Sibri's Heart (by Ken Cantrell)

Ken & Ginny Cantrell
Missionaries to Burkina Faso

It was a day like most days in Burkina Faso, the temperature had reached its peak, quite possibly 103 degrees.  In our room I had just gotten cleaned up, that is washing the sweat from my brow, when there was a knock at the door.

“Pastor Sibri is here, sir,” the man said.  I walked outside to greet our Assistant Superintendent.  He is an elderly man for Africa, most likely in his late 50s.  Thin around the belt with specks of grey in his hair.  He greeted me in typical African style, first a handshake and then an embrace.

It was not clear why he had come to visit.  I believe it was just to see where we were staying.  We talked about my vision for Burkina Faso and how the North American churches had prayed on a map of Burkina Faso as we deputized raising our support in preparation of coming to Burkina Faso.  We continued our conversation, talking first about the beginning of Bible school classes, and then I showed him pictures of our children and grandson in the States.   It was a time of connecting our hearts together for one purpose — to see Burkina Faso, West Africa bring in a great harvest of souls.

Pastor Sibri carried a worn leather sack with him.  At the time the contents were unknown to me.  Maybe it was full of important documents, possibly official church papers.  In my bag were my laptop, a calculator, money, passports, and such.   His worn hands reached down for the bag as I waited to see the secrets it contained.  Within the worn leather sack were several stacks of paper.  More important than a laptop, more important than official church papers, more important than pictures of family and friend — the stack of papers were invitations and teaching on salvation.  Some were written in French and some were in the Moore (more-ray) language.   The bag must have had over 60 or so tracts that he had purposed to give out.

This great pastor had one objective that day — to evangelize his city.  After an hour or so of us communicating in my broken French, he exclaimed that it was time for him to go.  We finished our drink and I walked with him to the gate.  “Where was his moto (motorcycle)?”  I wondered, “Did he take a taxi here?”  I know he lives at least four miles from where we were standing.  He then walked to his bicycle that was most likely 20 years old.  This pastor had spent a part of his day traveling to greet me and was evangelizing all along the way.

Emotions filled my heart as my thoughts continued, “Would I be able to evangelize my city with a few tracks in hand, riding an old bicycle – or would I find yet another excuse to live another day not making any difference at all?”

This day I found the heart of a man, a man who is serving Christ while living the great commission (Matthew 28:19).  Off he rode on his bicycle.  I stood watching him leave — I was changed!