Ten Minute Musings

Among the Watchi the name you receive is usually based on what day you were born. That is, until the fateful day when you first “need” major assistance from the voodoo spirits. On that day your name usually changes to reflect whatever voodoo you have been linked to. This name then becomes who you are in more ways than one. There are, of course, other trappings that go along with the worship, but it is the name that really establishes your identity and reminds you of whom you serve as you are hailed daily by that new moniker. One of my dearest friends I have called Houndzo ever since I met him over six years ago after he began serving Jesus. About two months ago I noticed that those closest to him began calling him by the name Bertin. Upon some investigation I found out that the name “Houndzo” had been his voodoo name and that he was getting rid of that. Bertin had received his new identity in Christ six years earlier and has worked selflessly to plant five other churches in these last years, but had somehow forgotten to change his name. So, all of you out there who have regularly prayed for Houndzo, please stop. Don’t pray for him anymore, pray for Bertin, Houndzo died over six years ago.

Praise God for his grace that renews us daily and the frequent reminders of that renewal.

“Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation, the old has gone, the new has come.” (II Cor. 5:17)

Yet another first for the Koonce boys.  Ice skating.  Hey, what can I say, for four boys from the equatorial jungles of Africa, they are naturals, as long as they wear enough clothes.  There were a few spills, but there were no tears and only one complaint of cold hands.  Special thanks to Uncle Sonnie, the family’s only hockey lover, for getting his nephews out on the ice.   The impressive thing is that they did it for four straight hours and really loved every minute of it.  I believe that one of the unique characteristics of our sons from living in Togo is a willingness to try new things, even though they may be difficult.  There is a youthful confidence about them, that even though it may be wrought with challenge, they are willing to give it a go.  What happens to us?  Where does that fear of failure come from?  Is the experience of life so brutal that we resolve ourselves to the status quo?  I believe that a legitimate aspect of our love for Christ draws us or maybe calls us into change.  Often we resist as the unknowns are dwelt upon, but Jesus calls us to take those steps forward of faith, into the unknown.  He is always faithful and he will bless us to overcome whatever obstacles we face.  As Romans 8:28 says, “All things work for the good of those who love the Lord and are called according to his purpose.”  There is the confidence we need to step out into the adventure of the unknown.  It will work out for the good whether it is the new skill of ice skating, the changing of your job, or the alteration of daily habits in pursuit of the holiness.

They first took care of the important things, to see the unique animals of America. Whereas most kids head for the lions and elephants, our kids took off to see bisons and bears.  They were enthralled by the beasts of North America, yet in the end they found themselves migrating towards the pacoderms and royalty of the savannahs.  Upon sighting the elephant, who can here be seen practicing his gymnastics, their faces grew rather long.  They, as well, miss Africa.  A zoo is great, but nothing beats a full

grown bull elephant charging your car as you drive down the gamepark road or having lions lounging by a recent kill twenty yards from the road (especially when a French tourist, not seeing the lion, decides to get out of the car and walk up to the recently deceased buffalo).  Well, just seven weeks to go and they will be back in the wilds.  There is a good chance that as we depart Virginia in January we could see an increase in temperature of at least 85 degrees in just one day’s journey.  Yet, even as the heat hits them and they shed all the clothes and don flip-flops, they will praise God together with us that we have returned to the great continent of Africa to share the love of Jesus.

Twelve years ago, we stood on a ridge overlooking the Yazoo River in Vicksburg, Mississippi and took a picture by this exact cannon of our then only son Tucker. This last Monday, it was not just one son, but four who stood on that ridge. This battlefield has always intrigued me with its various types of defense structures that still exist in the terrain and its tales of extraordinary courage. I was pleased to see it capture the imaginations of my sons as they envisioned the battle and thankful when they began to realize the tremendous costs paid by both sides. A particular story of courage deeply touched us all as it was told of one lone standard bearer for the North that charged the redoubt that held the Texas regiment. Even though all took aim, none of the shots struck their mark as this brave soul closed the gap down to just fifty yards. At that point the soldiers of Texas were so amazed at his courage that they instinctively lowered their guns and called for everyone to cease fire. Instead of being shot down, this man of great valor was received as a hero, being welcomed with open arms by the Texas regiment. What courage and faith it took to charge the hill. How overwhelming it is to be in the presence of such bravery. It effects us. It stirs our hearts. I can only look forward to the impact that such moments will have on our sons, that over the years they will not only hear stories of such bravery but they will see courageous faith exemplified before their very eyes in the lives of their African brothers and sisters in Christ. As well, I hope as a dad of four strong and brave young men, that I too can live such a life.

