The Village Children

     This past Saturday morning I found myself sitting on the front steps of a rural village mosque in southern Malawi with Samuel, my 18 year old interpreter, surrounded by about 25 little Muslim kids. I was telling them the Old Testament story of Joseph and his brothers, and how he remained faithful to the Lord, even after many betrayals.

     The next thing I knew, I was leading them in a prayer to place their trust in God, and let Jesus into their hearts. I don't know how many parents' ire I may have gotten up, or exactly how deep the prayers ran in their hearts. I know that's the work of the Holy Spirit, as we can't change anyone's heart ourselves. These are really sweet kids, who get quite emotional when they see us coming up the narrow dirt road.

     I found out a little later that the mothers inside the mosque had been asking Phyllis a few probing questions about our Christianity. Praise God for where He has placed us. These are not the radicalized kinds of Muslims that you would find in the Arab nations or even in many a Western setting, and in fact every single one of the women she has been working with for the past nearly two months is totally illiterate, so I'm not sure how deep their understanding of Islam is; probably not very.

     I know that what we're encountering here involves process as when we examine our own conversions in a proper context, process is clearly evident. In that sense, as I have reflected many times in my own life, my process began as an innocent four year old with an inquiry into knowing God in a personal way through a conversation with my grandfather, who was certainly not a "religious" person. It culminated in a very dramatic Paul-like conversion twenty six years later, having found myself souring on a life of drugs, ungodly living, and radical hippiedom.

     There were several oases along that road where the Lord would reveal himself to me, sometimes in dramatic and miraculous ways. There was an instance a couple months before my "conversion" when I looked heavenward and prayed for the first time in many years a prayer in desperation to "I Didn't Know Who", "God I have followed all my own ways, and other men''s ways, but if you show me Your way, I will follow it". Looking back, it became more difficult to clearly define that point of conversion, as I have surely come to know He had me in the palm of His hand the entire time.

     I'm writing all this as a reminder to myself that as we deal with these Muslims who know we are Christians, and invited us freely into their mosque I ought not be presumptuous in any of our relating to them.They keep liking us, accepting us, and most importantly, keep inviting us back. Please continue to pray for us for wisdom and favor as we bring the love of the Lord to them as well as the Muslim women and children of a neighboring village.

God bless you all richly,

George