My Life as an International Drug Runner – Part THREE


Kenyan MusiciansI’m not sure if it was planned, or if it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, but the mission leader decided to hold a crusade in a little village a few miles from where he lived. The village was called Kobare. I found out about the plan while we were on our way, driving to the crusade. That’s when I first suspected I might be the speaker for these crusades.

We drove to the village on a road that rattled our teeth. The driver took special care to avoid the two-feet deep ruts that could have broken an axle. When we finally arrived, a stage had already been constructed out of rough-sawn lumber. We sat up the sound equipment, which was powered by a generator chugging along in the background. It was raining, but no one complained, because it would not be raining unless God decided a little rain on the crusade would be a good idea.

I couldn’t tell if there was a scheduled starting time. It seemed a little arbitrary. But eventually, the worship team began to play their instruments…a keyboard and drums and tambourines. And they sang. I have never been so moved by music, partially because of the beauty of the sound, and possibly even more so because of the love and passion expressed on the faces of the musicians, sometimes wet from the rain. When it rained a little harder, the keyboardist threw a piece of plastic over the keyboard…and kept on playing.

The sound of the music attracted people from the surrounding bush—from miles around. The musicians played and sang for a couple of hours, which gave ample time to those who lived several miles away an opportunity to find the source of real soul music.

When several people had gathered – I’d estimate somewhere between 150 to 200 – I got “the nod,” and I made my way to the makeshift stage. The people were totally attentive, standing on their feet for hours. Even the children, many of whom lived without parents in communal groups in the bush, stood motionless, mesmerized by what they were experiencing.

Toward the end of the service, one of the worship team members offered an invitation to the people to accept Christ as their personal Savior, and dozens responded. The scene was beyond anything I had imagined. I thought my heart would burst, just to think my Lord had invited me here for a time such as this.

One day we arrived early in Kobare so we could do some “hut to hut” evangelism. We walked for several minutes between huts, seeking those who might be ready to hear about God’s love, and his desire to have a personal relationship with them. Most were friendly, and some even invited us in to their homes.

Kenyan Mom & KidsMy favorite home was a 10’ x 10’ one-room mud and straw hut that provided shelter for a mom and her three children. We had to bow down low to get through the doorway. The floor was clean-swept packed dirt.

Kenyan GirlThe next home we visited was a little fancier, complete with a concrete floor and metal roof. When we told the teenage girl who lived there the reason for our visit, she began to cry softly. She explained in Swahili that she had prayed earlier that morning that God would send someone who could tell her how she could know him. We knelt with her on the concrete floor as she prayed and received Christ as her Lord. As we left, the thought came to my mind that if this girl had been the only one to receive life in Christ on this trip, the assignment would have been worth everything it took to get there.
(Part 3 of a 5 part series…)

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