Today we visited the Philadelphia Church in Ouaga. It is the church Marcel pastors and oversees, in addition to several others. You do not need a map to find such a church, whether here or in the bush, you simply follow your ear. Long before the block walls and tin roof come into view, a boisterous melody fills the air with the song of the redeemed singing their praises to God.
Thus far it has been my favorite part of being in Africa, to walk into a dimly lit room filled with people singing jubilantly unto the Lord, they bring such brightness to the darkest of places; both with their voice and their appearance. If you have seen the photos from previous trips here, you know the Burkinabe are those who love bright, bold color; from the clothing and hats adorning the women, to the beads woven into their daughters hair; it is this colorful array that will be forever etched in my mind.
We are always seated up front since we are the guests from America. I love this spot, not because I want a seat of honor, but because it places me just a step away from the many children who flood the front of the church. As I sit watching them I see my own grandchildren reflected in their mannerisms and personalities. There is Mary-Jane, my dancing girl; Zachary my curious, every busy little guy; Eva with her gorgeous big eyes and Ava, so small yet so ready to take on the world. Their color and language may be different, but children everywhere long for one thing, to be loved and cared for. I am reminded of what Jesus said, that we are to become as little children, wholly dependent upon him.
If there is an aspect of life in Burkina I will take away from all of this it is the realization that life is precious. Whenever Loren is introduced the first thing he does is raise his Ipad high over his head and show the congregation photos of his beautiful family. They ooh and ahh over the photos of Amber and MJ and Jude and Isaiah, but it is when he mentions that Amber is pregnant with their fourth child the people in every church we have visited applaud and shout for joy. For them, there is nothing greater that can happen than for a family to be given the gift of new life. Perhaps it is because they recognize the fragileness of life here in Burkina. Daily they are just one illness, one accident, one season of famine away from disaster and potential death. They are thankful for one more day, one more child, one more proof that God is the giver of life and his mercies are new every morning.
I watched them as they gave of their offerings this morning. It was as joyous a time as their singing of worship and praise had been just moments earlier. I asked myself, “How could this be?” Then came understanding. They were joyful because they HAVE something to give; that in the past day or week or month God had somehow, once again, provided for them. They gave cheerfully and with exuberance because they were so thankful God had given to them.
Loren’s message to the people today was on storms. What I have seen here in Burkina is we are much more alike than I ever imagined. They struggle with the same issues as we do, in their homes, in their families, in their marriages and their work, even in their church. We are all sinners in desperate need of a Savior and it is only by the grace of God we are changed and transformed. When the storms arise, we are all prone to ask, “Where are you God?” The answer is always the same. He is with us, perfectly at rest, knowing he will bring us safely to the other side.
It is the same message from the book of Mark, which Loren shared with TFAB some months back. Today, in Burkina, God used his word to bring faith to the heart of four who committed their lives to Christ. I asked Marcel afterwards if these were people who previously attended his church. He said no, this was the first time they had come. He told me this is happening almost every Sunday, God continues to bring in a great harvest here.
It is why we come, it is why TFAB and Ekklesia are committed to training the pastors who will feed and shepherd these new believers and the precious people who fill their churches, both in the city and the many villages scattered throughout this vast land. They will come this week; on foot, on bicycle, by cart and by scooter. They will travel long distances then sit for many hours to hear the truth of God’s word taught. They will be well fed that they might in turn go and feed the people with good, solid spiritual food. We come that the people of Christ here in Burkina might grow and be strong.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Things Learned in Africa
It is a quiet evening here at the house. Loren, Scott, Ian and Marcel travelled north today to Dori, I chose to remain behind by myself to work on the teachings I will share tomorrow with the women in a local church. A short while ago the power went out, again, this time just as darkness fell. I had thought that might be somewhat frightening, to be alone here in the dark, but it is a testimony to how comfortable I am here that I actually enjoyed it as a time to sit on the screened porch and take in the sights and sounds of an Ougadougou night.
I am back inside now, and Pierre, (our resident gecko who lives on the wall behind the air conditioner) is talking to me in his little clicking voice. The fans are spinning rhythmically overhead as music from the nearby church mingles into a melodic, uniquely African sound. It is good to be here.
Tonight I thought it would be fun to share with you something lighthearted, so here is my list of the 10 things I have learned in Africa:
1. You can never carry enough Lafi(water) when you are out in the bush. Its uses are innumerable.
2. Buckling up in a vehicle is NOT a silly thing to do in Africa, I’m sure Scott will agree.
3. It IS possible to take a shower and wash your hair and not get a single drop of water in your mouth.
4. A flashlight and hand sanitizer should be your constant companion. You NEVER know when you will need either or both.
5. Sidewalks in Africa are HIGHLY overrated as safe places to walk.
6. The Tam Tam has the best Spaghetti Carbonera I have ever eaten!
7. The African bush is home to some wonderful people and especially delightful, creative children who can take a pebble and make it a toy.
8. A smile and a warm handshake speak volumes in any language.
9. Wherever God’s people are, it feels like home.
10. I will never again say, “I never want to go to Africa”.
And with that I will call it a night. Continue to pray for us. I just spoke with Marcel’s wife, Pauline. She told me she saw what is left of the truck Marcel was driving this morning. In her words, “It is a miracle he is alive.” Thank you Lord for your protection, we rest well knowing our lives are ever in your hands.
I am sure Loren or Scott or Ian will be sharing some things later in the day about their journey to Dori, a place where it is not so easy to profess faith in Jesus. Pray for those who live in such places, that God will bring light into the darkness and encouragement to those who are in His.
I am back inside now, and Pierre, (our resident gecko who lives on the wall behind the air conditioner) is talking to me in his little clicking voice. The fans are spinning rhythmically overhead as music from the nearby church mingles into a melodic, uniquely African sound. It is good to be here.
