Water cooler or "coffee talk" doesn't exist where I was in Africa...

Water Cooler or "Coffee Talk" Doesn't exist where I was in Africa...

From: "It's Not Okay With Me" by Janine Maxwell

"The morning after I got back from Africa, I was having coffee in our room at ONYX. I was off in my own world when a few of my office team members came in and started asking questions about my trip. Where could I begin to tell them what I had seen? How could I explain the raw situation of life and death in Africa over a cup of java? Water cooler or "coffee talk" doesn't exist where I was in Africa, not just because they don't have water coolers or coffee talk, but because what they talk about is important. I didn't once have a discussion or overhear a conversation with anyone in Zambia or Kenya that wasn't important. Some dialogues were about life and some about death. Somer were about food and some water. Some were about their God and some salvation. Some were about their past and some about their future, but none were about nothing. None were gossip or exchanges about the weather. When Africans speak, they have something to say. When they don't have something important or relevant to say, they are silent. Oh, how we could learn that lesson and keep our lives in peace.

I was thinking about what she said here...how much countless time do we spend talking about things that don't make a difference? I think of the things I've posted on facebook...why? Is it bragging, boredom, do I really think that my 170 + close friends really want to know...I think I'm hoping they do and I'm waiting for a response, (many times you see 20 responses on the funnel cake at SDC or the silly thing that the cat did...but, absolutely zero response to something about dying children...that statistic should alarm us). Maybe, just maybe if I busied myself with God's business then I wouldn't find a need to always talk about things that don't matter in eternity. Does that mean...no fun? I had to ask myself that question. I think no... I want to still have fun and enjoy my friends. But, what if the majority of my time was spent on important things? Focusing on the urgency of those dying with out Jesus. What if.

So, as I read another portion of her book...I thought...when are these kids "having fun" or getting on "facebook" to waste hours playing farmville or to type about going to Starbucks or the $100 new hair, or my newest vacation...when do these kids pack up and go on a vacation? Instead...this is what I read (and by the way...you should get the book):

This is after Janine got back from Africa and was sharing w/ her co-workers and others about what she experienced:

"When she was a little girl both her mother and father beat her. This is very common in Africa, and every child expects to be beaten. Not spanked, but beaten, for any and all offenses. Beatings happen to someone in the house on a daily basis and when they commence, all who are not in that immediate beating, scatter to the corners of the hut to escape. African children are beaten with sticks, whips, pots, wire, or anything else that is close at hand. Elizabeth was used to the beatings and expected them. She was also used to her father having sex with her. This had been happening with great regularity for a couple of years before her sixth birthday. Again, this is not an uncommon occcurrence on the continent of Africa. What could she do? her mom had to know. the hut where she lived was tiny, and the land fairly sparse. It couldn't have been a secret. But, in fact, in many cases the mothers in Africa welcome their daughters getting to an age that their husband can have sex with the girl, as it takes pressures off the mother and lessens her chance of getting pregnant again or contracting another sexually transmitted disease. It was the girl's unspoken duty. And besides, she is young. She will forget. Life is hard in Africa. The earlier she learns that, the better.
Elizabeth withstood the beatings and the rape day after day. Many days, there was no food in the house, and those were the hardest days to endure the torture. At least with a full belly she could escape in her mind to her favorite tree, but with no food in three days, the forced sex was unbearable. One day when Elizabeth's mother was out, her father came to her again, but this time it was different. This time he brought her older brother with him. Together they raped her six-year-old body. When they were finished, she cleaned up and walked out. Life on the street had to be better than this. she walked out of her village, left her life behind, and headed toward Eldoret where she would find a new family who would feed her and care for her and maybe even love her. She would take her chances. It had to be better than home. Sadly, she quickly found out, it was not.
Ralph, (this was a man who was Janine was sharing her stories with), sat in stunned silence. He wasn't looking at me or at the green or at his Stella Artois. He just looked. He was empty. There was a long silence, and then there was more silence. Then he asked his practical lawyer question, "What are you going to do?" I told him about raising $25,000 and building a playground.
He said, "Put me in for five." Put him in for five? What did that mean? Five what? I too, was stunned.
"Five thousand," he said. Our fund-raising had begun, and my casual conversations over coffee at golf or at dinner parties had changed forever.

What if...just what if...all of our conversations changed. What if 90% or more was on the important stuff, the important stuff to God...what if? And what if many tore their hearts open and gave?