I have shared with you that our life has a bit of a slower pace here in Africa. It is true. They call it African time. Our culture is relational. I learned rapidly that the people in front of me had to take priority over the projects around me. There is something beautiful about that. It is reminiscent of the Kingdom. But it is also unnerving at times. Some days I have wondered how anything manages to get accomplished. And some days it does not. Everything happens with its own unique Sudanese rhythm.
With many children, local staff, missionaries and visitors, several churches and even more projects, it would be easy to feel stressed. Sometimes I do. Jesus clearly expressed His wonderful sense of humor when He sent me to Sudan. I can just imagine Him discussing it with the Father: “Let’s send a super-achieving, Type A personality to the bush to help her learn she cannot do it and she needs to chill.” He reminds me daily that the only measure of success in His eyes is living loved each day and loving one life at a time.
As a child with lots of medical procedures, I learned that holding my breath was a way to control my world. It was a way to anticipate and maybe stave off impending pain. But I could only hold my breath for so long! On those days here in Sudan when all chaos breaks loose and I am tempted to sheer frustration, Papa says to me, Honey, just breathe. It is His way of telling me that He really does have everything— even the seeming chaos and crises—under His control. And if He is in control, then I do not need to be. All I need to do is trust Him. All I need to do is be with Him. All I need to do is breathe.
Just breathe.
One day as I was eating a newly ripened mango the children had ruthlessly disengaged from the branch of our compound tree, Jesus turned my afternoon snack into a message: Rest is when the work becomes as simple as bearing fruit. Fruit cannot be forced. Mangoes grow only in mango season, and if it is not mango season then enjoy papayas instead. That is rest.
Here surrounded by mud cathedrals and mango trees I am learning more what it means just to be, to breathe, to rest and to love.
Heaven Has a Candy Aisle
One afternoon I was talking with the children about how we were planning to have fun together in the coming days. One of our older boys who was helping me translate paused and with a puzzled look on his face asked, “Mama, what is fun?”
Now how was I to explain the concept of fun to a culture that does not even have a word for it?
“Well, sweetheart, fun is when you are doing something you like; you are having a good time and something is enjoyable. That’s what you call fun.”
“Oh, Mama, I see. Thank you very much. Let God bless you.”
We could have talked more about fun and provided more dictionary definitions, but I am a firm believer in experiential learning. One of our short-term volunteers was about to celebrate her 21st birthday while she was staying with us. What better excuse to put fun into practice than to throw a party!
I am convinced God loves parties. After all, He has prepared for us the greatest party of all time—a wedding feast—when we get to heaven, right? So when in doubt, throw a party!
Well, here in our fine bush resort in the southern reaches of the Sudanese outback, party planning is not the easiest. Planning an impromptu birthday bash in the bush is not as simple as stopping off at Macy’s for party favors. Here in the middle of this muddy metropolis there is no Dillard’s or local branch of Nordstrom. No, not even a Walgreens. Nope. Our only option is a small corner shop in a dusty border town in northern Uganda.
On our regular trip to Arua just before the eve of the awaited celebration, we had the foresight to pick up 96 heart-shaped lollipops. We also were hugely blessed to pick up some packages at the post office there. One of them contained some DVDs. The evening plans expanded to include a special debut showing of our newly arrived copy of VeggieTales’ Dave and the Giant Pickle.
Evening was approaching, and we began to set up the generator, speakers and projector. It was amazing how word traveled with no advertisement! Our bamboo fence was, shall we say, breathable. If you really wanted to come onto our compound you just pushed a few bamboo pieces aside and came in. The neighborhood children were adept at that trick. Before we knew it word had gotten out that there was a video on the Iris Compound, and our crowd began to grow.
We had intended for this event to be a small family celebration of ninety or so. We had 96 lollipops, enough for our kids and staff family. But by the time we were ready to pass them out, our crowd was easily more than double that number.
What were we going to do? Did we show the video and forego the candy until later? If we ran out, our celebration would turn into an imminent riot. Stories of water turning into wine at a party long ago and a small boy’s lunch feeding thousands paraded through my memory. Images of small sock-covered hands with steaming cups of hot cocoa from a few years earlier in Texas came to my mind. Jesus, are You telling me what I think You are?
We eyed the growing crowd of children cramming onto the rickety wooden benches set in our front yard. It was now or never. We prayed over the heart-shaped sweets and thanked Papa for what we knew had to be a miracle to come.
