They showed up at exactly the worst possible moment.
 
A plane was landing in just over an hour to take our family out for a Christmas break in East Africa after a hectic term back in North Africa. The ongoing political instability meant we hit the ground running, using up every last drop of every sweet day, never sure when troubles might send us out again. But by God’s grace, they hadn’t, and a couple months of language development workshops, Disciple Making Movement trainings, women’s Bible studies and more cups of tea with visitors than I can count, we were thankful and encouraged, but also run-down and ready for a breather.
 
With bags left to load on the donkey-cart, shelves still to rat-proof, and windows still to shutter, three unfamiliar guys walking in the gate and sitting down under the baobab tree was not exactly what I wanted to see.
 
Bryan went out to greet them while I shuffled around the house, clicking closed trunks and envisioning the mad donkey-cart sprint to the airstrip we were now going to have, just because three shabaab (youths) showed up at a bad time. But fifteen minutes later Bryan walked back in the house with an odd look on his face, paused just long enough to say, “Wait until you hear this…” only to grab his Arabic Bible and a notebook and trot back outside again.
 
We did have a mad donkey-cart sprint to the airstrip to meet the plane that was already waiting for us. But in the rush I got the full story. The three young men are from the largest group in the refugee camps and almost exclusively members of another major world religion. One of the three had recently attended a language development workshop we had held for his community, and along with two peers he had walked for a couple hours from a distant camp to sit down in the shade next to our house and say, “We have come because we want to hear more about Jesus. For years we have been looking for someone who can tell us about him. We have seen the ugliness of (another major world religion) and we are done with it. We represent hundreds of our people who are ready. Can you teach us how to follow Jesus?”
 
As we sat back on the old DC-3 that was flying us to East Africa, sweaty and heads pounding with lingering sinus infections, we were flooded with awe at what God is doing here. Despite war, despite fear, despite loss and despite our own inadequate fumblings to keep up, God is moving in this place.
 
This week alone we have heard bombs fall across a nearby border. We have seen women weighted with worry talk together in low voices about the girls kidnapped by rebels from a village down the road. We have watched soldiers on their way to the bush rest with their AKs in the shade just outside of our fence.
 
But we have also seen men drafting the first verses of Scripture in their languages. We have watched old men, members of another major world religion, drink up every word from Scripture audio recorders, recorders they had sought us out to ask for. And we have watched men and women break into spontaneous song and dance for sheer joy as some of the first words ever written in their heart language are read out loud.
 
These are hard times for people. There is no confidence that politics or economics or security will change for the better any time soon. But we are witnessing a burning hope that something else is changing. The Kingdom of God is infiltrating the brokenness, and people want to be a part of it.
                                                                                                           
We are still learning to pace ourselves as we walk this unpredictable road with people. We do our best to work as hard as we can while we can, but also rest in the knowledge that God is in control no matter the circumstances. He is tirelessly redeeming, restoring, recreating and healing, often beyond our wildest expectations. If there is anything we have learned on this journey so far, it is that
He is faithful. We can trust that without fail He will always turn up at the worst possible moments.