covenantmissions.com | Yvette: an average missionary serving an extraordinary God…

“Raquelle” is a high school student.  She is bright and likes to read.  Raised in a Muslim home, Islam has not been resonating with her over recent years.  She began to occasionally attend Catholic Church with a friend, and is drawn to the way Christians pray.  A Christian medical student who lives in her apartment building told her that she should study the Word of God.  He called the youth minister at his church, who then called me and asked if I could meet with Raquelle.  Raquelle and I now meet every Monday morning after her classes.  Since she has no prior Biblical base, we began in Genesis and are tracing God’s plan of redemption from Adam to Jesus.  Right now we’re on the life of Abraham.  What a hard subject to do justice!  I gave Raquelle another book to follow, All that the Prophets Have Spoken, that basically follows God’s prophecies concerning the Messiah.  It has been a great supplement.

“Daoda” is a classmate whom I met when I first started taking French at the university.  He was raised in a predominately Arabic speaking part of the country, and is an Arabic teacher by trade.  We don’t see each other as often anymore because I am only taking one class this year.  One day I was in the neighborhood and decided to stop by the faculty to say hello to some of my friends between classes, and Daoda was there.  Daoda is a strong Muslim with a keen mind.  He is constantly reading international news, and usually is the one to tell me when something of interest has happened in the United States.  Daoda has always been willing to talk about religion, but mostly on an academic level.  Daoda had been approached by Jehovah’s Witnesses a couple of years ago and ever since has been interested in their view of “Christianity.”  On this particular day, Daoda mentioned the Bible that the JWs had given him.

 ”Listen, Daoda, most Christian denominations, the Catholics, the Evangelicals, etc, consider the JWs a sect.  Be very careful not to confuse what they believe with Christianity - it’s completely different.”

“So what is the difference in your beliefs,” he asked.

“They change certain things in the Bible which in turn completely changes the meaning.  Daoda, seriously, if you want to study the Bible, I’ll study it with you.”

“That would be interesting, but right now with my French studies there probably isn’t time to do it.”

“Ah, come on!  You have a 2 hour break between classes every Tuesday morning.”

“Oh yes!  That is true…. that would be a good time.  So….. when could we start?  Next week?”

“Give me two weeks and we’ll start.”

“I want a simple overview of Christianity, something that I could understand.”

“Okay, we’ll start in Genesis, at the beginning…”

“I prefer to do it in English, I read English better than French.”

“Even better!!”

 So last week Daoda and I sat down and had an interesting discussion about the creation of the world.  We talked about the Trinity (which is a huge stumbling block for Muslims) and I was able to take Daoda to John 1 that talks about the “Word” (Jesus) being there at the beginning.  Then I remembered something.

“See, Daoda, this is what I mean, in this text it says that ‘the Word was God.’  The JWs change that to ‘the Word was a god.’  See the difference?  It completely changes the meaning, and here’s why…”

Nice coincidence that we happened to flip to that passage, eh?  Like I said, Daoda’s interest seems purely academic, but it is pretty obvious that God set a divine appointment for he and I to chat.  Pray that God’s Word will not return void, as He has promised!  Also, I am hoping that some of the other students will see us and want to join the conversation.   I’m just sad that it’s the end of the school year.  The clock is ticking.

Also pray for Raquelle.  Raquelle’s family does not know that she is interested in Christianity and I pray that someday her faith would be strong enough to endure the inevitable persecution.

Of course, I certainly need your prayers during this time.

“…let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith…” Heb 12:1b-2a 

Construction - everywhere.  Someone…help…me….please.. I… [gasp].. don’t….think…. I’m… going………to…..make….it…[crumple].

 Most of the last two years has been spent living with constant road construction in the city.    For instance, two days after I arrived, one of the prettiest streets in the city was shut down - the one that borders the ocean and gets you directly downtown.  Closed.  Finito!  Detours, detours, everywhere, detours.

Being able to weave through some of the heavier traffic jams on my scooter helped to turn some frustrations into adventures.  Many times I would giggle in glee at having avoided an hour sitting in traffic by simply driving on the sidewalk for a hundred meters.  But sometimes the construction got the last laugh, particularly on the days when I arrived home with orange clothes and hair from being forced to drive through huge clouds of dirt.

