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By Yala Kawala, LIBERIA
At seven years of age I was terribly distressed. I had heard the story that God had a Son and that He died on the cross. Then I heard people singing about my sins putting Him to death. I was beside myself thinking that I had killed the Son of God Almighty.
I heard that fragment of the gospel for the first time in our village in Northern Liberia. There was no church near us, so I had never before heard the gospel story of Jesus. Our people worshiped the traditional gods like rivers, rocks, trees, animals, etc. My father worshiped a river. I remember going twice with him to that river, but I was too young to remember how he worshiped there. He encouraged many people to accept positions in a traditional occult society. Other members of his family were also involved.
We were a large family. My father had ten wives and numerous children. We were subsistence farmers, growing enough to feed us and keeping some for seed. Because of the occult society, there was no school. When any of our older brothers wanted to go to school, they left home and went out on their own.
My father had another house besides the one in the main village. He and two friends built houses along the highway that went from our district headquarters to the capital. We lived in either place, depending on where we farmed.
We were in the highway house when one of my uncles came to our house for the weekend. He was attending school at the district headquarters. I loved hearing and telling our traditional stories. I also really enjoyed the story of Julius Caesar which an older brother had told us. So when my uncle came, we all gathered around him thinking we would hear about Julius Caesar again. But he surprised us by telling us that God Almighty had a Son. When he said that I was overwhelmed. I thought, “How can God have a Son? Is God married? How many wives does He have?” Because my tribe worshiped many gods, God Almighty has a name in our language that refers only to Him.
My uncle got as far as saying that God’s Son’s name is Jesus. Jesus came to this world and was killed on a cross. He may have told more, but we had to leave to go work on the farm
What I heard made me scared. “Who laid a hand on the Son of God to kill Him? Who was brave enough to go against Him?” When we prayed to our gods we said, “If God Almighty agrees, then we ask for so and so.” So even our gods were subject to God Almighty. Now how can you kill the Son of the Almighty?” I kept thinking about that.
One thing made me glad: I was not the one who had killed the Son of God. It happened many, many years ago. Since I wasn’t there, I wasn’t in the bad books of the Almighty.
A few days later the only evangelist living in the area came with his team to my father’s house to hold a service. He had gone to Sweden to train and was sent back to preach the gospel to his own people. He went about from village to village. His preaching was straightforward against the gods the people worshiped, which offended many people.
When the evangelist and his team came to my father’s house, some people wondered if we should welcome him. But my father called everyone to worship. His philosophy was that there were too many religions in the world, and we do not know which one is right. He thought we should cover all religions. So every religion he heard about he would send one or two of his wives or children to become members. He reasoned that when we stood at heaven’s gate, the ones with the right religion could talk on behalf of the rest of the family.
Before the service started, someone sent me to the creek to fetch some water. When I was returning I heard them singing, “They nailed Jesus to the cross because of your sin.” I said, “No, no, no. I wasn’t even there. It happened a long, long time ago. Why were they accusing me?” So I stayed outside. I thought if I entered the service I would be admitting that Jesus died because of my sin.
They sang some more and preached, but I didn’t hear another thing. I kept arguing with myself. I thought these people didn’t even know me and they were lying that it was my sin that killed the Son of God. But the more I argued with myself, the more I became convinced that I was the one.
For several days I was unusually quiet. When anyone asked me what was wrong, I said, “Nothing.” I was afraid to tell people because I thought they would reject me if they knew I killed the Son of God, or worse still they would drive me out into the forest or kill me to remove the curse from the family and the town.
When the uncle, who first told us the story, came, I thought I would tell him. He would clear my name. He knew the story better than the people who sang. But what if he confirmed that I was the guilty one? Life would be over for me. So I wavered.
The day before my uncle left, I decided I could not live like that any longer. So I confided in him my fears. He said, “Do you want to know the truth?” At first I said “no” and started to cry fearing he would take away the small hope that I was innocent.
