I sat with our team, in the back of the church, squashed in with the funky teenage boys. It was youth Sunday. I was dreading getting asked to preach. Here in Africa, Paul’s little statement of being ready in season and out of season is taken literally. A person has about 5 minutes to prepare to speak, as the pastor will just ask one of us if we have the ‘word of God’ today. So we have learned to be ready, but I really did not feel like speaking, I would if I got called on, but I sure as heck was not volunteering today.
We started to sing, people started dancing, a real soul shakedown party. The kids went up front and danced, then the older women, then the older men, then a teen chorus sang (Jesus is the leaderman), the children went up and sang (we want to be like Jesus). While in Mozambique, I heard a statement about ‘showing your teeth’, meaning smile big. The circus tent we were having church under was full of people showing their teeth. The joy was infectious. I was not feeling so down anymore. I only dance when I have had more to drink than is proper (weddings) and it is such an ugly hillbilly dance anyway, that I would not say I was dancing, but I shuffled my feet back and forth and clapped and hummed along to the songs I did not know and mumbled along with the songs I did know.
Then the person who was emceeing asked if anyone wanted to testify (which means come up front and say something) and a few people did, but none of the whities in the crowd, so when a handful of blacks (I used that term purposely, because everyone here is African or American or European, or Americans or Europeans who live in Africa, so maybe they are American-Africans, European-Africans, or African-Africans, but the term African American is not used here, maybe it would be if we had an African American on our team, how confusing would that be?…people just say black or white, because it is easier and political correctness has not left its unwieldy mark here yet, or maybe they are simply not as progressive as we are, racism here is a topic I will address in a later blog, if I remember) had testified, the leader asked if anyone from the teams wanted to say something, it was our last chance. So, I stood up.
I made my way to the front, I could already feel my heart racing, my face turning red, legs shaking, armpits sweating, and my ears burning…I grabbed the mic and my voice echoed under the tent…I looked out at the crowd and mentally began counting how many women were breast feeding (remember the Brady Bunch episode where one of them had to speak in front of everyone and got told to pretend everyone was in their underwear? Uhh….).
I introduced myself, said where we were from, what we were doing here, how long we had been traveling, that we were tired, missed our families (homesickness is something we are all really battling), I said I really did not want to be there that morning, that I really wanted to stay in bed, but I was thankful I came because to praise God with them and hearing them sing and watching them dance brings joy to my soul. The translator did not get the last part, so I said being with them makes my heart happy, and, uh, praise God! Then I stared at the floor as I walked back to my seat.
Next we had offering time, and as I battled back to the front to drop the dough in the dish, a man named Jeffrey who is probably about 50 years old, always nicely dressed, a shiny bald spot in the back center of his head, asked who was bringing the word today. I said “I don’t know”. I hoped I was off the hook. I was- because next they announced that Andrew was preaching….YAY!
It was obvious that Andrew (the team leader from Vanguard University in Orange County California) knows how to preach. He looked comfortable and prepared and taught a message on the cost of following Jesus. He spoke about the eternal rewards for being persecuted and suffering for the gospel. He spent 3 years as a missionary in China and had spent a night in jail, he said he is thankful for that because he knows his reward.
I sat in the back and listened.
I knew and agreed with everything he said, I knew we were not actually being persecuted and we were not actually suffering, we were just feeling sorry for ourselves and feeling entitled and selfish (but that is my right).
At the end of the service, our team came forward and people prayed for us, Pastor Surprise (yeah that is his real name, you can read about him in the book “Always Enough” by Heidi Baker, he has actually seen the dead raised…incredible stories of faith, incredible servant and man of God…I was told Surprise can speak 15 languages, that when he visits a country to speak, God gives him the language!) laid his hands on us and prayed (Yes God give me everything he was praying for!). He then asked his congregation what they were willing to do to help us feel at home. Would they bring us sweet potatos and cassava? Yes, everyone raised their hands! (feel at home? how about someone bring me a beer and burger? maybe a movie?). The building we are staying in had no running water, so people volunteered to bring us buckets of water! These people’s hearts are amazing. TRULY AMAZING!
Later that day, as we were watching “An Inconvenient Truth” with a couple of the boys who had to do a report on global warming, we had a knock at the door. John and Dawn, a couple from Canada who run the bible school there in Backdoor, wanted to speak to us. They knew of a mission house in Nelspruit, that had room for us, hot water, comfortable beds, internet, and would we want to go?
My lip quivered a bit, a lump in my throat, my eyes watered, and afraid that I would look like a baby, I said “Maybe” (we would need to discuss this as a team). Yeah right, I almost cried, and said “That would be awesome!”.
So I sit here writing, at a desk, a hot cup of coffee, in a large room with a double bed and our own bathroom. We have to leave for another room here today (because ‘real’ [my words]missionaries from Mozambique are taking their hiatus here and their family from the states will be joining them), but right now I feel like the mission life is sustainable.
