Fly, Fly Butterfly 🦋

I woke up that Sunday morning very early with a deep sense of conviction and immense weight of responsibility weighing on me. I went for my prayer walk, took a bath, and dressed up for church. I cranked up that VW turbocharged diesel engine and let it idle for a while. I turned on the media player as I drive off, playing a punchy Damara gospel song.

The Holy Spirit is blowing on me as that lady narrates the story of her life with gratitude over that instrumental. If you can imagine, there’s some life in my driving, some vigor, some grit, the way I maneuver that German midi bus on these city roads. Sometimes I drive like my father. I can't drive like I have forever; I'm trying to bring the whole city to the church house. I arrive on on the outskirts of Katutura, on the west side of Havana. I woke the guys up, and they quickly got ready. If you know these guys, you'll understand it's a miracle they are going with me to church today. I have about seven of them in the bus today.

There's nothing diplomatic about these guys. Victims of sinister forces, they've been dubbed Malalapipe (a name given to those written off in society as good-for-nothing). Hold a conversation with them, and you will learn they are but treasures in the rubble. In the city, they guard cars, make your life easy, help you park your car, and give you a sense of security that your car is safe as you walk away. They might even do a quick wash for you at a bargain price if you stop and listen. We all know the city is full of tsotsis (criminals), lurking and looking for a chance to pounce. They only need 30 seconds to break your heart. So these car guards, even in their fallen state, still play a crucial role in society. Say what you want; these are the souls that God loves, precious in his sight.

I remember weeping for their souls some time back in the city center. I would gather them, and we would have church right there in the open. There I preached my first sermon. I didn't see any fruit back then but I saw the ground break. Elvis broke down in tears weeping, convicted by the love of God that day. He tore out the sermon from my book and begged to go with it. It has been over a year since, maybe two. Today I have a positive feeling, it might be harvest season, you know. Atleast I'm hoping so. I dont know, perhaps God saw my tears.

Butterfly gave his life to Jesus that sunday morning at that good ole church on the hilltop in Otjomuise 3. After church, everybody dispersed, some went to their dwellings, Butterfly went to town to go struggle for a few bucks.  But something strange happened, Butterfly came back for the evening service.

The chances for this guys to come for the evening service are close to impossible, the fact that the butterfly came around for round two is a miracle. He responded to the alter call one last time. God was was calling him forth and he didn't wanna leave his fate to chance, he came out in the open "Here I am". And I can  imagine him with tears in his eyes, crying out, "Son of David, have mercy on me, a sinner".

I drove him off that night; he had the front passenger sit. For me, he was the only one worthy to sit on that chair that day. We laughed, joked and just shared some good moment as I dropped him off that night. Couldn't have imagined it to be so, but that was the last time I saw him. He went to sleep that night and never woke up. I heard the news some days later, "Butterfly is gone." He took his wings, flapped them and he flew away, he went home to be with the Lord. Like the thief on the cross he cried out to Jesus on the last minute and the Lord didn't shut him out.

Every now and then when I'm somewhere on a mission, when it gets hard, I close my eyes and I see Butterfly smiling down. cheering me, urging me too press on.

I sang this line in one of my song way before he died. "Fly, fly Butterfly, I wanna see you fly, and touch the highest sky". Didn't know this is how it would play out, coz I wasn't even referring to you.

Some wait for the last minute, when they don't even know when is the last minute. I know you didn't imagine that that would be your last minute. I am glad you took time to come with me that day. It was an honour to walk you to the gates my brother, until I see you again. I'm still on the road, so make some room for me and my friends. By God's grace I will see you again, my brother.