Brooks
Meet Emmanuel. He is a young boy (20), raised in a remote village in mountainous western Kenya. Dawson met him one night when he intentionally went into a pub in Kitale and paid the entire bill for all who were drinking there. Of course, those customers couldn’t believe it…a pastor coming into a bar and then paying for their drinks, and even some of them like Emmanuel high on drugs as well. Details escape me, but the end result was that this young man felt the love of God that Dawson had for him. It was enough love that he would go out of his way, into a bar and sit and just be with, not preach to, a bunch of derelicts, deserters and rejects of society.
Dawson has been discipling Emmanuel in the ways of Jesus for six months now and his life has completely changed. He is no longer living on the streets, no longer spending his days with the sole goal of begging or stealing enough money to support his alcohol and drug addictions. Instead, he is clean, confident, assured that he is meant for more than this. He is a shining example of one more God has rescued from the garbage heap and set among princes. Today Emmanuel wants to go back to his village, to his mother’s home and start a church. Dawson will walk alongside him to support and we just happen to be privileged enough to be invited to join in.
So, mid afternoon we all crammed into a car, John, driving, Dawson, Roger and myself, along with our African grandchildren, Dawson’s kids’, Jason and Lisa. After leaving the two-lane, maize lined highway, we abruptly turned onto a red clay dirt road and drive, and drive and drive. The road is bumpy and winds through acres and acres of growing maize and beans. Suddenly we stopped and yes, one more person is crammed into our tiny four door metal-exposed vehicle. It’s Emmanuel, a tall, lanky boy quite embarrassed to be with wzungus and very hesitant to use his English. Roger was amused as Lisa, Jason and I tell stories to pass the time and Kiswahili is loudly being exchanged among the rest as we continued our journey. The road became narrower and narrower as we went along, with offshoots of clay passageways through the planted fields to indicate that there are many homes and villages hiding in the distance that unfortunately, we would not have time to see that day.
All of a sudden we stopped. We began piling out of the car like circus clowns to go where? I could not imagine. I didn’t see anything or anywhere to go. Looking up the short, steep bank, I saw there was a narrow pathway leading to one, then two then many more clay mud huts. Approaching the first one, I passed by a bewildered calf, trying to be careful to avoid piles of fresh dung here and there indicating mama is close by. Chickens are roaming freely, along with scarcely clothed small children easily two and three years and up. Every inch of ground is planted in something making it easy to follow the path to the hut we were being welcomed into.
“Karibuni sana!” You are welcome so much. It was Emmanuel’s mom, proud and tall asking us to come into her home where surely most of the day has been spent in preparation for our arrival. The dark, windowless, dirt packed floored 12 X 12 house is home to Emmanuel’s mom, dad, and four siblings. Two large squares of fabric hung from a stretched rope dividing the room in half, with one half being a combination living room/kitchen/bedroom and the other bedroom where I saw mattresses piled on the floor and the grimy “linens” exposed. Borrowed furniture has been neatly arranged tightly against the clay walls. The room is dimly lit by the diminishing sunlight streaming through the doorway opening. There are no windows. Lisa squirms in my lap and Jason rests comfortably on Dawson’s knees. Roger and I are trying not to flinch at the hundreds of flies landing on us revealing that livestock must freely roam in this dwelling on less important occasions. Situated at last, our circle was complete. Mama Emmanuel, Emmanuel, and two neighbors, an elderly gentleman and a beautiful young mama of five.
Dawson encouraged each of us to share freely with each other, as he easily translates from English to Kiswahili and Kiswahili to English. Emmanuel began by admitting to his mom and his neighbors how he has ravaged the community with his wild ways, stealing and drinking, drugging and creating havoc for himself and his family. He testifies to what has happened in his life. He has found love, true love in the love of Christ. His life has been transformed. He wants to come to this home, share Scriptures together, pray for each other, pray for their community. He knows not only the hardships, but the demonic witchcraft activity that is taking place here causing trauma to so many. He knows there is division and strife in this village. He knows that many will never go to a church for answers. He himself would not. Instead Jesus sought him out, where he was, not shaming him, but loving him, drawing him into a tender relationship with Him.
One by one we share, not as strangers, but as family, so completely different in every possible way, but united in Spirit and in Truth. Mama had prayed for her son, so it is with so much joy she sees him well, happy, focused on his future. They are excited to know that living the Christian life is more than attending a church service at a big church that they are rarely able to get to. They are excited to learn that each of them has a calling to reach their neighbors and teach neighbors to reach more neighbors until the entire village has the opportunity to know the love of God. It is here, in mud huts like this, that lives are changed and transformed. It is here that vision for God’s Kingdom come is birthed.
