Do you hear it?

I was checking my email and an update from Mochaclub came through.  I usually barely skim the update and continue on, but I decided to actually read one this time.  Now, I’m puffy-eyed.  This story is so powerful.  I hear a calling in it.  Why am I not doing anything?  I’m so selfish.  This world needs Jesus.  I have so much spiritually and materially.  Yet, I complain about doing laundry, or not having the right kind of juice to drink.  Yet there are people with no home, one pair of clothes, and have never tasted meat.  I am so humbled.  I need to do something. 

Here’s the blog (I can’t embed it because you have to be a member to read it.): 

Peter Diing Wol is 14 years old. He has been at New Life Ministry since 2004 and is now in the fifth grade. He has always struck me as an unusually deep child.

I have been trying to get to know him better over the years, but to truly connect with a child who has suffered such things, that even an adult cannot imagine, requires much time, patience love and wisdom. It is a tenuous journey with many landmines to consider and dodge along the way. Accordingly, I have been encouraging but cautious.

In 2005, Peter came upon me while I was eating a piece of Beef Jerky that I brought from the U.S. I felt self-conscious, maybe even guilty for the luxury. He studied the small bag in my hand and watched my mouth work the tough chew.

“Mama Kimberly, what does meat taste like?” My heart sank. I nearly burst into tears before him with the dawning of his truth. Peter Diing had never tasted meat. I knew some of our orphans had eaten meat; a few had told me great adventure stories of using wild dogs to kill small game for them when they lived wild in the bush before coming to New Life Ministry. They then laughed and said, “The only problem then was we had to fight off the wild dog before he ate all the meat!” These were young boys of 5-9 telling such stories of survival.

Most of our children, however, were not quite that adventurous. Most, having watched their mothers be raped and taken off by the slave raiders or both their parents murdered before their eyes, simply wandered off in a state of shock, eating grass or leaves and drinking straight from the parasitic river.

“Peter, you’ve never tasted meat?” “No Mama Kimberly. Will you slaughter a goat for us?” His eyes shone with hope – expectant hope. Inside I prayed, if only I could be like young Peter Diing was before me now when I went to my Heavenly Father – laying out my need with love and expectant hope. Truth be told, normally I went with a pinch of fear, a pound of doubt and a parcel of whining.

I told Peter I would talk with James about providing meat. Our problem was that we had just agreed to take in 100 more children, raising us to 300. (We now have more than 400.) That was a genuine step of faith for we were counting pennies to feed sorghum, rice, corn and lentils to the ones we already had. These grains were the complete extent of their diet. They had never had meat, fruit or vegetables. Fruit and vegetables were totally out of the question as they simply were not available – at any cost. We couldn’t even truck them in, for without electricity (and therefore refrigeration) in this heat, they would perish quickly. So, I remained with the matter at hand; I asked James how much it would cost to buy enough goats to have a weekly slaughter for all of the children. I prayed about it – just as I had before we agreed to take in the additional 100 children. I was afraid. Where would the money come from? Was I crazy to agree to take on more expenses? I sought the Lord.

It kept coming to me how I read that Mother Teresa never turned a child away no matter how over crowded they were or how little food they had. She trusted that God had sent her to care for the poor. He knew they needed food. If they came to her, He would supply. I remembered reading George Muller and his feeding of thousands of orphans. He often sat at a table set for dinner with no food at it (and 400 hungry mouths gathered in the dining hall with him). Then, seemingly out of nowhere, there would be a knock at the door and someone would be there saying, “I am sorry to bother you at dinner time, but I just couldn’t get it out of my head that I was supposed to bring you this food.”

It was a tough fight against my flesh, rational business advice and planning, but I was certain that we were to simply trust God. We were to stand before the Maker of us all, with this Expectant Hope that Peter Diing had modeled. Although many times over the years since that commitment, our bank balance has been near zero up to the time we were to send money for those goats, God has never failed to provide. (Although I admit that often the funds came at the 11th hour and 59th minute!) Since the beginning of our step of obedience and commitment to feed the children, they have never missed their goat slaughter.

