Day 21 Story 20 - The Lesson of the Two Drops

The epic race to discover the source of Africa's largest river, the Nile, is legendary.  One hundred and fifty years ago the British explorers raced  throughout the length and breadth of the continent to find the tributaries responsible for such a mammoth body of water.   Men like Livingstone, Speke, and  Burton suggested differing sources for the world's longest river.  Part of the confusion resides in the fact that the river actually has two arms: the white and blue.  Both converge in Khartoum, Sudan.  

 Even today controversy clouds the exact spot.  The Rwandans say that it is Nyungwe National park.  The Kenyans say it is in Lake Victoria, which is technically true, except that Lake Victoria has two tributaries flowing into it.  

In 1934 a German by the name of Burckhard Waldecker decided to track one of these  tributaries.  His quest took him high into the hills of Burundi on the Kagera River.   He built a little pyramid there and declared to the world the true source of the Nile.  Of course, this did nothing but add more fuel to the debate.   When I moved to Burundi  in 2007 several of my friends told me that I needed to go visit the spot.    Of course, I was intrigued from a historical perspective.  And the opportunity finally presented itself in 2008.   To say I had high hopes would be an understatement.  I couldn't wait! The source of the Nile! And in Burundi of all places!  

We made the 2 hour trek to the absolute middle of nowhere.  On the side of a hill is a rather bizarre pyramid constructed by the German.  We jumped out of the car, walked around, took some pictures, but still didn't see any water.  

"So where is it?"  I finally asked.  

"Down this way," came the reply from the self-appointed guide hovering around the parking area hoping to get some money from us. 

We walked a couple hundred feet down into a ravine.   Standing in the midst of some giant fern fronds our guide suddenly announces, "There it is!" 

His voice was full of excitement and enthusiasm. 

"Where?" I asked incredulously. 

"Right there!" 

"Right where?"  

Straining forward I looked into a little crevice on the edge of the ravine.  A single black pipe stuck out of the bank with a few drops of water dripping off the plastic.  

"That's it?" I cried out in disappointment. 

"I drove 2 hours to the middle of nowhere to see a pipe with a couple drops of water on it??"

Seeing his chances of a tip evaporating quickly, the guide explained: "This is the dry season.  When it rains a lot more water comes out of the pipe." 

I was totally disillusioned. "Who would put a pipe in there anyways? And why?" 

The best answer I could get is that the pipe gathered water run-off from the nearby vegetation so that there would be a few drops for tourists to see even in the dry season.  

We jumped back in our car and drove back to Buja rather disappointed.  The more I thought about it though, the more I have realized how cool it really is to think that the mighty nile stems from a few drops of water in Central Burundi.  A few drops soon becomes a a little trickle, the little trickle a small creek, the creek a tributary, the tributary a decent size river, the decent size river combines with other rivers and voila, the mighty Nile.  

Similarly, I think that it is easy to do the same thing in our lives.  We ask God for great and mighty things.  He responds by entrusting us with a few small drops.  We say, "are you kidding?" He says, "Be faithful with what I've given you."  We say, "But it's so small, and I was born to be great."  He says, "Be faithful in the small and you will be entrusted with much."     

As I look at my life, I would have to say that the lesson of the two drops has been one of keys for seeing God use my life.  As I'm faithful to steward what He's given me, even though at times it has seemed like so very little, He has always been faithful to increase it.   

Day 20 Story 19- Simeoni

Burundi's first ever women's conference for the AG would be held in  a place called Kayagoro- the absolute middle of nowhere.   A mere five hour drive from Bujumbura through some of the most windy roads that I have ever seen.  The conference would be organized by three females: two Burundian pastor's wives and a missionary colleague.  

 My phone rang, "Stephen we need you to participate in a women's conference." 

"Ummm... a women's conference?"  I asked hoping that the inflection of my voice would trigger the realization that I was not a female. 

"Yes. You are perfect!"  the response was very enthusiastic. 

"A women's conference?" I asked again still quite incredulous. 

"Yes, we need you to drive and translate."  

"Ah. I see.  And where is this conference to be held?" 

"Kayagoro." 

