News & Views
Seeing the Dream for Africa
By Desiree Garcia
It’s funny that a girl who wants to be a missionary would not want to go to Africa. That’s what everyone thinks of when they think missionary, right? Dark bush country swarming with blood-sucking, malaria-carrying mosquitoes and half-naked savages who might throw a spear if you look at them wrong. The possibility of dying from some random killer disease like avian influenza. That’s what I imagined when I thought of Africa, and I never wanted to go there. Wouldn’t a missionary want to go anywhere--especially exotic Africa? The answer, in my case, was no. I did not want to go.
So it is funny to find out that I went on a mission trip to South Africa this past summer. Believe me, it was totally against my will. It’s funny how God works. He doesn’t change our hearts first and then call us to go. It is the other way around. God asks for our obedience no matter how we feel; then He changes our hearts. That is what happened to me.
I found out that Bruce Wilkinson, author of The Prayer of Jabez and head of Dream for Africa, was coming to my school to speak at chapel. He was recruiting college students to go to Swaziland, Africa, to visit high schools and to talk to the students about abstinence being the best prevention for AIDS. I did not even give it a thought. But when he did speak in chapel, I put on my imaginary force field to wield off any ammunition he might send my way.
My shield deflected missile number one: his personal story about how God called him to move his family and settle in South Africa. Though I was quite impressed (at least he took the step before he called others to go), I was not persuaded. My shield deflected missile number two: his spiel about Swaziland being the number one AIDS-infected country in the world. Then Wilkinson told us that the men believe they can cure their AIDS by having sex with a virgin, the younger the better. My shield cracked. It fell to pieces when he said that male teachers molest their female students to cure their AIDS. I knew at that moment that I had to go.
My decision didn’t make the preparations any easier. The reality of raising $3,000 soon set in. Then Dream for Africa kept changing our plans. They changed the country from Swaziland to South Africa. They moved up the trip dates. The money was due sooner. The complications made me wonder if I was really meant to go on this trip.
Sure, I was excited about going to a different country, but I knew it was for the wrong reasons. I did not scour the internet researching my country. I didn’t get emotional when I told people about the trip. I did not have a burden for these children. Deep down, I still dreaded going. I kept asking God to change my heart. All good missionaries have a heart for the people they are to minister to, right? But the feeling of dread followed me on the plane and into South Africa.
Everything I felt about this trip—fear, worry, regret, guilt—came together the night that the Department of Education of South Africa held a ceremony for us. I realized this trip was important if the Department of Education of a country took the time to meet with college students. They were depending on us to save these kids from AIDS, to save South Africa’s future. I wasn’t old enough to drink, and they wanted me to help save South Africa? I was truly scared, and I prayed even harder for God to change my heart. Nothing happened. At least not right away.
There were about 280 Americans, Zambians and Native black and white South Africans on this trip. We were placed in teams of about 10 people and given two weeks to go into 60 schools, one to three teams in a school, and one school per week. The students had exams during those two weeks, so we had to work around the schools’ schedules, which sometimes gave us an hour to spend with them when we had at least four hours of material to cover.
But God met me. It was amazing. My friend and I were Prayer Warriors for our teams. We decided to use one of our free times to pray. It was the most intense prayer time I ever had. Usually when I pray with others, I squirm after ten minutes. This time she and I prayed for two hours going back and forth. As soon as one stopped, the other started. As we sat on the prickly grass under the African sky, my friend praying for my heart to change, I started crying. I could feel the ground pulsating, like a heart beat. God was revealing to me His heart beat for Africa. I knew He was digging a hole in my heart and planting a seed.
The change was not immediate or finished though. I still struggled, but I resolved to give this trip my all in spite of my feelings. When I did, when I opened my eyes, God moved. As a result, two hundred students made commitments to abstinence in those two weeks. Some of those students amazed us with their wisdom and maturity. Others blew me away as they danced with zeal for the Lord. It seemed like their African faith was much stronger than my American one. In Africa, one of my team members was healed in front of my eyes day by prayer. These experiences stretched my faith. I saw through glasses I had never looked through before. I did not realize how much I had changed until I came back to the States.
Coming home was like waking from a glorious dream. The reality didn’t compare. I couldn’t find in the States what I saw in South Africa. Even my family disappointed me. Everything reeked of materialism. I wanted to separate myself from it, and I grew restless. I tried to recapture some of the magic by watching movies about Africa and supporting organizations that helped over there. I even decided to host a party for those who sponsored my trip because I couldn’t possibly explain everything in thirty seconds to each one of them individually. I saw the party as a chance to inform and persuade them to see Africa as I did.
Some of my sponsors lived too far away to come, so I decided to write them a letter about my trip. It was hard trying to capture everything in two pages, but when I finished, I was satisfied. The next day I read the letter out loud to my mother. As I neared the end my eyes blurred, and my voice cracked. I choked out the words: “I was humbled… Now I consider myself homesick. I want to go back someday.” At that moment I realized that God had answered my prayer. I had fallen in love with Africa.