God bless the last ones

Kekeli is her name and she daily takes her post outside of the Concord grocery store in Lome, Togo. She is severely crippled and is among the hundreds of those begging for loose change on the streets of the capital city. Often we are asked for money, but we rarely take note of those asking us. We give with a “God bless you” and usually a smile, but these “last ones” who shall one day be first have become part of the scenery of Togo.

Kekeli is different. Her smile is what caught our attention. One day I was feeling rather generous and I gave about twice as much as usual. The amount was equal to a legitimate wage for a day’s labor. Kekeli reacted with glee. It was such a display of joy that Louise began to call her my girlfriend. It went on for months that I would give her a lion’s share of the change and her being overjoyed before I ever asked her name. In reality her joy was infecting me and those around her.

Last week I decided it was finally time to ask the name of my “girlfriend”. She told me it was Kekeli.

Kekeli means light.

Fitting, don’t you think?

 

He healed my cassava!

Each year that we have interns we send them out to live with a family in one of the farming villages far away from civilization and other comforts. We call this bonding and it is an important part of cultural study for any missionary.

After three or four days we go and pick them up and they are gushing with stories of various adventures that range from culinary delights to the amazing power of nonverbal communication. It is rare that anything of great significance, spiritually speaking, occurs. Most of the time everyone returns with the ‘wow, we sure are blessed as Americans’ or the ‘living simply is where it’s at’ realizations, but I can’t remember a time when they came back with a ‘WOW, God showed up!’

This year was an exception and I got to hear about it first hand. Two of our interns bonded in the Adankonou area. One stayed with Tsokemawu (forgiven by God) and the other with Jerome (kind of a bland name for a Watchi, huh?).

On Sunday we arrived to worship with them all before taking the interns home and it came time for people to share what God had recently done in their lives. Tsokemawu stood up and talked about how he had been shocked that an American really could live with their family and eat out of the same bowl and drink from the same cup. He then stated how we are all really one in Spirit. Then his wife stood up. She talked about how amazed she was at the humility of the American that stayed with them. (That is something you don’t hear every, or maybe I should say, any day.) Of course, she was amazed that he helped cook and went to the field and played with her kids. Then she stopped and said, “He even prayed for the kids when they were sick and as soon as he finished, they were well.” We sat up at this. Part of me wanted to say, “That isn’t fair, he doesn’t even speak the language.” Or maybe, “He cheated and used English!” I did inquire as to how sick they were and how well they became, and I found out that yes, they were really sick and yes, they immediately became really well and all I could say was, “Yah, Kafu Mawu daaa. Enye nusekatatato vava!!” (loosely translated as WOW!) As if that wasn’t enough, then the old man, Amekpa, stood up and said, “They went to my field of cassava that was all wilted and dying and they prayed for it and this morning I went out and it was all good and green! They healed my cassava!” This time their was no temptation for banter or discussion about the importance of working in the vernacular language, it was already out there, “They healed my cassava!”

We all said, “Wow!” The interns didn’t plan for this. We didn’t even consider it. It’s just that one intern, without speaking their language, in compassion handed things over to God that could only accomplished in Jesus’ name and amen,

it came to pass.

This kind of reminds me of some things Jesus said.

John 14:14 Whatever you ask in my name …

Faith

 

A lesson about prayer

As missionaries to the Watchi people of southern Togo, back in 1997, we were distressed by the lack of age we were seeing among the members of the various churches. The average believer seemed to be a nineteen year old male farmer. It was time to start training leaders and we knew that we needed some “old men” in the church that would provide stable leadership for the fledgling movement of Jesus.

So, we began praying for old men to want to walk with Jesus.

About a month later, dressed more like a Peace Corps volunteer than a missionary I was walking around in a new village with some men from Tabligbo. As we walked along we noticed an old man sitting beside a coffin stand, yes that is a place where several coffins are for sale roadside. This papa had also taken notice of us and did something that shocked everyone.

He said in the Eve language, “Mawu fe nutsu, va gblo nam tso Yesu nuti.” This is translated, man of God, come tell me about Jesus; and he was looking at me when he said it.

How did he know I spoke Eve? How did he know that I knew about Jesus? How? What was going on?

When I retell this story, I am amazed. I can almost smell the air and remember exactly where I was standing and what I was wearing when he called out to me like that. It was so surreal, or maybe I should say so super-real.