"Kaya....where?" I inquired.

 Why Kayagoro you may ask?  It's the question I'm still asking to this day.   Why me? Another question I'm still asking.  I said no several times, but eventually caved in after multiple calls from various members of the women's triad persuaded me.  

So, we piled into my pick up truck and zoomed off to Kayagoro.  On the way, one of the Burundian ladies who we will call Mama Sinzinkayo because that is actually her real name begins telling us the story of her youngest son- Simeoni.  He was no more than 5 years old at the time and had gone missing two weeks earlier.  No one knew what had become of him.  The church members last saw him playing outside the church building during a service.  

She did everything she knew how to do:  contacted neighbors, members of the community where their church was located, the police, held prayer vigils every morning and fasted an entire week.  Two long agonizing weeks had elapsed with not even a rumor as to the little boy's whereabouts.

My heart broke as I listened to a mother's heart agonizing over her son.  

To make matters worse, Burundi was experiencing a resurgence of child kidnappings at the time.  Not to be vulgar, but reports had surfaced of witchdoctors in Tanzania buying Burundian children for sacrifices.   Whether true or not, many people suggested that her son had become the latest victim.  

We all agreed to pray one more time  in the car as we zipped through the Burundian hills.   

The women's conference in Kayagoro actually turned out well for the ladies, but not so well for the token lady on the trip, me.   I fell ill with some strange fever and had to spend the next two days in our hotel, a spacious 4 room bar that blared country music at all hours of the day with the drunks shouting Kirundi profanities in  the hallway.  Yes, it was quite an experience.  One of the nights, the local municipality official tried to arrest us, but that is another story for another day.  

Some three days later, the worst of the fever and nausea  had passed and we were able to drive back to Buja. The conference had been a success, several women had come to Christ.  Many others had been challenged and encouraged in their walk with the Lord.   As we headed down the road, I started singing.   I was feeling better and grateful to be leaving the bustling metropolis of Kayagoro and my country music prison.  

Two of the ladies sat in the back seat chattering away.  Mama Sinzinkayo sat in the passenger seat silent, lost in deep thought.    There was a heaviness about her.  My heart ached for her.  Then,   her phone rang.  We had been out of cell phone coverage for  quite some time.   Suddenly, she starts shouting at the top of her lungs.  "Simeoni! Simeoni! Simeoni!"  The tears quickly followed.  "They found Simeoni!"  She burst into praise, worship, and  a chorus of hallejuahs.

Weeping with cries of joy soon filled the inside of the car.  It was one of those moments that words would fail to describe.  For close to an hour, the Burundian women undulated as only African can with deep cries of joy interspersed with sobbing.  It was one of those beautiful moments in life when faith triumphs over fear in a way so striking that it sticks with you for the rest of your life.  

As we neared Buja, I felt the gentle nudge of Holy Spirit: "This is a moment you must never forget.  This is a picture of what happens in heaven when even one spiritually lost person  receives Christ and is found." Jesus stated this truth so beautifully when he said: "The Son of Man  came to seek and save the lost."  

Why does Jesus' mission statement include a particular  thrust towards the lost? Simply stated because lostness is the worst condition in which a human being can find themselves.  There will be no lost people in heaven. There may be hungry people in heaven.  Or even fat people in heaven.  But there will be no lost people.    The greatest need in the human heart is to be saved. The good news is that Jesus is ever so true to  His mission finding  the way to our hearts, knocking  down the walls of doubt, fear, and sin so that we can really find life.  

Day 19 story 18- What a View

When I lived in Burundi we were continually on the look out for good pieces of land to buy. The idea was to have them available so that we could start new churches on the site with a Bible school student.  A team would then come in from the US to build a tabernacle.  We would preach and  voila,  as they say in French, we would have a new church of about 50-80 people.  

One of our challenges was to find strategic pieces of land situated close to neighborhoods/villages so that people could easily walk.  In the early days we worked with a Burundian pastor  who liked the idea of purchasing new pieces of land a little too much.  One day he calls on the phone.  

The conversation went something like this: 

"We have a piece of land that is a must see!" 

"Some more details please?"  

