Day 31. Story 30. The Crab Mentality

It happened late one night after dinner as I stared at the waves crashing on the beach in Dar Es Salaam.  I love the Ocean and often found myself mesmerized by its rhythm.  Wave comes in. Wave goes out.  In between, a small crash with the rush of surf.  Water, spray, wind, sound.  There's something so attractive about it.  The Ocean is so vast and so majestic that it's easy to miss out on what I noticed that night.   As the waves crashed and retreated, little legs would go scurrying through the sand.  Crabs.  All sizes. Big ones, Medium ones, and itsy bitsy ones barely large enough to be seen in the darkness.  

At first I thought to myself, "Oh how cute!" They would run up to the crashing wave with great enthusiasm and then  suddenly retreat almost immediately as though fleeing from an imaginary foe.  I watched them cleaning out their holes with vigor and gusto.  I watched them gathering small plankton in the shallow waters.  And then I watched with amazement as they would defend their holes.  The thought came to me suddenly," They're mean!"   Crabs are territorialists. They come flying out of their holes with fervor at the slightest advance  by another crab.  Whether the visitor is just passing through the general area or actually trying to investigate the interior of another crab's hole, the resident crab will always attack.  The defensive mechanism is incredible in these little crustaceans.  They defend their territory at any cost.  

The scene is so predictable.  

Wave upon wave of  ocean magnificent crashes on the beach sending crabs scurrying in every possible direction. 

As they scurry they invariably come across a fellow comrade's territory. 

Out comes the offended comrade with claws blazing ready for the fight of a lifetime.  

Another wave crashes and the scenario repeats itself. 

Obviously, this is nothing endemic to the crabs of Tanzania; rather it is a world-wide phenomena. Crabs don't like other crabs.  They are mean.  And crabs really don't like when other crabs start to infringe upon their  personal crab territory.  That night I could almost see them imitating the seagulls  in "Finding Nemo"  Mine. Mine. Mine.  Mine. Mine. Mine.  

And the more I watched the more I laughed at the silly little crustaceans so preoccupied with their personal kingdoms and realms of authority until the thought hit me like a lightning bolt.  Humans aren't much different.  

We have our own little kingdoms, agendas,  and spheres of authority that we will defend just as ridiculously.  Out we come claws and all offended that someone else would dare to question our way of doing something.  We protect our little holes with such intensity that we have missed the big picture- The Ocean.   God's greatness and love is personified several times in scripture by this image.  Instead of a sense of awe and holy reverence, we become mean-spirited and territorial crying out- Mine. Mine. Mine.  

I've seen it many times since that night on the beach.  In many of the finest churches in the land and in the finest of Christian leaders. Sadly, I've even seen it in myself at times.  And I've cried out to God for my heart to be set free from this selfish heart that says, "my way or none at all." Instead, I want to be a refuge, a safe-house, a source of healing and love for my generation.  I don't want to chase the hurting and the disillusioned away.  I want to point them to the mighty ocean of God's love, grace, majesty, and power.  And say, "Behold!"  And in that place of beholding, we realize our smallness and humility. God is so awesome and powerful!  

What about you?  How can you be intentional to point people to God instead of driving them away? 

How can you knock down barriers and walls to welcome people to find the same grace that He has given you? 

A word of caution here: I'm not advocating moral relativism and political correctness that accepts everything and anything in the name of toleration.  That is foolishness.   

What I am talking about though is creating environments where people are welcome to ask the difficult questions of faith and find the love of God present in the people of God to help them take the next step of faith.   This is absolutely critical if we are going to reach a generation for Christ.  And see lives transformed with the saving power of heaven.  I don't want to be a crab. 

Day 30 Story 29. Motion Sickness.

6:30 AM. I had already been awake for at least an hour in anticipation of the upcoming trip.  My dear friend Paul Balela and his family were moving back to Tanzania. They had been working in Burundi for several years as missionaries.  At the time there was no direct route between Bujumbura and the part of Tanzania where they lived.  They would normally have to take a bus  two days to Nairobi and then another day to their home area of Arusha.  With a family of four this was more than a tedious process. 

