Under Ghana's Sky

"What do you want to say in your speech?" I sat at the keyboard, ready to transcribe the words of my 11-year-old son, Aidan.

"What I really want to say is I want to be school treasurer so our class can raise money for wells in Africa," he said.

His words surprised me. "When did you start wanting to dig wells?"

"Around the dinner table, you and Dad mentioned Africa's need for wells."

"But that was months ago," I said.

He smiled. "Just put it in the speech, please."

As he stepped out of the school bus on election day, Aidan's downward gaze made my heart sink.

"I didn't win," he told me.

I began a mommy lecture about how I'd lost elections, too, and I was sorry.

Aidan put his hand up to stop my flow of words. "Mom," he said, "you don't understand. It's not the election. God has burned in me a desire to dig wells in Africa, and I can't get it out of my heart."

Stunned, I marveled at the clear work of God in my sixth-grader. That evening, my husband, Patrick, and I met our missions pastor for dinner. We told him about Aidan's dream. The pastor created a well fund at our church so Aidan could start raising money.

Desperate need

Soon after, we learned about a well project in northern Ghana for the village Sankpem, which desperately needed water. Nearly every year a woman died in the daily trek for water — up to 10 kilometers one way. The project was not fully funded, so Aidan began raising money.

He soon brought in enough money to finish the project.

Then he found out about a missions trip scheduled near Sankpem. As Aidan and I prepared for the trip, we received discouraging news. The drilling company dug in one surefire location and came up with nothing — just shale and dashed hopes.

A little later another e-mail crushed Aidan. They tried again but didn't hit water this time either. Even so, Aidan wanted to set foot on the soil that refused to give its water. He wanted to meet the villagers and see Sankpem for himself.

On our way

As we flew into Accra, Ghana's capital, Aidan looked at me wistfully. "I've been waiting a long time for this. It's a dream come true."

The next morning we boarded a small plane to Tamale in the northern region. Our new friend Paul Napari met us there, smiling widely. He'd served as the liaison between our suburban Texas life and the waterless village of Sankpem. "You are famous in our house," he told Aidan. "We speak your name often."

The following day we ventured to Sankpem. Aidan and I watched the African landscape blur by from the van windows.

We pulled up near a slight rise of shale to our left. "This is the first site," Paul told us. He picked up a handful of gray gravel, a sharp contrast to the red earth. "They didn't find water here. Just this."

Back in the van, we rode through the small village. Children greeted us as they ran alongside the van, shouting, laughing, pointing. We pulled beyond the village to a trailhead leading to the second site.

This time we ventured through tall grass to a gentle rise. Cows grazed nearby, and a gentle breeze calmed the humid heat around us. Paul told us a similar story and showed us more of the same gray rock. We stood on the site and prayed that God would bring water to Sankpem.

From boy to man

Afterward, we greeted the village elder in his mud hut. "I am sorry that we don't have water," he said through Paul. "I am grieved that you've spent so much money — for nothing. If we had found water, today would be a day of celebration."

We wanted to promise him water, to fill his hopeless heart with hope, but we couldn't. Instead, we left with a renewed vigor to help Sankpem get water. Paul told us there was a strong possibility to run a pipeline from an adjacent village.

On the rest of the trip, Aidan grew in so many ways. Walking through garbage-strewn neighborhoods, our team shared the Gospel with the residents of Tamale. One day, I asked Aidan if he wanted me to go with him. "No, Mom," he said. "I want to go with Emmanuel." So he and Emmanuel, a seminary student who served as companion and translator, shared Christ with many people.

Aidan saw several people accept Christ's message of hope. "This trip so far has changed my life," Aidan told me. "I will never be the same. My worldview is completely changed. I'm amazed that people were listening to what I said when I shared Jesus.

"When I left for Ghana, I prayed one person would come to Jesus. Today three did. I didn't realize God was so powerful until now."

A new name

Earlier, Pastor Mohammed, who hosted our team, gave Aidan a new name, Wuntima. Paul wrote to Aidan after we returned to the States:

"Wuntima, you really lived your name, which means 'God has given me.' You have actually been a gift to us. Your time spent in northern Ghana was more helpful, encouraging and motivating than words can describe. You indeed have left an indelible mark of compassion, love and great passion for the Great Commission on our minds. . . . This certainly would not have been done had God not brought you. I pray that you will not rest until you are back next year for us to continue with this unfinished job."

Changed lives

Many months ago, God dropped a dream into a sixth-grade boy's heart. He watered it, nurtured it, then let it come to full bloom under the wide sky of Ghana — changing Aidan's life and the lives of others.

"Mom," Aidan said on one of our last days in Ghana, "it was all God's will."

"What do you mean?"

"The election. Remember when I lost?"

I nodded.

"Everything that's happened, God ordained. If I'd won the election, I would not be here today."