They told us at launch that sometimes on the race you have to do things that you didn’t expect. This last week in Botswana, that meant my team became a traveling quintet.
Most of the month my team was stationed in Molepolele, Botswana, helping at a preschool for orphaned and vulnerable children. We loved those kids and we loved the school, and it was a blessing to be able to give the two teachers a bit of a break for a couple weeks and lighten their workload.
However, this last week was different. We traveled a couple hours west to the village of Ranaka, which, thanks to the vast amount of rain they were getting, was abundantly green and beautiful. We didn’t know who we would be staying with or what we would be doing, but we threw some clothes and our toothbrushes into a bag and hoped for the best. We didn’t know at the time that it would end up being the best week of the month.
We eventually pulled up to a tiny house nestled on a hillside, with maize growing in the yard and the sweetest woman coming out to greet us. Her name is Idah, and she might be one of my favorite people on the planet.
That first night, after getting settled in and learning how to fit five people in an 8×10 bedroom, we pulled out my guitar and had a little impromptu worship sesh on the porch as we listened to the rain pour against the tin roof. Idah heard us singing, and the rest is history.
The next morning, after a few late night encounters with cockroaches and a hot bowl of oatmeal for breakfast, we set out in the steady rain with Idah. She casually told us we were going to meet the Village Chief.
Village Chief? Is this real life? Will there be smoke signals? An initiation process? Tribal dances? Peace offerings?
Turns out, we first had to go before a council before meeting the Chief. We filed into a small room with chairs lining the walls. None of us had any idea where we were or who these people were. Soon we were being littered with questions— “What are your names?” “Where are you from?” “What business do you have here?” And finally… “What did you bring for us?”
Collectively, we started panicking. And as some of us were considering stripping the clothes off our back to give as a gift to the Village Council, a stroke of brilliance from the Holy Spirit descended on me and I calmly opened my mouth: “We can sing you a song.”
We sang, they loved it, and quickly granted us access to go meet with the chief. Thus, we were off again.
We ducked into an old log structure and all lined up on a bench waiting for the chief to arrive. A couple people filed in—a woman wearing dress clothes, a man in blue jeans. We simply waited for people to talk to us. Before we knew it, we were told to stand and sing again. So we sang, doing our best to stifle our laughter at just how ridiculous the whole situation was. It wasn’t until we were nearly finished that I realized the man in blue jeans WAS the chief. Classic. He was very nice.
We sang again for a random office full of people as we waited for the rain to die down. The next day, we sang at a clinic for everyone in the waiting room, and the day after that we sang at two separate schools for all of the teachers and administration. Wherever Idah took us, we sang.
As we would walk home, we stopped at Idah’s friends houses to sing (and believe me, that woman knows EVERYONE). In the evenings, she invited over her neighbors so we could play guitar and all worship and dance together. She learned the songs we sang and started harmonizing with us and making requests. We were all still singing up until the moment we said goodbye, when she told us we would always have a family there and how much she loved us.
Going into that last week, we had no idea what ministry would look like at that tiny Botswana village. It can be easy to get discouraged when ministry isn’t “conventional”—feeding the hungry, healing the sick, or clothing the naked. But sometimes, ministry looks like singing song after song after song, to rooms full of people, and proclaiming God’s truths that way. Sometimes ministry looks like walking through the rain with the sweetest woman, learning the story of her life, and encouraging her walk with the Lord. Sometimes ministry looks like pulling out the guitar one more time and seeing genuine excitement and joy spread across faces as we sing “No Longer Slaves” or “Good Good Father”… again.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget Ms. Idah and the way we sang our way through Ranaka this week. Her selfless hospitality was indescribable, her love for Jesus was inspiring, and her heart was as beautiful as any I’d ever seen. If there’s anything I’ve learned this week, it’s this: When the rain won’t stop, dance in it with strangers. Your voice does not have to be perfect, just always remember that you have one. And when in doubt, sing. Always sing.