So, they developed plan B.  What was Plan B?  Me.  I would drive them 5 hours to the Tanzanian border, help them carry all their luggage across the border check-point, and then drive back to Bujumbura.  The next step for them? Catch a bus to Arusha via Singida.  This route would save them at least 24 hours and hundreds of dollars in expenses.  

They had all the luggage ready as the Burundian sunrise appeared over Lake Tanganyika.    We secured the suitcases and boxes with some fine cord, piled 7 people into my 5 seater pick-up truck and took off.  Everything was going great.  We were about an hour into the drive making great time as we ascended the escarpment.  Most of Burundi is situated high in the hills; Bujumbura is the exception nestled down in the valley below.  To reach the high plateau is no small task.  The road climbs  almost straight upwards following a very sharp ascent amongst banana tree plantations  for some 45 minutes.   The beauty is absolutely breathtaking. 

As usual, I was mesmerized by the beauty as  I whipped around the corners counting down the kilometers that still lay in front of us before we reached Tanzania. 

Suddenly, I heard a voice behind me. 

"Ah...Mr. Steve....."  one of the girls was speaking. 

"Yes?" 

"Gideon isn't feeling so well."  

"Sorry." 

"Ah...Mr. Steve...."  a different child was speaking. 

"Yes?" 

"Grace really isn't feeling well either." 

"Umm...should I pull over?" I asked  Balela, the dad. 

"We...need...to.....keep...going..." his voice was shaky. 

"What's wrong?" I asked. 

"I'm not..... feeling.... so well."   

Bluuuuuuaaaaaahhhhh.   Gideon couldn't hold it any longer. 

"Should I pull over?" Now I felt really bad.  

"No...keep....going..." Balela sounded  very weak now. 

Bluuuaaaaaahhhh.  Grace's turn. 

Bluuuuaaaaahhhh..   Gideon went for round two. Bluuuaaaahhhh. And round three.  

Christine, the mom, sat in the back seat in between the tag team hurlers  as pale as though she had just seen Gustav, the legendary crocodile.  (See earlier blog about this from this month). 

By the time we reached the border several hours later the whole family was ill.  All 6 of them.  Graciously, Balela thanked me for driving the 5 straight hours to help them catch the bus on the Tanzania side as he nearly collapsed on the ground from the motion sickness.  

Mission accomplished. I think.  I had achieved the goal, and in record time, but left everyone reeling in the process.  I learned a valuable leadership lesson.  It doesn't matter if you make it to the top of the summit if you're all alone. No one will be there to share the victory with you.

  Sadly, I think it is all too easy to create a similar spiritual motion sickness.   We build our  personal dreams and agendas at any cost forgetting one all important ingredient- people.   I will never forget my mentor Mr. R.K.  telling me several years after this incident, "build people not projects or programs and you will change the world."   Yes, we must build the people around us.  Invest in their lives.  Always keep in mind that we are called to build HIS KINGDOM not ours.  And His Kingdom is made of people.  

We do this by making Jesus and a deepening relationship with Him the goal.  

Day 29. Story 28. The nets.

Often, on Saturday mornings in Burundi, I would go to the beach to play volleyball.  Yes, it seems strange to use the word beach for a land-locked country in the middle of Africa. Thanks to the world's second largest lake in terms of water volume,  Lake Tanganyika, this is entirely possible.   

One particular morning a group of fishermen had decided to cast their net off the coast.  The net measured at least a half mile in length and floated up and down for about an hour before the band of men decided to pull it back in.   This was the first time that I had seen fishermen fishing from the coast.  I watched with intrigue. Four men on each side of the rope pulled this massive net back towards shore.  As the pulled they sang.  Beautiful fishing choruses in Kirundi with every muscle in their backs and arms straining to keep the net moving in the right direction.  

Several members of the volleyball game lost interest in the fishermen after some time and resumed play.  Still the fishermen pulled in the net.  The sun came out with Central African intensity and the sweat streamed down our faces.  Still the men pulled.   

