The smog lies like a thick grey haze over the whole city. At first, I thought it was fog or a mist from off the lake, but finally realized that this was just like the smog in L.A. back in 1970. You could see the slight veil of grey even down just one block. Add that to the poverty, squalor, and the overpopulation here, and you have a scene from some apocalyptic movie. It’s also a good picture of the spiritual landscape here. There is a layer of spiritual darkness and oppression in the air that lies like that smog over this whole area.
Life is hard here, especially for the masses of humanity who are under the poverty level. I see them everyday, trudging up the roads, looking for work or some opportunity to make it through this day, and go back to their hovels at night only to start it over tomorrow. What resilience there is here! They just keep trudging along, pushing through life for one more day of survival. Somewhere buried down there has to be a slender ray of hope for something more.
But underneath this is a widespread faith in God, maybe born out of that same desperation. And that may be why their faith is so easy to ignite. Each African country that I have been to has a different type and level of sincerity and faith. Here in the Congo, it is simple, hard, and uncomplicated. They just need God more than others, and that desperation acts like vinegar to cut away the grease of superficial Christianity. The world does not offer them much of anything. Their only hope is in God.
Maybe that’s why I got so sick over here four times! Twice with food poisoning, once with a flu-like cold, and once with who-knows-what-it-was. We did two 3-day seminars on revival and somebody must have telephoned Satan to let him know I was here, because all of a sudden, he woke up and for the next two weeks, I went through a deluge. I had to cancel two church services and missed the last day of the 3-day crusade because I could hardly stand up, never mind preach. The good thing was that the brothers here stood up in my place and took over. Proof that they don’t need me anywhere near as much as they claim.
One of the things that feels like the highest praise to me is that during the crusade that I missed, the pastors that were there said that my host, Pastor John, sounded like himself when he started preaching, but once he warmed up and got going, he sounded just like Brother Dale. To be more correct, he fell into the same Spirit that flows through me. If I am able to affect the next generation of preachers like that, then that is truly high praise.
So now I am on my last ride home. I will not miss the long hours on the planes, the hotel rooms that begin to feel like a shoebox after a month or so, the African diet, the dirt and mud that is everywhere, the broken fixtures, the insane traffic, and the constant need for more than you can give. But its’ the faces that I will miss. Always the faces. So many stories written into the eyes that look at you with longing and hope for what only God can give them.
Tens of thousands have been saved, hundreds have been supernaturally healed, and there’s no telling how many churches have been revived and set on fire. I didn’t start the fire or fan the flames – I just planted the idea that was written in the Word of God. The Anointing accompanied me everywhere we went, and that is what made it all come alive. They recognized God, and they believed Him, and the seed that was planted in them will germinate and grow into the harvest that is surely coming. I am done and have transferred the anointing and commission to the leaders that are there on the ground that God has chosen. They will take it the rest of the way.
As for me? Oh, there’ll be something come along in due time, I imagine. I’m not rushing it. I been talkin’ for a while about setting on that porch with Cindy watching the grass grow. I think I might give that a shot for a while.
Brother Dale
Dale@revivalfire.org