He said, “God’s Son wasn’t forced. Nobody forced Him to let Himself be killed. He volunteered to do that for you. No one can force the Son of God. He has power like His Father. But the doom that you imagined is because of your sins. The wrath of God was coming to overtake you and destroy you. The punishment was coming on you. But Jesus looked at His Father and said, ‘This guy cannot take Your wrath. I will take it for him.’ So the wrath of God came on Jesus. That is what killed Him.”
I could relate to that story. My older brothers sometimes took the beatings for the younger children from our father, a harsh disciplinarian. Because big brothers would do that for us, I could believe the Son of God doing that for me. My uncle continued, “God is not mad with you. Jesus did not stay in the grave; He arose again, overcoming death just for your sake.”
I wanted to do something for the Son of God to show Him I really appreciated Him. In my culture if a person offends the gods, he sacrifices a chicken, a goat or a bull according to the degree of offense. I said I would sacrifice a bull. My uncle finally convinced me that as a child I owned nothing, and all I had to do was raise my hands and thank Jesus that He saved me. So I raised my hands and thanked Jesus. Something happened; I felt light, as if a weight rolled off my shoulders. Jesus came into my life; I felt His presence and power.
The next year I went to school. The evangelist had also built a house and a school along the highway, so many of the kids in the area attended his school. Church services were held during weekends, but my brothers and I had to work on the farm. Sometimes we would hide and attend the services, but my father threatened to take us out of school.
I prayed that I could go to school in a place where I also could attend Sunday services. I was praying to go to the school at the county headquarters, but God made a way for me to go to school near the capital, Monrovia. An uncle, who is a pastor, came and took me to live with him. He was a father to me, caring for me physically and spiritually.
I began 4th grade at the company school where my uncle worked. Only children whose biological parent worked for the company were allowed in that school, but my uncle obtained permission to register me. I had double promotion each year, so in two years I finished 8th grade. The company was giving scholarships to two of the graduates that year. My uncle asked if I qualified to take the scholarship exam since I was a nephew. The director said that as a graduate from the school, I was eligible.
I took the test and passed. I enjoyed the scholarship for two years and then it was taken away from me. The new deputy managing director probably had a run-in with my uncle before my uncle was a Christian. It may be this was a way of getting even.
When the company staff met, they checked my grades and found them to be the second highest in the school. One staff member said, “A scholarship should be given to scholars. Look at the grades this boy made! It is not fair that we take away the scholarship. How can we help him?”
They decided to divide the cost of the tuition among themselves. Each one signed a check and gave it to the chief accountant. So God overruled and allowed me to continue in the fine Christian boarding high school where I also got good teaching in the Word of God.
I graduated from the school and went to the university before our civil war began in December, 1989. Like others in my country, I went through very hard times living in war zones and in refugee camps. My worst experience happened when my pastor sent another brother and me to care for the house of another church member, a Nigerian who had gone away on vacation. Since Nigeria was helping the government soldiers, the rebels were at war with them. They wanted to loot the fine, big house.
The rebels surrounded the house and ordered whoever was inside to jump on the fence. I did as ordered. One rebel ran under me and pointed his machine gun and fired until he emptied the magazine. Not one bullet hit me. Some of the rebels thought I had strong witchcraft that made me bullet proof, so they withdrew. But other guys came behind me, tied me up and beat me unconscious. One of them decided to kill me, but another rebel begged him to release me. So they cut the ropes, took their loot and left.
After my war experiences, a sponsor sent me to America to continue my schooling. I studied business so I could make money to help my family in the aftermath of war. But through a series of events the Lord directed me to take a Master’s degree in counseling. His call on my life is to minister to those who have been traumatized by the civil war.
To all you readers, I would like to say that for me life has been knowing Jesus Christ. If I had not known Him, bullets would have killed me long ago. There were other incidents during the war when I should have been killed, but the Lord intervened each time. Also, He has provided for me every step of the way. By His grace, God gave me the schooling I prayed for. He has also worked in the hearts of my family. My mother, brothers and sisters are all Christians. Two of my brothers led my father to the Lord on his death bed.
Knowing that I am in God’s will, that I am living as He directs, and that I am walking in Jesus’ ways, I have true peace. I say to everyone, life is really in Jesus.
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