All of this brouhaha has been in anticipation for an international religious conference.  Leaders from countries all over the world  had been slated to arrive and discuss issues pertaining to the dominant religion in these parts.  Countries who share this religion as their state religion have donated a lot of money towards the construction efforts.

The conference was perpetually postponed because (surprise) the road work was never finished in time, kind of like Boston’s Big Dig minus the mafia.  Finally, however, they set a date and stuck to it.  Workers scrambled at all hours to finish the vast myriad of construction sites.  Did they finish everything?  That would be negatory, sir.  Still, enough had been completed to get things moving.

On the day before the conference my colleague and I decided to take advantage of the lull before the storm by taking an inaugural drive up the aforementioned road, which had just been opened in it’s entirety (did I mention that there has been construction for the past two years?).

I picked her up at her house and we were on our way, sort of.  Two blocks from her house, we got stopped by one of the hundreds of young policeman stationed around the city for the conference.

“Please show me your license and registration.”

“Here they are.”

 ”This license is not valid here.”

“Oh yes, sir, it is.  A U.S. license is valid internationally.”

“No it is not.”

“Yes it is.”

“Who told you that?”

“My embassy.”

“Why is your friend here not wearing a helmet?  Look here, that is a very big fine.  I could take your papers.  But I’ll tell you what, if you pay me such and such an amount, I will take responsibility for this problem and you won’t have to go downtown.”

Okay, I know what some of you are thinking - why on earth did she not have a helmet?  Don’t let that distract you, my friends.  Pretend like you never heard that part!

“But officer, it’s such a nice day.  We just want to appreciate all of the beautiful new roads that the President has built.”

“It is very dangerous to drive without a helmet.”

“Yes, you have reason to say that.  You are right.   You know, she has a helmet at home, right over there, see that street?  Can she go get her helmet?”

Pause.

“It is too late, she is already without her helmet.  She must pay me.”

“Why should she pay you?  I am the driver, it is my responsibility.  You should talk to me.”

“You must pay me such and such amount.”

“Please don’t speak with her.  I am the driver here and I am the one responsible.”

“No, she is responsible, she is the one not wearing a helmet.”

“It is my scooter, I am responsible.”

“This license is not valid.  I could keep it.”

“It is valid, sir.”

“I will go get my helmet,” my colleague offers.

“It is too late for that.  She must pay me or I will take your papers and you will have to go downtown to the main station and pay a fine to get them back.”

My colleague disappears to fetch her helmet.

“I will not give you my papers, but we can go downtown together if you want.  I will pay there.”

“You should just pay me, I represent the government.”

“I cannot pay you, but we can go downtown together.”

“I cannot leave this site for another three hours.  It would be easier just to pay me.”

“I don’t mind waiting.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course.  I can wait here for three hours.”

Meanwhile, a dozen or so Africans have passed on their scooters, most with neither the driver nor the passenger wearing a helmet.

“I am the one that can let you go now.  You should pay me.”

“No, I cannot pay you.  I will pay downtown if I have to.”

We stand in silence for a few moments.

“It would be so much easier if you payed me.  Do you want me to take your papers.”

“I will not give you my papers (which they actually have the right to take, by the way). But I will wait for you and we can go downtown together where I will pay.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Almost two years.”

More silence.

“I think you should pay me.”

“Not possible.”

Pause

“I am going to let you go, but you must understand that I am the one that is letting you go.”

“Yes, yes, you have every reason to say that she should wear her helmet.  Your judgment is just.”

“Yes, of course it is.  So, we are clear.  I am the one letting you go.”

“Yes, absolutely.  You are very kind.”

“Okay, as long as you understand I am the one that is letting you go.”

He wanders away to rejoin his buddies who are all standing on one corner.  I wait a few minutes.  Eventually, my colleague runs up with her helmet and we drive off.

“Did you pay him?”

“No way.  But who knows, maybe God is trying to save us from some horrible accident today.”

“I thought the same thing.”

It was a lovely drive.  We were both thoroughly impressed with the new roads.  We couldn’t help being a little sad to think that the government spends so much money on the roads that will mostly be seen by tourists and the wealthy while many populated neighborhoods in the city still have dirt roads.  If they ever call us all downtown to make a donation to pave those roads, I will be the first one there.