A few weeks after asking for the meat, Peter Diing tried his hand once again. This time, as always, he stood before me in tattered clothing. His shorts were ripped all the way down one side so that only the elastic held them on his body. His shirt was several sizes too large so that the neck hole gapped around him more like a hangman’s noose than a collar.

“Mama Kimberly. We want to be clean and well dressed. Can you buy for us school uniforms?” This time his eyes were a-glint with a different kind of hope – one more like winning a game. I laughed out loud and said, “Nice try! Let’s build your home, the dormitories where you will have a safe place to sleep before we worry about all the other things before us.” Peter agreed and laughed with me. I realized he had become the Ambassador, for there was a trail of boys not far behind him hoping to hear of his success.

Sometime after this, when we were just sitting and chatting without so much business to attend, I asked Peter what he wants to be when he grows up. His face turned brilliant; it was the closet thing to the Transfiguration that my eyes have ever seen. He said, “I want to be a preacher for my people, the people of Sudan!” It was obvious that this was no passing fancy, but rather something he spent much time thinking about and preparing for.

Although it is obvious that Peter is a natural-born leader and quick with a smile that could light the darkest night, over the years, I have noticed that he tends to often withdraw to himself. At times, I see him quite melancholy and sad.

Fast forward 3 years to January 2008, and Peter and I were once again sitting and chatting over tea. I asked him, “Do you remember what you told me you want to be when you grow up?” There it was again – no hesitancy, but pure certainty. “A preacher,” he beamed. “I am presently the Sunday School teacher for our preschoolers so that I can prepare for becoming a preacher.”

We talked for a long while. He shared with me that although he is very thankful to be here at Nyamlel, sometimes he just feels overcome with sadness. “When you are sad, what is it mostly you are sad about?” “When I am sad, most of the time it is because I remember when the Arabs came and persecuted my people, especially the time when I was a boy of six years old and I saw them kill my mother. Also, now it is because I am alone. My father is a soldier; I haven’t heard from him since my mother was killed many years ago.”

Again, this man-child gripped my heart. His sincerity. He was pure from self-pity, yet honestly held his pain. We sat in silence for a long while, making room for his pain and sadness. After some time, he showed me his Bible and told me how he came to know Jesus.

“I had heard bits and pieces of God, but none of it made sense to me. I was very confused. I kept praying and crying out to God – asking Him how there could be so much evil in this world. There was no one who could answer the question for me. Everyday, I just cried and prayed, asking God again and again. I began to search the Bible, reading it everyday. Soon, I cried less and prayed and read the Bible more and more until finally He began to show me in the Bible that Jesus is God’s Son, just like I was my mother’s son. God sent His Son to save the world because we had sinned against Him. Because of that sin the world became an evil place – it was given over to Satan. Jesus came to take it back. One day, Jesus will come again and take us all away from this evil.”

I sat speechless as this young man of God relayed to me with remarkable clarity what few educated American adult Christians can articulate of the Christian Faith. I asked him, “No one explained these things to you?” “No, I was so troubled that no one had answers for why the Arabs would kill my mother and persecute my people so I just began crying out to God and reading the Bible. This is where I learned these things.”
I felt like the disciples must have felt as they sat around the Apostle Peter when he spoke the Truth of Who Christ is and Jesus said, “I tell you Peter, you didn’t get that from some book or man, but God Himself revealed it to you and, on this Truth, I will build my Church!”
I remembered that Jesus told Peter in those days that Satan would try to sift him, but Jesus assured Peter that He would be praying for Peter.

I took a photo of my husband, Milton, and me and gave it to Peter after I wrote a note of encouragement on the back. I committed to him that Milton (a preacher himself) and I would pray for him everyday for protection, wisdom, courage and encouragement.

Peter rubbed his fingers along the photograph and put it inside his Bible, where he said it would remain.