We bumped, set, spiked, and dove through the sand chasing the ball.  Still the men pulled their net.  

An hour passed.  An hour and a half.  Two hours.  Still the men pulled.   

I began to think that this must be the never ending fishing net stretching all the way to the Tanzanian border.   Finally, as the net neared the shore, we could see a ring of silver glittering in the sun.  Fish flopping in the net in the shallow waters.  A few minutes of more back breaking labor and finally the nets were landed for all to see.  There were big fish, small fish, silver fish, and dark fish.   

The fishermen were exhausted but extremely elated to have finally completed their day's labor.   Eight grown men would now divide the spoils by selling the fish in the central market.   Yet, I felt sad for them.  There really weren't that many fish in the net.   It was a good catch, but not what I would expect from 8 men and a net longer than anything I had ever seen.    In fact, I seriously doubt whether the net profit on this venture would be worth their efforts.  

Lots of hard work.  Minimal return.  

It reminds me of the story of Peter. If anybody knows fish it's Peter.  This is his livelihood.  This is where Christ first found him.  This is his first love.  And yet, this is also his place of greatest failure.  Not only has he denied Jesus and failed in the realm of being a fisher of men, but he has no failed in the one thing he knew best- fish.  All night long at his nets trolling the waters without so much as a single fish to show for his trouble.  

Then Christ shows up on the shore.  

"Have you guys caught anything?"  

Oh great.  Just what we need. A sideline commentator pointing out our already glaring deficiency. 

Nope.  Nothing at all. 

"Try casting on the other side."   

Sure.  A sideline commentator now giving directives.  We've fished all night long up and down these waters.  Just who do you think you are?  

"Peter. It's the Lord."  

And in that moment I think Peter realized something he would never forget.  Without Jesus even the things that he thought he knew best are doomed to failure. Peter needed Jesus.  He and He alone was His sufficiency.  His voice would provide the direction.  And in that moment Peter not only recovered his joy in fishing, but his calling to fish.  He would lean on Jesus in total dependency.  And Jesus would bring in a great harvest of fish.  153 that day.  Some 3000 a few days later after Holy Spirit burned a divine fire into his soul.  

Jesus is enough.  Better said, Jesus is more than enough.  And when we listen and obey our lives will produce a harvest.  

John 15:5 "Without me you can do nothing."  Oh so humbling.  Oh so freeing.  

Day 28. Story 27. I have and I am

It's one of my favorite stories.  

My fiancé, now my wife, Bailey came for a visit to Madagascar in April 2012.  One of things I was involved with was a university ministry called Young Christians in Action.  YCA for short.  Bailey has a powerful testimony.  So I asked her to share in one of the meetings.  God moved powerfully.   Afterwards, three of the young men asked if they could have a ride back to the other side of town where I lived.  No problem, but first I had to go downtown to run a couple of errands. 

We were hungry and I could imagine my three friends were as well. So I decided that we would all go for lunch.   The three amigos jumped at the chance to practice their English.   I excused myself to use the restroom as  they began chatting with Bailey.  Returning to the table I could see the enthusiasm and gratitude in their eyes to be able to spend some time with us while having a good meal.  I knew the three were close, but didn't real know the whole story.  

Bailey asked the question, "So how long have you all known each other?"  

They turned their heads towards each other and chatted in Malagasy for a couple of seconds before the most intrepid of the three decided to respond in his best English possible, "Ah, since we had kids together."  

I bit my tongue as Bailey nearly fell out her seat.   Of course what they meant to say was, "since we were kids together."  Sometimes the verb to have and to be cause non English speakers the most difficulty because of its various usages and differing contexts  in other languages.   For example, in French we would say literally "I have 30 years", instead of "I am thirty 30 years."  In this case I think it was just the excitement of practicing English with Americans and the nervousness of interacting with Bailey that caused the slip up.  

To this day it is one of our favorite jokes together.  We laugh with joy recalling the three young university students who had kids together those many years ago while growing up.  