FYI - the conference only lasted two days.  Two days!  Two years of construction for two days!  In case you were wondering, this is the real reason I signed on to stay here another year.  It was simply to prove a point.  How could I spend two years with orange clothes and not take another year to drive down their new roads in defiance.  That’ll teach ‘em.

I recently visited my friend Hope who I told you about in a previous blog.  It was really great to see the southern part of the country, where it is tranquil and a lot more green on account of innumerable mango trees that dominate the landscape.  My mouth salivated just walking around, seeing the fruit hanging from branch after branch.  It was a test of will – since nothing was ripe yet!  I have to say, eating your first ripe mango of the season is one of West Africa’s finest pleasures!

Hope and I were thrilled to see each other.  I almost forgot how easy we get on.  We had a wonderful time of fellowship, and I also did some work for her team, translating sections of their website from French into English.  She admitted to me some of her struggles with transitioning to a new place, as well as her concern for her wayward sister.  We prayed together a lot. 

One day I took her whole team to a pool at a local hotel.  What a great day!  It was significant because most people here do not have many opportunities to go to a pool unless they have money.  One of the girls had never been to a pool in her life, and didn’t even have a bathing suit.  After sitting on a nice lawn chair for a half hour, with a pretty garden on one side and a river on the other, she declared that she never wanted to leave and that she would never forget that day.  It brought me a lot of joy to be able to give them an afternoon of pleasure like that.

Hope’s team all live and works in a small rented duplex.  Upon arrival I put my bags down next to an extra mat on the floor that they had prepared for me in the girl’s bedroom.  The very first day was so hot and their room so miserably stifling that the first thing I did was hand a bit of money to one of her teammates to go buy a fan for the room.  I am sure that Hope’s team would have loved to have bought fans for themselves, but the truth is that they are so poor that they don’t have much except for some mattresses on the floor and a plastic table and chairs for the living room.

I was worried about mosquitoes, which in the end didn’t turn out to be a problem.  But what I finally figured out on the evening on the second day was that they were struggling with a cockroach problem in the kitchen (not an unusual problem here at all, though their case was excessive, even by normal standards).  At first I didn’t sweat it.  As it was, the cockroaches were small ones, and I just avoided the kitchen altogether.  But as the days continued to pass my nerves started to wear.  I had visions of cockroaches sneaking into my suitcase.  I couldn’t wash my hands without shuddering.  Bit by bit, the mercury inside my “ability to rough it” thermometer rose over the weekend.  Finally, one afternoon when we were in town, I was able to buy some Raid at a supermarket (no, they don’t sell roach motels here, unfortunately). 

When we got home, one of the girls was working in the kitchen, so I tried to wait as long as I could.  Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore.  I saw a couple of roaches on the corner of the counter and decided to spray.  I aimed and sprayed just enough to knock the two roaches to the floor.  What I wasn’t expecting was what happened next!  The corner where I found the culprits had some cracked tile.  As soon at the chemicals seeped into the cracks in the tile, roaches started pouring out like a scene in a horror movie.  I was jumping all over the place, yelling in English, which of course, no one could understand.  Of course my effort to keep the toxic fumes out the kitchen went out of the window.  It was me against them!  All rationing skills were lost.  I count it an act of grace that none of us came down sick from eating food exposed to dangerous chemicals. 

Thankfully, I was set to leave the next day, which would have been my breaking point, I think.  I have to admit, it was nice to come home to my nice, roach free (usually) apartment.  Will I visit my friend again?  Of course!  It’s a beautiful part of the country.  But maybe next time I’ll choose to stay in a hotel, one with a nice pool.

Last month I had to say goodbye to one of my dearest student friends. “Hope” and I met through Campus Crusade, and she began attending an English class that I offered. Hope had just graduated, and had not yet found work, so we were able to spend an unusually large amount of time together. Even when most of the other student’s attendance trickled off, Hope continued to be faithful to the class, and eventually she and I began meeting regularly for a Bible study in English. In the beginning, she didn’t fully grasp some of the concepts we were talking about, but as we moved on, you could see the seeds of understanding taking root.

