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Africa, Part 1: Fearless

As the I heard over the intercom, “Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff,” I felt something wash over me.  It was something I had not felt before when flying, something refreshingly new and unusual.  It was a peaceful, confident, and even excited feeling.

You see, each time I had flown previously, anxiety was the usual response.  It was especially problematic the very first time, perhaps due to lack of understanding.  Each jolt, every turn, every change in speed felt like a cause for alarm, or even panic.  I found myself breathing heavily, all muscles tensing, despite the fact that everyone else in the plane looked completely unfazed. 

This time was different.  As the engine revved, and the plane immediately accelerated, placing me in the back of my seat, I was in touch with power like few times before in my life.  I was exhilarated, feeling it throughout every fiber of my being.  And I believe that it was more than just the Dramamine I popped to make me sleepy.  I was looking forward to something new, something that would eventually help me overcome my fears.

As we soared miles above the blue Atlantic, we occasionally encountered a few bumps.  At one point, the turbulence was enough to shake the drink cart almost to the point of tipping.  This would typically have been the point at which my mind begins to fill with thoughts of how the world will be without me, and what it would be like to see God face-to-face.

Today was different.  Today, I was having fun with the whole event.  I recognized the sensation as a mere bump in the road, as if what awaited us was destiny.

What I knew that day was the continuation of a shift that was taking place within me.  It was the next step in the journey which had brought my young family to New Jersey—not simply a geographical step, but more of a spiritual one.  The transition was one from fear to confidence, from doubt to expectation. 

The trip took a while, but we finally arrived in Africa Tuesday evening (which would be afternoon in America).  We got one good night sleep, to reset our internal clocks.  The next day, we drove for what seemed like forever from Nairobi to Nakuru, though the continuous overlook of the Great Rift Valley provided a gorgeous reprieve from the lengthy ride.  When we arrived that afternoon, we were ready to hit the ground running—literally.

After walking into the place where pastors were getting trained, and seeing several of them display their joy in the unity they shared, we took to the streets of the city.  The local pastor, Pastor Mike Brawan, who was acting as our host, called the activity “gorilla.”  We were instructed to walk through the neighborhoods and pray with people, expecting God to answer prayers for healing.  We were told not to ask, but to command healing, with no paradigm for the alternative.  It was not dissimilar to what you read about in Luke 10, when Jesus sends the disciples out 2 by 2. 

Pastor Samuel was the name of the local who worked alongside me and provided translation.  As we prayed for people in the neighborhood in which he ministered, I could not help but notice something.  Whether it was for malaria, family members, or financial provision, all the things for which I had the privilege to pray had something in common:  they were not things whose results could immediately be seen with the naked eye.

Great, I thought, I came all this way, was told that I would see God’s power up close, and I get all the ones where no clear evidence is possible!  I knew that, when I came back to report, my pastor and the other spiritual heavyweights would be describing these profound, dramatic, visible evidences of God’s power, and I would be left saying, “Uhh, I think someone I prayed for got better…”   

I realized something else at that moment.  I realized that I had been put in those situations for a necessary reason.  I knew that the One who had called me to that land wanted to teach me something about my own faith.  It was as if I could hear him say, “I want you to learn to believe that I will answer those prayers…even if you cannot see.”

This idea of believing in the unseen is no new concept for those of you who have been following my updates, or even know me just a little bit.  It was certainly an enormous theme in my move to New Jersey.  It has been a part of my faith for as long as I have believed.

In this instance, though, I was challenged regarding how I prayed.  I knew that Jesus promised us that if we “ask anything in My Name, it will be given you” (John 15:16).  To this point, I had always been inclined to make excuses for God.  “Maybe it’s not His will.” “Maybe I did something wrong, and He doesn’t want to listen.”  But on this particular occasion, I was challenged to truly speak in His name, to ask for things that I know He would want, and to orient my entire life as though the prayer is already answered.

So I asked for healing for malaria, with the expectation that the healing was occurring.  Not because I wanted my prayers to “work,” or that I wanted to feel self-important.  That prayer needed to be answered, for the sake of the family living at poverty level, clinging with everything they had to this idea that God is good.  I learned something from their faith that day.

As we strolled back toward our rendezvous point, Pastor Samuel squinted, paused, and then said, matter-of-factly, “Your group has left already.”  I looked around, noting the meager cinder-block houses, each with room for a modest kitchen and a walk-in closet. 

As much as this situation would be inclined to inspire fear—I was in an unknown neighborhood, in a city I couldn’t navigate on my own, in a foreign country, close to sunset, walking around with a guy I had just met an hour previously—in that moment, I was surprisingly peaceful.  I had the sense of hakuna matata, “no worries,” as they say.  I was not afraid, because I knew that, if I did in fact get separated from my group, there would be a greater purpose to be fulfilled (it turns out, Pastor Samuel had a phone and made a call; a car was there within 20 minutes to take me back to the group). 

Each evening, we had debriefing meetings with our team, to report successes, concerns, and schedules (which changed by the next day anyway).  During one such meeting, possibly this same day, we were encouraged to spend some time in prayer.  We were given a specific topic about which to pray.  However, as I was praying, my mind wandered elsewhere.

I do not recall how I arrived at the topic, but I found myself reflecting on my life, as well as the fact that I almost did not make it.  As many of you may be aware, my mother was told by a doctor that her firstborn child (that’s me) would not make it out of the womb.  Obviously, he was wrong about that; otherwise, you would be doing something else besides reading this.

As I was reflecting on this event, a thought came to me:  even in the womb, it is almost as though something was holding me back from living.  Maybe it was fear.  But God spoke a word that changed everything:  LIVE.  He commanded me to live.  And ever since that moment, everything I have now is made possible by His word.