Both verbs imply identity.  I have such and such.  I am so and so.  What we have and who we are determine much if not most of how we see ourselves.   I love to look at Christ and answer the following two questions:   Because of Christ what do I have?  And secondly, because of Christ who am I?  

These two questions when asked in the place prayer will bring illumination to our hearts.  Holy Spirit will make our real identity clear.  He will teach us about our inheritance, authority, and identity.  We will begin to answer these two questions from a place of confidence and certainty. For example, who am I in Christ? 

-A son

-an heir

- accepted

-beloved

- child of light

-a chosen generation

- a royal priesthood

- a holy people

-adopted

-a friend of Christ

- a servant of the Most High

And what do I have in Him? 

-His righteousness

-Perfect peace

-joy unspeakable

-authority over the demonic

-deliverance from darkness

-an inheritance in the Kingdom of light

-access to the throne of God

-an ongoing invitation to know Him 

-power to be a witness

Just to name a few. 

Anyone of these is revelation to our identity starved hearts that could be unpacked in an entire series.  When we take the time to listen and to ask, He will take the time to answer and impart.   Let Him show you your identity in Christ.  

Day 27 Story 26. Fuel Shortages.

Most people are familiar with the Kenyan elections that went sour back in 2007.  Massive unrest.  Tribal cleansing.  Thousands killed.  What most people don't know is the effect it had on the greater East African community.  Mombasa, Kenya is the main port of entry for just about everything and anything imported to this part of the world.  It is then trucked hundreds of miles westward towards Uganda, rwanda, Burundi, and Eastern Congo.  The Mombasa highway is the one and only road that connects this part of Africa to many essentials, most notably fuel.   

 During the political trouble the highway was closed for weeks.   The end result? Scarce fuel or no fuel.  In Rwanda during this time fuel sold between 25 and 35  dollars a gallon.  In the country just to south, fuel was virtually non-existent.   We had several trips scheduled with construction teams during this time.  Obviously, no fuel presented quite the logistical challenge.  

I drove from station to station around the greater Bujumbura area.  

"Sorry." 

"None here." 

"We haven't had a shipment in over a week." 

"The government has ordered us to restrict what little remains."  

Getting nowhere fast, I decided to contact one of my dear friends, Mr. Albert N., a most resourceful Burundian entrepreneur with great connections in the city of Bujumbura.  "Can you help me?"  I asked.  

"Maybe, give me a few hours." He responded.  

Several hours later my phone rang.  "Can you meet me at such and such gas station....after dark."  

"After dark?" I asked intrigued. 

"Yes. No more questions."  

"Okay."  

That night I pulled into the gas station under the cover of darkness. I had already been to this spot  at least once in my fuel quest the previous days.  My friend asked me to jump in his car as he edged up to the pump.   He, then, disappeared into the interior of the gas station. 

 A few moments later he reemerged.  "It's going to be pricey and you can only have 20 liters."  

"No problem."  I responded. 

"And we're going to have to fill up with the  jerry can, not your tank."  

"Umm....okay." This felt like a really good spy movie in the making. 

"In the dark." 

"Fine." 

"Inside the car."  

"Okay." 

"And very quickly." 

I nodded. 

"Only cash." 

I nodded again. 

"Don't make any noise to attract attention." 

By this point, I was wondering if I needed to hire body guards to protect me.  The whole scenario seemed unreal.  

The gas attendant came over to my friend's vehicle and sat down in the back seat.  Fumbling in the dark he unscrewed the top of the jerry can before stealthily sliding his

hand through the window to the gas pump.  He grabbed the nozzle and inched it into the interior of the vehicle. 

Chug. Chug. Chug.   No one said a word as he kept an eye on the meter.  

The smell of fumes in the car was almost too much to bear, but I wasn't about to say anything.   I paid the money requested as the gas station attendant warned us, " you must tell no one or we will all be in danger of being arrested."  