When I first met Hope, I could tell that her Christian walk was really just beginning. A petite, introverted, yet feisty natural leader, her growth was exciting to watch. I prayed for her as she struggled to let go of a bad relationship. I celebrated with her when she made the final break. I rejoiced with her when she was admitted to a university in France to get her master’s degree. I grieved with her as she received the news that, even though she was accepted to this institution, she had been denied a visa by the government and therefore could not go. I teamed up with her last year to visit girls in their dorm rooms on campus. When I had cultural questions, she was always patient with me. When I was sick, Hope would visit. When I went on vacation, Hope organized a party to welcome me home. I watched her begin to take younger Christian girls under her wing. I played chauffeur for her with my scooter over several days as we ran errands in preparation for another friend’s wedding. She sat next to me as I led my first group Bible study in French, and was quick to point out how far my French had come and how interesting the discussion had been.

Hope has a way about her that sometimes made me wonder. She seems to possess an innate grace and maturity beyond her years. Then, one day a couple of months ago, Hope shared her testimony with me. She told me that she had been living in our city for several years attending school. Though she called herself a Christian, she really didn’t think much about her faith. She started dating a guy (the same guy she recently was able to finally let go of), and had gotten pregnant. She was ashamed and embarrassed, and didn’t know what to do. When she broke down and told her parents, they told her to come home and that they would take care of her as she went through the pregnancy and birth. The most touching part of the story was hearing about her parent’s response. When she arrived back in the Congo, her parents immediately accepted her and were extremely loving and caring. Hope said to her mother, “I thought that you would be very angry with me, mother, for the disgrace that I have brought upon you and myself.” “My child,” her mother replied,” “how can we not forgive you when we have ourselves been forgiven so much more by Christ?”

After nine months, Hope went into labor, but experienced a still-birth. Sadly, the umbilical cord had gotten wrapped around the baby’s neck. This is something that is so closely monitored in the U.S. that I have taken for granted that it actually still happens. Hope was angry and confused after the birth. “Why Lord, why would you do this?” she asked. After her physical recovery, she decided to move back to our city, and during the trip brought her feelings to the Lord. “It was then that I began to see the new beginning that God was offering me,” she shared, “and I was finally able to thank Him for His care and love for me. I arrived back in the city, and it was so hard, but I went to my church and asked them to help me to stay pure in my relationship, and to help me grow in my faith.”

Listening to Hope’s testimony has been by far the most humbling experience of my time here. Her hunger for God’s word, her patience, and her intuitive maturity all started to make sense. Sometimes as ministers of the gospel, we feel as if we need to convince people through our own efforts, but here was a perfect example of how God had already taken hold of a heart and begun a process. The fact that He called me halfway across the world to watch how He was working while giving me an opportunity to encourage and be encouraged was icing on the cake. I’d like to say that I took Hope under my wing and skillfully led her into a fuller relationship with Christ, but the truth is that I was just one small part of a greater community that included parents, pastors, friends, missionaries, and campus ministers. Her testimony is a perfect example of how God works through His Covenant Community, and how important it is for each one of us to be active in our local churches, families and communities.

Last month, Hope moved to the Southern part of the country to attend and work at a Christian training institute. After over a year of not having a job, Hope met a person in ministry who thought she would make a good addition to their team, and off she went. I marveled at how quickly Hope had moved from the disappointment of the denied visa to France to a trust in God that was exciting. Now, Hope is convinced that she wants to “be about the work of the Lord.” I don’t think we have to be in full time ministry to be working for God, but His call on her life has been a joy to watch nonetheless.

It was sad to see Hope move, but also exciting. Please pray for her as she adjusts to living in a new place. She is a very hard worker, so pray that she is able to remember that God accepts her because of Christ and not because of her works. Pray also that she takes advantage of time alone for rest and refreshment. I plan on visiting her at some point, so pray that God brings that about in His timing. Pray for her sister, “Vesna,” who is still here in our city, and seems to be moving along the same road that Hope was walking before God got a hold of her heart. We all need grace. And rejoice with me that we all share the same God who cares about us so deeply and intimately, a God who promises to give us a future and a “hope.”

