Committed group sparks renewal
by Tim Ramsey
When you hear the word fire, you are filled with contrasting emotions. You may instantly be afraid or have a sense of joy. The thought of fire may bring anguish or comfort, pain or pleasure, flight or fantasy. We are both attracted to it and repulsed by it. Human survival depends on fire's life giving warmth, and we need its flames to cook our food. Harnessed as energy, fire moves our cars and industry. It is indispensable to us.
For me, fire evokes powerful memories of pulsing adrenaline, smoke-rimmed eyes, and ragged breathing while fighting grass fires in the pampas of eastern Bolivia. I recall my family struggling to beat out flames with leafy branches as the fires sought to devour kilometers of ironwood fence posts surrounding the Ayoré village of Zapocó; then watching in dismay as posts smoldered and distempered barbed wire sagged, allowing the mission cattle to flee into the surrounding jungles. The Ayorés who set the fire never considered the costly destruction they had caused. For them, it was merely a question of safety and comfort--burned fields would mean land free of ticks and snakes.
Another memory of fire I have is a ride late one night on a flatcar at the back of a train, pulled by a steam engine on Bolivia's narrow gauge railroad. The firebox dumped hot coals beneath the train, leaving a red, glowing snake visible for miles in the twilight of the jungle. It evoked both awe and fear in my fourteen-year-old heart; awe for the sheer beauty of the sight and fear as I recalled stories of how such embers had consumed railroad ties and surrounding forests.
Above: Campers at Monte Blanco (left) enjoy the bonfire and (right) receive prayer.
But I also have sweet memories of countless campfires which evoke romantic images of my childhood as well as quiet moments with my wife and children and solitary moments with God in wilderness settings. One of my earliest memories is of perching with my brother, Nathan, and my father 900 feet above the jungle floor on a solid granite dome near our childhood home of Zapocó. Above us were the innumerable stars of the universe and beside us was the glowing warmth and comfort of a campfire.
Recently I have sat on the eucalyptus logs surrounding the campfire pit at Monte Blanco and tearfully watched as hundreds of youth have stood to confess their sins and accept Jesus Christ as their Savior. The fire in the background could not have burned brighter than the fire of joy in my heart.
Yes, indeed, there are many memories associated with fire and many lessons we all can learn from it. One such lesson is that fire begins with small spark.
In the case of a nuclear explosion, the triggering device (spark) must set off what is called a critical mass. This is the term used for the precise amount of force needed to split an atom. This split atom provokes a chain reaction which becomes the most powerful force man has invented. As LATCOM teaches principles of leadership in Latin America, critical mass is used to describe a small group of committed people who can bring about change in an organization or nation. It is estimated that it requires only 5% of key leaders in a community or a nation, deeply committed to a cause, to effect permanent change. Just as a small spark in a nuclear bomb can ignite a chain reaction, so too can a small spark in society light a movement, either negatively or positively.
For the past seven years, we have been privileged to present the Gospel and have trained leaders within Bolivia in order to bring about positive change in the nation. We understand that the critical mass needed for Latin America must be leaders who are committed to the Lord, love their spouses and families, and who work and lead with a Christian world view. We focus our ministries on achieving this result.
LATCOM is a relatively small mission with a huge ministry; a spark that is building the critical mass which hopes to ignite a continent-wide change in South America.•
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