So I have realized that nothing goes according to plan in life. This doesn’t mean that we just don’t plan, for planning is essential and gives people a focus to work toward, but I believe a true test of character is when the plan doesn’t work out and you press on despite the setbacks or inconveniences. In fact, a synonym for missionary is flexible. Hardly anything goes according to plan on the field, so the missionary spends his day being flexible: re-planning, adjusting, compromising, readjusting, re-planning, etc. It sounds like nothing would ever get done, but in the midst of all this flexibility, relationships happen, ministry happens, work gets done and tasks are achieved. This just shows how big our God is, that despite constant interruptions and setbacks, He still moves and works through His flexible people.
This was the case for Vanessa and my engagement. I made a plan and almost nothing went right. The plan was to get all dressed up, take Vanessa to Bellinis in Mexico City on December 24th and propose, and as my introduction suggest, it went wrong.
Due to Vanessa being in Mexico as a missionary, I had to fly down to her if we were to get engaged. Her Dad had graciously bought my plane ticket to fly down and had given me permission, so I flew down to Mexico City on December 23, 2008. It was great to see her beautiful face as I stepped through the airport. I checked into my hotel and we went on our very first physical date as a couple that night. It was great being with my Babe, instead of looking at her through a pixilated screen on Skype video chat once a week. I could hold her hand and hug her whenever I wanted and as a result, I kept a constant smile on my face. Christmas Eve came and as planned we got all dressed up. I was in my “hot” shirt: a black snap button, cowboy cut with red roses embroidered on the chest and back (the shirt I have always wanted to get engaged in) and V was looking good. I mean really good. She was in this nice purple dress that draped elegantly on her body, black tights, four inch heels, and wearing a face like an angel. Her eyes sparkled like the ring I carried in my pocket. She was so beautiful that night.
We went to the church plant’s Christmas Eve service, which V played bass for, and then headed to Bellinis for our dinner. Bellinis is a fine dining restaurant located on the 45th story of the World Trade Center in Mexico City. The whole dinning floor moves in a slow circle so that you look out large bay windows overlooking the city below. We took public transportation there and walked up to the door… just to find it locked and closed. *Flexible opportunity #1* We asked a lady on the street if she knew of a nice restaurant close by and she said, “Well… everything closes on Christmas Eve, but you can try down this street.” We thanked her and started walking.
After walking for 4 or 5 blocks (remember V is in four inch heels, so you can imagine her pain), we finally found an open restaurant called San Bornes. It was a nice place, but not Bellinis. We had a choice between the restaurant room and the bar room. *Flexible opportunity #2* The restaurant room had several people and an old man with a microphone, so we chose the bar room. It was dim lighting, nicely designed, and without anyone else. We sat at a table together as the waitress brought our menus and took our drink order. Across the room on the little TV were early 1980’s music videos. You know, Madonna when she had the shaved bleached blonde hair just starting her career, wearing the overly exaggerated pleated dress with the puffy shoulder sleeves in a colour only Crayola can identify. We looked at the menu and decided on the traditional Christmas meal that they offered as a special. When it came out, we ate maybe three bites and refused to eat anymore. It was so bad that the mashed potatoes still had flakes in them from where they didn’t stir the instant potatoes enough. The turkey was not of a choice cut and rubber to the teeth. The stuffing was like soggy tofu and the side looked so sketchy that even I wouldn’t venture to try it. It was horrible.
For background to explain what happened next, Vanessa really missed the tradition of Christmas. Mexico doesn’t decorate for Christmas and it is really warm. Both of these are foreign to a Canadian. Plus, she is away from her family and all the traditions associated with that.
So… Vanessa started crying. Tears leaked down her face. This was the worst Christmas she had ever experienced in her whole life. Nothing was right or traditional or Christmas for her. *Flexible opportunity #3* This put me at an awkward position, because now my mind raced between proposing or not proposing. She was still crying and I decided to go ahead with it anyways. Plus, hopefully it would cheer her up and make her worst Christmas one of the more memorable ones.
I had been carrying around a backpack all day without letting her see what was in it, so I opened my pack and pulled out a small fake Christmas tree about a foot tall and set it on the table. I said, “I know you miss your family and the traditions of Christmas, so I wanted to bring a little bit of Christmas to you.” With this she smiled as the tears stopped. I asked her, “What do you do with Christmas trees?” She replied, “You decorate them.” I followed up by saying, “What does your family decorate first?” She said with a tone of excitement, “Lights.” I pulled out a small string of lights attached to a battery pack. We positioned the limbs of the tree and then strung the lights around it to the top. I asked, “What’s next?” She said, “Ornaments.” I pulled out little glass ball ornaments to match the size of the tree and we stuck them on the branches. Then I said, “I know you miss the snow, so I wanted to bring some here.” I pulled out a bag of fake snow as we sprinkled it on the tree and the table. It was a cute little tree. It really looked good. We looked at it for awhile, admiring our work with smiles across our faces as the waitresses kept coming by exclaiming how cute we were.
