Ahmed was simply seeking a better life.

His life as a civil servant in Ethiopia was beyond dull. It was, in his own words, “lifeless.” He imagined there must be more beyond the ancient Abyssinian borders. As a single man, he had no obligations to anyone. His parents would not miss him, nor would his age-mates at the mosque. He set off for the border of Kenya… convinced things could only get better. Better to be an alien in paradise than a prince in shackles. Or so he thought.

It wasn’t long before the valor and vigor wore thin. Life as an illegal alien in Kenya began harshly…and stayed that way. The only work he could find was being a goat herder in the arid northern plains. He began to long for the comforts he had left behind: a secure home, regular meals, fellowship at the mosque, speaking his native tongue. Things previously taken for granted were now precious in the rear-view mirror. “If only…” No! He could never go back. The shame, the ridicule, the consequences would be unbearable. The only solution was to move forward…and somehow get to Nairobi. That great fabled city of promise and prosperity in the heart of East Africa.

For a young man of 22 years, Ahmed was unusually self-motivated. He didn’t need anyone to hold his hand. He would make it on his own. But his experience as a civil servant in Addis Ababa had no merit in Kenya. In fact, it worked against him. Prior employment in a foreign government brought forth wariness and suspicions from potential employers. In the complicated economic caste system of Africa, immigrants fall below the slum dwellers and untouchables. As such, illegal aliens are subject to indescribable hardship, discrimination and abuse. Ahmed was no exception. The best he could do was leverage off his brief experience as a goat herder. In Nairobi, that morphed into working for a tannery. Trading in goat skins from the slaughterhouses. Work that no one else would do. Especially a Muslim.

As the months and years dragged on, Ahmed found his footing. At least financially. He was able to provide for himself a rented one-room flat in a squalid tenement. Abysmal by most standards, but a significant step out from the rusted sheet metal shacks in the slums. He worked 14 hours days, 6 days per week. Jettisoning his Islamic strictures, he had free use of the remaining hours. He used them judiciously to satisfy every urge of the flesh. A man with no moral filter becomes little more than an animal . The passing pleasures of sin soon gave way to bondage. Addictions of every sort overtook Ahmed: miraa (narcotic leaves), cigarettes, alcohol, fornication and pornography. Nairobi was no longer a paradise…it was a prison.

As Ahmed’s life spiraled out of control, he began experiencing nightmares of epic proportions. Gargantuan snakes, ferocious tigers and blood thirsty lions haunted his dreams nightly. He knew things were heading to a tragic end. So he went back to the beginning. He began calling out to the only god he knew: Allah. The moon god… the bearer of the crescent and the sword. Things changed quickly…for the worse! The addictions grew deeper and wider. The nightmares multiplied with a vengeance. It seemed the more he cried out to his god, the more desperate and horrific his life became.

And then…it came to his mind. Seemingly out of nowhere. Many years ago, he had a chance encounter with a man in Addis Ababa. An elderly man told him about Jesus . “He told me Jesus was not just a prophet, as I had been told. Rather Jesus was ‘The Prophet’, the ‘Son of God’, the ‘Savior of the World’, ‘God in the flesh’. It was a 2-minute conversation. Literally.”

“I never acknowledged that conversation…but I never forgot it.”
A Seed had been planted. Eight years later, and 1,000 miles away, it germinated. In God’s perfect time and way…

As Ahmed testifies…
“I prayed to this Jesus. This God the man had told me about. I prayed by myself. No one was with me. I had spoken to no one about anything.”

The rebirth was immediate. The transformation began. Ahmed was now a Christian. He promptly sought out an Evangelical Ethiopian church in Nairobi. That was 3 years ago. He met and married his wife from that church. And, with a big smile, he told me…

“I never had another nightmare. I sleep like an infant!”

Ahmed serves in that same church and leads a Home Fellowship group. He was introduced to the DSM Bible Institute by another Ethiopian pastor. He is now in his 6th semester, attending one-half day per week. God willing, we will have the privilege to disciple Ahmed for another 2+ years.

Watering the Seed planted so many years ago.

To this day, the Ethiopian evangelist is unknown to Ahmed…and to us. But known to God. The glory belongs not to Ahmed, nor the evangelist….only to God. What remains is our Call to Duty: to sow the Seed! To plant, and plant, and replant without regard to what we see or feel or even think. The farmer does not plant by sight. It is always by Faith. Always “seeing” the “end”…when others see only a vacant, lifeless field.

Too much time is spent trying to “attract” unbelievers, to entice them, to woo them. Constantly qualifying, coddling and preparing the ground before them. With colorful panoramas, attractive venues, enticing music and comfortable cushioned seats. “We want a conducive atmosphere!” We pander and plead with carnal enticements, scripted church services and orchestrated altar calls. Wooing instead of Warning. Planning instead of Planting. Eventually we engineer the Holy Spirit right out of our churches. In the meantime, the Muslims, the Scientologists, the Mormons and the cultists are ceaselessly sowing Tares…with simplicity and fervency. And harvesting heaps of deceived souls.

It’s time to start simply sowing the Seed again… without ceasing. Without presumptive prejudice in where it might land or how it might be received. Let’s do the simple part God asks of us. And leave the rest in His all-capable hands.

Life springs forth only from Seeds planted.
Seeds already Underground… not in our hands.