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One Life at a Time It has been our dream for many years to reach into the hearts of the Iteso Tribe with the love of God. But never did we imagine that the Father would let us begin that burning desire in our hearts the day we arrived back in Africa during 2008. The Iteso have endured more bloodshed and devastation than any tribe in Uganda. They are also the most unreached by the Gospel. Our call to them was abruptly aborted in 2007 due to dangers that a disturbed Karamajong man unleashed against us. So when we returned we were full of anticipation at finally birthing this outreach. But God completely surprised us. The morning we arrived at our compound in 2008 we were amazed that this dream had already begun to come to pass when we discovered that our night guard was Simon Peter from Iteso. From the moment we met this young man my heart ached for all he had suffered. He came from Katakwi, which is the region in North Eastern Uganda that has been the most brutalized by violence. So no one wants to go there. Those horrors began in 1986 when heavily armed Karamajong invaded their villages to steal cows. These fierce warriors surrounded the huts at night. When the people stepped out of them in the morning the invaders unleashed a barrage of deadly bullets. Then they burned everything to the ground. Women and young girls were allowed to live, but the boys were systematically killed so that they couldn’t grow up to kill their cruel enemies. It is amazing that Simon Peter even lived. The men were tortured by having their flesh ripped from their arms and legs and then they were left to die a horrible death or they cut off their heads. Peter’s father was among those men. The LRA Rebels also invaded the Iteso and inflicted on them horrific atrocities. There was a tragic loss of lives. Peter’s mother was one of the women the LRA killed and now he was in a strange land among all of us and no one could speak his Ateso language. He was totally alone. “Simon Peter has seen too much evil and it has affected him,” Joseph could only say about him that first day. “His heart is filled with sorrow and he’s scared of us.” His eyes were deep pools of sadness that painfully reminded me of the children in the Aloi Refugee Camp. All the days of my life I’ll never forget how they stared at us like the walking dead with eyes that were blank and despairing. Many of them had been forced to see their own family brutally slaughtered, just like happened to Peter. Although these tormented children were alive physically, what the life in their souls had been cruelly ripped out of them. Their faces were frozen in a haunting sadness. Now on our compound was a young man whose life had been mutilated by this same despair. So began the journey of bringing the restoring love of God to him. Joseph worked on learning his language so that he could talk to Peter. I began bringing him cups of water and bananas. Each time I approached him with food or water a smile flickered fleetingly across his expressionless face. Then late one night when it had turned cold I brought Joseph with me to tell Peter, “Mum wants to know if you want a cup of coffee?” He looked shocked and nodded yes. Moments later as I brought it to him a grateful smile lit up his countenance. But it lingered much longer this time. For a second his eyes even sparkled with delight. “The miracle of the Father’s love has begun,” I thought to myself. But the instant I turned to leave him, I fell on the cold concrete as if someone had forcefully pushed me. I landed with a loud thud on my right hip and immediately the dogs and puppies rushed to see what had happened. They hovered protectively close to me while I sat there stunned. I felt the fury of hell in that crash to the ground. The forces of evil wanted to inflict serious harm on me in retaliation for what was happening in the life of Simon Peter. If this attack had succeeded, our long awaited outreach to the Iteso would have been sabotaged again. We would have been forced to return to America for proper medical care. But God protected me. I only ended up with large black bruises where the hip should have cracked from the violent thrust of the fall. What startled me as I sat momentarily on the ground was the genuine concern in Peter’s eyes. That look told me the cold walls around his paralyzed heart were slowly melting. The next day his bond with us increased when through Joseph I asked him to teach me “I love you” in Ateso. The three of us laughed hilariously at my fumbling, unsuccessful attempts to say those three simple words in Peter’s language. Then later that afternoon when Barry and I returned from a trip to Kampala I greeted our day guard, Okello with a hug. Silently standing next to him was Peter. While he watched us, a forlorn longing clouded his face. “Would you like a hug too?” I turned to him and said. “Hug?” he responded in awkward English with a puzzled expression. Joseph