This man that I called Papa was completely crippled by arthritis. He was suffering greatly, yet thinking very clearly. When I later asked him why he had wanted to learn about Jesus, he told me that it was because the idols had failed him. He knew in his heart that God would not.

He did find Jesus. He was reborn in Christ and then several months later left us to be with Him.

I have always been rather attention deficit. God has had to use some special moments in my life to open my eyes. Being side swiped by an 18 wheeler and drug down the interstate against a retaining wall comes to mind. Not as dangerous, but just as poignant to me is this moment when God was wanting to encourage me to pray.

It is a lesson I am still learning.

You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it. John 14:14

 

Spiritual reality check

I’ll never forget our second Sunday in Togo, almost eleven years ago. We went to the small village church of Kpo Kpo Kondzi. Their building was poorly positioned between the village idol and the well. In other words, each Sunday it was the center of village ‘life’. Fights at the well usually broke out as soon as the singing began. On our first Sunday there, it lived up to its reputation,

chaos.

After walking the gauntlet of onlookers to the church building, we entered and began worshipping with our teammates, the Holland’s, and a group of about twelve young men and women. In the middle of this, our six month old son, Taylor, began crying or maybe I should say, screaming. We did all of the “American” things to do patting, feeding, walking, etc… but, to no avail.

Side note, Taylor’s infancy was so quiet and easy that we hardly remember it. He just kind of hung out from the moment he was born, as if he was saying, “everything’s cool, I’m just happy to be here.”

For him to cry in this way, was shocking to us. After about five minutes of it we were worn out and truly at a loss. Brenda, our very experienced teammate, saw what was happening through a different set of glasses, spiritual ones. She saw that this was an attack on us and an attempt to discourage us. She simply bowed her head and prayed for Taylor to be at peace.

He was,

but, we weren’t. It was a ‘we aren’t in Kansas anymore’ moment.

Since then, we have learned to pray more, and be more observant, spiritually speaking,

“Be self controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.” I Peter 5:8

Also, though, we learned,

“You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world.” I John 4:4

I guess that was our orientation class to the school of missions in Togo.

 

hanging out

That is me, there in the middle, hanging by the homemade rope; at least that is how I feel on some days anyway.

This poor lizard was still breathing when we saw him, but I’m not sure he made it for much longer. He seemed to be on his way out.

We are hosting interns right now. Where did they get all that energy? Where has ours gone?

They do bring a great bit of liveliness with them, though, and we keep pace, for a while, and then we kind of resemble the lizard at left.

Worn out and hanging by a thread.

It’s worth it though. I love telling the stories to them, the stories of faith and God’s power. In fact, it actually revives me quite a bit.

Thought in my next few posts I would revisit some of those stories with you all and maybe they’ll revive me enough to bite that guys kneecap.

Maybe they’ll encourage you too. I hope so.

 

From retreat to reality

I love retreats and I loathe returning from retreats. Have you ever noticed that it is almost as if others sense that you’ve been recharged and they purposefully attempt to bring you back down off the mountain to …

reality.

I think maybe I have had it some wrong. I have looked at retreats from an incorrect angle. I usually had expectations of resting and returning with a profound increase in energy, physically ready to take on the world.

I am the father of four sons. I will probably be physically tired for a long time to come. If I base the good of getting away to a lonely place with God on how I feel physically, then as I am being hammered by the world on my return, I might be a little …

disappointed.

There has to be more to it than that. If I can change my perspective, though, and look a little more intuitively at the spiritual healing that comes from being refreshed on the mountain, then I will see …

strength for the coming days; faith that moves mountains; patience that can withstand the border crossing between Ghana and Togo; and love, his perfect love for me that drives out all fear.

That might just last a little longer than the troubles of the return and may even reshape…

reality.

So our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. II Corinthians 4:17-18.

Reality according to Jesus. The world looks a bit different.

Aren’t we a good looking bunch!

 

Just sat and sat and said, “Wow!”

I didn’t know for sure that I could, just sit and look, and listen. I could and I did.

And, I stood amazed, while sitting, of course.

The waves rolled in over the rocks so loudly that it could wake you up at night. The lightning lit up the sky on one night and on another there were so many stars, well, that it seemed I saw a few million new ones. It was incredible. It screamed, “GLORY!”

We are surrounded by God’s glory, but so often we don’t sit and take it in. It just bounces off of us and the moment is lost, because we aren’t looking for Him and his glory.