"A friend of mine knows where it is located and we all can go together to see it." 

"Umm...Where is it?"  

"Oh...just a few kilometers outside of Bujumbura." 

"When would we go?" 

"Tomorrow AM." 

So we piled into a Speed The Light vehicle and headed to check out the spot.  The so-called friend was really a part-time employee of the pastor we worked with which should have been my first clue that something was amiss.   

On a side note, the part-time employee pretended to know English, but all it really amounted to was one predominant expression: "Not at all. Not at all."   "Are going far," I would ask.  "Not at all. Not at all," came the response.  "What part of Burundi do you come from?"  "Not at at all. Not at all."  What other jobs do you have?"  "Not at all. Not at all."  

(You get the idea. While I am exaggerating the frequency of his use of the expression it isn't by much. ) 

After leaving town, I began to get fidgety. 

"How much farther do you we have to go?"" 

"Just ahed," responded the pastor.  "Not at all. Not at all." The friend. 

A few kilometers later we repeated the question.  Same answer.  Another few kilometers down the road, same response.  After driving a solid twenty five minutes we approached a dirt road.  "Turn here," came the order.  

Off we went down the narrow dirt road into the Burundian countryside.  "How much further?"   Same answer as before. 

A Good hour in the middle of nowhere we finally arrived.  There wasn't a village for miles.  The closest homestead would have been a nice 15 minute walk. 

Our Burundian friends jumped out of the car: "What a view! Isn't it amazing!" 

"Not at all. Not at all," The friend pointing around at the trees.  

"Ummm.... there are no people anywhere around here," my missionary colleague responds. 

"Yes, but look at the view! We absolutely must buy it," came the pastor's reply. 

"Not at all. Not at all."  The friend trying to engage in conversation.  

"To have a church you kind of need  to have people," my colleague reiterated. 

"People will walk for hours  to see the view," came the response.  

"Not at all. Not at all."  

By view, he meant the scenic and idyllic Burundian countryside complete with a few cows and pine trees.   

The conversation was going nowhere fast.  The friend then marked out the dimensions of the land.  It was massive.  Probably the size of several football fields.  He wanted to sell us half the countryside in the middle of nowhere.  And the price? Well let's just say that my colleague  started having anxiety attacks by this point in the conversation.  "We'll give you a great price! And for the view it's a real steal."  

We finally jumped back into the car and headed back into town.  "So what did you think?  Amazing right?  With a great view?" 

We never did figure out what percentage of the deal our pastor friend would have scored if we had purchased the land with a view from the part-time employee.  It didn't take long to learn that there were certain people we didn't need involved in the decision making process of how to plant churches in Burundi. 

As I think back on this experience, I'm reminded that life anywhere really isn't much different than in Burundi.  Certain people have certain agendas for our finances, time, and lives.  One of my friends used to joke with me, "I'm not God, but I do  have a plan for your life."  The danger  with this mentality is that we end up putting people in boxes that they were never meant to be placed in.  They become frustrated, we look manipulative, and the Kingdom suffers because only God's agenda will be able to  prosper in someone's life.  As a leader, I continually ask myself, "How can I help this person become more like Christ?" "How can I help them find God's will for their lives?" and "What can I do to assist them in that process?"   

Day 18 Day 17- The Rat's Last Stand

The first house where I lived in Burundi had some serious challenges.  It was an apartment built into a much larger house above it  and a garage for the bigger house on the side.  The entrance was built into the side of the bigger house.  I had to climb up a staircase of about 10 steps before going down another stair case into the bowels of the bigger house.  Truthfully, it was a little eerie at times.  Especially since the little apartment was usually damp and had mold in places.  Three dogs lived on the property: Sam, Pippin, and Mary affectionately named by their owners who were big Lord of the Rings fans.  Sometimes Burundi felt like a Lord of the Rings movie with the rebels attacking the city almost every weekend, but I digress. 

The three dogs often howled and barked like crazy whenever the garage door was open. The owners of the house said it was because there were massive rats living in there.  Having lived in Africa since my childhood I was familiar with rats and didn't pay much attention to the "massive" part of the statement thinking it was merely a superlative.  