The other day I was leading my bi-monthly Bible study with female students. I had a good group of girls, and we were deep into a discussion based on the temptation of Eve in Genesis. In discussing ways that we are tempted as young single woman, the point was raised about how as women we tend to choose men that we think have money or power or looks, and don’t take into consideration nice godly guys who maybe don’t fit our initial bill.

One girl was adamant. “Yes,” she said, speaking in French. “If our hearts are inclined by God towards a certain man, even if he is a villain, we need to listen to our hearts and give that man a chance.”

Huh-what?

“Following our hearts is dangerous,” I interrupted. “We need to pray that God would reveal to us our own prejudices and that He would incline our hearts towards a man that loves Him.”

“Yes yes,” she replied. “Even if he is a villain.”

This went on for a while. Several times during the course of the conversation I felt control slipping away. “How can they not understand what I am saying?” I wondered. Towards the end of the conversation, my mind did a quick search through my French vocabulary.

Wait a minute! I suddenly had the answer.

“Um, when you say villain,” I asked, “do you mean a guy who is ugly?”

“Yes, of course,” all of the girls chimed in. “If he is villain he is beyond ugly, the ugliest of ugly.”

Ah-HA!

Be careful for what we call “false friends” in language learning! Or else you might send an ugly man to prison by mistake.

One of the difficult parts of living in a third world country is that you are never quite sure of people’s motives. From interactions with a stereotypically pushy vendor to a student who has legitimate needs, it can be hard as a Westerner to navigate relationships in a culture where asking others for financial help is not only accepted, but necessary for survival. Your security is not in your bank account, it’s in who you know.

One of my student friends recently admitted to me that she had spent some time in prayer about our relationship. She asked God to examine her own motives for being my friend i.e. would she try so hard to get to know me if I weren’t a white person? This was very humbling for me to hear. It was also, admittedly, a bit discouraging, since this is a student from whom I have never felt anything but acceptance and friendship. I was very proud of her for asking herself this type of question. Most people don’t really bother to examine their motives, and I think her actions reflect a spiritual maturity that is refreshing in many ways.

It is a source of fatigue to feel like people are only friends with you for what they think you might be able to do for them. Having grown up with a wardrobe that mainly consisted of hand-me-downs and bargains from the local consignment store; I have never really been on this side of the tracks before. It’d be easy to say that this is all just a by-product of living in Africa, but in reality, this is just a by-product of being human. At most, our cultural values in the U.S. force us to hide our true intentions a little bit better.

This kind of unwanted attention helps me appreciate some of my stateside friends who possess more wealth or influence than others and the awkwardness they must feel at times. It also makes me examine my own heart - how many times was I nicer to people that might have been wealthier, had more resources, or were more talented than I for the wrong reasons? Probably more than I care to admit.

Being either the envier or the envied comes with its own set of pitfalls and opportunities for sinful behavior. In general, it takes a lot of grace, patience, and repentance to cultivate relationships. Pray that I would have wisdom in my friendships here. Thanks be to God in Christ - who is no respecter of persons, who chooses the foolish things of the world to confound the wise, and who pursues us, His sinful children, despite the fact that we posses nothing that could possibly impress or win Him over. May the fact that He adopted us into His family when we didn’t deserve it compel us to love others well.

The air is bathed in excitement. Tailors are up all night sewing new holiday outfits, vendors are on every corner with special wares for the season, woman are in the kitchen preparing the feast, the city is full of hustle and bustle, children light firecrackers, truck loads of singers wind up and down the streets. And then, of course, the smell of the holiday is on every corner. You know that smell, don’t you?

The smell of sheep dung?

Yes, you guessed it, my friend, when you see herds of sheep for sale on every vacant corner and sidewalk you know it’s time for your favorite holiday and mine - Tabaski!

Tabaski is the holiday for Muslims. As I mentioned to you last year in my newsletter, it is the holiday where Muslims commemorate the day that Ibrahim (Abraham) went to sacrifice his son Ishmael (not Isaac) on the altar until Allah (god) told him to sacrifice a ram instead. Each family that can afford it sacrifices a sheep on this day, and a great feast is had by all. Those who can afford it dress up in new clothes, and those who can’t, borrow. Children run from door to door asking for change (kind of their version of trick-or-treating), and people visit and feed each other well into the night until everyone is tired and stuffed. Of course, at some point in the day, the whole family will go to the mosque.