One of our visitors was not sure about how the multiplication anointing applied to candy. When we asked him to help pass out the lollipops, he looked at the candy then looked at the crowd. He weighed the situation, and the precarious place of extreme faith where we were teetering dawned on him.
“Uhumm, do you, uh, have a plan . . . B?” he asked.
“No plan B. You start at the back, okay?”
And guess what?
We had enough candy for every child and every adult on the compound to have a special birthday sweet. We even had one sucker left over! God has a candy factory for moments such as these.
I was elated! Who would not be? It was not exactly the feeding of the five thousand, but it was awesome to see 96 sweets feed over two hundred people.
The celebration was a raving success. The VeggieTales DVD made our entire compound laugh, cheer, ooh and aah. They were not quite sure what to do with singing vegetables that had personality. Were vegetables supposed to dance? Yet the theme song from that movie could not have been more appropriate. Intrepid Dave, played by Junior Asparagus, took on the feared Giant Dill Pickle, Goliath, as he sang:
You’re big, I’m little.
My head comes only to your middle,
But with God little guys can do big things, too.
That night our children went to sleep with their hearts echoing songs of victory over defeated giants and the taste of heaven’s provision in their mouths. God does indeed like parties, and heaven did indeed have a candy aisle.
The evening reminded me that in this Kingdom I am called to look with new eyes. I am called to a supernatural life of passing out lollipops when it seems there are not enough, dancing in the storms around me and giving parties for people who have never had them before. All of this comes as I learn more each day simply to breathe and be in the One who is love.
Raising the Bar
The unpaved road of following God’s heart has led me to many places. They all have had one major thing in common: They all have required me to breathe. Parties in the bush, mission trips to other African nations, object lessons from everyday happenings—all have revolved around this theme of taking a deep breath.
I recently was invited to travel to Ghana for the first time. Yes, I know, this is a book about Sudan, not Ghana, but God used this journey to teach me more about relaxing and trusting Him and, yes, breathing more deeply. Remembering what God taught me in Ghana has helped me greatly here on Sudanese soil.
My first full day in Ghana I went with a small evangelism team through the crowded, twisting alleys of a Ghanaian slum. I stepped into the tin-roofed menagerie and instantly felt at home. You see, slums are my absolute favorite places to be. Yes, it is nice when that rare mission trip takes you to a hotel that is nicer than your usual living accommodations, and any place with running water tops my normal housing. But if our team drops me off in the slums for the week I am a happy woman.
The day was teeming with rain. But for us that was part of heaven’s plan. The downpour forced our little group to take shelter in a small restaurant of sorts, and amidst the seeming setbacks and potential agitation my Papa reminded me, Sweetheart, take a deep breath.
The iron sheet roof leaked in at least three places, making small pools on the floor. The bamboo walls allowed the wind and the light to come in, along with a little rain. But it was mostly dry, comparably speaking. Crates of liquor lined one wall, and several bleary-eyed customers sat on chairs that barely looked like they would hold them.
Our group evened out the numbers, and we all sat there looking at one another. Two precious little girls peeked into the room from the doorway. I decided to try out my Twi greeting that I had painstakingly learned from our hotel guard that morning. When in a new land, love can look like learning to say hello and thank you all over again.
“Ete sen?” I asked. (These words actually sound like wa-ho-ta-zen and mean “How are you?”)
“Eye!” (Wa-ho-ye—“Fine”) came their surprised and enthusiastic reply.
The rather quiet crowd burst into smiling chatter in response to a little white woman trying out their language. Our translator took off explaining who we were and why we were there. Were there any people who would like prayer?
One by one they came forward. Pain left. Fevers were banished. Sickness disappeared. Drunken stupors vanished as the love of Jesus permeated the atmosphere. Everyone wanted to either receive Jesus for the first time or come back to Him after wandering away. And while all this was happening one of the little angels in the doorway curled up and fell fast asleep in my lap. Her older sister played with my strange hair. It would not stay braided like hers.
One tall woman with matted hair and wild eyes stands out in my memory of that day. She entered the restaurant intoxicated and wanting more drink for her pain. She was in the middle of arguing with someone behind a makeshift counter when the reality of what was happening with our little group gripped her. She came over asking for prayer and literally fell at our feet.
“I want to be free from alcohol!” she cried in a desperate voice.
“Do you know Jesus? He is the One who can set you free.”
“No.”
“Would you like to meet Him? He loves you very much.”
“Yes.”
Just that simply, heaven won for itself one more life for the Lamb’s reward. We introduced her to the One who gave everything to set her free and give her life. Her wild eyes began to calm, and her tormentors loosened their grasp. She left without purchasing the drink she came for. She left with hope for a new life.