Tonight I thought it would be fun to share with you something lighthearted, so here is my list of the 10 things I have learned in Africa:
1. You can never carry enough Lafi(water) when you are out in the bush. Its uses are innumerable.
2. Buckling up in a vehicle is NOT a silly thing to do in Africa, I’m sure Scott will agree.
3. It IS possible to take a shower and wash your hair and not get a single drop of water in your mouth.
4. A flashlight and hand sanitizer should be your constant companion. You NEVER know when you will need either or both.
5. Sidewalks in Africa are HIGHLY overrated as safe places to walk.
6. The Tam Tam has the best Spaghetti Carbonera I have ever eaten!
7. The African bush is home to some wonderful people and especially delightful, creative children who can take a pebble and make it a toy.
8. A smile and a warm handshake speak volumes in any language.
9. Wherever God’s people are, it feels like home.
10. I will never again say, “I never want to go to Africa”.
And with that I will call it a night. Continue to pray for us. I just spoke with Marcel’s wife, Pauline. She told me she saw what is left of the truck Marcel was driving this morning. In her words, “It is a miracle he is alive.” Thank you Lord for your protection, we rest well knowing our lives are ever in your hands.
I am sure Loren or Scott or Ian will be sharing some things later in the day about their journey to Dori, a place where it is not so easy to profess faith in Jesus. Pray for those who live in such places, that God will bring light into the darkness and encouragement to those who are in His.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Revelation - Burkina Faso
God is amazing! I know, I say that often, but the longer I live the more I stand back in awe of how he works in our lives, quietly, behind the scenes unbeknownst to us until that day when he pulls back the curtain and as they say here in Burkina, Wal-la’! His masterpiece is revealed, the puzzle of our lives becomes clear as we see how the pieces fit together to create a magnificent story of His glory and grace. That God would care so much to involve us in His work of redeeming and teaching His church is beyond my comprehension. That He would ask us to pray and then answer our prayers, that he would bless us with resources that we might give, that he would teach us that we might in turn teach others, that he open our eyes to his truth that we might share the gospel of the good news of Jesus Christ; all this causes me to bow before him in worship and adoration.
It was on the road to Boromo earlier this week that the curtain began to part. As I looked out the van window at the passing sights, I had this recurring thought that I had seen this place before. There was such a familiarity in the Burkina countryside, the many African villages, the crowded marketplaces, the arid and sparse vegetation. I knew it was not just general Africa I was thinking of, but something very specific.
Revelation came in the blink of an eye. In my mind I was there, 40 years ago, attending a missions convention at the Assembly of God church in Grant Pass, Oregon. They appeared, one by one, on the stage, the missionaries from Indonesia, South Africa and Mexico. But the ones that intrigued me were a couple from Upper Volta. So many years ago and yet I can still see them standing there on the platform in their African dress, I can describe them in great detail. I am able to recall their names, Dave and Jan Hall. It is their pictures and slides and films I spoke of in an earlier post. It was their stories that convinced me I never wanted to actually go to Africa and yet I was captivated by all I saw, I wanted, somehow, to be a part of what God was doing in the people of Upper Volta. I prayed for the missionaries and for the people, I gave of what I made from a babysitting job that summer, I helped with the car washes and bake sales and other fundraisers, that our youth group might give money for the purchase of vehicles to help “Speed the Light” to the native people. Year after year the missionaries would return home to share their stories, year after year I was enthralled with how God was bringing light to a people half a world away. Upper Volta would always hold a special place in my heart.
Decades past. Loren sr and I were driving home from one of our trips to the Steens, we had just crested a hill where cell service became marginally available when we received a call from our son. It was 2002 and Loren was calling to tell us he had been invited to go to Africa to share the gospel and to teach the pastors in a place called Burkina Faso. I was at once excited and terrified at the thought of him going, but knew it was God who was calling him.
Upon his return he shared with us how much he already loved the people of Burkina, what a joy it had been to go, to teach, to be used of God in such a way. He told us of some of the needs of the people, both practically and spiritually. My own heart was drawn to Burkina and we began to pray and to give, just as I had done so many years before for the people of Upper Volta.
It was not until I was on the road to Boromo this week that I made the connection. This land of Burkina Faso that God has called us to is, this land that seemed so familiar to me as I sped through the many villages and towns, this land IS Upper Volta the land God laid on my heart so many years ago. Somewhere during the ensuing years, the name was changed but all else is as it was. The pastors Loren is teaching, the women I am instructing, the children who bring such delight to our hearts, they are the fruit of the ministry of the missionaries of a generation passed, missionaries I had prayed for and supported so many years ago.
I told Marcel of this and at each of the churches we have visited he tells the story. I watch the older men and women as their eyes light up in recognition at the missionaries names, a broad smile spreading across their faces. I pray they understand, as I have come to see, God is awesome and mighty, merciful and kind, uniting us in the cross of Jesus, connecting us in ways we cannot fathom. As I pen this, (yes, literally, for time is precious while we are here in Burkina and no laptop is handy as I have some down time out “in the bush”) I am sitting in the midst of a congregation of people beloved of the Lord. They have come, pastors, leaders, elders and their wives to worship, to listen, to take in and to grow in the things of God. I am listening to my son teach what the Bible says about marriage, about family, about what honors God. Soon I will stand where he stands and I will speak and share with the women from God’s word, from my life, from my heart. I will encourage them to pray, for their husbands, for their children for their families. I will do this with absolute conviction as I stand before them, for I KNOW God is with them. I cannot express to you the joy that fills my heart; I know God is good; I just cannot believe he is SO good!
I sit in churches where you, the generous people of TFAB have given, that there might be a roof over the heads of all who gather. Today we gave Bibles to the people, food for their soul; but we also gave corn and rice, food for their bellies, as famine is coming upon the land due to no rain and a failed harvest. I am told the people of TFAB are the very first in all the world to respond to this great need.
The people have asked that we say thank you, thank you so much. Thank you for praying, for giving, for sending those who teach them well in the way of God.
When I was I Hawaii last month, I sat on the couch reflecting upon our visit there, thinking how much I had enjoyed it and how sad I was to see it coming to an end. I contrasted that with my then upcoming trip to Burkina Faso of which I was so fearful. I thought of how glad I would be to see THAT trip come to an end, but as quickly as the thought came, the Lord spoke to my heart and told me leaving Africa would NOT bring much gladness but would, in fact, fill me with great sorrow; in departing I would be leaving a part of my heart with the people of Burkina Faso.
