The River Wide
In my four years at Baylor, I have done my best to understand God's clear and definite call on my life. It wasn't until last summer, though, that God revealed to me a few more pieces of the puzzle. He did it in a way I never would have expected -- through the innocent eyes of a child of the Amazon and the tears of a dying leper.
Through the grace of God and the support of Baylor on Missions, an independent group coordinated by former Baylor chaplain Milton Cunningham, I was part of a mission team of seven Baylor students, two Baylor sponsors and a physician and his daughter. We traveled 36 hours deep into the heart of the Amazon River basin to deliver tools, medical attention, clothing and the word of God to the indigenous peoples of that primitive expanse of the world.
We set out from Manaus, Brazil, a city of 1.5 million on the Negro River, 11 miles above where it joins with the Amazon. We had no expectations and only one certainty -- that the next couple of weeks we would be living on a two-story, Smurf-colored riverboat, complete with hammocks for sleeping. The rest of the details we left to God.
We still could see the lights of the city in the distance as we set out the first night, but when we awoke the next morning, God had painted a new picture. The muddy skies of the city had been washed away by the hues of a sherbet sunrise. The towering factories of Manaus gave way to makeshift huts perched high on stilts like flamingos. The industrial skyline melted into a rain forest canopy with monkeys swinging from trees and iguanas basking in the sun. It was an overwhelming experience to be able to step back in time and see a blueprint of the world as God must have first intended it.
For the next few weeks, this would be the backdrop upon which God would lead us to some of his lost sheep and strengthen some of his others. When we set anchor by the first village, we wondered if there had been a mistake; the village looked empty. As we made our way onto land, we began to see faces cloaked in the trees and eyes peering from the huts. Most of the children had never seen people with white skin before, so they were cautious and apprehensive. At first, only the bravest revealed themselves to get a better look at the people their parents called the "white angels."
We quickly learned God had not sent us here to teach others, but to be taught, and our teachers would not be the village chiefs but the children. We walked into a world where young minds had not been tainted by electronic game systems, innocence had not been skewed by television and hearts were untouched by urban violence. These children did not find their happiness in money or possessions; they found joy in small acts of love. To these children, stickers were gold and hugs were priceless. Look deep into their eyes and you will see why children are God's common denominator in the world, why Jesus said, "and whoever receives one little child like this in my name receives me" (Matthew 18:5).
Hundreds of miles from home, in a small village where people did not know the name of Jesus, God taught us an unforgettable life lesson: Our worst days are never so bad that we are beyond the reach of God's grace, and our best days are never so good that we are beyond the need of God's grace.
We visited three villages on the Amazon. Every day, we split our team into three groups: one helped at the medical clinic, one did home repairs for villagers and one led Vacation Bible School for the children.
One morning, I woke up knowing I would spend the day with the children at VBS. What I did not know was that this day would be a turning point in my life. I spent the morning standing in front of children acting out some of the great stories of the Bible. As well as I know these stories, I have never seen the walls of Jericho or seen a man walk on water or been present at a crucifixion.
Before that day ended, though, I would see the face of leprosy. When we finished VBS, fellow Baylor student Adam Eitel and I took a translator with us and walked from hut to hut in the village asking if we could pray over individual families. Our prayers varied but always included the same two requests: health for the family and that the children would become bold ambassadors for Christ.
As we were leaving the last hut and heading back to the boat, a small boy whom we had just prayed over came darting out of a house, shouting at us in Portuguese. The translator said he was asking, "How can you pray over my family but completely ignore her?" Her? We told the boy that the village chief had told us this was the last house, but the child insisted emphatically that it was not. He took us by the hand and led us off the path and through the jungle brush. When the forest cleared, we were standing in front of a hut that looked as if it had been abandoned for years.
Shabby and run-down, the hut and its inhabitant stood forgotten within a forgotten world. The light in the hut was dim as it fell across a frail woman crouched in the corner. Where her hands and fingers once were, now were only palms. Where her feet had once been, now were only small nubs. Gangrene had left her with open, bleeding sores all over her body.
She had leprosy. The sores and disfigurements were forgotten by us, though, as we began to share our faith. At the first mention of Jesus' name, a smile painted her face and tears filled her eyes. Before we could continue, she stopped us. She said she knew Jesus and that his grace was the only reason she was alive. She told us that her nightly prayer was that she would not wake to another day of suffering, but instead meet Jesus, her only cure.
She would be the only Christian we would meet for the remainder of the trip. In the midst of a pagan village, God's purest light shone brightest in the heart of a disfigured leper.
That day, we washed her sores and bandaged her wounds, but it was her faith that cleansed our hearts.
Last summer, I saw the face of God. His smile was in the grin of an innocent child. His eyes were in the tears of a suffering leper. His grip was in the hand of a small boy. I now understand that God doesn't call the equipped; he equips the called.
In this primitive land, the God who never forgets led seven Baylor students by the hand of a small boy deep into the rain forest and deeper into our Savior's heart.