After years in White River, Tryphina and I both felt that the Lord was calling us to move to the town of Backdoor. At the time Backdoor was a good place to stay away from. It was known as the roughest town in our district, a place where gangs ran wild, drug use was rampant and violence was common.
When I told friends that we planned to move there, they begged us not to go. “God has plenty of work for you to do right here,” one of them said. “Why would you want to go to a place like that?”
“Because God is calling us,” I answered.
“But you have children. Think about their safety.” At the time, Enoch and Lovey were small, and Tryphina was well along in her pregnancy with Israel.
“We have spent a great deal of time praying about this,” I said. “We both feel that God is calling us to show His love to the people of Backdoor. He will protect the children.” Tryphina and I both wanted to make a difference in a place where people were afraid to go into the streets at night, where they lived in constant fear from criminals who had shown again and again that they had no respect for human life.
I remembered how, years earlier, I had been warned not to go back to Mozambique. Those who had warned me were correct in their judgment of the situation. I experienced many horrible situations, but God had protected me through them all. And I believed He would continue to protect us now.
It was not long before my belief was put to a severe test. Before we even moved into our new home, thieves broke in and stole some of the things we had stored there. Among the items taken were the walkie-talkies that our ministry teams used to communicate when we traveled into rural areas.
A couple of days later Tryphina, Lovey and I were taking a walk in our new neighborhood. As we passed an old, dilapidated house down the street from where we lived, we heard the unmistakable sound of someone speaking through a walkie-talkie.
I probably should have let it go, or called the police. Instead I decided to see for myself who had stolen our equipment. I stepped around to the side of the house and spied a young man holding one of the walkie-talkies. When he saw that I had spotted him, he ran into the house. Suddenly a group of wild-eyed men, armed with long machetes and a gun, burst out of the house and ran toward me.
“Run!” I shouted to Tryphina. “Run!”
I scooped Lovey into my arms, and we raced for home as fast as our legs would carry us. “Stop them!” one of the men shouted. “Kill them!”
I did not know for sure how many of them there were—seven or eight at least, and they were right on our heels. It was uphill all the way to our house, and there was no way we could outrun them.
“There!” Tryphina shouted, pointing at a nearby house. We ran to the front door, praying that it would be unlocked.
It was!
We scrambled inside, slammed the door just in front of our pursuers and fumbled to lock it before they could follow us inside. Our hearts were pounding in our chests as the thieves began banging on the door. “You’re dead meat!” one of them screamed. “We’re going to kill you!”
As they shouted and banged on the door outside, we heard a harsh voice behind us. “What are you doing in my house?” We turned to see an angry-looking man in a wheelchair.
“They’re trying to kill us,” I said.
“Get out of here,” he snarled.
“Didn’t you hear me?” I asked. “We can’t go out there. They’ll kill us.” Two gunshots sounded outside as if to emphasize what I was saying. I hoped they were shooting into the air.
The man’s angry expression remained fixed. “I’m going to open this door,” he said. He tried to move his wheelchair toward the door, but I reached out and blocked him as Tryphina pushed up against the door, trying to make certain it stayed shut.
Outside, neighbors had gathered to see what was going on, but no one seemed inclined to help us. They might as well have been watching a football game. “What’s happening?” I heard someone ask.
“I think they’re killing some people.”
“Oh.”
I fumbled in my pocket, found my cell phone and pressed the number of a pastor I knew, praying that he would answer.
He did. “It’s Surprise,” I shouted into the phone. “We need the police. Quick!” I told him where we were, hung up and prayed that God would protect us until the police got there. Finally, after about fifteen minutes, we heard the sound of sirens in the distance, and we knew the police were on their way.
It was only after they got everything under control that we discovered why the man in the wheelchair had been so angry. He was actually the leader of the gang that had broken into our house. He was in a wheelchair because he had been wounded in a previous shootout with the police. This time, his gang gave up without a fight. Through God’s grace, not only were the robbers arrested, but our possessions were returned to us.
After what had happened, our friends again begged us to change our minds and stay in White River, but we knew we had to follow through on what God had told us to do. We moved into our new home early in 2004, and Israel was born a few weeks later.
As soon as we moved into our new house, we began reaching out to our neighbors with God’s love, and as they responded, the community began to change. We also began taking in orphaned children and homeless people who had nowhere else to go. When people saw that we lived in a way that was consistent with what we said, they wanted to know more about our faith, and many of them came into the Kingdom.
Gradually people who had been intimidated by the criminals began to speak out for a better community. There was still a lot of violence in Backdoor, but it was mainly criminals killing criminals, until the gangs had all but disappeared.
Over time the atmosphere of the village became peaceful and sweet. Missionaries are being sent from there. Local Christians are caring for children who have lost their parents to AIDS or crime. The light of God’s love is shining brightly.
Lovey and the Water Tank
God performed many miracles during this time, including one that involved Lovey and Israel. One afternoon I was lying on my bed reading while Israel, who was just one month old, lay in his crib near my bed. I sensed that someone had come into the room, and I looked up to see Lovey standing next to the bed.
“Dad, let’s pray.”
“All right,” I said. “Do you want to pray here?”
“Let’s go into the kitchen.”
I got up and took his hand, and we walked together into the kitchen, where Tryphina was fixing dinner. “Lovey wants to pray,” I explained.
She smiled that loving smile only a mom can give, and then she asked, “Where is Israel?”
“He’s in his crib,” I said. “He’ll be fine.”
Her brow wrinkled. “I think I’ll go get him.”
“But he’s really fine,” I said.
“I’d feel better if he was in here with us,” she replied. She retreated into the bedroom and returned carrying Israel wrapped in a blanket. Almost immediately, a terrifying crash sounded from that part of the house.
We rushed in to find that the five-hundred-liter tank that provided water for the house had toppled over and crashed straight through the bedroom wall. Its shattered remains lay across the crib where Israel had been sleeping, and on the bed where I had been resting just a few minutes earlier. If we had stayed in the room, we would have been killed.
When I think about how many times the Lord has rescued me out of impossible situations, I marvel at His faithfulness. I think of how He rescued me from the jungle, protected me from death amongst the terrors of war and transported me from certain death in Sudan. He provided me supernaturally with seventeen languages, guided me from place to place, gave me such a wonderful family and used me powerfully to bring hope to a dark world, and I am filled with joy. As I sit surrounded by my boys, Enoch, Lovey, Israel and Blessing, He remains my best friend, my hope, my very life, and I am filled with the desire to tell all those that do not know just how great a God He is.