One day, I left the door of my apartment open only slightly while taking care of some small maintenance with my vehicle parked in the driveway.  When I reentered my apartment I had that eerie feeling that I was not alone.  This was strange because no one had come up or down the rather odd staircase that lead into the recesses of my living quarters.  As I walked around inside the apartment I heard a rustling in my bedroom.  The lights were out, so I couldn't be sure but it looked like a cat had just jumped off the nearby desk onto the edge of windowsill behind the curtain.  Being the courageous and intrepid missionary that I am I hollered at the top of my lungs:  "Mary, Sam, Pippin!"  Normally, the dogs were not allowed inside the apartment but desperate times call for desperate measures.  All three came running full speed up the stairs then down the stairs, through the door and into my bedroom.  

Tails were wagging, drool was frothing, and hair was going everywhere. They thought I had a treat for them so they looked at me in anticipation.  And boy did I ever have a treat! I grabbed a mop handle and threw the curtain back expecting a doggie rodent free for all.  Much to my disappointment all three stood there staring at me unmoved by my antics.  "Attack!" I hollered.  "What happened to Lord of the Rings?"   As I whirled around to see why they hadn't so much as budged I realized that there was nothing there.  Great! A mysterious animal the size of a cat had just vanished in my small bedroom with only one way in and one way out guarded by three Hobbit wanna be dogs.  I couldn't believe it.  I searched high, I searched low.  My three dog friends stared at me in disbelief as if to say: "where's the treat?" 

I jumped on my bed, I moved the desk, I shook the chair, I rummaged the bookshelf, I turned over the sheets, I knocked the lamps.  Nothing.  By now, I could feel the three dogs thoughts: "He has burundian fever."  

Not to be dissuaded so easily by my imaginary canine critics I grabbed a shirt to tie around my head.  I was on the war path, dogs or no dogs.  And of course the intense mold spore count in the little apartment probably helps explain my rather ridiculous behavior. 

Just as all hope seemed lost, I opened the standing armoire where my clothes were kept.  As to how the sneaky little vermin managed to open the armoire door and lodge himself in amongst some of my clothes I will never know.  What I do know though is that the fight I had been hoping for broke out immediately! All three dogs barked at the top of their lungs, while lunging, growling, and bristling. The rat, who I must say did fit the superlative massive quite well, clawed, hissed and jumped to safety.  When I say jumped, I mean the thing almost seemed to fly through the air bounding on top of the curtains, some 4 feet straight up into the air effortlessly.  I thought to myself, "Oh Great! A flying rat the size of a small dog! Perfect!"  

What transpired the next 5 minutes is hard to describe, the already disorderly room was torn upside down as the rat gave three dogs a run for their money.  All the way glaring at me as if to say, "when I'm through with these three bozos you'll be next."  I gulped realizing that this was a super-rat a most worthy foe.  Retreat was not an option.  I must be the general of the forces. So I barked orders from the safety of my bed as I hid behind the mosquito net.  "Hes' on the chair Pippin" "Over there on the book shelf Mary." "Watch the door Mary!"    The stand-off lasted for close to 15 minutes with neither side gaining ground, until the rat made the strategical error of trying to run for it.  He rushed through all three dogs legs out towards the apartment door only to find the door shut.  

I will spare you what happened next, but enough to say that it would have made a great Lord of the Rings 4- the fellowship of the Rat. 

If there's anything I've learned in serving Jesus in a world hostile to his teaching, it's this-- Life is a fight;  don't fight  it alone. I'm increasingly realizing how much the devil hates people who really love Jesus.  He will come against them in every possible way: physically, spiritually, emotionally, etc..   The good news is that Jesus has already defeated him.  The bad news is that we are living in the tension of a stand-off in this age.  Find people to stand with you in your struggles, to pray for you, to encourage you, and to share your victories as God's presence and truth ultimately prevails.  

Day 17 Story 16- Plastic Bags

My wife loves this story.  So I decided I would retell it today even though I have already written about it in a previous article. 