The small group that had gathered with us asked, “Can we have a church here?”
I replied almost without thinking, “You already do. We just had our first service.”
One man could read and had a Bible. He had actually had some ministry education at one point but had fallen away from following Jesus. Our translator agreed to mentor him, and a baby church was born. The rain relented, and we left for other West African adventures.
Outreach on the unpaved road
On our way out I mentioned to our interpreter, “Wow! There were a lot of people drinking early in the day in that restaurant.”
An amused look crossed his face. “Michele, that was not a restaurant. That was a bar. You guys just planted a church in a bar.”
Wowie zowie, God! That was easy! Sort of like breathing.
God’s Kingdom comes even in Ghanaian slums and back-alley bars. Jesus liked to go to the rough-around-the-edges people and places in His day, too. He still does. And He is raising the bar in my life on what love looks like.
I am learning it is less about what I do or how much I accomplish. It is all about becoming the message I am called to bring. Whether I am in Africa or America or anywhere in-between, fruit that remains grows out of a life intimately connected to Him. All I have to do is breathe. Just breathe.
It Is a Dance
I have gotten some things right on this journey. But I have gotten a lot of things wrong, too. One of those things is my “secret place” time with Jesus. It is not the big things that get in the way. It is the little things that distract and detract from time that should be spent with Him. I came to realize that on one of my trips to Uganda. It was easier to see what I was facing when I was not facing it so closely.
My little Ugandan guesthouse became a place of a momentary epiphany on that trip. The only witness to my revelation was a family of prehistoric-size cockroaches that scuttled into the dark corners of the room when I turned on the lights.
After a long soak in a tub I was not surprised to see my skin lighten about three shades. There went my so-called tan. I still had not managed the knack of the bucket bath. It was the first time in months that I had had any time truly alone. Remember that my home is a veritable fishbowl.
It was the first time I had slowed down long enough to realize that Jesus was watching my busy pace, my overflowing days and my crowded life. He was just watching me and waiting for me to notice that He was not as intent on my schedule as I was. I looked into His eyes and realized that I was getting the loving-others part right. I was seeing and stopping for the one in front of me. But I had forgotten that He was the most important One I could ever stop for. His gaze held no condemnation. It held only invitation.
Suddenly I was taken into a vision where I was standing in a vast harvest field. It expanded as far as my eyes could see in every direction. It was lit with faint pre-dawn light. The sun was just beginning to touch the distant horizon.
The picture was so immense that I was overwhelmed. Where would I even begin to harvest that field? How would I start? I looked around me. I saw no tools, no bag, nothing at all to begin gathering this huge harvest.
In this vision Jesus walked up to me in the middle of that field. His face was shining. His eyes were smiling. He came so close to me that all I could see were His beautiful eyes. I could not look away, not even to see the harvest. He took me by the hand, and we began to dance. The field twirled by out of the corner of my eyes, but my gaze was locked with His and He alone was my focus.
“This is what I want,” He said. “This is what I want. I want you to live a life with your eyes fixed on Me. As we dance together the harvest will come in. It is not about a plan; it is all about a dance.”
Was I planning great exploits for Jesus? Or was I dancing with Him, letting Him fill all my vision and become my Everything?
I realized I had been lamenting my lack of resources and the huge task ahead of me. I was fixated on the field when Jesus wanted me to be focused on His face. He did not want me to settle and get by with romantic notions about Him. He wanted my heart, the core of who I am, to surrender to being romanced by Him, to be overtaken by His love. He wanted me to be so captivated by His gaze that He would become all I see.
His words resounded in my heart. It is not a plan that will win the world. It is a dance.
I do not have to be worried about success or failure, greatness or obscurity. All I have to do is find who I am in Love’s eyes. All I have to do is be a little girl in the arms of her Papa, knowing she is loved not for anything she has done or achieved but simply because He loves her. I can stand on His feet and let Him lead, knowing that as we dance together the harvest will come in.
This, too, is rest.
Created for Another Realm
I travel a lot sharing what God has done and is doing in our midst. Recently I had the occasion of being blessed with a snorkeling trip on some of my travels.
As I mentioned, I am a Florida girl. I learned to swim before I learned to walk. I love snorkeling. I love the water. I love the fish. I love the utter peace and quiet that surrounds me when I stick my head just under the surface and all goes silent. I love the metaphorical significance of breathing in another realm and meeting God there. It has everything to do with life in the bush—even when oceans are thousands of miles away.
