Getting to church on time is no easy task.
On time. That’s a loose term here.
I bounce along in the back of Esther’s two-wheeled-drive Toyota, dodging countless potholes, goats, and pedestrians. Children stop their playing to run alongside the car, pointing my direction and shouting “Mzungu, Mzungu!” I look out the window and observe the wooden and tin shacks that line the street, mounds of garbage and dirt separating the structures from one another. A dairy cow roams freely into the center of the road, causing another unpredicted delay.
The Unpredicted Delay.
It’s 2:30pm. The service was scheduled to start at 1:00. However, my mind is worry-free. We are right on time…Kenyan time.
At 2:43pm we pull up to Well of Jacob church. It’s a small, one-room structure made of hardened mud. The blue wooden door is propped open, and the heavy beat of the gomas escapes the church, reaching my ears and throbbing its way into my chest.
The Well of Jacob Church in the slums of Nakuru, Kenya.
I carefully skip over mud puddles, making it to the church doorway without getting too muddy.
Hmmm…does it really matter if I track mud onto a mud floor?
Once inside the church, my heart becomes alive with excitement as I weave my way to my plastic chair, sensing the dense presence of the Holy Spirit around every part of me. The air is thick and warm from the body heat of 50 worshipping Kenyans, who are all snuggled closely to one another in efforts to make enough room for everyone.
I listen to the shouts of praise and voices singing together in a beautiful African harmony. I am unable to interpret the Swahili lyrics word-for-word, but my heart knows that they are joyous praises to the King of Kings, and I try to imagine the smile on God’s face as He gladly listens.
“Piga makofi!” shouts the worship leader.
Do what?
“PIGA MAKOFI!”
Pig in my coffee?
“Piga makofi! Clap your hands!” he translates.
Haha. Now that makes more sense!
I glance around to see my fellow Kenyan brothers and sisters slapping their hands together and dancing lightly on their feet. Each person struggles to confine their dancing to their own personal space, giving way to the dangers of being smacked by a nearby hand or elbow. The drums beat in a rhythm I poorly attempt to match with my hands, due to both my lack of rhythmic skill and the incredibly quick talent of the drummers.
Clapping and worshipping during a Revival service!!
I scan the room, and my eye catches Pastor Timothy. His eyes are shut tight and a pearly-white grin is spread wide across his dark face. He is clapping so hard, I’m afraid his hands will bruise. He swings his arms and jumps to the beat, putting the strength of his entire body into each clap.
Pastor Timothy asked me for a picture on Sunday. He is such a joyful man of God! (In the previous picture, he's the man in the top left corner….clapping his hands, of course!)
Inspired by Timothy’s passion, I join in and begin to move my feet, clapping my hands and swaying to the music. As I sing praises to my Father, I feel as though I’m attending a party celebrating Him, alongside my African brothers and sisters. We dance and clap madly, unaware of time. Once again, I imagine God looking down from Heaven, smiling as we celebrate all He has done for us.
Maybe, sometimes, God just enjoys a little “pig in my coffee” as I worship Him!
“Clap your hands, all peoples!
Shout to God with loud songs of joy!”
Psalm 47:1
I always stop to play with the children outside before and after the service. Sometimes the pastors have to come out and find me because I'm delaying the service…oops.
Team Wellspring, along with our squad leaders, at Well of Jacob!
