Hope in One of the Harshest Lands on Earth

I flew over North Africa for the first time with my nose pressed against the glass of an airplane window, trying to get a glimpse of the country where I would be spending my summer. It was 4:00AM and darkness still lay heavy, shielding any glimpse of the terrain we were flying over. As the jet eased into it's final descent, tiny lights could be picked out far below. In time the lights became more frequent, and then seemed to arrange themselves into clusters, and finally into neat rows.

Standing out among the thousands of yellow and white lights were green ones, glowing more brilliant that the rest. I was to learn later that green represented life here-and that I was looking at the towering minarets of hundreds of mosques that saturated all parts of this vast city. Beautiful as it was, it remained a grim reminder that I was about to step off the plane into one of the more oppressive Muslim strongholds in the world. It was my job to bear witness to the light of God's true Son in this difficult place.

June 21, 2000
"It is strange, being in Africa for the summer. You grow in many ways and gain new eyes. You discover that you are rich. You will appreciate grocery stores. You learn to be hot. You learn to be content. You can eat with your hands in places that resemble tool sheds, and distances spoken in days don't seem so far. You get a love for the dark continent. These are good people . . . yet so many people who need Christ."

We were on an exploratory trip to open the way for more permanent workers to come after us. We would end up traveling over 1250 miles the next 10 days. At the furthest village west they told us that they see white people maybe once a year. And Americans? Never.

Journal, June 22, 2000
"My regrets will be, I believe, when I leave, that I didn't give enough to those who asked, in the name of Jesus. When you work in a place that has so much potential for turning to God, it can be overwhelming. Maybe like the first settlers to grind their wagons onto the edges of the American Great Plains. When they got there they met with unfathomable reaches of fertile, black soil that would burst forth with whatever you decided to sow. They had to plow first, but then they were limited only by their ability to plow. May God bring forth more workers to plow here. People always like to use the semi-cliché that they are working the ground before the seeds of the gospel are sowed. Well, here we are still trying to get the tractor started."

"Waiting. Shep said that God told him that life is just a series of lines to wait in."

We rode the lorry (truck) into the night until we were let off at a small village where Eric had been told we could find a man that would put us up. He was a very old man, and his name was Mohammed Sarif.

Journal, July 17, 2000
"This morning I was awakened by Mohammed Sarif praying at 4:30am. It broke my heart to know a man has given 85 years to something, to get nothing in return. It was a struggle for him to get down and pray, yet he did, and will till he dies. He threw a blanket on my knees before he went back to bed, and I was so moved I had to get up and go to the river and pray for him and myself."

I don't know why he put the blanket on me. It was probably 90 degrees, which may have been cold for them, but not for us. The Holy Spirit was there moving between us. And now I can only pray that the Holy Spirit will continue to visit Mohammed Sarif, till he sees the truth.

On the windswept deck of a ferry, watching the sun go down, we left the country. We left behind much of ourselves, and I hope what we left was a fragrance of Christ. You truly know that you are a missionary when a place on a map becomes a place in your heart. This is what happened to us. Certainly one of the harshest lands on earth, but with so many unanchored souls, waiting for hope. God is there. He can do a great work there, the question is, who will join Him?

-Chris C.

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