My head was spinning. I felt like I had been set up with a jab and I had ducked, off balance, into an upper cut. I sat on the rock and prayed. We prayed for the man whose suicide attempt we had just interrupted. I thanked God for my life.
I reviewed the thought process that had led to my jumping out of the Land Rover we were in, wondered about the chemicals in my blood that were released as the gravity of the situation hit me, I pondered the spiritual forces in battle over the two vehicles down the road and the combination of our histories and personalities and experiences that had led us to our present location, looking out at thousands of acres of man made forest, praying for a man I did not know. My brain felt like so much was happening that the world was in slow motion, and clarity revealed herself to me, momentarily.
I had to break the piercing gaze of the man to my right. Who was not getting it? I looked out the window and evaluated what had just been said to me. From most people this comment would have slid by me, like a rain drop on a duck’s back. But, this man had a way of making his statement stick. Maybe it was his conviction. Maybe it was his grace. Maybe it was the way that a 55 year old Boer speaks his English like William Wallace (at least Mel Gibson’s Scottish accent?), the way his voice resonated in his barrel chest, or the way the strength of a man who has not retreated from life’s battles can penetrate a this green boy’s ego. I had watched this champion archer demonstrate his skills earlier, seen him dressed in an animal skin, seen him present the gospel to the underprivileged, and explain to them what it takes to be a man. Heard him say that it is not what is between the legs that makes a man, it is the values in the heart that makes a man, and I believed him. I believe every single word.
I have been reading a story of a lion, hand raised by humans and the companion of a dog, reintroduced to his breed. This male lion thought he was a human or a dog and was afraid of the other lions. Because this lion had never been among other lions, he did not know how to be a lion. When this lion was slowly introduced to the other lions, the young male immediately began to emulate the dominant male. That is how God designed it. God designed a hunger in us that can only be filled by a wise man and a king.
Sometimes I think that most men I know have never been taught how to be a man, or somewhere along the way, have lost the role model, the wise man and king in their lives has vanished, or been banished, somewhere along the way. That what is missing for so many young lions is the presence of a male lion to set the tone, teach the young lion when to roar and how to roar. Riding shot gun for Trompie, I felt like a lion who had just begun to grow a mane and had a dominant old lion to draw from.
Trompie is the name of this lion king, a South African Boer. He heads an adventure camp that is always full of the forgotten, he tries to model in his limited time what a man can be. From my time with him, I think he does a pretty impressive job.
We were headed to a cave, to check it out, when Trompie asked me what I would do if he gave me $98 million dollars. Because I had heard this question before, I took the time to think about it….
“You don’t have dreams.” I heard.
“Well… yeah… I, uh, do” I said as I stared out the windshield. “Do I have dreams?” I wondered, and swallowed.
“Someone who has dreams would know exactly what he would do with the money, he would not have to think about it…I have dreams!” Trompie stated, face beaming, eyes boring into me. I could see from the way he held himself that his dreams were going to gush out and he could not stop it.
“I think I am living my dreams, right now”, I said, “I am not sure I would change much about my life if I had the money” (yeah right, and the way I held myself, I am sure Trompie could see I was not convinced)
I tried to explain that I was trying to figure out what God had for me and my family, that this journey has been a dream shaper for me, that God’s dreams for me are way bigger than mine and I really was trying to live that, but Trompie would not hear it.
“You want to be a wanderer your whole life?” Trompie asked, seriously.
“Well…no….”
“I guess I think or speak differently than you” he said, “sometimes I have trouble communicating.” (yeah, because most people are not that honest and confident and, uh, right on target- did I mention he has a thing for bullseyes? He placed 32nd in the world in the archery championships, Olympic level)
Trompie then started in on his dreams, I half listened and half wondered if I had dreams. What would I do with that kind of money? Trompie knew what he would do with it.