God’s word is true. I am already sad to think of leaving these people. Their language may be foreign but their hearts speak a language no tongue can tell. It is the language of the cross, which unites us in the blood of Jesus Christ.
Continue to pray for us. I will be sharing tomorrow with a group of women here in Ouagadougou. Next week the Bible school, taught by Loren, Scott and Ian will begin and run for the entire week. Thank you for praying for our protection, I am not sure which is more frightening here, the bugs which want to invade our bodies or the vehicles which want to run us down. We are well. If you saw Loren’s facebook post this morning, you will understand why we ask you to pray for these very practical things. We are thankful that God protects us in the ways he knows to be best. Pray for the Word of God as it goes forth, that it will be received into good soil and bring about a continuing harvest here in the land of Burkina Faso. Above all, please pray that God will be glorified in all that we do.
It was on the road to Boromo earlier this week that the curtain began to part. As I looked out the van window at the passing sights, I had this recurring thought that I had seen this place before. There was such a familiarity in the Burkina countryside, the many African villages, the crowded marketplaces, the arid and sparse vegetation. I knew it was not just general Africa I was thinking of, but something very specific.
Revelation came in the blink of an eye. In my mind I was there, 40 years ago, attending a missions convention at the Assembly of God church in Grant Pass, Oregon. They appeared, one by one, on the stage, the missionaries from Indonesia, South Africa and Mexico. But the ones that intrigued me were a couple from Upper Volta. So many years ago and yet I can still see them standing there on the platform in their African dress, I can describe them in great detail. I am able to recall their names, Dave and Jan Hall. It is their pictures and slides and films I spoke of in an earlier post. It was their stories that convinced me I never wanted to actually go to Africa and yet I was captivated by all I saw, I wanted, somehow, to be a part of what God was doing in the people of Upper Volta. I prayed for the missionaries and for the people, I gave of what I made from a babysitting job that summer, I helped with the car washes and bake sales and other fundraisers, that our youth group might give money for the purchase of vehicles to help “Speed the Light” to the native people. Year after year the missionaries would return home to share their stories, year after year I was enthralled with how God was bringing light to a people half a world away. Upper Volta would always hold a special place in my heart.
Decades past. Loren sr and I were driving home from one of our trips to the Steens, we had just crested a hill where cell service became marginally available when we received a call from our son. It was 2002 and Loren was calling to tell us he had been invited to go to Africa to share the gospel and to teach the pastors in a place called Burkina Faso. I was at once excited and terrified at the thought of him going, but knew it was God who was calling him.
Upon his return he shared with us how much he already loved the people of Burkina, what a joy it had been to go, to teach, to be used of God in such a way. He told us of some of the needs of the people, both practically and spiritually. My own heart was drawn to Burkina and we began to pray and to give, just as I had done so many years before for the people of Upper Volta.
It was not until I was on the road to Boromo this week that I made the connection. This land of Burkina Faso that God has called us to is, this land that seemed so familiar to me as I sped through the many villages and towns, this land IS Upper Volta the land God laid on my heart so many years ago. Somewhere during the ensuing years, the name was changed but all else is as it was. The pastors Loren is teaching, the women I am instructing, the children who bring such delight to our hearts, they are the fruit of the ministry of the missionaries of a generation passed, missionaries I had prayed for and supported so many years ago.
I told Marcel of this and at each of the churches we have visited he tells the story. I watch the older men and women as their eyes light up in recognition at the missionaries names, a broad smile spreading across their faces. I pray they understand, as I have come to see, God is awesome and mighty, merciful and kind, uniting us in the cross of Jesus, connecting us in ways we cannot fathom. As I pen this, (yes, literally, for time is precious while we are here in Burkina and no laptop is handy as I have some down time out “in the bush”) I am sitting in the midst of a congregation of people beloved of the Lord. They have come, pastors, leaders, elders and their wives to worship, to listen, to take in and to grow in the things of God. I am listening to my son teach what the Bible says about marriage, about family, about what honors God. Soon I will stand where he stands and I will speak and share with the women from God’s word, from my life, from my heart. I will encourage them to pray, for their husbands, for their children for their families. I will do this with absolute conviction as I stand before them, for I KNOW God is with them. I cannot express to you the joy that fills my heart; I know God is good; I just cannot believe he is SO good!
I sit in churches where you, the generous people of TFAB have given, that there might be a roof over the heads of all who gather. Today we gave Bibles to the people, food for their soul; but we also gave corn and rice, food for their bellies, as famine is coming upon the land due to no rain and a failed harvest. I am told the people of TFAB are the very first in all the world to respond to this great need.
The people have asked that we say thank you, thank you so much. Thank you for praying, for giving, for sending those who teach them well in the way of God.
When I was I Hawaii last month, I sat on the couch reflecting upon our visit there, thinking how much I had enjoyed it and how sad I was to see it coming to an end. I contrasted that with my then upcoming trip to Burkina Faso of which I was so fearful. I thought of how glad I would be to see THAT trip come to an end, but as quickly as the thought came, the Lord spoke to my heart and told me leaving Africa would NOT bring much gladness but would, in fact, fill me with great sorrow; in departing I would be leaving a part of my heart with the people of Burkina Faso.
God’s word is true. I am already sad to think of leaving these people. Their language may be foreign but their hearts speak a language no tongue can tell. It is the language of the cross, which unites us in the blood of Jesus Christ.
Continue to pray for us. I will be sharing tomorrow with a group of women here in Ouagadougou. Next week the Bible school, taught by Loren, Scott and Ian will begin and run for the entire week. Thank you for praying for our protection, I am not sure which is more frightening here, the bugs which want to invade our bodies or the vehicles which want to run us down. We are well. If you saw Loren’s facebook post this morning, you will understand why we ask you to pray for these very practical things. We are thankful that God protects us in the ways he knows to be best. Pray for the Word of God as it goes forth, that it will be received into good soil and bring about a continuing harvest here in the land of Burkina Faso. Above all, please pray that God will be glorified in all that we do.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Perspective - Burkina Faso
Perspective. It is perhaps what has become most clear for me here in this static land that is at once both incredibly simple and exceedingly difficult. Much is as I anticipated: the hot days, the dusty, rutted streets; the masses of people darting in and out of traffic. I came hoping I would come to love the people, yet all the while assuming I would have a great distaste for the land. But it is not as I thought. Indeed, the people, particularly the children and their mothers, have captivated my heart, but driving home from Boromo, from our day in the bush, I was enthralled with the beauty of the African countryside, a sense of peace settled came with the setting sun, knowing God’s hand is upon this barrenly beautiful land.