Twenty liters isn't very much fuel and later that week we  had an appointment with the Minister of Energy to get a notarized purchase slip for an additional 200  liters from the central reserve. If I remember right it ended up being about  9 dollars a gallon. 

I learned two really great words from this experience: Shortage in French: la penurie.  And fuel in Kirundi: ibitoro. 

Both will assist you greatly if you ever find yourself in such a situation.  

Yes, fuel is an essential part of  modern life.  Transportation, industry, manufacturing, just to name a few. Fuel makes the wheels turn.  Without fuel generating energy becomes nearly impossible.  The same is truly spiritually.  We need  continual fuel for our hearts.  Where does this fuel come from? 

Two places.  The Word of God made alive to our hearts by faith.  And the Presence and power of God a reality in our lives.   Both are a function of the reality of having a friend named  Mr. Holy Spirit.  

How do I know when He is refueling me? I feel my heart burn with the holy love of God as the promises come alive.  And I sense God's nearness filling my heart.   This fuel is free for those willing to discipline themselves to receive it.   The danger is far too many Christians attempt to live the Christian life on empty.  At some point the spiritual engine sputters and falters. Do you need fresh fuel? Cry out for Holy Spirit to come in a fresh way.  

Day 26 Story 25--Bovine Interruptions

It was one of my better messages, or at least I thought so.  The musical  team had lead us into a time of  praise and worship and Pastor C had introduced me.  Since we were on the Congolese border I preached  in Swahili.  Most of those present understood Swahili, but just to make sure a brother in the congregation translated the message into Kirundi.    The little church was a few months old and only had  partial walls erected around the steel frame tabernacle. 

  The congregation took up special offerings every week to buy a few more bricks to add to the slowly developing walls.   Two whole sides of the building remained untouched.  The congregation was motivated with a unifying vision: walls, and walls quickly. 

The reason for their motivation? 

Cows.  

Yes, you read that correctly, cows.  Rather, large herds of them.  Not by Texan standards of course, but for Burundi a herd of some 20 to 25 cattle is nothing to sneeze about,  especially when they like to participate in church services.    Yes, this particular herd is one of the most religious bovine congregations in the world.  Like clock-work every Sunday AM about half way through the preaching, the cows would migrate right through the middle of the service.  I had heard the stories.  Pastor C had shared his frustration with being mooed down in the middle of his messages.  Cow patties had become larger than the offerings and he had had enough.  

So he invited me to come and share the word secretly hoping that I would help give him the final push towards the building project.   

I preached, the other brother translated. 

"Bwana ankwenda kujibu watu wake." (Swahili). 

"Imana aragiye kwishura abantu biwe." (Kirundi). 

"Mooooooo!"  (Cow). 

"Yesu anasikia maombi yenu" (Swahili). 

"Yesu arumva amasengesho yacu" (Kirundi)

"Moooooo! Moooooo!  (more cows). 

I simply couldn't keep up with that kind of preaching.  

Splat. Splat. Splat.  A few new cow patties now decorated the floor of the building.  The bellowing brought the message to a standstill as several ushers with long poles tried to herd the cows along their way.   

I closed the message and gave a very generous offering.  I then called my team leader.  

"Hey we need to make a donation to complete this church building," it wasn't a suggestion on my part. 

"What? Why?" 

"Cows."   

The building was completed quickly.  Pastor C thrilled.  The congregation blessed not to have any more bovine interruptions.  And the cows?  Well, some say they moved their services to the other side of town.  

The Word of God is so powerful.  I've found that when it really gets down into our hearts it always produces transformation.  It sustains, renews, empowers, creates, directs, instructs, encourages, corrects, and releases.  Without the Word, the promises of God remain a mystery,  the power of God remains forgotten,  and the person of God remains unrevealed.  No wonder there is a battle over the Word of God.  I've found the primary strategy is distraction.  Good old fashioned "Mooing" to get my attention diverted from the Word. Anything and everything as long as it isn't the promises of God.   

Could it be time to build some walls around your time with the Lord?   Turn off the cell phone? Carve out some time? Get a version that you can understand?  Prioritize time with Him?