Thank you, Je-sus,
Thank you, Lo-ord.
You brought me fro-om
A mighty long way, mighty long way.
“And it made no sense to me, this singing! Why were they thanking Him for all of their troubles? I’d ask myself. But
see, I was only looking at the horizontal dimension of their lives!”
“Tell it now!”
“I didn’t understand that they were talking about the vertical dimension! About their relationship to God! I didn’t
understand that they were thanking Him in advance for all that they dared to hope for in me! Oh, I thank you, Jesus, for
not letting go of me when I let go of you! Oh yes, Jesus, I thank you....”
As the choir lifted back up into song, as the congregation began to applaud those who were walking to the altar to
accept Reverend Wright’s call, I felt a light touch on the top of my hand. I looked down to see the older of the two boys
sitting beside me, his face slightly apprehensive as he handed me a pocket tissue. Beside him, his mother glanced at me
with a faint smile before turning back toward the altar. It was only as I thanked the boy that I felt the tears running
down my cheeks.
“Oh, Jesus,” I heard the older woman beside me whisper softly. “Thank you for carrying us this far.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I FLEW OUT OF HEATHROW Airport under stormy skies. A group of young British men dressed in ill-fitting
blazers filled the back of the plane, and one of them-a pale, gangly youth, still troubled with acne-took the seat beside
me. He read over the emergency instructions twice with great concentration, and once we were airborne, he turned to
ask where I was headed. I told him I was traveling to Nairobi to visit my family.
“Nairobi’s a beautiful place, I hear. Wouldn’t mind stopping off there one of these days. Going to Johannesburg, I
am.” He explained that as part of a degree program in geology, the British government had arranged for him and his
classmates to work with South African mining companies for a year. “Seems like they have a shortage of trained people
there, so if we’re lucky they’ll take us on for a permanent spot. Best chance we have for a decent wage, I reckon-unless
you’re willing to freeze out on some bleeding North Sea oil rig. Not for me, thank you.”
I mentioned that if given the chance, a lot of black South Africans might be interested in getting such training.
“Well, I’d imagine you’re right about that,” he said. “Don’t much agree with the race policy there. A shame, that.” He
thought for a moment. “But then the rest of Africa’s falling apart now, isn’t it? Least from what I can tell. The blacks in