Perhaps it was the joy of watching the children play, or teaching the women who, if given the opportunity, could teach me much as well, or perhaps it was just the knowing that here in Burkina Faso, God’s church is alive and well. I am so thankful God has granted me the privilege of coming, to teach the women, to laugh with the children and to share with you a glimpse of God’s church in Burkina.
I wasn’t sure what to expect as our plane made the final descent into Burkina. Loren had spoken of donkey drawn carts coming to gather our luggage and an airport that was reminiscent of a grade B movie set in the Banana Republic. I have to admit I was a bit disappointed when we were promptly shuttled from the plane to the newly finished immigration area, where friendly smiles and a newly installed luggage conveyor belt greeted us. Gone were the dim lights and donkey carts, although the swirling fans still clicked away overhead. And what is even more amazing, all of our luggage arrived, in tact.
They say much is changing in this country. For the first time, streetlights illuminate the main roads, scooter lanes and sidewalks now line the street. Yet much is still the same. Scooter drivers ignore the bike lane, choosing instead to play “hit me if you dare” as they dart in and out between the cars and trucks which speed down the road, randomly choosing which traffic signals to obey. This is made even all the more challenging with the rolling blackouts that affect the city periodically, causing all to go dark.
Life in Burkina is lived outdoors. Even at night the people were out; walking, riding, going here and there. I asked Scott and Loren and Ian to give me one word that describes Burkina. Perhaps Scott captured Oaugadougou best; “moving” was the word he used to invoke the feeling of the city. It seems everyone is always on the move. Like ants scurrying, each one knows their purpose but to the outside observer, it is simply chaos.
It should be no surprise then that our first few days here have been much the same, filled with movement and, at times, a bit of chaos. We arrived late at night only to learn the house that is always the haven for the TFAB Burkina trips was not going to be available, but “would we mind so much staying at the extra rooms at the back of the compound?” Being new to Burkina, I didn’t realize how important having “the house” was. Two nights and two different places later, I can tell you, it is VERY important. The rooms they suggested left one feeling very unsafe, especially if your mom is travelling for the first time to Africa, as there were no real locks on the doors and we would be separated from one another.
Marcel suggested a hotel that would be nearer his home. Since it is his town, we assumed it was a place he was well acquainted with. It was only as we travelled to Boromo the next day and saw a sign advertising the “Chic Hotel”, that he confessed he had never laid eyes on the place and had only chosen it because it was the first place that came to mind because he, too had seen the roadside sign advertising it some weeks prior. Such is life in Africa.
The paved highway of town gave way to one of the many rutted, unlit dirt stretches which abound, (I still struggle to call them roads). Bouncing our way past dirty, cluttered, tin storefronts, old stacked tires and the occasional roaming dog, we made a quick turn and arrived at our destination. Dim lights illuminated our way up the stairs to the 2nd floor where we each locked our double bolted doors and called it a night at least feeling somewhat secure, until Loren realized the window to his room had no latch or lock, it freely swung, back and forth, beckoning any who might want to enter. Welcome to Africa.
Morning found us moving to a new compound Marcel was somewhat familiar with. While not ideal, it seemed workable and have to do, since we were scheduled to be in Boromo, some 120 miles away, by 9 am that morning to teach the many pastors and leaders and their wives would be coming. We finally left Ouaga at 9:15, but, no worries, (remember, this is Africa) Marcel called ahead to let them know we would be a little bit late.
I am told the road from Ouga to Boromo and on to the Ivory Coast is one of the most important and heavily travelled roads in the entire country. After travelling it and living to tell about it, I have to agree. I hate to fly, just the mere hint of turbulance sends me into a semi-panic mode. But I would fly a thousand flights back and forth across the Atlantic before I would choose to be a passenger in a vehicle on the Boromo road again. Picture Highway 97 (only about 6 feet narrower) with no shoulders, no center strip and crumbling edges on both sides giving way to rugged ditches. Then add in scooters carrying everything from extra passengers to pigs going to market, bicycles travelling without lights and the occasional walker on the road. Now drive this at 70 miles per hour. Oh did I happen to mention the occasional semi-trucks that are broken down and stopped, dead center in the middle of the road? All quite manageable in the bright sunlight of late morning, but absolutely nail biting in the darkness of night.
Tomorrow we will travel north on a highway which Marcel assures me “is far better, have much less traffic”. Then on Friday we will go again, twice the distance that we went on Tuesday. Funny, when I thought about all the things I might be afraid of in Africa, riding in a van was not one of them. It never crossed my mind, and I think it would be safe to say the thought never entered Scott’s head as well. Until last night, after we finished up at late dinner at 10 pm, thinking we had survived the worst of what the Burkina roads had to offer. But on the way back, we were travelling the paved city streets, travelling 55 mph at minimum I would say, when we heard a yell from the front just as the van careened over a large speed bump, landing and continuing on only to hit a second in just a moment’s time.
Let me just say, the back of the van is not the place you want to be at a time such as this. The chickens in back were squawking (yes, they gave us two at the church where we spoke), but it was Scott who had suffered the most trauma. He was bleeding from the wound inflicted when his head met the ceiling, not once but twice. Much debate erupted over whether or not we should take him to “La Clinique”, which we all knew could be a cure worse than the cause.
After closer examination, we decided to take go to a local pharmacy to buy the items we felt would be necessary to properly dress his wound, all the while so keenly aware that this is Africa, and there are millions of little bugs lurking everywhere, just waiting for the chance to enter some poor unsuspecting persons body. A bottle of antiseptic, a roll of gauze and a purchase of antibiotics later, we all poured back into the van, eager to get home and tend to our wounded only to find the vehicle would not start. Did I happen to mention we had expected just a quick stop and were parked in the road?