About 4 years ago I invited my best Kenyan friend to come visit me in Tanzania for a week.  He preached Sunday morning at the church I was pastoring at the time and then we made arrangements to visit the island of Zanzibar.  We boarded a little airplane Monday morning for the short 15 minute flight.  

Our plan was to drop our things off at the guest house, catch a local dhow to outlying smaller islands, and go snorkeling.  Things went pretty much flawlessly for the first part of the day.  Flight, on time. Hotel rooms, ready.  Boat, smooth sailing.  Snorkel gear, present and accounted for.  When we neared one of the best spots to see the fabulous Tanzanian aquatic life, he became a little apprehensive. 

"So I just jump in the water?"  he asked. 

"Yup!" I replied enthusiastically. 

"And I use the tube and mask?" he continued. 

"Oh yeah!" I replied hardly able to contain my excitement. 

"And then what?"  he inquired. 

"You swim! And look at all the incredible fish."  I announced. 

"And then what?"  

"Relax! You're going to be fine." I replied soothingly. 

As the anchor went sailing overboard to steady our position I jumped into the water.  SPLASH! It was amazing. And the water temperature perfect. 

"Come on!" I shouted. "It's perfect." 

He took the plunge.  I swam over to him for  a brief moment to make sure he was okay and then started off exploring the various parts of the underwater reefs and rocks.  After a few minutes I had the feeling that I was all alone.  Pulling my head up out of water I couldn't see my friend anywhere.  I started to panic.  Where was he?  

I hollered towards the boat captain.  "Where is Samuel?"  

Almost simultaneously, I could hear someone hollering as if they were in great pain.  I swam back towards the boat as fast as I could.   Sam sat on the deck of the boat yelling and carrying on something fierce.  

"What's wrong?" I yelled as I tried to get out of the water.  

"They bit me! They bit me!" bellowed the rather large Kenyan. 

"What bit you?"  I countered, totally unsure of what was taking place. 

"The plastic bags! They bit me! You didn't tell me that the plastic bags can bite!"  

"Plastic bags?" "What are you talking about?"  Now I was really worried convinced that my friend was hallucinating.  

As I approached him I could see that his entire torso had swollen with painful welts.  "Oh my goodness ! What did you do?" 

He looked at me in disbelief.  "Didn't you hear me?  The plastic bags! They bit me. The ocean is polluted" 

Then it dawned on me: by plastic bags he meant jelly fish. And by bit me he meant they had stung him.    And a huge one had torched his abdomen.  We had to make an emergency trip back to StoneTown on a rickety dhow with an antiquated outdoor motor.  Fortunately, Sam is strong and had almost fully recovered by the time we reached the shore a good 30 minutes later. And the swelling went down the next day. 

Life is full of seemingly innocuous plastic bags that turn out to be toxic jelly fish.  Things that look innocent and sweet.  Things that we have to have or have to do because everyone else has them and does them.  I often pray that the Lord gives me discernment to be able to properly see and discern.  Many of these things turn out to be deadly, toxic, and damaging to our hearts, souls, and emotions.  The world around is a very polluted place.  May we walk in wisdom.  

Day 16 Story 15 Monkey Business

Jane Goodall is legendary for her work among the chimpanzees.  She saved hundreds of this intelligent primate from human destruction in Central Africa.  Her chimpanzee orphanage was located in Bujumbura until the civil war of 94 that sparked ethnic tensions between the Hutu and Tutsi. As to whether these two people groups actually exist or not is still a subject of very close debate. In Rwanda they claim that such distinctions were made exclusively by the Europeans. In Burundi, I met many individuals who were proud of their ethnicity. Whether real or imagined, the war between these two groups left hundreds of thousands dead in the two countries and nearly decimated all wildlife.  Jane eventually relocated her chimp sanctuary to Sweetwaters in Kenya. 

When I lived in Burundi a little hotel on the edge of Lake Tanganyika boasted the only chimpanzees left in the entire country that had once been the home to hundreds if not thousands in the wild.  A small iron cage no bigger than a standard bathroom in the US housed the two surviving representatives of their species. I used to go visit them and feed them mangoes.  Chimpanzees have always intrigued me.  They would stare at me through the bars with a deep sadness on their faces.  Then they would hold out their hands through the bars begging for a mango treat.  I would hand them a little mango, even though the sign clearly said not to feed them. If the mango tasted good they would devour it quickly.  If it didn't they would spit it out and stretch out their hands begging for another one.   Often they would fight with each other if the mango tasted sweet.  It was pathetic.  

