Great stories activate people for the kingdom

Jamie Finch just wrote this article for Wrecked, AIM’s online magazine for spiritual misfits. Wrecked is a place where anybody can share a good story about how God is transforming their hearts, usually through some kind of comfort-stretching experience. Incidentally, it was a story on Wrecked about some AIM missionaries reaching out to prostitutes in the Red-Light district of Bangkok that activated Jamie to do a trip to Thailand herself this coming Fall. Here’s an excerpt:

I could hear the drums. At first I thought my mind and body had decided to team up and play a trick on me to pay me back for all the hell I had put them through that day. The climb had been an exhausting experience, to say the least, and not only the climb, but also the entire trip itself. We had endured a hot, cramped, six-hour journey across Ghana the previous day, and an even hotter, strenuous six-hour hike up its highest mountain earlier that morning.

The sun had just barely set in this tiny, West African village, but I could feel the darkness kidnap my eyes as I strained to locate the source of the sound. After finally convincing my companions that simply sitting and wondering was not an option, we took up on tired feet and set out on the same dusty road we had walked just hours before – only this time, we walked as different people.

Our aching legs shouted not-so-subtle reminders to us of just how much we had put them through already that day. Our climb had begun earlier that morning when the sun was still too shy to show itself above the mountains’ broad shoulders that towered above our heads. Even when it finally did made its appearance, however, the thick mist that clung to the morning air veiled its brilliance – and its heat. For the latter, we were grateful; for the former, slightly disappointed, that is, until we learned to appreciate the magical and mysterious quality the fog gave to the jungle.

As we hiked, we gained more and more certainty that our guide, Charles, was trusted to lead us for two reasons. For one thing, the battered flip-flops that barely covered his feet stood in stark contrast to the mosaic of hiking boots and tennis shoes we had decorating ours, and spoke of experience.

Also, the machete he wielded forced us to trust him with our lives, whether we really wanted to or not. It chomped through the thick foliage with an insatiable appetite for destruction – simultaneously creating and scattering bright green confetti along the drab and dusty path our parade marched – bringing the appearance of life wherever it landed.

For four hours, we tasted nothing but the water we willingly poured into our mouths and the sweat that found its way there on its own. With every step, exhaustion threatened to set in, but the ever-growing sound of the waterfall beckoned us toward our goal with a promise of rejuvenation unlike any other.

When we reached the falls, the sheer majesty and power of the pure, white cascade commanded our awe. It was literally larger than life and imagination; beyond any attempt of an accurate description.

The powerful intimacy of that moment could not be fully expressed, only intuitively understood in the way it made me finally realize all that really mattered and all that never did.

Read the rest in: The Drums of Africa. Also, submit your story to Wrecked here.