With Scott clutching tightly to the gauze patch on his head with one hand and holding his headlamp in the other, he walked behind the van as the other men worked to maneuver the vehicle backwards to a spot where they could get it off the road. This in a place where there were no streetlights and no open stores, save for “La Pharmicia”. While Marcel called a mechanic friend to come look at the car, (remember it is almost midnight now) Loren went back into the pharmacy to purchase sterile gloves so he could administer first aide there under the blinking pharmacy sign. We had acquired quite a little audience by this time, had it not been so late I am sure Marcel would have figured out some way to tell those who gathered about Jesus. As it was, the mechanic arrived and Marcel used his car to drive us to our rooms, where we all fell into an exhausted sleep.
Today has been a good day. I am happy to report that Scott’s head looked great this morning and as far as we can tell, he is his normal, chipper self . Today has been a very good day. I am also delighted to tell you that tonight, we are in “the house”. What a difference in perspective two days makes. If you had led me here the first night, I think I would have looked at the place we were staying and wondered how I would survive two weeks there. Now I look around and say, “Thank you Lord, for providing us with such a place.” As Loren says, now he feels like he is home.
So by now you might be asking, “How is that you have come to love this place which has presented you with so many difficulties?” That, my friends is the rest of the story, which will have to wait until tomorrow’s post….. IF I return from the road to Kongoussi.
Perhaps it was the joy of watching the children play, or teaching the women who, if given the opportunity, could teach me much as well, or perhaps it was just the knowing that here in Burkina Faso, God’s church is alive and well. I am so thankful God has granted me the privilege of coming, to teach the women, to laugh with the children and to share with you a glimpse of God’s church in Burkina.
I wasn’t sure what to expect as our plane made the final descent into Burkina. Loren had spoken of donkey drawn carts coming to gather our luggage and an airport that was reminiscent of a grade B movie set in the Banana Republic. I have to admit I was a bit disappointed when we were promptly shuttled from the plane to the newly finished immigration area, where friendly smiles and a newly installed luggage conveyor belt greeted us. Gone were the dim lights and donkey carts, although the swirling fans still clicked away overhead. And what is even more amazing, all of our luggage arrived, in tact.
They say much is changing in this country. For the first time, streetlights illuminate the main roads, scooter lanes and sidewalks now line the street. Yet much is still the same. Scooter drivers ignore the bike lane, choosing instead to play “hit me if you dare” as they dart in and out between the cars and trucks which speed down the road, randomly choosing which traffic signals to obey. This is made even all the more challenging with the rolling blackouts that affect the city periodically, causing all to go dark.
Life in Burkina is lived outdoors. Even at night the people were out; walking, riding, going here and there. I asked Scott and Loren and Ian to give me one word that describes Burkina. Perhaps Scott captured Oaugadougou best; “moving” was the word he used to invoke the feeling of the city. It seems everyone is always on the move. Like ants scurrying, each one knows their purpose but to the outside observer, it is simply chaos.
It should be no surprise then that our first few days here have been much the same, filled with movement and, at times, a bit of chaos. We arrived late at night only to learn the house that is always the haven for the TFAB Burkina trips was not going to be available, but “would we mind so much staying at the extra rooms at the back of the compound?” Being new to Burkina, I didn’t realize how important having “the house” was. Two nights and two different places later, I can tell you, it is VERY important. The rooms they suggested left one feeling very unsafe, especially if your mom is travelling for the first time to Africa, as there were no real locks on the doors and we would be separated from one another.
Marcel suggested a hotel that would be nearer his home. Since it is his town, we assumed it was a place he was well acquainted with. It was only as we travelled to Boromo the next day and saw a sign advertising the “Chic Hotel”, that he confessed he had never laid eyes on the place and had only chosen it because it was the first place that came to mind because he, too had seen the roadside sign advertising it some weeks prior. Such is life in Africa.
The paved highway of town gave way to one of the many rutted, unlit dirt stretches which abound, (I still struggle to call them roads). Bouncing our way past dirty, cluttered, tin storefronts, old stacked tires and the occasional roaming dog, we made a quick turn and arrived at our destination. Dim lights illuminated our way up the stairs to the 2nd floor where we each locked our double bolted doors and called it a night at least feeling somewhat secure, until Loren realized the window to his room had no latch or lock, it freely swung, back and forth, beckoning any who might want to enter. Welcome to Africa.
Morning found us moving to a new compound Marcel was somewhat familiar with. While not ideal, it seemed workable and have to do, since we were scheduled to be in Boromo, some 120 miles away, by 9 am that morning to teach the many pastors and leaders and their wives would be coming. We finally left Ouaga at 9:15, but, no worries, (remember, this is Africa) Marcel called ahead to let them know we would be a little bit late.
I am told the road from Ouga to Boromo and on to the Ivory Coast is one of the most important and heavily travelled roads in the entire country. After travelling it and living to tell about it, I have to agree. I hate to fly, just the mere hint of turbulance sends me into a semi-panic mode. But I would fly a thousand flights back and forth across the Atlantic before I would choose to be a passenger in a vehicle on the Boromo road again. Picture Highway 97 (only about 6 feet narrower) with no shoulders, no center strip and crumbling edges on both sides giving way to rugged ditches. Then add in scooters carrying everything from extra passengers to pigs going to market, bicycles travelling without lights and the occasional walker on the road. Now drive this at 70 miles per hour. Oh did I happen to mention the occasional semi-trucks that are broken down and stopped, dead center in the middle of the road? All quite manageable in the bright sunlight of late morning, but absolutely nail biting in the darkness of night.
Tomorrow we will travel north on a highway which Marcel assures me “is far better, have much less traffic”. Then on Friday we will go again, twice the distance that we went on Tuesday. Funny, when I thought about all the things I might be afraid of in Africa, riding in a van was not one of them. It never crossed my mind, and I think it would be safe to say the thought never entered Scott’s head as well. Until last night, after we finished up at late dinner at 10 pm, thinking we had survived the worst of what the Burkina roads had to offer. But on the way back, we were travelling the paved city streets, travelling 55 mph at minimum I would say, when we heard a yell from the front just as the van careened over a large speed bump, landing and continuing on only to hit a second in just a moment’s time.
