Today (Sunday) was quite an experience. We woke up early and hit the road to go visit a church about an hour away. it probably wouldn't have taken us so long to get there had the road actually been... a road. To say it was bumpy would not even begin to describe it. There were very few cars but lots of people walking, carrying huge bundles on their heads ( I bet they they can carry up to 50lbs. on their heads) there were also many people on bikes. There weren't many houses, but every so often we would come across a few grass huts. When we pulled into the church I had expected at least a building with solid walls. Instead it was a hut made out of grass, sticks, and mud. I bet it was no longer than 80 feet and 50 ft. wide. we almost had to duck to get in and once inside found it was full of people who had already started singing. Most were sitting on benched and there were probably 20 or more kids gathered around on the dirt floor up front. We could hear the drums beating loudly as we stepped inside. We were met by a few people who showed where to sit. The singing and wild dancing went on for about 30 mins. Dust was flying everywhere. It looked like something that you might have seen in a movie. Sitting there watching was an amazing experience. It was one of the strangest things I have ever experienced. It compared to nothi ng I had ever seen before, yet at the same time, I didn't’t feel completely out of place like I had thought I might. Looking into their dark eyes and listening to their shouts of joy and laughter I realized that that when it came down to it, we were no different from each other. I guess I had thought that because I could not understand their language or comprehend what it might be like to live in a world like theirs, that something would make them different from me. One thing that really touched me was when one of them, or one of us Americans, would pray. With out it being translated we had no idea what was being said, and the same for them when Pastor Todd would pray. It hit me sitting there in the little grass hut church that it made no difference to God who was speaking. God looked at us and heard neither English or Portuguese, he saw neither rich or poor, black or white, African or American. Only his children coming before him.
After the service we lined up and shook all of their hands. From the littlest of children to the most tired and worn old woman and men they came to meet us. It was a privilege to meet each one of them. They had made lunch for us and gave each of us huge bowls of rice, beans and a meat that we never did identify. It took a lot of faith for me to eat it! I think if there was ever a time to pray over your food, that was it. We had=2 0no silver wear so we ate it with our hands, which was an adventure in many ways… all the while the rest of the congregation waited out side the hut. They did not eat with us. We hoped that the money we gave in the offering was enough to cover what feeding us must have cost them. During the service I was able to give my testimony which was translated for them, as well as play guitar and sing with Chel and Caitlyn. They howled and danced for us as we played. The song we had chosen was “He Reigns” by the newsboys. It gave me goose bumps to sing “It’s the song of the redeemed, rising from the African plane”. I don’t think I will ever forget this.
