Sometimes we need to throw away the keys to success and just have fun!

Purple. I didn’t think that I ever could. At home, I probably never would. 

 

For those of you who read my facebook status update prior to heading into the bush recently, you’ll know that the last of my preparations for the trip involved painting my nails… Painting my nails is always the last thing I do prior to heading into the red zone of North Kivu, DRC; and this time they were purple. Bright purple. Just one more way to carry colour, beauty into an area where the vivid green of the vegetation and the blue (or thunder-cloud charcoal) of the skies are often shrouded and discoloured by fear or hopelessness or mistrust. Nail polish also, to be frank, hides the dirt; which starts accumulating the moment one gets into the vehicle.

Our village kids are catching on. As we inch closer to our goal of a freshly painted (and may I add fabulous looking) school and have found myself, on numerous occasions, wagging my finger, “wewe!” at another child, scraping the paint of the wet wall with a stick to fill their own nails with colour (seldom remaining within the boundary of a nail), before turning around to have a silent giggle – I love their innovation… I love that they are making a plan, finding a solution to the ‘problem’ of colourless nails. And how are they to know that high-gloss enamel paint won’t simply wash away in a muddy puddle?

Last week’s trip, another incredible bush adventure! But, how does one define the success of a trip into the bush?  Can we define success in terms of the number of soldiers we encounter and whose lives we see touched by Love Himself, through simple conversations or meals of beans and rice? Is success directly related to the number of young boys who show up for a song and a dance and a message and a game? Do the number of children who call out our names, the number of grubby high-fives or thumbs-ups we respond to as we wonder through the village or the streams of mamas and papas who show up at the door to welcome us back enable us to better gauge where this trip falls on success’s scale? Does our safety or the headcount of salvations equal success or is it all actually linked to the number (one we’re forever hopeful to fall between few and none) of rats which scurry over our feet or sniff brazenly at our hair in the night? Success… difficult to define really, but I guess, it’s related to all and none of the aforementioned and so I choose to reflect on a trip in terms of the amount of fun we had… The privilege of carrying Joy and Light and Hope into the darkness as we release the Kingdom that is within us and of watching Jesus show up and love on His war zone favourites with radical love… The kind of fun that makes my toes curl into tiny fists of excitement! We had fun and many, many giggles (sometimes inappropriate; but the sight of our favourite chief, wrapped up in his towel, complete with head turban after a shower, and mistaken for our favourite mama… worth a giggle)! It was glorious! Another ‘tick’ in the little box alongside ‘success’.

From our arrival, to the morning of our departure, I remain amazed at the number of people who show up at our door… just to chat… to chat, to share their stories, to share their heartaches, their triumphs, their hunger for the more of Jesus, their desire to know Him more intimately as they recognise that God, and only God, is the answer to their struggles and the solution to the war. Many have become friends, who pop in each trip, sometimes merely to shake our hands and this time, I was particularly pleased to have the chief of police knock on the door. A man we met in February. A man who at the time, was still deemed somewhat powerful in his titled uniform, but who, as war escalated and as rebel groups gained control over the area has been reduced to one who has only a loose grip on theoretical power. And yet… His story was not one of woe, in fact, not once did he dishonour the current ‘powers that be’, through negative talk or blame, instead, he chose to share of how his team – a team that made the decision to stay in the village rather than flee – have been radically transformed since Jesus encountered them in an early morning meeting way back in February when we first met. Proof that God is bigger than our bleary 6am eyes, un-brushed hair and shivering flip-flopped feet! One meeting with the King and a team transformed – marriages restored, drunkenness ceased (which translates into ‘money to feed myself and my family’), men set free and a renewed sense of boldness in the face of injustice. And then, having given glory to the One who alone is worthy of glory through the testimonies on his lips – he quietly shared his family’s despair, he and his wife having recently miscarried their second child… As I sat at her feet and as we prayed, again we watched Papa come with tenderness and kindness to love on this couple in their mourning – releasing words of life and hope and assuring a morning of joy…

It was the purple on my nails that had the children at our school enthralled, but it was the blue and green and splashes of red and orange that had the boys of our Leadership League a-cheering and a-whistling and a-smiling! As this group of teenage boys (those at high risk of being forced into an army and those at high risk of choosing to join an army rather than being a slave to a child three years his junior, but with the authority of a gun) donned brand new uniforms and took to the field, my heart did somersaults of excitement, my smile kissed each of my ears and I cried – a happy cry!

There are simply no words to describe the atmosphere when these boys come together. Groups of gathering boys, in this environment, are often associated with violence and of being ‘up-to-no-good’. Groups of boys stir fear within a community as too often the communities have seen these groups rise up, take arms and terrorise… But God! How beautiful a process it is to watch, as even after a few short weeks, we are seeing and hearing stories of greater unity among these boys. How incredible it is to observe how natural leaders have risen up and taken responsibility – encouraging the boys to arrive on time, to train hard and to listen. How awesome that when we come together – even with shiny, new uniforms in tow – it’s the fellowship, the singing, the sharing, the feasting on Truth that takes precedence and how glorious to watch them run onto the field in uniforms that for many have only ever been a dream. And just like that… One of those moments where everything becomes still; the colours brighten, the distant shouts and cries cease… not a single frown, only toothy (or gummy) smiles… Perfect Peace! And all is well with the world… Oh my GOSH!! Such FUN!!

As we walk the 3km distance back to the village from our school, the joyous momentum of 50(ish) of us propels us forward and lightens the loads. For a moment we could be in any European football frenzied village cheering as the local team arrives home… triumphant! But suddenly, as boys turn and run or make a mad dash into the thick roadside bush to prevent being picked up by a soldier and forced to carry a ridiculously heavy load for 12km to the next village, whilst he, a child, strides out front, AK slung over his shoulder… reality lands THUMP, ThUmP, thump before me… This is not merely football. This is not merely an afternoon activity for those who have spent the morning in a classroom. This, for many, is an opportunity (and possibly a ‘last chance’) to fight for more… Through football they have, over the past few weeks, caught a glimpse of what lies beyond life in a conflict zone. Through football they have, over the past few weeks, begun to value friendship and community and team work. Through football they have been introduced to Hope…

…and I’m pleased to report that it looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship!

Fun. Success.