Let me just say, the back of the van is not the place you want to be at a time such as this. The chickens in back were squawking (yes, they gave us two at the church where we spoke), but it was Scott who had suffered the most trauma. He was bleeding from the wound inflicted when his head met the ceiling, not once but twice. Much debate erupted over whether or not we should take him to “La Clinique”, which we all knew could be a cure worse than the cause.
After closer examination, we decided to take go to a local pharmacy to buy the items we felt would be necessary to properly dress his wound, all the while so keenly aware that this is Africa, and there are millions of little bugs lurking everywhere, just waiting for the chance to enter some poor unsuspecting persons body. A bottle of antiseptic, a roll of gauze and a purchase of antibiotics later, we all poured back into the van, eager to get home and tend to our wounded only to find the vehicle would not start. Did I happen to mention we had expected just a quick stop and were parked in the road?
With Scott clutching tightly to the gauze patch on his head with one hand and holding his headlamp in the other, he walked behind the van as the other men worked to maneuver the vehicle backwards to a spot where they could get it off the road. This in a place where there were no streetlights and no open stores, save for “La Pharmicia”. While Marcel called a mechanic friend to come look at the car, (remember it is almost midnight now) Loren went back into the pharmacy to purchase sterile gloves so he could administer first aide there under the blinking pharmacy sign. We had acquired quite a little audience by this time, had it not been so late I am sure Marcel would have figured out some way to tell those who gathered about Jesus. As it was, the mechanic arrived and Marcel used his car to drive us to our rooms, where we all fell into an exhausted sleep.
Today has been a good day. I am happy to report that Scott’s head looked great this morning and as far as we can tell, he is his normal, chipper self . Today has been a very good day. I am also delighted to tell you that tonight, we are in “the house”. What a difference in perspective two days makes. If you had led me here the first night, I think I would have looked at the place we were staying and wondered how I would survive two weeks there. Now I look around and say, “Thank you Lord, for providing us with such a place.” As Loren says, now he feels like he is home.
So by now you might be asking, “How is that you have come to love this place which has presented you with so many difficulties?” That, my friends is the rest of the story, which will have to wait until tomorrow’s post….. IF I return from the road to Kongoussi.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Africa Trip 2012: The Beginning
I am leaving for Africa in less than a week. I have told that to some of the important people in my life this week; the Starbucks barista, my nail tech, the pharmacist. Invariably they ask if I am going on a safari, and will I get to see some exotic animals? “Not really," I tell them, “unless you consider geckos and mosquitoes and rats to be exotic.” That always gives them pause. Anxious to move on to the next customer but still a bit curious they usually ask, “Then why are you going?”
And therein lies a story….
I was saved through the ministry of Good News Club when I was just eight years old. No one in my family at that time was a believer, but as a young teen-ager I began attending an Assembly of God church in Grants Pass, Oregon. One of the highlights of their church year was the annual missions convention, where different missionaries would converge to share their stories and pictures, hoping to gain financial support for the following term. They came… from Indonesia and South America and Mexico, but the ones I remember most were the missionaries from Africa. Night after night I would sit and listen to their tales and gaze at their slides, and from that early age I knew one thing….I NEVER wanted to go to Africa!
I grew up and went away to Bible college, where many of my classmates were training for the mission field. For some reason, most of the ones I came into contact with had one country in mind, Africa. I was quite thankful, as I figured if all of them were going, God would never need to send me.
A song that came out in the early 90s kind of summed up my sentiment; done by Scott Wesley Brown (you can catch it on You-Tube), it went like this, “Please don’t send me to Africa, I don’t think I’ve got what it takes. I’m just a man I’m not a Tarzan, I don’t like lions, gorillas or snakes. I’ll serve you here in suburbia in my comfortable middle class life. But please don’t send me out into the bush where the natives are restless at night.”
I could go on, but you get the picture. I have travelled many places …Israel, Greece, Turkey, Italy, England, Scotland, Spain, France, Mexico, the Caribbean and Canada, not to mention most of the fifty states, but you will notice they all have one thing in common…they are NOT Africa.
So it was I was sitting in the Sunday morning service at TFAB earlier this year when Marcel, from Burkina Faso, Africa, shared a message with the congregation. Honestly, I cannot even remember what the message was about, all I recall is when he was finished speaking and we started to pray, I heard a voice whisper, “I want you to go to Africa next year.” Since I knew that could not possibly be a message for me, I glanced around to see who might be the intended recipient.
But then I heard it again, “Robyn, I want YOU to go to Burkina Faso and teach the women.” It wasn’t an audible voice…indeed, it was much stronger than that. There have been only a few times in my life when I knew that I knew God had spoken directly to me, and this was one of them.
I quickly thought of ALL the reasons I could not go. I don’t do well with dust or heat or smoke or smells and I really DON’T like to fly. Pitiful, I know. I am so thankful that God is patient and gracious with us. Before the service ended I knew….I WAS going to Africa in 2012.
Several months later as I was preparing for the regimen of shots and pills necessary to make the trip to Africa half-way safe, the craziness of what I was doing hit home. I was sitting in my easy chair early one morning and again presented my case to God. I have to be honest, I really didn’t want to go. The thought of flying was terrifying, the thought of spending two weeks in a country that, as Loren says, “Is trying to kill you” just did not sound appealing. Surely God had something just as important here for me to do.
I began reading in the Word where I had left off the prior day, 2nd Corinthians chapter 11. If you are ever feeling sorry for yourself, thinking life is a bit hard, read about all that Paul endured for the sake of the gospel. I was humbled and ashamed. While my life has not been without difficulties, I have never actually chosen to put myself in a position that was way outside of my comfort zone. I reflected on all that the new testament Christians endured to proclaim the name of Jesus and I knew, I WAS going to Africa in 2012.
That was a turning point. I moved from despair at the thought of going to acceptance, knowing God does all things well and I could trust Him to be doing what he deemed absolutely best. I began to pray for the people of Africa, for the women I would be meeting and teaching and for the children I would get to put my arms around and love. I downloaded a picture of a group of children from one of the past TFAB mission trips, making it the focal point of my computer desktop. Their smiles found their way into my heart, and I began to pray for them and for all the churches in Burkina. I began preparing the teachings I would be presenting, and I found myself getting really engaged and excited about what God would have me to share.
