Missions or Madness?

Today was one of those days where my head simply just got buried in work. Whew! I had to pull myself out of the office to go home for a lunch break. By the way, I realize how blessed I am that my home is not far from my office, so I get to walk back and forth - my only exercise at the moment besides my dance routine plus, I eliminate commuter commotion, as well as save some petrol.

You know that feeling of when you are certain that it’s just a matter of time before you have that conversation with someone you act as though you don’t see or notice? Say amen if you relate.

So I get to the front of my gate, and I see this gentleman. He lives just two gates away from mine, even though I don’t recall how many faces I have seen go in and out of that house.

He increases his steps to catch up with me when he saw me approaching in the opposite direction. I greeted him first. He went on to ask me if I was from Ghana, I said no, I am from Nigeria. Then I asked him where he came from (obviously I knew not from South Africa). He said he was from Kenya. I immediately attempted speaking the little Swahili I had picked up….I said “Karibu” – Welcome and “Asante Sana” –thank you very much?

I told him that I traveled to Kenya several times last year, and he asked me what I did for a living. So I told him I was a missionary. He had this quizzical look on his face, then he said “but you make a lot of money to travel a lot? I said “No, I actually don’t even get a salary, I love working for God’. Boy, you should have seen the bemused look on his face. His next sentence was “how do you eat… does God literally come to put food on your table?… I want to witness that…”
I have to tell you that by now I was totally digging the conversation. He wasn’t trying to be cynical, he genuinely thought it was absurd, out of order and terrifying to not live on an income.
He continued by asking how long I had lived like that, and I said “about 8 years”. Then he looked as if he’d seen a ghost, it was hilarious to be an observer of the moment.

Just then, Gabriel from YWAM base showed up, so I told my neighbour that I would love to share more with him about how God cares for his children, and how to live by faith.

The moral of my narration... suddenly, I realized that what has become normal to me is insanely petrifying to an average man on the street. I realized how far I had come to be at peace with the fact that I need to let God control my life, even though I daily take responsibility for my choices and how I live and conduct myself. Or maybe I am the one that is crazy?