For God so loved the world

Today I feel incredibly privileged to be a follower of this amazing God.  This God who created the universe without lifting a finger, who tilted the earth on her axis, who holds the stars in the palm of his hand, is the same God who provided a way of salvation for all humanity.  This great God fills all time and space...

and yet his love is so great that he knows the favorite color of every child in Africa.  This God so loved the world that he gave his only Son....

If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink

Because of the generosity of my coworkers at U-Pack, I was able to bring 29 Waves for Water water filters with me to Burkina Faso.  We have begun passing them out to the families who the missionaries know, the families with the greatest need for clean water.  Twenty-nine water filters equals twenty nine million gallons of clean, purified water to replace the disease-infested, death-bringing water that the majority of the population here drinks.  I am overjoyed to be able to meet practical needs in such a way, to be able to be the hands and feet of Jesus and follow the commandment that is so obvious in the verse, "I was thirsty and ye gave me drink" (Matthew 25:35). 

And yet I have to swallow a lump of sadness every time we give out a water filter, because I know that for every family we help, there are hundreds, thousands, who have yet to receive clean water.  Countless children who still ingest dangerous parasites every day in the water that they must drink to sustain their lives.  What sad irony. 

But Jesus reminds me that worse yet is the fact that there are millions here who do not know the Living Water.  They have never been introduced to the Sustainer God who holds creation in his hand.  He is the life-force, the River of Living Water who spoke humanity into existence and calls all nations to repentance. 

And He is the eternally clean water that they so desperately need. 

Yesterday we bumped along a winding dirt road an hour outside the city to deliver a water filter to a family who drinks from a lake that is home to about 200 crocodiles.  It is also the watering hole and swimming pool for all the local animals. We looked into the lake and saw the filth that these sweet babies drink every day, and then we showed them how the water filter works.  When the water came out of the filter, cool and refreshing and perfectly clear, the kids crowded underneath the get a drink. 

 

When they led us back to their house, the courtyard was littered with remnants of recent witchcraft offerings.  But we ignored these and gathered with the family under the warm African sunshine and we prayed for them.  We prayed to the God who longs for them to know how much he loves them, longs to wrap them in his arms and pour into them the knowledge of eternal salvation.  We pray to the God who whispers into their ears, "If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink" (John 7:37). 

Oh, Jesus, bring salvation to these people that I love so much...that you love so much more.  Nourish them with your Spirit.  Send someone to build a church here, with a baptistery full of water and the message of the purifying blood of Jesus Christ. 

Five Days in Niger

Niamey, Niger. Hands down the hottest place I have ever been in my life. The heat was absolutely swealtering, as if the sunshine is actually quite a bit closer to the earth here. But the people respond with their own warmth - all smiles and hugs, welcoming us with open arms.

We have one church in Niger, because the country is a little over 99% Muslim and so evangelism is strained.  We drove past three mosques to get to the building that serves both as the church and the pastor's home.  I have an overwhelming respect for these believers, who must feel completely isolated in their faith, tucked away in this crowded city of Islamic stronghold.  

We were as delighted to see the church members as they were to see us. They knew that we were coming to fellowship with them, to worship and teach and read Scripture. But what they did not know is that we came bearing 200,000 CFA - $400. Ken had told me that the church needed a new piano badly - not only because theirs was extremely old, but also because they were planning to finally, finally build a second church and would need two pianos. So I decided that would be my project: a new keyboard for these people who had won my heart in an instant.

We had evening services on Friday and Saturday evening.  Sunday morning dawned especially hot and promising to get worse. We were sweating by the time we got to the church building, after our  white-knuckled ride across the city. But church was beautiful! Worship to praise to worship, dance, music, and at some point the power cut out, nixing the fans and the sound alike, but no one slowed down or even seemed to notice.

Ken stood up and began to talk about the church in the book of Acts, who had neither drums nor piano nor sound system. This Niger church, he said, was doing a great job with whay they have, but their piano was fatigué - tired - and they needed a new one. They he raised his hand and showed a wad of carfully folded West African bills, and said, J'ai de l'argent pour un nouveau piano - I have the money for a new piano.

