no false promises
God doesn’t give false promises. I am currently sitting on the back porch at a family’s home just north of the city. Their small dog Pepper is perched on the cushion beside me, unable to nestle any closer to my body. Yesterday I drove back into the city to sit on the back deck of a friend who has quickly become my sister, Vanessa — the same one who instigated and made a way for my trip to Cape Town with the 24/7 team last month. I’m spending my last night here tonight with the pastor’s family who I met my second day in South Africa. Two months has flown.
Just last week, I was in a waiting room looking at blood results and radiology scans, asking God to make a way for me not to have a major medical operation this far from home. Beside me was more family. My dear friend Bella, a friend from church who insisted on taking me to the doctor and all the appointments that followed. Her parents texted me from across the country where they were on holiday. If you have to have surgery, we’ve already decided, you must stay with us. We want it no other way.
Family.
It’s one thing to have family you celebrate Christmas with and another to have family who offers you their home and their care as you recover from major surgery. The doctors and I decided against the surgery being done here in South Africa but my friends’ sentiments rang in my ears.
God you really have taken care of me. Thank you.
Two months ago, I didn’t know anyone in South Africa. I had a slew of random text threads with contacts of friends of friends and people who may or may not be free for a coffee when I arrived. I touched down no later than 4 am on January 14th and was picked up by a friend of mine in Portugal’s brother-in-law. He had walked into the airport to greet me so I didn’t get lost and started giving me the run down on the ins and outs of SA. As we walked out the double doors of the terminal, he grabbed my hefty backpack from my shoulders and slung it over his own. Light barely crested the horizon as we drove west into the city. We pulled up to his house around 5, my mind racing to take in the unfamiliar territory. As we pulled up to the house, his wife peeked through the door and I stumbled inside, as she put coffee on to help me push past the jet lag. The first glimpses of family.
The next day, a guy named Samora picked me up for coffee and ended up taking me to meet his friend Tehillah. Samora didn’t know me from Adam. About two weeks before I left the states, all of my banking cards stopped working. First my replacement credit card just kept not showing up in the mail, then my debit card decided to fail me. I ended up walking into the Chase Bank branch only to be greeted by a woman from South Africa — Johannesburg to be exact. She’s a follower of Jesus and wanted to get coffee later that week. As we chatted, her eyes got wide and she realized she did still have a friend in Joberg that I needed to meet when I got here — Samora.
Samora brought me to Tehillah, who brought me to the Van Deveter family who brought me to their church Vida. Vida, a church that loved missionaries and wanted to start a prayer room in their city; the very thing I felt called by God to start in Johannesburg.
There are more stories I want to share in the coming weeks so I remember all the ways he’s shown up — big and small.
I laugh thinking about November when I was laying in bed and heard God ask me to come to South Africa and to go now. Here, they use the term now to mean in a little while and the term now now just means sometime in the future. Could be whenever. Now was exactly what God meant — now, two months later from that moment with him when he invited me into family on this soil. Family who pray for the homeless with me downtown. Family who prayer walk the streets of Linden with me. Family who worship together around the piano as kids run in and out of the front door. Family who sit around the table and tell stories at countless bries (a South African bar-b-que). Family who not only minister with me but to me.
There’s a duality to leaving — I feel like God has built a whole life here of people to return to and coffee shops to frequent. I’m still praying for my team’s conference at the end of the month, for another friend's new grad program. I’m praying for the different buildings we’ve looked at to hold the Prayer House in September. I’m praying for the medical school students who want to know how to disciple their classmates. My heart feels entangled in the stories here.
God has shown me the seeds he’s putting in the ground here and asked me to trust him. They’ll grow while I go back and tidy up the home I’m leaving. Prayerfully they’ll grow and create shade to return to and invite others to sit under with me. South Africa, as you say: pleasure. It won’t be long.