Men have a way of measuring another man, even before a handshake. As I walked to meet Trompie, I judged him to be pretty powerful, so I was going to give him a full strength handshake, just to prevent him from crushing my little hands. I reached for his hand and we shook for a fraction of a second before his steel trap yanked me into a hug and a hello brother. He gave me the hug of a powerful man.
We had been ‘abseiling’, which is the word they use for what we call rappelling. I had never done any real rappelling (other than the time I rappelled on my own when I was probably 9 years old and lost a layer of skin on my hands before letting go and crash landing in the crushed stone below our porch) and we had fun. We rested on top of the cliff, overlooking Trompie’s stomping grounds, and Trompie shared some about his life, his dreams, how much he misses his son. Trompie’s son died at twenty nine years old. Trompie says he has never asked God why, and is confused by the whole ordeal.
On the way to the cave, Trompie shared that he has dreams of spreading his ministry to all parts of the world. He wants to impart his life to others. He wants to effect people’s lives every day and he does not want to waste one opportunity to effect the destinies of others for the kingdom.
He explained this as a pickup truck, or bakkie, came into view. The sun shined off the silver metallic paint, a new and clean truck sat on the side of the road. I could not make out what was in the back, as we came closer, I still could not make it out. Seeing a truck like this in the woods near our house is very common, and I figured someone was hiking or camping…no big deal. Trompie said it was unusual to have anyone else up here and seemed a little perplexed.
As we pulled close enough to the truck to peer inside, I saw a man in the driver’s seat, (I am starting to get used to the driver’s seat being on the right, or wrong side) he opened his eyes as we drove by, he was sweaty, and I figured he was napping, I looked away, trying to mind my own business. I heard his engine running, I figured his AC was on, as he sat in the sun, but he was sweaty…my mind went back to thinking about my dreams at the same time I realized he had a hose running from under the truck to his cab and Trompie said “he’s gassing himself” (“well, lets not bother him” was my initial and unstated response to the urgency in Trompie’s tone) and put it in reverse and I jumped out and ran around. Trompie jumped out and opened the man’s door at the same time that I pulled the hose and opened the back window. I had seen him move, but I was ready for us to pull him out and do what ever we needed to do, CPR? Slap him? Defend ourselves?
Trompie started talking to the man in Afrikaans, asking him his name, he was responsive, but not cooperative. He was upset that we had interrupted his plans. Trompie continued to talk to him, while we prayed. Then Trompie told us to take a walk to a rock to pray, I said sure, this was a time that a man does not need an audience.
So, I sat at the rock and prayed. Prayed for the man, prayed for wisdom for Trompie. I prayed that maybe their hearts would be joined like a father and a son. I thought of the timing that had led us to him, someone has prayers that are heard by God. I believed that someone’s prayers had led us to this spot at this time. I figured it was his mom or grandmom. I thought of all the little old ladies who know God so well and spend so much time in his courts interceding for men like me, I thought of how the throne room in heaven must be full of little old ladies sitting in the places of honor, for eternity. I listened to some of these young women praying and I agreed.
We prayed until we heard a whistle and then we returned to the men, we spoke with our new friend and shared some words. On our way to the vehicles, we discussed what the next step should be, should we just let him go? Should someone drive him? What if he took some drugs that would finish the job he had set out to do, or at least impair him?
We arrived and Trompie asked if any of us had words for this man, this man (we do know his name) is embarrassed that we caught him at this time. Trompie said there is no embarrassment, and had us introduce ourselves.
We asked Trompie if he thought is was wise to let him go on his own. “Of course it is, he is a man, a man in the battle”. I loved the answer.
I asked him who he had praying for him, he said it was his wife, I said “God hears her prayers”. (The others had more words than I can type here, check out their blogs, I am sure by now they have all posted on this, it was pretty emotional.)
My last words to him were words that seem so simple, yet I believe they are so true. “Sometimes all we really have is hope, sometimes all we can hold onto is our hope in God, I know that to be true for me”.
