We spent this week in the Mucubal communities of Cavulukamue I and II. Some months back, David and our colleague Dan, along with a couple of our Kuvale translators had done a small recon to the area, and had promised to return.
After the usual formalities in the regional town of Virei were complete, we drove out to Cavulukamue and found the local chief. He helped us find a shady spot to set up camp and we began to reconnect with him regarding why we had come. Some of the locals brought sugarcane to share with us, and friendships were immediately kindled as we conversed in the sandy riverbed under the trees.
The people of Cavulukamue, like so many in the Mucubal tribe, are in a season of devastating drought. There is desperate need for the rains to come. The drought is so bad that rivers haven’t flown steady in eight years. The one we were camped next to, should have been flowing by this time of year, and instead it was so dry that it acted as a giant sandpit for our kids to play in. The desperation of the people was tangible.
We held a meeting during the following afternoon and the people came, but with one resounding question: “If God is good, then where is the rain? Why are we suffering so, if He is good?” It’s an understandable sentiment, isn’t it? We responded with love and truth, and put our faith on the line that God would indeed demonstrate His own power and goodness to them in their area of need.
The next morning, the heavens indeed opened and rain fell heavy throughout the morning. I sat under our caravan’s awning, doing some homeschool with the girls and marveling at how God was speaking for Himself during that time. I wondered if we would actually have a meeting as planned that afternoon, or if it would be rained off! I actually hoped it would be rained off as the people absorbed the blessings of God being poured out on them. There didn’t feel much need to say things ourselves, when He was clearly speaking already!
In those moments under the awning though, God spoke something sweet to me. Something beyond the rain, something that is permanently true in the face of temporary circumstance. “This is just rain, Fiona.” He whispered, “What I really want, is to pour out my Spirit on these people. What they need more than the rain, is life in me. I send the rain only to demonstrate what abundance and faithful provision looks like. They asked for rain, and I am sending rain. But I want you to ask me to open heaven and pour out my Spirit on these people. I will come in even greater measure than the most abundant rains!”
And so my prayer is exactly that, that the Mucubal tribe and Angola’s other remote people groups, would become friends of God and vessels of His presence. That the heavens would open wide and that His life-giving spirit would flow into even the driest and darkest of places.