Or is it the other way around?  Who is adopting who?  We are finishing up our last visit to Tyler, Texas with the Glenwood congregation before making our final preparations and getting holiday time with family before our January departure for Africa.  It has been wonderful as they have welcomed us in like family.  All in all, we can’t say enough about the believers here.  They have moved us with their prayers.  They have wooed us with their love.  They have challenged us with their spiritual depth and insight.  They even took us to the zoo, a dinner theater, and to play golf!!!   I think we should adopt them and call them our own.  Welcome, Glenwood, to our family of supporters!  We look forward to many years of partnership together as we serve God in Togo and later Rwanda.

Annually, for more years than we can count, our extended family has gotten together near Monticello, Arkansas, to participate in the traditional deer hunt on the opening weekend of deer season.  It has become the additional November holiday that truly “kicks off” the holiday season.  Although some of the details of the weekend have changed, men cooking, women hunting; for the most part, it still maintained the charm and wonder of all the decades past.  It still included the hunting, shooting, hauling, cleaning, cooking, and eating of deer.  But, more importantly it included the family relationships, the stories of hunts past, the humor of events revisited, and the worship individually and collectively of our God who made it all possible.  Whereas I, personally, passed up several deer, Tucker at age 12 and Taylor at age 10 both got their first deer ever.  Tucker’s was the first of the weekend which caused me to gush with no small amount of pride.  Taylor’s was about five or so years before my first one, so I was impressed with that as well.  It was a weekend that I have missed from Africa.  It is one that is hard to find a replacement for.  Over the years I have found myself growing quite nostalgic as October ended and November began, knowing that my family was gathering for the hunt.  After having been able to take part in this year’s hunt, I realized that this gathering of family is rather unique and that it will be impossible to replace.  I realize that more than the deer camp itself, it is actually my family that I have missed so “deerly”.

We haven’t been at Harding for a Homecoming since 1990 and even then we didn’t really participate. Homecomings were always for the aged and elderly. They would smile upon arrival and talk about how much has changed and remember the “good ole days”. They would make the appointed meetings, banquets, and traditional stops. They would take in as much of the musical as they could before falling asleep and attend the football game while never really watching the game itself, but instead standing in the end zone finding as many people to reconnect with as they could. They would lead their children around the campus talking about that which occurred there and this which happened here.

I must now confess that upon my recent prodigal return, I did all of the above and I loved Homecoming weekend. I now have more merit to calling myself middle-aged. It was great to reminisce with those I could remember who also actually remembered me. More than anything it was great to realize how much of an impact Harding has had on me. I learned about Jesus there. I grew up there. I met the love of my life there. I embraced a life-time vision that all began there. I am amazed at all the incredible things that God has done in my life and so many of them originated from my attending Harding. So, if it has been a while, go back for a visit and remember, there, what God has done for you since. It is not heaven, but it is a blessed place that in spite of its faults continues to bless my life.

It was much better than the first and prettier as well.  We stood outside and gawked.  The boys went and sat in it.  We sang.  We prayed.  We stood amazed as our back yard world was encased in shining silver.  Even though the frost melted in the bright morning sun, our hopes in Christ for the day did not.  As we had started in worship, we continued to worship throughout, and ended our day in the presence of God, still in awe of the beauty of our creator and his deep, specific love for us.  Oh for the ideal day, daily, how sweet it would be.  Yet, so many of our days don’t begin with such beauty as the second frost, but, they still can begin in the beauty of his love.