This may sound strange, like some type of mind-trip, but it definitely hit me hard at the time.  I lost control as the tears flowed, dropping like rain on the table below me.  You see, this word, “Live,” was the word that tied everything together.  Whether in the womb, struggling to survive, or in my current setting, struggling to overcome fear, that word has relevance.  Don’t let anything prevent life, full, complete life, from being lived out the way it was intended!

The next few days, I felt this continually.  We were put in situations where our only options were either to talk to strangers in an unknown land about the Good News, or completely shut down.  It was truly sink or swim, and as I found myself swimming, I began to consider how my life would be different back in the States. 

Every person I encounter is not there by accident.  God puts people across my path, not just to sell me food or get in the way while I’m driving, but to hear a word I might speak—whether a literal word, or an action that shows who He is.  Everywhere I go, I am an ambassador for my Creator and Redeemer (2 Corinthians 5:20), and I have been challenged to live with this new awareness, no matter where I go.

INTERLUDE: An Update and a Challenge

We interrupt this sporadically occurring blog to bring you a developing story.

Over the past few months, we have taken time to pray, consider, and finally settle upon an opportunity as a youth pastor in an Assemblies of God church in New Jersey. We will be moving there in October.

This opportunity boasts less pay, further distance from family, and altogether fewer guarantees than the one in which I currently work. It also offers the chance to be in a part of the world about which I know very little, outside of the occasional joke I may hear from time to time.

Yes, I call this an opportunity. Which means one of three things: Either (a) Dan has completely lost his mind; or, (b) something has stirred deep within my soul, something that goes beyond rationality, into the realm of the spiritual; or, (c) both.

For those who have been following, or even glancing occasionally at, these writings, you have had an opportunity to think about Abraham. You have heard about how he left his homeland, leaving everything familiar to him, because he genuinely thought that his God had told him to do it. You have heard that he went “to a place which he was to receive for an inheritance; and he went out, not knowing where he was going…for he was looking for the city which has foundations, whose architect and builder is God” (Hebrews 11:8, 10).

When I thought it, it made no sense for several reasons. To say that my experience in a Pentecostal fellowship is limited would be an understatement. Additionally, I thought, why would I take a pay cut from my master’s level job, to put myself in a role that another educated friend of mine condescendingly described as a “glorified babysitter”? When I hear the phrase, “I’m taking my talents to--,” New Jersey is not what flows naturally from that sentence. Like Abraham, the phrase, “not knowing where he was going” seems to describe me very well.

That’s what happened when I thought about it; when I prayed about it, though, something entirely different happened. Like Abraham, I found myself longing for a “better country, a heavenly one” (v. 16). Like Abraham, I realized that “without faith, it is impossible to please Him” (v. 6). And, like Abraham, I somehow knew that God was calling me out on everything I believed.

For some time now, I have been intrigued by this man who left everything to follow something with more promise than what he had. The more I studied these passages, the more I wanted it: something better than financial security, comfort, or health benefits. I wanted life, and life abundantly.

To those as of yet unconvinced, this was more than just an early midlife crisis, more than even a thirst for adventure, more than the stereotypical generational pattern of serial employment hopping. This went deeper than any need that I felt compelled to meet. This came from the bottom of my psyche, telling me not to be afraid. This dared me to go all in and called me to lay down my cards. This was the next step in a journey of transforming everything built up within my brain, finally making sense of what James says about faith without works being dead.

You see, this is more than just about New Jersey over Ohio. It is more than being employed as a youth pastor versus a counselor. This is not about what God is doing around me, but rather in me. This is about my obedience to everything I say I believe, regardless of occupation or location.

So now we have a choice: to go forward “not knowing,” or to risk the psychosis of wondering what could have been. To the outsider, it may seem that I just up and left one situation for another. But this was the thing to which my life had been building, from my calling, to the people I have met, to the difficult steps of purifying my life of that which was unwholesome.

When we looked at it this way, we decided to go for it.

When Jesus says, “He who has found his life will lose it, and he who has lost his life for My sake will find it” (Matthew 10:39), I hear it loudly and find myself in a precarious balance in the struggle for control. But, despite my best attempts, can I actually control my condition? Is there even such a thing as social or financial “security”? Am I investing myself in the things that last, or am I just another voice in the crowd clamoring for self-preservation? For me, the Christian life is about recognizing that there is no security outside the “shelter of the Most High” (Psalm 91:1), and anything less to which we turn is in danger of becoming an idol.

All of which sounds nice, but can actually be quite scary when you factor our current pregnancy, the comfort of our support network in Ohio, and the relative reassurance of a steady income. I often wonder what Abraham thought when God first called him out of his homeland. We may never know, since the Bible simply says, “He went.” I think I may now have an idea, though.

Thinking about the various unresolved factors can be intimidating, even overwhelming. However, in praying about this decision, I have become on better speaking terms with Christ than ever before in my life. It challenged me to consider that my most uncomfortable and vulnerable moments in life have also corresponded to the times of the deepest sense of closeness to God. When I am weak, I am strong (2 Corinthians 12:10).

Abraham is considered to be one of the fathers of our faith. Now I truly see his fatherhood as much more than a biological dynamic. Those who long to know God, who seek to please God, who desire to walk with God, must know Him on similar terms that Abraham did: by faith. Not just believing that He exists, but putting actions to those things we believe.

I am not saying that I have actually reached that point yet. But I am ready to begin the journey. And I trust with all my heart that He will lead me there—not to “there” as in New Jersey,” but “there” as in the place where I can truly claim that I have put my faith in Christ.

What about you?