You barely notice the muggy jungle heat, feasting mosquitoes or the blisters forming on your feet. The moment you have all longed for, planned for and prayed for has finally arrived. Tribal people are emerging from the bushes …
With adrenaline racing, you warily approach each other. They are fascinated by your fair skin and hair. Your fuzzy arms are particularly interesting. They want to keep touching you. You are captivated by their small, strong bodies and the strange sounds they make.
They can't believe what you are wearing. You can't believe what they are not wearing. Gifts are exchanged. Humorous moments, such as the tribal man proudly displaying his new nose decoration -- your co-worker's bright yellow pencil -- will never be forgotten. Later, you savor each memory as you write it all down.
But how often does this kind of thing actually happen? Even with fantastic ministry highlights, most of a missionary's life is still just made up of normal, everyday occurrences. How many life-altering first contacts will we realistically experience in our lifetime? Many more than you might think.
Early each morning, when the sun jumps up in the east and warmly shouts through our window that a new day has begun, we get to open our eyes and make first contact with life all over again. We are given another chance to breathe and touch and smell and taste and be a part of this world and everyone in it once more.
We get to hold our spouse and grab our kids and revel in our family all over again. We can march boldly right up to the throne and make contact with God again, without fear of culture or language blunders. We have the opportunity to tell our supporters afresh how very grateful we are that their giving keeps us going -- doing our part in bringing tribal people to Him.
Every day, we get to reach out into the jungles of our lives and make first contact with friends, neighbors, co-workers and anyone else that God has planned to be a part of our world -- and leave whatever gifts we can.
My world happens to include a palm-tree-lined riverwalk that stretches along the lakefront outside our NTM USA home office in Sanford, Florida, where we live and serve. There's always a leisurely stream of walkers, runners, bikers, roller-bladers, and people fishing along the banks or visiting on the benches. I often wonder who they are, what they are thinking and feeling, and what their lives are like.
And every evening after dinner, I get to slip on my sneakers, step out from my "bushes" and make first contact with them all over again. Some of the encounters have wrenched my heart; others have encouraged it.
I've seen people with such empty, lonely faces that it almost hurts to walk by. I've noticed ladies looking out across the water and crying softly to themselves. I've met homeless people who wander around and ask for money. And I've seen children grab their parent's hand, only to be shaken off as the adult talks on their cell phone.
But I've also spotted Bibles being read here and there. I've heard praise songs being sung. And one mom, dad and teenage son looked so happy as they walked arm in arm that I commented on it. They answered, "Yes, we are!"
But other encounters have left me completely confused.
One particular evening, I noticed another trio approaching. A trim, attractive lady was in the middle and a heavyset lady was on her right. But from that distance, I couldn't make out who the third person was. Since I enjoy greeting people as I walk along, and preferably ladies, I decided to aim my greeting at the two females.
I occupied myself with other scenery until they were close enough and then looked their direction to say, "Hello there." But my smile froze and the words caught in my throat, as now I couldn't tell what gender any of them were! I had no idea who or what I was greeting!
I managed to mumble something as I passed by, but also noted how surprised they seemed that someone was attempting to speak to them. They even stopped and returned my greeting before continuing on their way. And off I went down the riverwalk, heart pounding and face burning. I had just been shocked by my very own culture.
But I'll never forget how their eyes lit up at my greeting. Without meaning to, I think I saw what Jesus must have seen in the eyes of the woman at the well.
So, I'll just keep leaving my little gifts along the trail -- a warm smile and a sincere comment or greeting -- and let God direct the rest. Thus far, the gifts have been eagerly accepted and in some cases, left in return. And slowly, as I'm beginning to recognize people, their "bushes" seem to be parting a little more every day.
Somewhere on earth, morning is happening. Coffee is brewing and bacon is sizzling. A dog is barking and chickens are squawking. Traffic is congesting. Tribal people are milling. A three-year-old is pulling up his parent's eyelid saying, "Are you awake yet?"
And when our sleepy feet can finally be convinced to swing over the side of the bed and make contact with the carpeted or hardwood or tiled or dirt-packed floor, every instant from then on is uncharted and unexplored territory -- with totally unlimited possibilities.
A life-altering, first contact experience is headed our way. A brand new day is emerging from the bushes …
"… His mercies begin afresh each morning." Lamentations 3:23b
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