What started out as an act of obedience had now become a labor of love. I was amazed to realize I was actually anticipating, with great joy, my upcoming trip. I was going to Africa, and I couldn’t be more delighted. In my mind, God had already worked a mighty miracle.
Now we are just one week out and in spite of my excitement, I find the fear creeping back in. It has kept me awake the past couple of nights, my mind running wild with all the “what ifs?” Can I really get on that plane next Saturday and fly to that place which has always been so frightening to me? Can I leave the comfort of home for the unknown of a place half way around the world?
Early morning today found me back in my chair by the fire, pondering these very questions. It would be so easy, just a phone call to say I could not do it. God would still love me, my family would understand. And then the picture of Jude, my grandson, came up on our digital photo viewer and I was reminded of a conversation we had just last week.
We had pulled into the garage where Grandpa’s boat is resting for the winter. Jude looked at it and informed his sister “That is Grandpa’s boat, he catches really big fishies, Mary-Jane!”
Our dialogue ensued, “Jude, Are you going to go out in the boat with Grandpa next summer and catch big fishies too?”
“I don’t want to go out in Grandpa’s boat,” came the firm reply.
“Why not, Jude?”, I asked.
“I might fall in the water, Grandma. I don’t want to catch a fish, let Mary-Jane have my pole and she can catch the fishy.”
I reasoned with him, I told him we would watch over him. But NOTHING I said could change his mind, he has determined he would rather not catch a big fishy than to risk falling in the water.
The memory of that conversation played loudly in my mind this morning as I sat there, floundering in my own fears. I could just imagine the conversation.
“Robyn, why don’t you want to get on the big plane and go to Africa?
“I am afraid, Father. The plane might crash or I might get very sick, or even die.”
“I will watch over you, daughter.”
Like Jude, I am afraid. But as I hope Jude will one day do, I am listening to the voice of one who loves me, who is telling me He watches over me, He will keep me, He is with me always. I have made my choice. I will put my trust in the one who loved me enough to give His life for me.
I covet your prayers for this journey, I will continue to write, Lord willing, that you might share in the joy of what God is doing for His people there in Burkina Faso.
In the mean time, I will have more conversations with more people this week. I will tell them, “I am leaving for Africa in less than a week.” And when they ask why, I will say, “Let me tell you a story….”
And therein lies a story….
I was saved through the ministry of Good News Club when I was just eight years old. No one in my family at that time was a believer, but as a young teen-ager I began attending an Assembly of God church in Grants Pass, Oregon. One of the highlights of their church year was the annual missions convention, where different missionaries would converge to share their stories and pictures, hoping to gain financial support for the following term. They came… from Indonesia and South America and Mexico, but the ones I remember most were the missionaries from Africa. Night after night I would sit and listen to their tales and gaze at their slides, and from that early age I knew one thing….I NEVER wanted to go to Africa!
I grew up and went away to Bible college, where many of my classmates were training for the mission field. For some reason, most of the ones I came into contact with had one country in mind, Africa. I was quite thankful, as I figured if all of them were going, God would never need to send me.
A song that came out in the early 90s kind of summed up my sentiment; done by Scott Wesley Brown (you can catch it on You-Tube), it went like this, “Please don’t send me to Africa, I don’t think I’ve got what it takes. I’m just a man I’m not a Tarzan, I don’t like lions, gorillas or snakes. I’ll serve you here in suburbia in my comfortable middle class life. But please don’t send me out into the bush where the natives are restless at night.”
I could go on, but you get the picture. I have travelled many places …Israel, Greece, Turkey, Italy, England, Scotland, Spain, France, Mexico, the Caribbean and Canada, not to mention most of the fifty states, but you will notice they all have one thing in common…they are NOT Africa.
So it was I was sitting in the Sunday morning service at TFAB earlier this year when Marcel, from Burkina Faso, Africa, shared a message with the congregation. Honestly, I cannot even remember what the message was about, all I recall is when he was finished speaking and we started to pray, I heard a voice whisper, “I want you to go to Africa next year.” Since I knew that could not possibly be a message for me, I glanced around to see who might be the intended recipient.
But then I heard it again, “Robyn, I want YOU to go to Burkina Faso and teach the women.” It wasn’t an audible voice…indeed, it was much stronger than that. There have been only a few times in my life when I knew that I knew God had spoken directly to me, and this was one of them.
I quickly thought of ALL the reasons I could not go. I don’t do well with dust or heat or smoke or smells and I really DON’T like to fly. Pitiful, I know. I am so thankful that God is patient and gracious with us. Before the service ended I knew….I WAS going to Africa in 2012.
Several months later as I was preparing for the regimen of shots and pills necessary to make the trip to Africa half-way safe, the craziness of what I was doing hit home. I was sitting in my easy chair early one morning and again presented my case to God. I have to be honest, I really didn’t want to go. The thought of flying was terrifying, the thought of spending two weeks in a country that, as Loren says, “Is trying to kill you” just did not sound appealing. Surely God had something just as important here for me to do.
I began reading in the Word where I had left off the prior day, 2nd Corinthians chapter 11. If you are ever feeling sorry for yourself, thinking life is a bit hard, read about all that Paul endured for the sake of the gospel. I was humbled and ashamed. While my life has not been without difficulties, I have never actually chosen to put myself in a position that was way outside of my comfort zone. I reflected on all that the new testament Christians endured to proclaim the name of Jesus and I knew, I WAS going to Africa in 2012.
That was a turning point. I moved from despair at the thought of going to acceptance, knowing God does all things well and I could trust Him to be doing what he deemed absolutely best. I began to pray for the people of Africa, for the women I would be meeting and teaching and for the children I would get to put my arms around and love. I downloaded a picture of a group of children from one of the past TFAB mission trips, making it the focal point of my computer desktop. Their smiles found their way into my heart, and I began to pray for them and for all the churches in Burkina. I began preparing the teachings I would be presenting, and I found myself getting really engaged and excited about what God would have me to share.
What started out as an act of obedience had now become a labor of love. I was amazed to realize I was actually anticipating, with great joy, my upcoming trip. I was going to Africa, and I couldn’t be more delighted. In my mind, God had already worked a mighty miracle.
