from weeping to joy in the Maghreb
I’m reading a letter, a real paper letter from an envelope with
a stamp from UK. Remember those? It’s written on green paper. It’s from a tentmaker serving in North Africa.
About half way through, I am barely able to see the writing as tears fill my eyes and run down my cheeks. I ask my wife to read it to figure out who it is from.
A year earlier
A year before this letter finds me in southern Europe speaking at a missions center and spending downtime with short term teamers heading into North Africa. As we eat our evening meal on the roof of the building with a view over the Med, we can faintly see the mountains of North Africa. Indeed our prayer times are often on this rooftop and we always face those mountains.
Someone interrupts to ask if I can go to the port and pick up a worker arriving on
a ship from NA. It is dark by the time I arrive at the port, and people are already walking out of the customs office. How am I supposed to know what the person looks like? I look at each passenger closely from the curb, hoping for some sign or hint.
Eventually no more people come out. I get ready to leave, but take one more look and then I see him—a lonely young man, dragging his duffel bag on the ground behind him, eyes cast downward, seemingly unaware of anything around him. There is a tremendous sadness on his face as he walks up to the car and throws his bag into the trunk. Without a word, he gets into the car and we start the drive back to the center. Eventually he simply asks me if I could take him to the travel agency first thing the next day so he can buy a ticket to fly home as soon as possible. I promise to do that right after breakfast.
Before retiring, we end up sitting on the roof in the darkness, sipping tea in silence. He sighs in silence and it seems like a good time to be silent with those who are silent. Eventually he begins pouring out his pain.
We walk to our rooms in the early morning hours, but before Nate steps into his room he asks for assurance that I will take him to the travel agency after breakfast.
At breakfast his stories of defeat continue with gruesome details of people spitting his way as he walks to buy food. If he goes to a coffee shop, people move away from him which is so unusual for this hospitable culture.
Nate suggests we go to the travel agency after lunch instead. We head to the beach where he continues his story.
He has been teaching English in a small city about 200 km from the capital city of this NA nation. Living alone in a primitive dorm room with no heat in winter and no air conditioning in summer. Although his young students and boss appreciated his teaching, the suspicions by the locals was so strong that no friendships were being made. He shares increasingly sadder stories of his life in this remote city. I feel a wave of sadness and despair come over me.
After lunch with the team, Nate suggests we postpone going to the travel agency until the next morning.
Three days come and go. Mostly I listen to Nate’s stories. Debriefing is just a fancy word for listening.
On the fourth morning while having breakfast Nate informs me that he is returning that day to North Africa. His love for the people in his community and desire to see them know Jesus is so strong, that against all my best advice not to return so soon, he insists on returning.
Before he heads to the ferry, we all gather on the rooftop with Nate to pray for
his community and ask for a spiritual breakthrough and safety. It is one of those memorable prayer meetings.
I watch Nate with a spring in his step and joy on his face, now with his duffel bag on his shoulder, walk briskly back to the ship that will take him back to the people he loves.
One year later
My wife hands me the letter and says, this is from Nate. He was using an alias in the letter that had been hand carried to the UK and mailed from there due to security issues.
The letter is a testament of God’s faithfulness in the life of a young man driven by the love of Jesus to go to the unreached. When Nate returned to his work and life, the spiritual atmosphere had changed tremendously. People welcomed him back with open arms and in the course of his first year back, a house church started from the families of his students.
Today, Nate is back in his home country in Europe, mobilizing new tentmakers.
The house church he left behind is thriving and is now a part of a network of house churches in this one majority religion country.
Psalm 126:5 Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy.
The lesson is that it took years of hardship, with no visible signs of success, and then in God’s time, the seeds planted during the those unfruitful years finally sprouted and multiplied.
