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.