Dawson gives Mama a Bible and I pull out my newly acquired travel-size New Testament, excited that I can leave something of worth. By the time we leave, dozens of neighbors and children have come by to greet us and to learn that something new is happening in their village!
As a side note: Over 7 churches have been planted in the last few months because of that one visit to a pub on a Sunday morning!
Dawson has been discipling Emmanuel in the ways of Jesus for six months now and his life has completely changed. He is no longer living on the streets, no longer spending his days with the sole goal of begging or stealing enough money to support his alcohol and drug addictions. Instead, he is clean, confident, assured that he is meant for more than this. He is a shining example of one more God has rescued from the garbage heap and set among princes. Today Emmanuel wants to go back to his village, to his mother’s home and start a church. Dawson will walk alongside him to support and we just happen to be privileged enough to be invited to join in.
So, mid afternoon we all crammed into a car, John, driving, Dawson, Roger and myself, along with our African grandchildren, Dawson’s kids’, Jason and Lisa. After leaving the two-lane, maize lined highway, we abruptly turned onto a red clay dirt road and drive, and drive and drive. The road is bumpy and winds through acres and acres of growing maize and beans. Suddenly we stopped and yes, one more person is crammed into our tiny four door metal-exposed vehicle. It’s Emmanuel, a tall, lanky boy quite embarrassed to be with wzungus and very hesitant to use his English. Roger was amused as Lisa, Jason and I tell stories to pass the time and Kiswahili is loudly being exchanged among the rest as we continued our journey. The road became narrower and narrower as we went along, with offshoots of clay passageways through the planted fields to indicate that there are many homes and villages hiding in the distance that unfortunately, we would not have time to see that day.
All of a sudden we stopped. We began piling out of the car like circus clowns to go where? I could not imagine. I didn’t see anything or anywhere to go. Looking up the short, steep bank, I saw there was a narrow pathway leading to one, then two then many more clay mud huts. Approaching the first one, I passed by a bewildered calf, trying to be careful to avoid piles of fresh dung here and there indicating mama is close by. Chickens are roaming freely, along with scarcely clothed small children easily two and three years and up. Every inch of ground is planted in something making it easy to follow the path to the hut we were being welcomed into.
“Karibuni sana!” You are welcome so much. It was Emmanuel’s mom, proud and tall asking us to come into her home where surely most of the day has been spent in preparation for our arrival. The dark, windowless, dirt packed floored 12 X 12 house is home to Emmanuel’s mom, dad, and four siblings. Two large squares of fabric hung from a stretched rope dividing the room in half, with one half being a combination living room/kitchen/bedroom and the other bedroom where I saw mattresses piled on the floor and the grimy “linens” exposed. Borrowed furniture has been neatly arranged tightly against the clay walls. The room is dimly lit by the diminishing sunlight streaming through the doorway opening. There are no windows. Lisa squirms in my lap and Jason rests comfortably on Dawson’s knees. Roger and I are trying not to flinch at the hundreds of flies landing on us revealing that livestock must freely roam in this dwelling on less important occasions. Situated at last, our circle was complete. Mama Emmanuel, Emmanuel, and two neighbors, an elderly gentleman and a beautiful young mama of five.
Dawson encouraged each of us to share freely with each other, as he easily translates from English to Kiswahili and Kiswahili to English. Emmanuel began by admitting to his mom and his neighbors how he has ravaged the community with his wild ways, stealing and drinking, drugging and creating havoc for himself and his family. He testifies to what has happened in his life. He has found love, true love in the love of Christ. His life has been transformed. He wants to come to this home, share Scriptures together, pray for each other, pray for their community. He knows not only the hardships, but the demonic witchcraft activity that is taking place here causing trauma to so many. He knows there is division and strife in this village. He knows that many will never go to a church for answers. He himself would not. Instead Jesus sought him out, where he was, not shaming him, but loving him, drawing him into a tender relationship with Him.
One by one we share, not as strangers, but as family, so completely different in every possible way, but united in Spirit and in Truth. Mama had prayed for her son, so it is with so much joy she sees him well, happy, focused on his future. They are excited to know that living the Christian life is more than attending a church service at a big church that they are rarely able to get to. They are excited to learn that each of them has a calling to reach their neighbors and teach neighbors to reach more neighbors until the entire village has the opportunity to know the love of God. It is here, in mud huts like this, that lives are changed and transformed. It is here that vision for God’s Kingdom come is birthed.
Dawson gives Mama a Bible and I pull out my newly acquired travel-size New Testament, excited that I can leave something of worth. By the time we leave, dozens of neighbors and children have come by to greet us and to learn that something new is happening in their village!
As a side note: Over 7 churches have been planted in the last few months because of that one visit to a pub on a Sunday morning!
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