(An account of a short-term missionary’s adventures installing wells in Africa. Second of eight parts.)
“Should I go?” I asked my lawyer friend Jim Bobo over lunch many years ago. I was a young man with a very full life: three small children, a busy law practice and active in my church and community.
A mission opportunity to build houses for the wretchedly poor in Honduras had been offered by my church that coming summer. Comfortable in my world, with this busy-ness a handy reason to decline, I sought wisdom.
“What does the Lord want you to do?” Jim asked, sensibly.
“Dunno,” I lied. “Surely he understands my obstacles to going…”
Jim said nothing. We ate in silence.
Then he spoke, “Jeff, you have mentioned you prayed recently for an opportunity to serve. Have you thought this trip may be an answer to that prayer?”
Hmmm…And so I went to Honduras that summer to build houses.
One morning there as I lay bricks at the worksite, I saw the face of a small boy peering out from behind a wall who was closely watching us work. I gestured for him to come out. Reluctantly he stepped into full view. To my astonishment, he was wearing a t-shirt which said “Bobo Law .” There. In Central America, 3,000 miles from Jim Bobo’s law practice.
Later, back in the states, I recounted this story of providence to Jim. He said his wife had donated leftover t-shirts from his sponsored T-ball team to a local mission effort. Somehow one had made it to central Honduras.
What an affirmation of God’s calling.
That was long ago. Just recently - three decades later - another Christian brother over a meal told me about a Marion Medical Mission ((https://www.mmmwater.org) water project and the opportunity to serve God’s people in Malawi. After giving my several excuses - I’m too old, too comfortably retired, I’m needed elsewhere - that same Holy Spirit gently nudged me to go to Africa.
On the last day of this trip I sorrowfully approached our final water well’s dedication. It was my 101st well. I was sad to be finished but had a complete sense of fulfillment because through God’s grace the water needs of many thousands of parched villagers had been met in part due to my meager efforts, noting, of course that my part was indeed small compared to the army of well-diggers, cement-carriers and brick-makers who had come before.
One of my several tasks at the well was a technical one: I was charged with recording its GPS location which required me to stand near the well to accurately capture its location. On this final occasion, overcome with gratitude for God’s constant protection and provision these last weeks, I stepped up off the well’s apron and onto the wellhead (I’d not done that before) and…looked silently heavenward. My purpose at that precise moment, in the words written on the well-cap was to offer ‘Glory to God.’ Though the day had been overcast earlier that morning, the sun now shined directly overhead. I opened my eyes.
A rainbow, unlike any I’d ever seen, circled the sun.
It didn’t, as rainbows usually do, arc from the earth either into the clouds or in semicircular fashion back to the ground. It formed a perfect, colored circle with the bright sun at the center. I’ll leave it you, gentle reader, to imagine my thoughts at that moment consisting unmistakably of the affirming assurance that God was there and blessing our efforts to show the love of Jesus - His hands, His feet - in bringing forth water for these thirsty souls. Somehow, I managed to take a picture which clearly shows this providential manifestation. Soli Deo Gloria.
Now, a secular sort - or even a faithful one - can observe that rainbows happen all the time, and yes, this sort of atmospheric phenomenon is explainable by science; perhaps water droplets were puffed up by a sudden draft of warm air in a circular fashion, the sunlight illuminated them just so and millions of prisms split its beams at the moment I stood thanking God in the valley below. Yeah, right.
Was this clear affirmation of God’s sweet presence necessary? No, it wasn’t necessary that the Lord send this miracle at the moment of my high communion with Him since my senses are already hyper-tuned to its daily manifestations. Was it welcomed by this pilgrim in a strange land doing the work of his master? Oh, yeah.
Up next: Malawian roads - So you think Riverside Drive was awful?
Jeff Weill is a senior status judge living in Jackson.