They could be quite funny too.  One one occasion a friend came to visit from the US.  He wanted to take in all the sights of Burundi.  Er....  We have a lake, some mountains, and a few chimps.   He decided the chimps would have to do.   So off we went.  

I could see the look on their faces as we approached. 

"Help we are caged chimps, please give us mangoes."  

My friend was just as touched as me.  Picking up some mangoes from a nearby tree he offered them to the two captives.  They took one bite and spit it out.  

Clearly, the quality was sub-par.   One of the chimps then began to scratch himself as only primates can get away with in public before passing some very boisterous gas.  Probably from swallowing too many bites of bad mango. Or some other strange snack that a visitor had snuck in.  The smell?  Atrocious.  We grabbed our noses immediately.   As if to emphasize the obvious, the other chimp grabbed his nose and did a backwards somersault as if he were passing out from the stench.   Hysterical! We both laughed and then looked for some better mangoes.   

I often dreamed that I could make a late night jail break with the two chimps.  The headlines could  read: Missionary Makes off with Monkeys.  Or maybe Missionary  Monkey Business?  What would I do with 2 chimps though?  And if I released them into the wild they would be caught and eaten.  What is the point I'm trying to make? Simply this: Chimpanzees weren't born to be trapped in cages.  They are supposed to be free.  Free to find their own mangoes.  Free to roam. Free to fart far from the noses of their comrades.  

I think the reason I stared at that cage so long and so hard so often is because I could see the similarities that everyone talks about between chimps and humans.  And the parallel would strike  me- humans aren't supposed to be caged up either. 

 I don't mean by little iron cages in war-torn nations in Central Africa.  I mean the cages of sin, fear, and doubt that separate them from the glorious freedom found in a real living relationship with Holy Spirit.  Free from the oppression of darkness.  And the sadness of soul captivity.   When I think of the chimps I think of one of the greatest joys of my life.  I remember the day the bars that held me fast were cut as I found the freedom that only Jesus brings.  Why am I a missionary?  I think a huge part of it is that I have seen too many captives panning and pining, wining, and wasting away from the torments of darkness.  And yet, I have also witnessed many of these same captives run to Jesus to have  their  bars cut away as they experience the glorious freedom that Holy Spirit brings.   Their names and faces stand in my mind as a testimony of the power of Jesus.  He sets captives free.  He will set you free too if you ask Him.  

Day 15 Story 14- The small things

One of my favorite stories of all time. 

A visiting preacher had come to Kenya to share the Gospel message. 

As he preached across the country he decided to learn a little Swahili to impress the people.  

He thought it would be a good idea to tell the people how much he loved their country. 

"How do I say 'I love your country''? he asked his translator. 

"Ninapenda nchi yenu," came the response. 

Standing on the platform he raised his voice to build rapport with the masses. 

"Ninapenda uchi yenu," he uttered. 

Laughter swept across the audience.  In frustration he decided to utter his statement again. 

"Ninapenda uchi yenu."  More hilarious laughter. 

"Ninaepnda uchi yenu."  The translator stepped up to the mic to stop him.

"Thank you brother that is very kind of you." 

He continued with his message. 

After the service he asked the translator why the people had laughed. 

"You mixed up one letter. You used 'u' instead of 'n'." 

"And how did that change my statement?"  he inquired. 

"Uchi means nakedness." 

And so the preacher had publicly proclaimed that he loved the nakedness of his congregation.  Probably not the highlight of his ministry.  

Yes, one little letter makes all the difference in the world. I'm reminded that it really is the small things that make all the difference in the world.  Small attitude adjustments. Small steps of faith. Small acts of service.  Small displays of kindness.  Memorizing a small Bible verse.  Praying small prayers.  For when you add up all the small things you will find the secret of greatness in a person's walk with the Lord.  I like this thought because it removes intimidation.