This, however, was no ordinary snorkeling tour! My first surprise came when our tour guide had us put on uniformly ugly, ill-fitting life vests inflated with hot air that served more to get in the way than anything else and then marched us out to the beach. He then began a lesson that could be entitled “Introduction to Your Mask 101.” How hard is it to figure out a snorkeling mask? My friends and I just looked at one another. This was so bizarre it was almost comical. To add to the satire of the moment, it started to rain. We were made to stand in the rain while listening to the explanation of the proper use of the snorkel.
“The snorkel goes in your mouth. Keep the tip above the water line. Then breathe normally.” No! I thought it went in my ear and was attached to my iPod.
Once we actually made it into the water, my second surprise came. Our tour guide was a thinly veiled aquatic drill instructor, commonly known in boot camp as the feared D.I. Couldn’t we just enjoy snorkeling in this other realm for ourselves? Oh, no! We had to follow our snorkeling D.I., who insisted on us keeping in formation as he yelled at us to keep up the pace.
“You in the back!” (He was referring to me—I do not like being herded.) “Keep it up, keep it up, KEEP IT UP!”
Every two minutes our specially assigned tour guide would shout, “Are you okay? Everyone comfy? You in the back, I said keep up!” Then he would make us stop so he could announce, “There is an angel fish on your left and a coral formation on your right.”
I had just entered the realm of extreme absurdity. I began to look not for unique fish but for the underwater camera guy filming for Candid Camera. He never did appear. But I did ask Jesus what He was saying in all this. It was too bizarre not to have some object lesson attached to the experience.
Breathing through my snorkel (which does not go in my ear—I am glad I found that out!) after being yelled at for the umpteenth time to keep up, I heard Jesus laughing. I began to chuckle myself. What was I going to do but laugh with such a scenario around me? Little did I realize the joke was on me.
Stroke after stroke, revelation dawned. Jesus was teaching me a powerful lesson: If I was not careful I could become the snorkel drill instructor! Ouch! He was showing me that if I did not stay submerged in the realm of God’s presence myself, then I would be at risk of simply taking people on tours of the supernatural. If I were not careful I would be doing nothing more than focusing on safety, keeping the ones I led afloat with ill-fitting carbon-copy containers of hot air and protecting them from going too deep.
My mind filled with images of my children in Sudan all snorkeling in perfect formation with identical vests. Amusing? Maybe. Horrifying? Definitely. No one dared swim to the depths. The pressure to conform and stay on the surface was too strong. Then they began to compare their vests with one another. Hers is more inflated than mine. His is better looking. Help me, Jesus!
I did not want to herd my children or anyone else from meeting to meeting, checking every two minutes to see if they were comfortable or not. No! I wanted them to be free to explore for themselves the supernatural realm in which they were created to live and breathe without a tour guide or drill instructor. When it was all said and done, I did not want them to come ashore and say, “Wasn’t that nice? We saw an angel fish, hallelujah!” I did not want them to leave with only an experience but no revelation.
A few days later I had the opportunity to snorkel again, this time without the tour guide. For three hours I floated in the aqua waters soaking in the understanding that all I have to do is float in His ocean of love and breathe. When I stay submerged in Him, I overflow from the realm in which I am immersed. Float in His love, then live in His flow.
That day I began to learn that His presence has a rhythm much like the rhythm of the ocean. Breathe in to the depths to drink Him in, and then breathe out to the shorelines of nations and circumstances to pour out His love on each person I meet. Breathe in to be with Him, then out to be with people. His is a holy rhythm of love like a heartbeat. As I soak and drink deeply of Him, I am saturated and have something to offer the ones around me.
I was not created for this realm. My children in Sudan were not created for this realm. Floating in the blue waters half a world away, I became increasingly convinced that we were created to live in the realm of our King and from there to manifest His Kingdom wherever we go. It really was that easy. Float in His love. Stay submerged in His heart. Breathe Him in and then watch His realm break through our lives everywhere we go. It was the supernatural life for which we were created where His natural becomes our normal.
Do you remember Gloria, the blind Ugandan woman whose eyes God healed? That miracle happened on my way home from my little snorkeling revelation experience. It was a miracle that happened not because I worked really hard but because I was learning to breathe and to rest. God was proving to me that floating in His ocean of love really did release the flow of His supernatural power.
I decided to take a stand. No more snorkel tours of the supernatural for me! I want to be so continuously filled with the love of God that I leak His love onto everyone I meet. I want to learn this rhythm of the deep. Float, flow, hide, give, love, drink, live and above all else do not forget to breathe.
