15 May The Power that Works Within Us
I’m probably the most reluctant traveler ever. I do not enjoy traveling, and most assuredly not while alone. The last time I made a solo cross-border journey was several years ago when my eldest daughter, now in Uni, was an infant.
Anywhoo, one morning in January this year, I am pleasantly surprised to receive an invite to a week-long tour-and-conference from a fellow believer based in Israel. I’m excited to visit the Holy Land for the first time, but when I discover that, of all the invitees, I will be the only one traveling from Kenya, my heart sinks to my toes. I’m terribly afraid of traveling alone, and to a land I’ve never been to, which just happens to be at war.
And of course, the Enemy, that old lout, promptly commences to bombard me with all the calamities that are bound to befall me, in his view, should I dare take this trip. “You don’t even know where you’re going,” he sniggers. “You could be kidnapped by terrorists, who knows?” Causes me sleepless nights, I’ll admit.
Meanwhile, as soon as I inform my hubby of the invite, he begins to pore over the daily news, keeping a sharp eye on the happenings in the Middle East. And on March 20th when Yemen’s troublesome Houthis launch a hypersonic ballistic missile at Tel Aviv’s Ben Gurion airport, he asks gravely if I still must go. The worry on his face greatly compounds my angst.
Somewhat reluctantly, I apply for the renewal of my expired passport and, to my shock, our famously languid immigration ministry renews it in a record three days. A few days later, my Israel visa is processed in just about 24 hours. I begin to suspect that Someone, somewhere, is invested in this trip.
I’m still hugely reluctant to commit, though. So, I decide to take a 3-day liquids-only fast to seek the Lord. But first, I ask the hubby if we could pray together concerning this matter. And when he bows his head and solemnly takes off his hat, I realize the gravity with which he is considering the issue. Very few events on God’s green earth cause him to take off his hat.
Well, I must admit that my grand plan is to use my time of fasting to pester the Lord to excuse me from what I suspect is an assignment from Him. But when I present my lame excuses in prayer, He responds by instructing me to examine the scriptures and see if He released Jonah from his assignment. Alas.
“Then if I must go,” I say to the Lord, “please speak with your son.” Like many a praying wife, I have learnt, over the years, the means by which to align my better half with God’s will, in stealth mode. And sure enough, at the end of my fast, when I reveal to hubby what the Lord has said, he is quiet for only a moment. “If you’re sure He wants you to go,” he says, “go ahead and book a ticket.”
I’m somewhat relieved, but still unsure whether to celebrate. But it is now Wednesday 2nd April and I’m expected in Jerusalem on Monday 7th, in just five days’ time. So, I dash to the Ethiopian Airlines’ website and book myself a ticket. Then I unleash my Sword of the Spirit and command the master of lies, that old fiend, to crawl back from whence he came. I am ready to visit the land of my Father.
I arrive at Ben Gurion Airport at 4 am the following Monday, tired but excited to be here. Border Control, however, don’t seem entirely enthused, and for three tense hours, I am detained at their offices. I dare not inform my family back home lest they utterly fall apart at the seams. I feel like a tiny ant as a beautiful but tough lady officer takes me through a scorching interview. She allows me to place a call to my hosts though, and a longish chat ensues, after which she releases me and wishes me a pleasant stay. Relieved, I find my way to the nearby station and take the 26-minute train ride to Central Jerusalem. No one kidnaps me, I’m glad to report.
I arrive at the Jerusalem – Yitzhak Navon station – which I will later learn is one of the deepest underground stations in the world – to find two of my hosts, ladies, waiting for me. Hearty greetings and warm hugs are exchanged, and they ride the bus with me to my hotel on Jaffa Street. Tired but happy, I proceed to my room to sleep off the numerous hours it has taken to get here.
I wake up a few hours later, nicely refreshed, and just in time to catch the beautifully fading evening sun. I decide to enjoy a mini tour of Jerusalem before it gets dark; “…you will go out and frolic like well-fed calves,” the book of Malachi assures us. So out I go, to frolic.
Along Jaffa Street, I find several retail outlets such as Pull & Bear, Crazy Line and Polygat, brands that I have never seen in Nairobi but hold the promise of nice gifts for my hubby and offspring. There’s a forex bureau a few meters away where I can change my dollars for shekels. Around the corner, I find a McDonald’s where I enjoy a burger while exchanging smiley glances with a little girl who seems somewhat intrigued, perhaps by the color of my skin. For sure, I’m the only melanated individual in this establishment. Her father catches my eye and we exchange a friendly nod, in the age-old manner of fellow parents.
After dinner, I stroll to a small park where pedestrians relax on green carpet-grass while aspiring musicians perform live music under a giant mushroom sculpture. Among the crowd, I see a young couple, perhaps in their early twenties, sitting close together, holding hands. The girl is leaning lovingly against the man, but is holding a long rifle in her left hand. I can’t help but stare.
Apart from the grilling I received at the airport, this will be the only sign I will encounter of a nation at war.
The rest of the week goes swimmingly. Our hosts have organized a three-day tour followed by a four-day conference, and I soon meet the two Kenyans, one Rwandan, one South Sudanese, and four Ugandans who will be my companions for the rest of my stay.
Together, we visit the Mount of Beatitudes, where Jesus delivered the Sermon on the Mount. We climb by cable car to the ancient fortress of Masada, where almost one thousand Jewish men and women took their own lives rather than surrender to the Roman army in 74 AD. We spend some time in Magdala where Mary Magdalene lived. We visit Qumran, where the oldest known copies of parts of the Old Testament were discovered in 1947-56. A few of us are brave enough to float on our backs in the stationary Dead Sea.
But the highlight of the week comes during the prayer conference, when we gather to worship the Lord with brethren from other nations. We sing songs of praise in different languages and exalt the Lord together. We lift up fervent prayer for our families, ourselves, and for the nations represented among us: Israel, Hungary, Australia, UK, USA, Japan, Canada, Korea, Brazil, our own African nations, and many more. We break bread over an amazing Passover dinner. We learn new steps and dance joyously together. Powerful prophetic words are released, and a deep sense of Godly unity binds us warmly together. The manifest presence of God is with us.
Towards the end of the conference, our host pastor reminds us of the story of the prophet Elijah and how, after a time of great difficulty, God strengthened and commissioned him to move on to the next stage of his ministry, bringing great change to the nation of Israel.
“What about you?” the preacher challenges us. “What are you doing here?”
All around me are fellow laborers, each of us called to play a small but vital part in the Great Commission. “Are you meeting with God?” our host presses on, “is He commissioning you?”
God desires that we shift from what WE want to do, to what HE wants to do through us, he tells us. And He releases the power of heaven so that we can achieve His divine purposes while here on earth. His anointing and power truly changes everything. And this, it finally dawns on me, is why we came.
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[He..] is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us.. Ephesians 3:20
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