Now we are just one week out and in spite of my excitement, I find the fear creeping back in. It has kept me awake the past couple of nights, my mind running wild with all the “what ifs?” Can I really get on that plane next Saturday and fly to that place which has always been so frightening to me? Can I leave the comfort of home for the unknown of a place half way around the world?
Early morning today found me back in my chair by the fire, pondering these very questions. It would be so easy, just a phone call to say I could not do it. God would still love me, my family would understand. And then the picture of Jude, my grandson, came up on our digital photo viewer and I was reminded of a conversation we had just last week.
We had pulled into the garage where Grandpa’s boat is resting for the winter. Jude looked at it and informed his sister “That is Grandpa’s boat, he catches really big fishies, Mary-Jane!”
Our dialogue ensued, “Jude, Are you going to go out in the boat with Grandpa next summer and catch big fishies too?”
“I don’t want to go out in Grandpa’s boat,” came the firm reply.
“Why not, Jude?”, I asked.
“I might fall in the water, Grandma. I don’t want to catch a fish, let Mary-Jane have my pole and she can catch the fishy.”
I reasoned with him, I told him we would watch over him. But NOTHING I said could change his mind, he has determined he would rather not catch a big fishy than to risk falling in the water.
The memory of that conversation played loudly in my mind this morning as I sat there, floundering in my own fears. I could just imagine the conversation.
“Robyn, why don’t you want to get on the big plane and go to Africa?
“I am afraid, Father. The plane might crash or I might get very sick, or even die.”
“I will watch over you, daughter.”
Like Jude, I am afraid. But as I hope Jude will one day do, I am listening to the voice of one who loves me, who is telling me He watches over me, He will keep me, He is with me always. I have made my choice. I will put my trust in the one who loved me enough to give His life for me.
I covet your prayers for this journey, I will continue to write, Lord willing, that you might share in the joy of what God is doing for His people there in Burkina Faso.
In the mean time, I will have more conversations with more people this week. I will tell them, “I am leaving for Africa in less than a week.” And when they ask why, I will say, “Let me tell you a story….”
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
A New Hope
This is the forty-first and final segment in a series of journal entries begun in October, 2009. See initial blog post on February 21, 2010.
Jan 1, 2010
A new year, a new hope. The doctor said, “Congratulations!” I simply say, “Thank you Lord!”
I cannot begin to understand your great mercy, so with empty hands I humbly come and kneel before you. Thank you Lord, you have heard the cry of this broken heart and given, indeed, “many more sunrises.”
I do not know why you chose to heal me when I see so many walking through so much, I am truly humbled Lord. Accomplish your purpose in me, may I never forget what you have revealed to this fragile soul. May I ever live to declare that you are God, there is none like you. I join with all creation in declaring that you alone are worthy of all praise.... my Creator, my Savior, my King.
Jan 1, 2010
A new year, a new hope. The doctor said, “Congratulations!” I simply say, “Thank you Lord!”
I cannot begin to understand your great mercy, so with empty hands I humbly come and kneel before you. Thank you Lord, you have heard the cry of this broken heart and given, indeed, “many more sunrises.”
I do not know why you chose to heal me when I see so many walking through so much, I am truly humbled Lord. Accomplish your purpose in me, may I never forget what you have revealed to this fragile soul. May I ever live to declare that you are God, there is none like you. I join with all creation in declaring that you alone are worthy of all praise.... my Creator, my Savior, my King.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Amen and Amen
This is the fortieth in a series of journal entries begun in October, 2009. See initial blog post on February 21, 2010.
December 31, 2009
Thank you, Lord, for a night of sweet rest. Surely you alone have brought peace to my heart. This morning I ask that peace will continue to reign as I hear from the doctor what lot you have chosen for me. This I know, because of you, I have a beautiful inheritance.
Whispers again this morning, Lord….glimpses of life yet to be lived. And yet, as you continue putting together the pieces in the puzzle of my life, creating the perfect picture you have already pre-destined, if you touch and bring healing, how do I not become as Hezekiah….desperate before and then, after the touch of your hand, full of pride because of what you have done.
Praise is the antidote to pride….Psalm 150 declares it. As long as I have breath, I will praise you oh God! No matter what today’s word, no matter the prognosis. “I will sing unto the Lord as long as I live, I will give praise to my God while I have breath in me!”
Oh Lord, whether it is pride in “walking strong” with you or pride in that you would chose to extend your merciful hand of healing to me…cast it away Lord! I bow before you, I humble myself before you. Keep me humble oh God, may I ever find myself kneeling before you!
Oh God, heal to show your great glory….humble me to show your mighty majesty. May the days of being boastful or proud in that which you alone have given….wisdom, provision, strength….may I always know and proclaim it is all from your hand. You ARE the Alpha and Omega of this world and of my life. Amen and Amen.
December 31, 2009
Thank you, Lord, for a night of sweet rest. Surely you alone have brought peace to my heart. This morning I ask that peace will continue to reign as I hear from the doctor what lot you have chosen for me. This I know, because of you, I have a beautiful inheritance.
Whispers again this morning, Lord….glimpses of life yet to be lived. And yet, as you continue putting together the pieces in the puzzle of my life, creating the perfect picture you have already pre-destined, if you touch and bring healing, how do I not become as Hezekiah….desperate before and then, after the touch of your hand, full of pride because of what you have done.
Praise is the antidote to pride….Psalm 150 declares it. As long as I have breath, I will praise you oh God! No matter what today’s word, no matter the prognosis. “I will sing unto the Lord as long as I live, I will give praise to my God while I have breath in me!”
Oh Lord, whether it is pride in “walking strong” with you or pride in that you would chose to extend your merciful hand of healing to me…cast it away Lord! I bow before you, I humble myself before you. Keep me humble oh God, may I ever find myself kneeling before you!
Oh God, heal to show your great glory….humble me to show your mighty majesty. May the days of being boastful or proud in that which you alone have given….wisdom, provision, strength….may I always know and proclaim it is all from your hand. You ARE the Alpha and Omega of this world and of my life. Amen and Amen.
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