originally posted at http://andimoore.theworldrace.org
Remember that time I preached at a small group in Kenya and they gave me a chicken?
It happened.
July 10 was a big night for me. It was the first time I was to bring the Word in any form in any place in Kenya. We’d only been in country for 8 days, but most of those days had been spent welcoming in our Exposure students and getting acquainted with our new digs. We’d gone to church one day, and a school two other days, but that was about it. I guess my team had gone to do home visits one day, but I was laid up in bed, sick with sinuses, congestion, and the worst case of heart burn anyone has ever experienced ever. So perhaps it was time to start sharing the Word.
Our team had split into two groups for the day, and my group was told we’d be speaking at the “cell group” about half an hour before we were to meet. Two of the teamies in my group had already spoken at one of the churches we visited, so they opted not to speak at cell group. Which left one other girl, and myself. We bantered for a bit about what we might speak on, finally deciding that I would be the one to bring the message.
After some prayer, I decided on Luke 7:38-50, discussing the perspectives of the Pharisee and the woman with the alabaster jar. I, at this point, moments before we were to head to the meeting place, was begging the Lord to speak through me, despite my ill-preparedness and lack of know-how.
Which of course He did. He is so very, very faithful. We together spoke eloquently of the Pharisee pulling away from someone with a past, and of the woman who cared so little about society and so much about Jesus and His redemption that she crashed a dinner party and threw herself and her entire past at Jesus’ feet. It was one of those moments you absolutely know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God is speaking and you are not.
The women of the cell group gave a big Amen at the end and launched themselves into beautiful 3-4 part Swahili praise harmony and prayed aloud for themselves and for each other.
And when all was said and done, after we, the visitors, had been treated to tea and bread (and avocado), and we were heading to our vehicle to drive home, someone stopped us.
“Wait! You have to wait on your cuckoo!” Cuckoo is the Swahili word for chicken. “Who is going to slaughter the cuckoo tomorrow for your dinner? You?” I should have taken this as a clue because I really and truly thought they were going to give us chicken that had already been cooked.
Nope.
After a few moments a lovely lady brought me a HUGE brown chicken, whom she handed to me with a smile and a laugh (I’m sure at my face), and bid us good night and God bless.
We then drove home, my hands around an enormous brown hen, whom I immediately named Helen, who clucked at every bounce of the car (and seeing as how the roads in Africa are seriously some of the worst roads on earth, it was a lot). At one point her wings got free from my grip and she tried to fly away, causing our driver and contact, Rebecca, to laugh and tease the rest of the way home.
Tomorrow I am to help our house parents slaughter, pluck, and cook Helen.
We’ll see how it goes.
But that is the story of preaching the Word and receiving a chicken.
To God by the glory. Haha!
Barefoot Wanderings 