I had been meaning to go out and outreach in the local park with my friend who was travelling with us. We had a great view of it from our hotel window, and I could see that there were plenty of people to preach the gospel to. My friend didn't seem too keen on the idea, so I left him (along with my valuables) and headed for the park with my Kiswahili Bible in hand.
I reached the centre and a dried up water feature and began to preach in broken Swahili. The quiet haze of the afternoon was broken sharply by my zealous cry and tens of eyes were fixed on me. My unusual, yellow-skinned appearance and zeal for the gospel seemed to have everybody mesmerized; I think they wondered whether I was a radical Arab Muslim or not.
After giving it my best shot for ten minutes I pulled for souls, then backsliders, then the sick - nothing. Nobody moved an inch. The bemused stares continued as I walked the thin path out of the park and back to my hotel. As I was about to enter I heard someone call 'Pastor!' Turning around I saw a man who shook my hand and thanked me for the word. I asked if he was born again and he said that he wasn't, but a Catholic. I said that Jesus called everyone to be born again and that heaven couldn't be his home without such a decision.
There, in front of the Merica hotel, on a dusty Nakuru road I led my first East African convert to Christ. He was a Maasai man named John. I told him of our main Nakuru church and he said he knew it, and with that I congratulated him and walked back into the cool hotel buzzing. I had thought that the whole adventure had been futile, but unknown to me this man had followed me out of the park, ripe and ready to receive Christ.
Wherever we find ourselves in the world, and no matter how fallow the ground seems, we are called to be faithful sowers of the Word of God. We might not always see the fruit there and then, but God has promised us His Word will not return void, but accomplish what He pleases.
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