We are a bit busy for all that, reflecting and musing stuff.

I came across a phenomenal verse this week. I have seen it many times, but in the setting of Coconut Grove overlooking the Atlantic I tripped over it.

Christ in you, the hope of glory.

I just had to stop and say, “Excuse me?” “My actions, words, and very life could cry out, ‘glory’ just as dramatically as this diverse and impossibly beautiful setting on the coast of Africa.

Something to consider.

God is only hoping.

 

Just sitting …

Next week I’m going to the beach.  It is for a retreat with our other missionary friends in West Africa that we call WAMR.  Usually it is held at Coconut Grove in Elmina, Ghana and this year will be no exception.  It is a wonderful time of renewal, but I usually don’t come back very renewed.  It might be because the hotel also has a nine hole golf course and I usually spend my renewal time trying to get the little white orb to go in the little white cup.

I think this year I am going to spend more time … just sitting.

This is not like a new year’s resolution.  This is the me I’m becoming.  I am beginning to see the value of just sitting.  For when I just sit, I hear things, like the ocean, like the laughter of my children, like the songs of various birds, like the beautiful voice of my wife, and other amazing things.  I see things that normally escape my line of sight.

Before you all jump on me about saying that I can’t go to Coconut Grove without playing golf, I must say that you are absolutely right.  It would not be the correct thing to do.  It is tradition that I hit the ball, several times.  I am just vowing ahead of time to opt out of a few rounds and just sit while taking in the wonder of God.

Wish you could be there with us, just sitting,

praising Him for all He has done, and dreaming of all that He is going to do.

The Lord has done great things for us and we are filled with joy.  Psalm 126:3

 

The dilemma of confession - part 1

Since returning to Togo, there has been a common thread consistent through all my prayers, studies, teachings, and conversations.  It is the desire for God’s presence here among the Watchi.  I am not sure as to the root of this desperation; maybe it is the reality of our last year among them; maybe it is because the presence of other forces is so evident; or perhaps it stems from a renewed zeal of mine to walk with Him.  I am not really sure.  All I know is that I want to see Him and know Him here, as I never have before.

I must ask myself at this point in my musings, why hasn’t His Presence been more evident?  What has kept Him?

As I look around at the Watchi, I see a people who are living poorly and fearfully.  Foolishly they are fearful of everything but God.  As you pass by the idols of each village and compound, it is apparent that the Watchi don’t fear God.  As Proverbs teaches, this fear is the beginning of wisdom and truly wisdom is what is needed among the Watchi.

My ten minutes is almost up.

I long for God to show up among the Watchi and in my house as well.  Reverence and devotion are born from the fear of God.  Love comes as well, deep love that explodes within us at the realization of his mercy and forgiveness for us.  Passion for Him consumes us as hope invades our heart, that we could live a different, bolder, and more significant life with Him … forever.

In the middle of it all is confession; a willingness to admit fault and verbalize failure as we ask to be pardoned.  It is humbling.  It is the opposite action of pride.  We resist it.  We hate it.  To confess is to admit our continual need for Him.  It is the realization that we, although having improved substantially, have still quite a distance to go.  Repentance follows and both of them happen in reaction to the fear of God.

Am I wise enough to fear Him?  Do I realize who I am praying to?  Can I possibly conceive how great He is and how much He loves me?  How can I possibly help the Watchi to grow in this?

out of time.

 

Did I really just do that?

There are many ways to be overwhelmed by God’s beauty and underwhelmed (that should be a word, shouldn’t it) by your own strength or lack of thereof. In those moments of smallness face to face with God’s greatness, vocabulary becomes limited to things like wow and primeval yells. There is really nothing like it.

Had that today here in Togo as Tucker and I strapped ourselves to parachutes and ran off the side of a mountain. Watching Tucker go was … wow. Going myself was … WOW. Incredible and so refreshing to be loved by such a great God and enjoy his beauty in such unexpected ways. The mountains, valleys, clouds, wind, birds, trees, rocks all screaming in unison, “GLORY!” And then there you are, sailing along with nothing between you and a very long fall to earth. WOW, the parachute really works.

Faith is the WOW of our lives. It is faith and hope coming together bound by our weakness and his strength, and love. Then, WOW, he comes in and rescues, saves, intervenes, heals,

and we cry,

GLORY.

Cool thing was that we did it for $30 each.