I pulled the table away, which took multiple attempts (kind of embarrassing, and I should probably do more pushups), and said, “V, what’s a tree without presents?” I sat beside her and explained how much I loved her. I have always reserved the word love for the woman I knew I would marry and explained how my love is unconditional and steadfast. Then, I took out the ring still cradled in its box, knelt on one knee, opened the box and said, “Vanessa Jeske, I love you. Will you marry me?” My heart was pounding through my chest and my hands shook in nervous anticipation. She said, “Yes!” and my nervousness was replaced with sheer joy. I was engaged to my best-friend. I’m going to marry my gorgeous one and only! I get to spend the rest of my life with Vanessa!! Together, we can reach the unreached Senoufo in Mali, Africa for, God willing, the rest of our lives. He provides such good gifts to His children! Praise God!!
So a lot has happened since I came back from my vision trip to Mali in September of 2008, but I specifically want to tell you a love story.
I started at Liberty University in my undergrad August of 2004. In my sophomore year, I went on an evangelism trip to Daytona Beach with the Open Air Campaigners (www.oacusa.org). This is the trip that Justin Conley (my teammate who is specializing in linguistics for the team) and I really became best-friends. The trip was a great experience of preaching on the board walks during the day and in front of clubs at night. Thousands of tracks were passed out and hundreds of conversations took place, but in the midst of all this evangelism and ministry, I also became friends with this girl from Canada.
After that Spring Break trip of 2006, Vanessa Jeske and I became best-friends. In my mind, she was a great friend. We would get coffee and talk about everything under the sun and do a lot of other things throughout the course of the school year. We would go hiking and run and study and watch movies and typical things that you would do with a best-friend. Often times these were done in group settings with Justin, Vanessa and my circle of friends. The summer of 2006 came and Vanessa went back to Canada as I went to be a summer youth pastor in Ipswich, Australia (I still miss those guys, heaps).
Everyone came back to school for the fall semester and without skipping a beat, the circle of friends were hanging out again. Vanessa and I continued our outings and coffee talks. Then it happened. She gave me a letter expressing her love for me. I didn’t know what to say. I felt horrible that I didn’t feel the same way, but I had to be honest. So, of course like an idiot, I said the infamous line, “But we’re just friends.” Surprisingly, and to the glory of God, Vanessa continued to be friends with me throughout that next school year, even when I pursued other women and had other relationships. Then again, V went back to Canada and I headed back to Ipswich, Australia to be a summer youth pastor for the 2007 summer.
Again, everyone came back for our senior year in college (time really goes by quickly). And again, without skipping a beat, we all hung out like we always had. I went through a breakup coming back to school and Vanessa was a huge help to be able to talk to, as I had always done in regards to my relationships. I could tell V anything and she would patiently listen and console when needed. We kept up our coffee talks and studying, as well as, hiking and other things for friends to be together. Then, it happened again. She wrote me another letter expressing her continued love and again I didn’t know what to say. V was a best-friend, but we were just friends. In fact, our circle of friends would tease us about being in a relationship or getting married one day and I would always shoot back, “We are just friends!” So like an idiot, again, I expressed that I didn’t feel the same way as she did, but really enjoyed being best-friends with her. And again, she was patient with my short sightedness and downright stupidity.
We graduated in May of 2008 and with tears, said our goodbyes. We thought that we would never see each other again because she was heading back to Canada and I was heading to Colorado to join WorldVenture and pursue the vision of career missions that God had given Justin and me in 2006. V and I kind of kept in touch, but both of us were so busy that contact was limited and sparse. Missions has always been V’s heart, so she pursued missions after graduation and took a one year position in Mexico City, working with the Christian and Missionary Alliance in church planting and relational evangelism.
At the end of the 2008 summer, I headed to Mali for a vision trip to see the country and to see what Justin and I will need to bring out from the States to live and do ministry, as well as, make national contacts. I got back from Mali in September (you can read about this trip in earlier post) and started a masters at Liberty Theological Seminary, raising support to go to Mali for career missions, youth director of Grace Church in Roanoke, VA, and other various responsibilities. Vanessa’s year in Mexico started in October, but before she went down there, she came by Liberty University to visit friends. We hung out during her week here and caught-up on each other’s summer and then she was gone to Mexico. You could say this was the catalyst for our dating relationship.
