He couldn't have been more than seven years old.  And yet his "amen!" was just as loud as anyone in the church.  and his singing just as passionate.  He sat across from us every night in worship.  It wasn't just cute or adorable.  There was something about it.  Something I had to feel was more than a child emulating the adults around him.  This little guy seemed to display a genuine joy in what he was doing.  And when I preached at night he was focused.  And it seemed more than just wanting to look at the "feringe" on stage.  He seemed eager to listen

Later in the week, I grabbed one of our translators and talked with him.  I asked him if he wanted to be a preacher one day.  He said he hoped so.  I do to.  I prayed with him, asking God to raise him up as a godly man who is bold and filled with a love for Christ.

This little guy and the believers who gather around him live in a village that is predominantly Muslim.  Every evening during worship, the call to pray at the local mosque penetrated the air as we spoke of the one true hope of every person on earth.  Though ninety percent of their village do not worship Jesus, they do.  And they do it with a passion.  We didn't understand the words or know the songs.  We mostly stood and watched.  Yet what I saw was a people who love Jesus even though so many around them do not.

Sunday morning I shared with them from Philippians chapter one about the joy we have in Christ.  I quickly found I wasn't telling them anything new.  We weren't learning; we were celebrating together.  All of us.  Even my little preacher boy.