I caught glimpses of him every few moments, bobbing in and out of a sea of excited people. His expression was sometimes joyous, sometimes pensive. But the instants of recognition or disbelief over the faces of his fellow Sudanese were the moments when I saw a man like Joseph.
As I listened, I was reminded of another world, right there in front of us, but beyond our sight. The world apart from my aluminum airplane and the smell of Sudan. A world of spirits and souls, where a battle rages, and those who dare run to the fight come back with tales of war.
My back made a familiar popping sensation as I tried to pull the 50 kilo sack of sugar from the pod. My first flight back. My very first bit of cargo, and my back dutifully gives out on me. Here in Sudan the land is so tortured and pained itself, it almost seems fitting that I should be in agony as I fly over it.
It has something to do with this work of building God’s kingdom not being easy. And it has something to do with people who are willing to join the fight and be spent in the effort—sweat, and tears.
The uncertainty, apprehension, and lack of control are all part of the package. But, even at the onset, there is a suspicion that what a person takes away from two weeks in Africa will be much more than what he leaves behind.
As for me, I get down to see Sudan as God does from time to time. It is a rare privilege to walk with some of the Christians here when I do, and always a joy to have a few scruffy, smiling children at my heels. Once you have walked here, it never does look the same again from the air.