Life carried on as normal after V went to Mexico, until I woke up one morning and realized that Vanessa was gorgeous. This had never clicked before and now it really confused me. I had always seen her as just a friend, but now she was a possibility and a really good-looking one at that. I really struggled with this and would even lay in bed awake, thinking about it. I talked to the godly counselors in my life and prayed daily about this switch in my head and eyes. So, I sent V an email. The summary of it was, “I miss my best-friend!” Of course this really confused V, so we scheduled a night to talk on Skype. That weekend it was settled in my mind. V was the one God had for me; to be my wife. We talked on Skype and I asked her to be my girlfriend with the understanding that I really believe she is my wife. She graciously said yes after years of waiting for me to wake up; and that is exactly what God did, He woke me up. So we started “dating” at the end of October. I really accredit this to God because V and I built two and a half years of a solid friendship and communication, before I could mess it all up with romantics in my immaturity. God let us be friends before we would be lovers.
Then engagement…
Heading back to Bamako so I can catch my flight, we stopped for the night at the Eadelman’s (WorldVenture missionaries in Mali). I had a wonderful meal of waffles and great conversations. The Eadelmans were telling me of an oral translation being done here of the Bible stories. They were proofing the story of David and Bathsheba by telling it to one of their national language helpers, who is a woman, for comprehension and understanding. After telling her the story, the Senoufo woman looked confused. They asked if she could understand it, which she said yes, but she said it didn’t make sense. They asked her why and she asked, for clarification, if David was the king. They said yes. So she said, “Well, if he is the king, then why is it wrong for him to take any woman he wants? He is the king. It is his right.”
The drive to Bamako from the Eadleman’s was long, but the roads greatly improve the closer you get to Bamako. We went souvenir shopping when we got to Bamako, mainly just to walk around. Like any third world market, you were crammed into two million people, seemingly walking in all different directions than you. Because you are white, the vendors scream at you, “My friend!” and chase you, literally, two blocks with some cheap something that he will give you for a “special price.” I really don’t like malls for this same reason; too many people all at once. I like people, but not when a bus, a moto, a scooter, another bus, a government official’s Mercedes, thirty-four people and you all want to be in the same place at the same time. Something has to give, so people are thrown out of their rhythm and chaos ensues. The really only redeeming factor is seeing the appreciation of the people I am fighting to get gifts for and bartering with the shop keepers, which Laura is an expert at. She got everything for less than cheap.
I really don’t want to leave Africa because this is where my heart is, but I’m tired of living out of a suitcase, sleeping in foreign beds or couches, and not having any routine. So, I’m looking forward to going back and getting settled into my room at the house in Lynchburg, VA. But praise God, I love Africa! I can’t wait to settle into my home here!
Listening to Mamado and Douda’s testimony was moving. Mamado was the first Christian in his dialect and came to Christ through a Christian radio station. He didn’t have the Bible, so he prayed for a solid year that God would send someone to teach him about Christ. At the end of the year, God sent Tom and Laura Requadt to serve with Mamado when rebels moved into their house in Cote d’Iviore, forcing them to Mali and Mamado’s village. Now Mamado is the pastor of the growing church in his language and the translator helper with Tom. Douda is fruit of Mamado’s gift for evangelism. To hear how God is working around the world is exhilarating at the very least! To see the wondrous change in people and to hear how Douda was a slave to fetishes and renounced them to follow Jesus, because Jesus is the only one with true power, was encouraging. It was neat to see something as basic as a wife, being a huge provision. When Douda came to Christ, there were no Christian women to marry, so God had to provide one from somewhere else. The States certainly view marriage differently. We almost expect to be married and decide, in love, who to marry and almost see it as our right to be married. But for Douda, it was a huge concern to go to Christianity because if he abandons the fetishes he doesn’t get a fetish wife. That point seems trivial and almost encouraging, but when there are NO Christian women in the region and he has to work the fields everyday to survive, how will he get a wife unless God supernaturally provides one? And that is exactly what God did! And because God provided a wife who was not from this area, the church here was able to witness the very first Christian wedding in this region! How great is our God?!
Thinking about this I looked at Nohoua and emphatically stated, “One day God will provide us a wife! One day!” Which Nohoua laughed in agreement as if he was thinking the same thing.