If anything was said after that, I didn't hear a word of it, for the church absolutely exploded into worship. I expected them to be happy, but I didn't expect the response to be of this magnitude. At first I thought it was cheers, but I looked around and realized that it was not. It was worship to the Provider-God. Because what I did not know was that this church had been praying for a new piano. They had saved as much money as they could - 60 CFA (a very impressive amount, in fact, for Niger is the poorest country in the world), but knew that a miracle of God was needed for the new piano. So they had been praying for quite a while.  And God, in his great wisdom, had provided for them in allowing me to be the answer to their prayers. Wow.

The worship got louder and louder and the smiles bigger until it turned into a dance of rejoicing. The women left their seats and streamed up to the front, dancing and clapping and circling the front of the church. If I thought I could stay outside of it I was mistaken, for a woman about my mother's age sporting a colorful headwrap pulled me in and squeezed me between two dancers. As she did, I glimpsed the piano player. He had been rather quiet and gentle all weekend, but now he was worshipping openly - bent at the waist, dancing in a circle, arms raised to heaven, and a smile so big I could see nothing but his teeth.

The suddenly it was too much for me to keep in.  Something inside of me erupted and I began to cry and laugh at the same time, following these women in a dance of rejoicing.  I looked around at this room so full of worship and I realized, I was made for this moment. Nothing that I possess, no paycheck that I have ever received, was worth more than that ten minutes of rejoicing.

When things calmed down, the pastor began to speak to the church in French, reminding them that God had heard their prayer, had answered their prayer. Then he turned and said they were going to pray for the missionaries in thanks for bringing this gift. But Ken and Gin shook their heads and pointed at me. The pastor's eyes got big with understanding and he said, "Eh!" and turned to explain to the church that the gift, in fact, was from the young missionary, Mademoiselle Donna. They all turned to me, raised their hands to heaven, and began to pray that God would bless me, that he would keep his hand on me, that he would give back to me what I had given to them. I tried to pray with them, but all I could do was weep. That prayer was the best gift that I could have received. What they gave me was much greater than what I had given them. What is $400? Not much. What is a room full of Spirit-filled Africans praying a blessing over you? Priceless. 
  
   
 
  
 

To Market, To Market

We went to the market today, Sarah and I! I LOVE going to the market, because it's like all of Africa packed into a tiny microcosm of happiness - all the people and the energy and the babies strapped on every back. And of course Africans are very social, so you can't be sad or lonely when you enter the market and leave it in the same condition. Even if you never spoke to anyone (which is impossible; you speak and hug and shake hands and never stop smiling and lauging), you have to love the pulse of it. The colors are more than any camera could capture properly. Donkeys, chickens, dogs, camels meander out of the way, and the world's greatest fashion weeks pale in comparison to the outfits and headdresses of the women. Beautiful.

Today (despite the heat) we took our time at the market, literally dripping sweat and followed by a slender teenager in full Muslim headwrap who was content just to carry the vegetable bags for the white women.

Sarah's French is amazing so I listened to her as closely as I could and decided that if she can do it then so can I! So I asked her how to ask for a price of a kilo of something in French. As she was explaining it to me, a man walked up and, grinning, said something that I couldn't discern for the life of me.
"What did he just ask?" Sarah answered that he asked me how I was doing in Moree, which is one of the local languages here.
"Oh. How do you say it?" The man leaned toward me, smile lines deepening and eyes shinning, and said slowly, "Zaa-ka-rumba." My repetition, complete with a rolled 'r' (thanks, Spanish professors!) earned a belly laugh of approval, and the reply, "Lafi."

A few more meters brought us to the stall where Sarah always buys her vegetables. The owner came out to greet us, warm and friendly. The stalls are so crowded here that we were able to stand in complete shade (nice break from the heat!). After chatting with the woman for a moment, Sarah asked if I wanted to try out my Moree.

So I turned to the lady. "Zaa-ka-rumba!"
She smiled, "Lafi."