I spent a couple of hours yesterday afternoon chopping potatoes with my landlord’s wife and daughters. Today, I will spend quite a bit of time helping to chop onions and freshly slaughtered meat. The typical Tabaski meal is lamb with delicious onion sauce and of course, french fries. Don’t ask me how “freedom” fries made their way into the African diet but I can assure you that they play a big role in helping African woman retain their “girlish figures.” My landlord’s family will have three sheep, about $3000 worth! They will continually be cutting up and grilling meat and frying potatoes all day. The first thing they grill is the liver which they eat as a snack around noon with some fries and uncooked, marinated onions. Then, for lunch, they move on to grilled ribs. For dinner, they fry choice pieces of meat until they’re tender. Very yummy but I can hear my arteries clogging as I write this! During the day, as they cut up the meat they set aside portions to give away to neighbors and those who are less fortunate.

Muslims all around the world will be celebrating some version of this holiday around this time (depending on the lunar calendar). For many domestic workers, Tabaski marks their only holiday of the year. Many people go home to their villages to spend a few days or weeks. The two maids that work downstairs for my landlord left yesterday for their respective villages for a three week vacation. The rest of the year they work 7 days a week, all day and most evenings! Pray that they get a good rest, and that Africans who use domestic help will begin to recognize the need for all people to have at least one day of rest each and every week!

Christmas will come and go next week with barely a thought. For instance, I was supposed to have a door delivered earlier this week. Of course, the carpenter didn’t finish on time, so I have to wait until after Tabaski. My landlord happily informed me today that the door would be delivered on Tuesday. “But, that’s Christmas,” I told him. “Oh, er, well, later in the week then,” he replied.

There are signs of Christmas - even my landlord has a tree in his hallway. The signs mostly consist of tacky frosted windows at gas stations as well as decorated trees and fat santas climbing up the walls of the tourist restaurants in town.

I’ll be celebrating Christmas in a village this year, with one of our national churches - tiny, but a light in a dark place.

So, good people, in light of the Truth which eludes many, may Emmanuel be with you this holiday season. May He help us remember Him even when surrounded by things that distract us from His glory! For unto us a child is born - Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world!

Being the ENFP that I am, I somehow lost my little foreign identity card. So I trotted on down to the Office for Foreigners. After persistently assuring them that, no, I did not want to come back on Monday, the nice man found my original card number. He then told me that I needed to go take a new identity photo as well as a copy of my passport and bring it back to him.

Like I said, I am an ENFP, so it took a couple of weeks to actually get this done. After all, I had coincide the photo with the washing of hair and all kinds of other feminine things. I decided to make it a priority after one of my student friends told me that she had been praying every day for my lost card! (Oh, the guilt!) Finally, an opportune day came. I got dressed up, even put on makeup, and trotted to the photo lab.

I was quite pleased with the way it came out. I should tell you, my nickname here is “fille-garcon” (girl/boy). This nickname was given to me by my landlord on account of the fact that I drive a scooter (you never see local women driving scooters) and usually look slightly disheveled. Miraculously, the woman managed to take the photo so that there was no double-chinnage or plump cheeks to be found! I was obviously quite pleased to have a nice new photo that proved that I know how to look like a girl, and a slightly thinner girl at that, given that many of my African friends thought it necessary to tell me that I had gained weight when I returned from Europe. [grumble]

That evening, I went to an African friends house for dinner. I showed her my new photo.

“Yvette, theese does noht look lahk yoo”

“What do you mean? I took this photo two hours ago in these same clothes.”

“Yoo look too skeeny in theese photo. Eeef I jest ‘ad looked aht theese photo weethout seeing yoo, I wood ‘ave asked eef yoo ‘ad been seek!” (Note - If anyone loses weight here, people assume that they had been sick, because why else would anyone lose weight?)

“Sick? But really, I just took this photo!”

“No, yoo look too skeeny in theese photo. Eet ees not lahk yoo”

Sigh!