The Ability to Respond
Recent years have brought some storms in my life. Yet how would I ever learn to dance—or breathe—in the midst of a storm without a storm? Jesus has used the stormy squalls often as compressed learning opportunities.
One storm occurred over a period of about six months in which I was constantly sick. A never-ending array of illnesses barraged my already battered immune system: malaria five times, parasites, unknown bacteria, staff infections and finally chronic fatigue syndrome. I was not being kind to myself. I pushed myself way too hard in the name of being a tough missionary and royally flunked my lessons on rest.
Soon I was so weak I could barely walk across the compound. I was getting progressively worse and lost four sizes in three weeks. I was in constant pain, severely fatigued and beyond desperate. The visiting doctor ordered me to bed rest, threatening to send me back to the United States from Sudan. I told her I was on my way to see a certain Specialist in Mozambique (yes, a Specialist with a capital S).
“What! There are no specialists in Mozambique.”
“Mine is coming especially to meet me.”
In June 2007 I arrived at Iris Ministries’ center in Mozambique for a periodic staff retreat. Thin, frail and pasty, I had a greenish glow that concerned many of my friends. There was talk about possible hospital visits. But I did not travel thousands of miles to visit hospitals that were not much better than the ones in Uganda. I had a word from heaven, and I was holding on to it for dear life. Dr. Jesus was going to heal me.
I joined the caravan of staff converging on a hotel in Bilene to reconnect and worship together for the weekend. The first day I was so sick I could barely contemplate eating the beautiful food to which we were being treated. When would Jesus come and heal me? That night I lay on my face in worship because I was weak and the room was spinning.
The next morning came and went uneventfully. The second afternoon included a testimony time. One precious family working in northwest Mozambique shared and sang a song their daughters had written in the field. As they sang I felt waves of God’s presence wash over me. I slid off my seat to the floor. Soon God’s presence weighed so heavily upon me that I could not move—for seven hours.
I lay there literally magnetized to the floor. I did not see anything. I did not hear anything. I was fully cognizant but unable to get up. Break time and dinner came and went. Still I could not move. The evening worship came and went. People danced joyfully all around me. Still there I was. Someone graciously turned me over halfway through the evening.
The evening session finished, and people trailed to their rooms. I felt the weight begin to lift and slowly regained mobility. I did not feel anything notable during that time. I saw no visions. I heard no great audible revelations. But I got up healed!
The next day I ran, walked and danced at every opportunity. In receiving this healing I had done nothing but breathe. Perhaps that was His point.
In the following days, Jesus began to speak to me that He did not create me to be responsible but to be response-able. In other words, He wanted me to be able to respond to Him in relationship.
I asked Jesus what I needed to do. What should I do, Lord, in the face of what looks and feels some days like standing nose to nose with a thousand-foot-high tidal wave of darkness? What should I do in the face of overwhelming need and a dwindling bank account?
His reply: Let go.
Let go of what, Lord?
Let go of the need to be responsible.
What a shocker. Ever since my cognitive understanding began to form, everything in my world told me I had to be responsible. Good people were responsible people. It was how I was raised. It was how I looked at myself. It was how I looked at ministry. Furthermore, I knew that the world looked at our ministry in Sudan and said, “Look at all those children! Wow, you are responsible for so much!” The Church saw the promises Jesus gave us and said, “Wow, what a lot of responsibility Jesus has given you!” Somehow I had begun to believe that myth called responsibility, and it turned what had been spontaneity into suffocation in my soul. It made even breathing hard work. The storm around me stopped being an opportunity to dance with Jesus and started to look like a sentence of drowning.
All the while, Jesus was saying, No!
Slowly I began to realize that Jesus did not give me His promises for Sudan as a responsibility to carry. He gave me His promises as a playground to embrace with Him. All He desired was my ability to respond to Him. That lie of false responsibility actually stole the joy and even the ability to respond to the spontaneous moving of His Spirit.
I was created to live in a love relationship with Papa, Jesus and the Holy Spirit that was based on response-ability. I was called to live in a place that enabled me to respond to His promptings. You might call it trust. I am not responsible for what He calls me into; I am simply to be response-able in the midst of His call.
It is much easier than I ever thought! Freedom really is that free. It felt a little like flying—or maybe floating in the ocean without a snorkel drill instructor.
Rest. Respond. Love. Let go. Let God. Breathe.
The Kingdom belongs to such as these