I was so pleased that I had said it right that I pumped my fists in the air and yelled, "YEAH!" and was rewarded by the sound of the market bursting into cheers. I looked around in surprise, to find the women from the surrounding stalls laughing and clapping and chattering excitedly in Moree and French. Then they all started talking to me at once, gesturing and grinning. They were nodding their heads and pointing to us, shouting at other women to come near. I leaned close so Sarah could hear me over the noise.

"What? What are they saying?" She chuckled and brushed sweat from her head. "You just won them over. They love you now." I look around at the crowd of women, laughing and rubbing my arms, with children squeezing in and out of the crowd and baskets of fruit bobbing above it all, balanced carefully on a dozen heads.  And then it's my turn to join in the laughter - not because anything is funny, but because that's the natural response to being so completely happy.

I got back to my room and turned on the air conditioner just in time for the power to go out - again. So the heat crept back in, advanced only by the dark. I have to feel my way to the bathroom and feel my way back to bed, only it's too hot to sleep. I'm sweating so much that it has made me aware of the fact that I'm covered in more mosquito bites than I ever thought possible. It's always hot here. I once thought it was unbearable.

But now I lean my forehead against my open window and listen to the last hot, muggy storm of rainy season.

I breathe in slowly.

I close my eyes and get lost in the smell - the smell of the rain, of the dust, of a dozen outside dinners, of the mango trees, of the exhaust of a thousand motorcycle taxis, of a zillion animals, of the nearby Sahara. The smell of Africa. I fill my lungs as tight as they will fill and I think of my day at the market. I remember the giggling little kids that ran out to greet us all the way home. I remember the African couple who dropped by earlier, for no other reason than to check on and pray with Justin because he's not feeling well. I think of yesterday at the missionaries' house, when a woman came by to meet us and the missionaries were talking to her about baptism in six minutes flat, and made sure that she left with a French Bible and a time of prayer. I think of the Burkina pastors and their wives, patiently teaching me French and Moree and Djoula phrases, correcting me ever so gently and pretending to understand me even when I'm completely wrong.  I picture the 200 pairs of hands raised in worship last week in Togo, and the children at the kids' crusade, standing in 110 degree weather, tears mixing with sweat as they cry out to the living God, who speaks all languages.

I think of how amazing God is for bringing me here. And I cry. Not because anything is sad, but because that is the natural response to being so completely happy.

Full-Circle God

I had another blog post written and ready to be posted last weekend, but then I spent a week in Togo and something a bit cooler took precedent.

__________________________

When I was a little girl, there was a war in a far-off place. Thousands massacred, villages burned, solders made of orphans, refugees fleeing by the millions. But I knew none of this in my little town in Arkansas. All I knew of the war was that my church found an opportunity to rally together to send aid. This was my first memory of the great compassion that characterizes my home church. Donations poured in - clothes, shoes, food, toothbrushes, school supplies, blankets, linens. I remember sitting in the church basement with my mother, sorting through baby formula and boxes and crackers as she and the other women organized piles upon piles of donations to be shipped out to these war victims. It was going to the missionary, they said. He would hand it out to our churches and to anyone else who had survived the rebels. Anything we could give would help. I can still recall a blue plaid blanket that my mother put in. It was wool and I hated it because it was itchy, but my mother loved it because it was warmer than anything else in the house. She said that the place we were shipping to was hot, but in the mountains it can get bitterly cold at night. Hours we spent in the basement that evening. I vaguely remember some story surrounding the shipping of it all - we had to truck it down to Florida, where it would be put on an ocean container. The trucking was priced in the thousands. But when the trucking company found out that we were sending war relief, they immediately began lowering the cost. They cut the price as much as they could without losing money.

That was all I knew of that evening in the church basement.