explained what I meant and Peter instantly shook his head yes. But when I wrapped my arms around him, he shocked me. Instead of resistance or fear, he rested his head on my shoulder for a few seconds and gladly received my embrace. Then there was the morning when I stood near the kitchen window and I heard a faint, “Mum.” I looked up and there was Peter trying to talk to me for the first time. I still couldn’t speak Ateso and he wasn’t able to understand English. Yet for a glorious moment we found our own language and perfectly understood each other. As we excitedly communicated his face beamed with delight and his eyes shined. Soon our peals of laughter ended this happy encounter and he contentedly walked away with a bounce in his step. When he disappeared from view I looked up at the cloudless blue sky and reflected how the language of love transcends words and culture. It penetrates deep into the soul and makes it wondrously possible to share a profound language of the heart. It’s like watching a miracle. The impact on this young man from Iteso went even deeper the day Joseph, Barry and I were worshipping. Simon Peter was outside in the courtyard listening intently as the sound of heaven rose from the harp and the presence of God enveloped the compound. When our singing ended, we walked outside to rededicate this peaceful sanctuary to the Lord. We invited Peter to join us while we held hands and marched side by side along the entire wall of the compound and sang…
Holy, holy are You Lord God Almighty. Simon Peter even began to smile and sing with us. “Mum,” Joseph later told me, “that young boy was very moved as we worshipped. God touched him and now he feels closer to us.” Yet there were still moments when a somberness far beyond his years cast a dark shadow across his face and his haunting sadness once again ripped the joy out of his vacant, troubled eyes. One night the tragic pain that was buried in his heart erupted with such intensity that he couldn’t hold it back. While he was supposed to be guarding the compound he was too sick to work. Joseph discovered Simon Peter sitting on the ground sobbing with his face buried in his trembling hands. When he saw me walking quickly toward him, he shrank back against the wall petrified. “In the past evil things must have happened to him when he was ill,” Joseph explained as we stepped away from Peter to discuss how to help him. “He’s an orphan. That means he’s never had anyone to run to who would protect him when he was mistreated.” For an hour Joseph sat on one side of Peter and I on the other and assured him. Then with my hand gently on his head and Joseph reassuringly touching his shoulder, we worshipped in Luo. Our voices echoed across the courtyard and Peter gradually stopped crying. He leaned back, closed his eyes and peacefully listened to the tender song that Joseph was singing. Then suddenly he stood up and without a word went to bed. “He’s alright, Mum,” Joseph leaned over to me and whispered. “He’s not afraid anymore and this love is going deep into his heart.” I thought after all this kindness that Peter would find a home with us and want to stay. But one morning after he’d been with us only two weeks he was homesick for his people and asked to return to them. “I will miss you,” I told him through Joseph as he hung his head down to hide his tears. We knew he needed to go back to his tribe. Even though he would once again suffer there, he was too young to be away from them. The only thing that seemed to help him was Joseph saying for me… “We won’t forget you because we love you.” I held Simon Peter in my arms to say goodbye. Then quickly he passed through our gate and disappeared down the dirt path. We knew him for such a short time and now he was gone. When I walked back into the solace of our peaceful home I found comfort in remembering that when he left us he didn’t look like the same person. The torment was no longer on his countenance and a beautiful light now shined from his eyes. Yet there were moments when I wistfully looked off into the distance and wondered how he was. In that quiet place the Father always assured me…
Whenever I thought of all we had invested in Simon Peter, it also encouraged me to reflect on the life of Jesus. He went to the multitudes and preached the Gospel. But over and over again His ministry was all about touching one life at a time. Even when the crowds pressed in on Him with all their desperate needs, He often left them behind and found one person to help. Over and over, I marveled that Jesus could have been preaching to thousands every day of His three years of ministry, which to most people would seem far more valuable. Instead He was moved by the agony, struggles and deepest of despair of one blind man, one Samaritan woman, one cripple, one sick person and two grieved sisters whose brother had just died. I found joy in reminding myself that we brought this same compassion to one young life from Iteso. |