After recovering from that blow to my ego, I managed to bring the photo and a copy of my passport back to the office for foreigners, which the gentleman promptly deposited on his desk, asking me to return tomorrow because today he “is very tired!”

I guess if anything, I can rejoice in one more thing I have in common with Africans, our incredible ability to procrastinate!

I thought you would want to know that Lamine, the little boy for whom many of you have been praying, passed away the week before I got back into town. His death was especially hard on my teammates who have been so diligent to minister to this family regularly. If you remember, my team met Lamine while hosting a short-term medical clinic in his village. Lamine had a tumor on his neck the size of a large cantaloupe. The doctors went home from the clinic in search of a way to get Lamine to the states to have the tumor removed. Through the generosity of the Children’s Miracle Network, Lamine was finally flown to the states and had a successful surgery. Though there was a chance that the tumor would grow back, everyone was inspired by Lamine’s story and the sacrifice of the doctors and the hospitals to do this all free of charge.

Lamine was able to live for several months tumor free. It was very exciting. But eventually the bad news came. The tumor had returned very aggressively. Eventually it took over his mouth and throat to the point where he could not speak. Members of my team and the national church had been faithful to visit Lamine and his family throughout this whole process. They were able to share that, in Christ, God offers us spiritual healing beyond what this world can offer us. Lamine’s family was very touched by the love shown to them during this time and that continues to be shown to them. They have repeatedly said that they do not understand why my teammates would be so kind and generous to strangers. We are not sure where Lamine was spiritually when he passed on, but we trust God in His perfect plan for this family. God continues to open doors of communication with them and we pray that they will be brought to life in Christ.

Lamine’s life reminds me that death without Christ is always a tragedy, be it at 11 years old or 90 years old. Unfortunately, even if the tumor had never grown back and Lamine had lived, he still would have had to face death sooner or later, just as you and I will. It doesn’t take much looking around to realize that the world is just as spiritually corrupt as it is physically. I only have to look as far as my own self-centered heart to know this to be so.

Let’s continue to combat poverty, both physical and spiritual, by ministering the gospel both in word and deed!

My teammate Jan wrote this update this summer and I thought I’d share it with those of you who may not receive her updates directly. It’s quite a story. Keep praying for this family!

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The national church that we partner with began a new work in a town I’ll call “N.” about nine months ago. The church planter, Paul, and his wife are both originally from N., but had spent several years in the capital city before moving back to N.

Each spring in the N. area, a group of witchdoctors meet to consult the ancestral spirits about the upcoming rainy season and harvest. They hold a special ceremony to make public what the spirits have told them.

This spring, one of their predictions was that a girl would be bitten by a poisonous snake. Unless the girl then came to see them with lots of money and gifts, she would surely die; however, even if she did come, there would be no guarantee that she would live. The witchdoctors also said that the girl would be of a lighter shade of skin color and would help with taking care of a church (a noteworthy detail since most of the people in the area practice folk Islam, a mixture of Islam and animism, with just a very small Catholic minority).

A few weeks later, a high school senior whom I will call Marie, who had been recently converted through Paul’s ministry, went on an outreach activity with the church youth group. On the way back, she was bitten in the leg by a poisonous snake. As news spread that she had been bitten, everyone realized that she must be the girl in the witchdoctors’ prediction. Not only was Marie’s skin shade lighter than average, she also regularly swept the room her church meets in.

Marie’s family wanted to take her to the witchdoctors, but she refused, saying that she trusted in God to heal her. Paul and the other Christians prayed fervently for her. Her leg began to swell until it was a few times its normal size.

The whole extended family put a lot of pressure on Marie and on her church family, saying that if they didn’t take her to the witchdoctors and she died, they would hold the church accountable for her death.

Meanwhile, one of the key men in the church was trying to find a way to obtain the antidote to the poison. The one necessary injection costs more than $200, a huge sum for the local people.

Humanly speaking, Marie should have been dead after two or three days. Five days after she was bitten, she was still alive. The church leader was finally able to get the antidote and it was given to her. Marie recovered quickly and completely and took her comprehensive high school final exams two weeks later. She passed the difficult exams, and her story has become well known all over the area, leading to conversations about the Gospel and confessions of faith in Christ.