This past week I flew from my home in Burkina Faso to Lome, Togo, for a West African Regional Leadership conference. Was an amazing time! I met pastors from sixteen different African nations and fell in love with this beautiful continent all over again. I was served fish for supper with the head still intact, learned how to sit on a non-padded church pew for several hours without complaining, and tried horse meat for the first time.  I also got to hang out with over a dozen missionaries whose pictures have been hanging on our missionary wall back in Greenwood for years. They're my heroes. One man in particular had some amazing stories. His name is Brother Stuart and he's our missionary to Liberia. He's been there for 33 years. The church in Liberia is thousands upon thousands of people strong and is ready to be nationalized at the end of next year. Bro. Stuart patiently told me stories and didn't mind my persistent questions. The others told me that this man is a missionary legend, that he loves Africa and she loves him right back. The headquarters church in Liberia is so huge that the president herself attends that church and brings her political entourage with her. There was a great war in his country some years back. The embassy ordered all Americans to leave the country, but he refused. I'm staying, he told them. God has not told me to leave, so how can I leave? I'm staying with my pastors. I'm staying with my people. And so he stayed. The embassy tried to force him to fly out, but he stayed. The rebels marched through his city and he and his wife were trapped in their house for weeks. They survived on the water from their water bed.

At the end of last week, we all met at the hotel lobby so we could say goobye before catching planes to our different West African countries. I sat down in the lobby near Brother Stuart and some missionaries to Camaroon. One of the Camaroon pastors asked me where I was from in the States. "I'm from Greenwood, Arkansas," I replied. He asked me my pastor's name. I said, "James Myers. They call him 'Coach.'" They simply nodded in agreement, but Brother Stuart turned slowly toward me.

"Greenwood?" He asked.

"Yes, sir. Greenwood, Arkansas."

He nodded slowly. "I know Greenwood," He said.

I thought back to what Jaydie, our missionary to Mali, had told me the day before - that they visit hundreds of churches in a year when they are on deputation. How could he possibly remember our church?

"Back during our war," Bro. Stuart continued, "You guys sent us a bunch of supplies. Hundreds of things. You shipped it all out of Florida on an ocean container."

My mind raced back to that night so long ago in the church basement. "That was you?" I almost yelled. My mouth dropped open and the air left my lungs.

"Oh, yes," He replied. "We brought everything to our churches in Liberia and handed it all out. I don't remember very many churches, but I remember Greenwood."

I don't think I'll ever be able to describe exactly how I felt at that moment. They say that in heaven we'll see how our giving affected the mission field and it will all be worth it, but I think that sometimes God allows us to see that affect here on earth, as well. God is amazing. He is so many things and he manifests himself to us in different ways throughout our lives. He's the Healer-God and the Savior-God and the Warrior-God. But today, what is he to me? He's the Full-Circle-God :). He's the God who allows a shy little girl to become a missionary in training, and then further proves how cool he is by standing her feet on African soil in front of the missionary whose story, more than 15 years ago, unwittingly introduced her to what missions is all about. It's about being the hands and feet of Jesus Christ. Greenwood church, on behalf of West Africa, I want to say thank you for being the hands and feet of Jesus. Years ago you sent an ocean container full of war relief supplies. You send money every month. Now you sent an AIMer. Your impact on Africa is greater than we will ever know. I love and miss you guys.

And Jesus is amazing.

Journal Entry from Easter Sunday

Easter Sunday, 2012.  This was by far the hottest Easter that I have ever experienced.  As a matter of fact, Gin said to me when I woke up, “Donna, this will be the hottest day of your life.”  But it was definitely the greatest Easter I have ever had.  Many things happened to make it wonderful, including the fact that we ended the day with a baptism! However, church was the highlight because it reminded me again why I’m here.  Because I had forgotten.  And God allowed me to remember.

Worship service lasted for two hours.  I danced with the women as I always have and then joined in with the children, laughter bubbling over from some place that God fills only with Africa-joy.  Laughter swelled into shouting – head back, grinning so hard my face hurt as my eyes tried to keep up with the swirl of colors and the drums of dance as I thanked God with all my heart, with all of my being for bringing me to this place - just to this very place, with its dripping sweat and its 108 degrees outside that was easily 125+ inside, with its suffocating dust and its brown tap water and its heart-stopping traffic and with its wicked sunburns and its horrifying We just passed a man with leprosy.  And with its people.  With its wonderful, beautiful, I-love-God-with-all-my-heart people.  With its people who are beating those drums in the corner so hard and so fast until I’ve just realized the cadence has become my heartbeat.  With its people who have so little but offer to share their food without hesitation.  With its people who are so loving and generous and affectionate and whose faces crinkle so easily into that smile…that African smile that is faster than lightning and warmer than sunshine.  With its children, who every Thursday run to greet me, giggling and chattering in French and Moree and wrapping 40 sets of arms around me, sticking flowers in my hair and inclining chubby cheeks for kisses. 

