Africa

Part 3

The first part of our travels brought us to Kenya, then to Uganda…we assumed landing in Ethiopia, also an eastern African nation, would look and feel mostly the same. To our surprise, it was nothing like it. As soon as we got out of the airport, we noticed new infrastructure, new roads, buildings, and lamp posts. It seemed like we had landed in a little Dubai. Little did we know at the time that it truly all was brand new, having just been completed within months of our arrival, with more construction happening every day. Yet just a few streets over was the “typical” East African feel we had grown accustomed to seeing in the weeks prior. Poverty that really “smacks” you in the face.

The next day, we headed back to the airport to fly up to Hawassa, a place they say has the best coffee in the world. Then from there, we drove four hours to a remote village that I dare to say felt like a slice of heaven. Over every sloping hill, mountainside, and turn was another “ooh” and “ahh” from mine and Sandy’s mouths. It was jaw-droppingly beautiful. Green pastures with flocks of sheep, cows being herded, and streams running through each village. Freshly washed clothes lay against the rocks near babbling brooks. Each field looked like a manicured yard, hedged in with fences made from tree branches or bamboo woven together with branches that still had their pine needles attached, making a thick woven fence line.

As we went, Sandy and I noted a dozen or so times that we must almost be there whenever we lost sight of power lines and saw generators. Surely we were there, but we were just stopping to confirm directions, kids and villagers crowding around the vehicle to take a peek at Sirichai’s blonde hair and to look at Zz.

Finally arriving in the village, what felt like the whole community trailed behind us, shouting in excitement as our car finally arrived at the church where Sandy was to speak, to share testimony of God’s goodness and of how Yamil was rescued from physical darkness and brought all the way back to his home village.

We entered the church, presuming this little village with no electricity would have a meager building. We were overwhelmed with God’s manifest joy as we walked to the front of the church, welcomed by over 500 people singing and moving in tune with the choir leading them.

Sandy spoke, shared from her heart, and also returned Yamil his family Bible while on stage as he translated for her.

I felt as though I could be saved all over again. Here, in one of the farthest places, the Lord’s presence was so evident.

I was moved. We all were. Tears welled in many of our eyes as we beheld the beauty of God’s family surrounding us.

That afternoon, we ate in their home, a round thatched hut along the side of a mountain.

We sat on the hillside and watched Yamil’s father, the pastor, testify of God’s goodness in bringing his son home.

That day, I saw not only a glimpse of the work Judah has done in the past few years, I saw a glimpse of heaven this side of earth, and for that, I will never be the same.