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Africa, Part 1: Fearless

As the I heard over the intercom, “Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff,” I felt something wash over me.  It was something I had not felt before when flying, something refreshingly new and unusual.  It was a peaceful, confident, and even excited feeling.

You see, each time I had flown previously, anxiety was the usual response.  It was especially problematic the very first time, perhaps due to lack of understanding.  Each jolt, every turn, every change in speed felt like a cause for alarm, or even panic.  I found myself breathing heavily, all muscles tensing, despite the fact that everyone else in the plane looked completely unfazed. 

This time was different.  As the engine revved, and the plane immediately accelerated, placing me in the back of my seat, I was in touch with power like few times before in my life.  I was exhilarated, feeling it throughout every fiber of my being.  And I believe that it was more than just the Dramamine I popped to make me sleepy.  I was looking forward to something new, something that would eventually help me overcome my fears.

As we soared miles above the blue Atlantic, we occasionally encountered a few bumps.  At one point, the turbulence was enough to shake the drink cart almost to the point of tipping.  This would typically have been the point at which my mind begins to fill with thoughts of how the world will be without me, and what it would be like to see God face-to-face.

Today was different.  Today, I was having fun with the whole event.  I recognized the sensation as a mere bump in the road, as if what awaited us was destiny.

What I knew that day was the continuation of a shift that was taking place within me.  It was the next step in the journey which had brought my young family to New Jersey—not simply a geographical step, but more of a spiritual one.  The transition was one from fear to confidence, from doubt to expectation. 

The trip took a while, but we finally arrived in Africa Tuesday evening (which would be afternoon in America).  We got one good night sleep, to reset our internal clocks.  The next day, we drove for what seemed like forever from Nairobi to Nakuru, though the continuous overlook of the Great Rift Valley provided a gorgeous reprieve from the lengthy ride.  When we arrived that afternoon, we were ready to hit the ground running—literally.

After walking into the place where pastors were getting trained, and seeing several of them display their joy in the unity they shared, we took to the streets of the city.  The local pastor, Pastor Mike Brawan, who was acting as our host, called the activity “gorilla.”  We were instructed to walk through the neighborhoods and pray with people, expecting God to answer prayers for healing.  We were told not to ask, but to command healing, with no paradigm for the alternative.  It was not dissimilar to what you read about in Luke 10, when Jesus sends the disciples out 2 by 2. 

Pastor Samuel was the name of the local who worked alongside me and provided translation.  As we prayed for people in the neighborhood in which he ministered, I could not help but notice something.  Whether it was for malaria, family members, or financial provision, all the things for which I had the privilege to pray had something in common:  they were not things whose results could immediately be seen with the naked eye.

Great, I thought, I came all this way, was told that I would see God’s power up close, and I get all the ones where no clear evidence is possible!  I knew that, when I came back to report, my pastor and the other spiritual heavyweights would be describing these profound, dramatic, visible evidences of God’s power, and I would be left saying, “Uhh, I think someone I prayed for got better…”   

I realized something else at that moment.  I realized that I had been put in those situations for a necessary reason.  I knew that the One who had called me to that land wanted to teach me something about my own faith.  It was as if I could hear him say, “I want you to learn to believe that I will answer those prayers…even if you cannot see.”

This idea of believing in the unseen is no new concept for those of you who have been following my updates, or even know me just a little bit.  It was certainly an enormous theme in my move to New Jersey.  It has been a part of my faith for as long as I have believed.

In this instance, though, I was challenged regarding how I prayed.  I knew that Jesus promised us that if we “ask anything in My Name, it will be given you” (John 15:16).  To this point, I had always been inclined to make excuses for God.  “Maybe it’s not His will.” “Maybe I did something wrong, and He doesn’t want to listen.”  But on this particular occasion, I was challenged to truly speak in His name, to ask for things that I know He would want, and to orient my entire life as though the prayer is already answered.

So I asked for healing for malaria, with the expectation that the healing was occurring.  Not because I wanted my prayers to “work,” or that I wanted to feel self-important.  That prayer needed to be answered, for the sake of the family living at poverty level, clinging with everything they had to this idea that God is good.  I learned something from their faith that day.

As we strolled back toward our rendezvous point, Pastor Samuel squinted, paused, and then said, matter-of-factly, “Your group has left already.”  I looked around, noting the meager cinder-block houses, each with room for a modest kitchen and a walk-in closet. 

As much as this situation would be inclined to inspire fear—I was in an unknown neighborhood, in a city I couldn’t navigate on my own, in a foreign country, close to sunset, walking around with a guy I had just met an hour previously—in that moment, I was surprisingly peaceful.  I had the sense of hakuna matata, “no worries,” as they say.  I was not afraid, because I knew that, if I did in fact get separated from my group, there would be a greater purpose to be fulfilled (it turns out, Pastor Samuel had a phone and made a call; a car was there within 20 minutes to take me back to the group). 

Each evening, we had debriefing meetings with our team, to report successes, concerns, and schedules (which changed by the next day anyway).  During one such meeting, possibly this same day, we were encouraged to spend some time in prayer.  We were given a specific topic about which to pray.  However, as I was praying, my mind wandered elsewhere.

I do not recall how I arrived at the topic, but I found myself reflecting on my life, as well as the fact that I almost did not make it.  As many of you may be aware, my mother was told by a doctor that her firstborn child (that’s me) would not make it out of the womb.  Obviously, he was wrong about that; otherwise, you would be doing something else besides reading this.

As I was reflecting on this event, a thought came to me:  even in the womb, it is almost as though something was holding me back from living.  Maybe it was fear.  But God spoke a word that changed everything:  LIVE.  He commanded me to live.  And ever since that moment, everything I have now is made possible by His word.

This may sound strange, like some type of mind-trip, but it definitely hit me hard at the time.  I lost control as the tears flowed, dropping like rain on the table below me.  You see, this word, “Live,” was the word that tied everything together.  Whether in the womb, struggling to survive, or in my current setting, struggling to overcome fear, that word has relevance.  Don’t let anything prevent life, full, complete life, from being lived out the way it was intended!

The next few days, I felt this continually.  We were put in situations where our only options were either to talk to strangers in an unknown land about the Good News, or completely shut down.  It was truly sink or swim, and as I found myself swimming, I began to consider how my life would be different back in the States. 

Every person I encounter is not there by accident.  God puts people across my path, not just to sell me food or get in the way while I’m driving, but to hear a word I might speak—whether a literal word, or an action that shows who He is.  Everywhere I go, I am an ambassador for my Creator and Redeemer (2 Corinthians 5:20), and I have been challenged to live with this new awareness, no matter where I go.