacking on as the balls.  The simple life is so hugely underrated in so many places these days.  But out here we don’t need (and don’t have) television, internet, cell phones, movies, electricity (except from a generator at the church), running water, and our showers – when we ever take them – are bucket baths in the grass with only a clear tarp shielding us from view.  And yet I feel so content here.  God is with us and we are living as his humble servants, surrounded by brotherly love…