God didn’t warn me about Africa.  He didn’t warn me about the heat or the dust or the ever-present disease.   He didn’t warn me that there were times that I would get insanely lonely and frustrated with French.  He didn’t warn me that I would struggle under the weight of culture shock.  He just said, “Go.” But you see, God also didn’t warn me that I would fall in love.  He didn’t warn me that I would leave such a huge piece of my heart here.  He didn’t warn me that my very soul would ache when I look in to a tiny coffee-bean colored face and know that I might not see it again. God didn’t warn me about Burkina Faso.  He just called me here.  When God said, “Come to Africa,” I did not realize that he was saying, “Come and fall in love with Africa.” 

And so I have come to worship God here.  Here, as I join in the dizzy parade of dancers, swirling, ducking, spinning, swaying in an ever-widening circle that can’t decide which brilliant fabric should dominate the color scheme.  So it gives up and becomes a blur of violet and lemon, rose and indigo, scarlet and aqua, vibrant blue blending in to bright orange, elegant green, fuchsia, plum, until I have to sit down, exhausted.  But I can’t sit long, for a new song starts and we begin once more, sweating and breathing in dust and tripping over children.  And I love it.  I love it all.  So if the threat of culture shock, constant sweat, broken air conditioning, loneliness and language barriers are the price that I have to pay, then so be it.  I will pay the asking price.  I secretly think that Africa is God’s favorite place…or maybe it’s just his favorite place for me. 

My parents used to tell people that I have a heart for Africa.  But I no longer believe that’s true. I prefer to believe that I just have a heart for Jesus.  And Jesus has a heart for Africa.

Rushed Update from a Dying Computer

Last few weeks...

Woke up covered in sweat. That's become a daily thing now.  Drank ice water form breakfast.  Got a flat tire.  Discovered I can't learn French in 115 degrees.  Danced in a worship circle with six other women.  Bought grain.  Delivered grain to a widow in our church with a courtyard full of kids.  Didn't know she had so many.  Sang in French.  Danced in a worship circle with two dozen other women.  Ate something African. Got incredibly sick.  Rode on a motorcycle behind an African woman.  Held on for dear life.  Told 30 children about the birth of Jesus.  Led them in a play of the Nativity.  The next week, taught the same 30 children about the beauty of the resurrection.  Gave candy for memory verses.  Upped my water intake to several liters a day.  Bumped along through a jungle of huts to go and pray for a sick elderly woman.  Taught my 30 kids the story of Esther, of Jesus feeding 5000, of Jesus healing lepers.  Tried to explain the power of prayer.  Made plans to buy more grain and go on grain distribution in the villages to the North.  Sat huddled in front of a computer screen waiting for CNN to load updates on the uprising in neighboring Mali.  Had an early morning prayer meeting with 15 Africans to plead with God for his protection of their family in Bamako.   Discovered that what I thought was shiny, healthy skin was in fact just a continual sheen of sweat.  Broke down and turned on my expensive air conditioner. 

Went to an orphanage in the bush.  Cuddled babies.  Held a three-pound three-week-old little boy.  Silence on the way home. 

Abandoned a nap and ran outside at the sound of thunder.  Stood outside laughing in delight at the first rain I've seen in months.  Stood in the rain until it passed.  Got sick when the storm dropped the temperature from over 100 degrees to below 70 degrees.  Prayed over a map of Burkina Faso.  Lost too much fluid in sweat and tears, stood up from praying, and nearly collapsed.  Burkinabe woman had to hold me up.  A little embarrassing.  Found the washer broken.  Wrung my clothes out by hand.  Bought strawberries from a woman's head.

Loved it all :).