An Unexpected Invitation!

Almost as soon as we arrived in our town, we had to get started with school. We had a conference scheduled for October and November, so we needed to get ahead before a seven week break. The rains were still heavy then, so it was no big deal for us to not get out then. About four weeks into school, we found out the conference was postponed/ cancelled.  Suddenly that pressure to get ahead in school was removed. However, after seven weeks of school and the rains slowing, we knew it was time to get out to the villages to greet.

I had suggested to Rich that we make a tour of some villages, even maybe spending the night in the farthest one out, and then visiting more villages on the way home. My husband, wise as he is, thought it better for us to try to do only a couple of villages and then come back in town for the night. He was right. The children are not yet used to being out in the village and more so not used to travelling those bumpy roads.

We set out on our journey. Only about ten minutes down the road, Rich realized he did not mean to go that way. He turned the truck around and took another path. What a gift we had as a large group of baboons got off of the road in front of us and then sat watching us, as still as we sat watching them. One of those moments just because we can!

After we finally arrived at the first village, a young brother greeted us and then left to the next village up the road. We greeted for the death and the kids played a little, but the conversation was not productive.  Rich got a call from one of the other young brothers. The one we had seen had told the others who were meeting up the road that we were there. They called to invite us to come join them. This was not the plan that we had, but we rejoiced at the invitation.

We showed up and greeted six brothers, some as new as a month ago. They were meeting inside of a hut and invited us to join them. We listened as they read and studied the word together. They invited Rich to share from the Word as well.  They asked me to share a word, but I did not feel clear direction about which one to share, so I passed. So instead, they asked me to pray as we closed. A humbling experience I assure you, knowing the trials that these men were facing or would face.

We ate lunch with them. We listened to the Word on a recording. What a blessed time of fellowship. Looking forward to doing that again, especially with one of the wives who is a sister as well. For once, it felt like we were a part of the Family, not white or black. We are one in the bond of love.....

Toubaako!

If I never hear that word yelled at me again, that will be just fine with me. "Second term blues."  That is what they call it. When you return to a place you have been before, yet all those things you thought you were used to aggravate you more than they did before. A few aggravations are on my list, but none greater these days than being called, "Toubaako!" or "White foreigner!"

Sometimes it is an innocent child who just does not know any better. Little children are often more open and honest than we really want them to be. For instance, I go out with my three-year-old to visit. I really want to stay and talk, but she keeps begging to go home. I cannot hide that from those whom we are visiting. When a small child is calling to me, I can suggest that they call me a name they would use for their mother or aunt, because the chances are good that I am older than their mother.

However, when a teenager or, worse yet, an adult yells at me, I just want to scream. The culturally correct response to them is to call out in their language, "Black person."  Maybe it is because of my daddy being from Alabama. Maybe I heard too many things said regarding a person's color having grown up in Louisiana. Maybe I became more sensitive after the race riots in Shreveport when I was in middle school. I just cannot seem to bring myself to use this culturally appropriate response. The few times that I did bring myself to say it, I had a bad taste in my mouth.

I try to dress like the people here. I speak their language. No matter what I do, I will always be different by my skin color. It is not that I mind being different. I know that there are some ways that I am different because of my faith and that is not a problem. I just want to stand out for the right reasons.

Last week, we were studying the founding of Jamestown.  A light went on inside my head. It is no wonder that white people are seen as they are after how the French came here to colonize. It was likely a very similar impression as that given to the Native Americans by the Spanish and English. Father, help me to elevate these people, and help them to see their value through Your eyes.

Sunday, as we met for worship, it occurred to me that I am here to stand out. No matter how much Jesus tried to blend in, even taking on the clothing of a man, he could not help but stand out. By no means am I Jesus, but he sent his followers, of which I am one, out to be different.   Lord, when I stand out because of my skin color, help me to shine forth Your light with a holy glow.

A Friend's Marriage

I had seen my friend several times in a week. She seemed to be weighed down by something but she was not yet willing to share what was going on inside her.

One day, I offered to help her by loaning her some money to take care of her diabetic husband who was injured and needed to go to the doctor. The flood gates opened and she poured out her heart.

Her husband apparently has another woman in another town, which is another reason for him to go there in addition to taking care of some family property.  My friend works to pay for everything that she and her son need. Her husband, while not making much money and for the most part unemployed, sends what money he does get, she suspects, to the other woman.

As if this were not enough, she lives in the home with her husband's family. She feels like an outsider in her own home, as if everyone else in the family knows what is going on besides her. Praying for my dear friend in a difficult situation.

Another Talibe story.

Shortly after we returned to our town and began to get settled into our home, I was visited by one of our neighborhood boys. He was coming to greet us, since we had not yet seen us. He is one of the boys who had befriended my children and yet he has no mother and father. For whatever reason, he had been given to a religious leader as a young boy.

While talking with him, I noticed that his finger was swollen. Upon inspection, I discovered a large gash on his finger had gone untreated and was now infected.  He said it had been a long time, maybe a couple of weeks, since he got wounded.  I tried to treat it, but I knew that putting on some antibiotic ointment and a bandage this late was not going to do much.

I was so frustrated. I was frustrated that he had not been taken to the doctor when it happened to get stitches. I was frustrated that he was still not taken to the doctor even when it got infected. I had house guests at the time, as well, who were thankfully wise enough to know what type of medicine he needed to treat the infection.

I weighed my options of taking him to the hospital and waiting forever to get told a whole host of medications that he did not necessarily need or going to the pharmacy to just get an antibiotic. I finally went to the pharmacy to purchase the medicine. I had the boy come to my house each morning and evening for 10 days to get the medicine from me. I honestly did not trust his care taker to give him the medicine, if he was not willing to take him to get the medicine himself. I changed his bandage every couple of days and applied antibiotic ointment as well. I watched him take the antibiotic, which he had never had. He chewed it up. Yuck!  Nonetheless, he took it.

After a week, he was impressed that it was healing. I told him we could not stop until the antibiotic was gone. It healed and the boy was able to go back to doing what he needed to do. It breaks my heart to see these boys so not cared for by those who are supposed to be teaching them about God. Of course, even if he had been with his family and had gotten hurt, it is possible that he would not have gotten treatment then either. They just would not have had the money for the medicine. It is so humbling when just twelve dollars stands between them and healing. We are so very rich!