Church went as usual this Sunday. An active, sweat pouring, xylophone banging, Hallelujah singing, old lady fan waving, whole church clapping, praise service! The prayer request time intrigued me. Some asked for crops so their family could eat and others asked for their family to understand the new ways of the Christians (i.e. themselves). There are misunderstandings of why the Christians go to church on Sunday instead of working in the fields, of why the young girls should be taught to read and write instead of work in the fields, or why the Christians put their families at risk by not worshiping the family fetishes and potentially angering the spirits. For example: What should a Christian do when the head of the family orders the Christians to work in the fields instead of go to church? Do they forsake the family (which is the Senoufo’s source of life and protection; to be kicked out of the family is a certain death), or do they honor the family authority above them and work instead of Sabbath?
The message was on Ephesians 2:19-20. Mamado spoke in the local dialect and Douda translated it into Bambara, Mali’s trade language. As I was intently listening to Mamado and trying my hardest to learn his language in a sermon's time (which only made my head hurt), I heard a familiar sound that was out of the ordinary. The sound waves echoed to my ears and at once I knew the old familiar tune. “Should auld acquaintance be forgot…” It was the New Years tune Auld Land Syne. Mamado then scrambled feeling his pockets and chest. He found his cell phone, whipped it out, silenced it and kept preaching all with one fluid motion. His black skin did not allow for color variation, but I can assume from his reaction and crackled voice that his face was flushed red with embarrassment.
The service went on, the mothers *** feed their babies as they became fussy, the blind xylophone player sat intently toward the wall with a face of concentration and an occasional smile expressing his delight of the message, and sweat continued to pour from faces creating little puddles on the concrete slab floor. This church is so different from the ones I am used to in the States, but it is full of people who truly love Jesus and pay a price for it in life. I love these people here and their style of church. Praise God that His children have the freedom to worship Him in each of our prospective cultures, styles, and language.
At night, Tom, Do, Douda, the Salifous and I sat on the Requadt’s porch talking about the day. I gave the guys, who are like brothers to me now, my prayer card and to my surprise, Tom turned it into an English comprehension lesson since most of them are studying English once a week. As they read through the back, I started to realize the magnitude of what I wrote back there, and nervous to see how these brothers would take some of the blunt honesty of their own country. I mean, no one wants or even thinks that they live in one of the world’s 50 poorest nations (in fact more than any other country 72.8% of Mali’s population lives on less than a dollar a day). As they read through this and Tom explained it, I cringed on the inside and thought: Who is the authority to determine poor or even has the authority to define poor? Mamado and Douda, especially Douda since he just got married, are some of the richest and most joyful people I have met; maybe not physically or materially, but in life and attitude. The back of my prayer card almost seemed like pure arrogance on my part that I could, in 50 words or less, judge and rank their entire existence as it compares with my superiority. And yet, despite my inner turmoil, my brothers announced that they will diligently pray for me until I return; every day. What a God we serve! And I have so much to learn.
Here is what the back of my prayer card says:
The Land and The People
The landlocked country of Mali is one of the world’s fifty poorest nations. The people suffer as a result of poor health conditions, a lack of education, a harsh environment and other realities that go along with a developing country. The nation of Mali is home to more than thirty-three distinct ethnic groups and opportunities are abundant for the spreading of the Gospel.
Ministry Focus
Bear Yarbrough anticipates serving as a church planter in Mali, Africa. He plans to work among the Senoufo, an unreached people group of 2.7 million in the 10/40 Window (the 10/40 Window is 10 degrees latitude to 40 degrees latitude, above the equator, where the highest concentration of unreached people remain in the world). Bear’s ultimate goal is to plant a church of Christ-followers who are “three-self”: Self-sufficient, Self-governing, and Self-propagating. He will assist in translating the Bible into a local unwritten dialect, teach the Bible chronologically (teaching through the Bible from creation to Christ for a clear Gospel to be presented) and engaging in community development.
Bear Yarbrough’s Contact Information (for those reading who would like to join in this vision through prayer or finances)
bwyarbrough@worldventure.net
www.WorldVenture.com > Keyword: yarbrough
Or you can use the links on the side bar of this page.
After lunch, a bunch of us younger people piled onto the back of the motocart and headed out to a local Senoufo village to do an evangelistic meeting. To get an idea of what a motocart looks like, picture the outcome if a Chevy S-10 truck mated with a Honda Shadow motorcycle. It is the bed of a truck attached to the front of a motorcycle creating a dangerous, top heavy (especially with 7ish people and sound equipment crammed in the back), machine that Mamado is driving. Plus, Mamado has only ridden his one speed moped which has two speeds, full out and stopped, so Do tried to drive this large motocart full out or stopped and saw gears as an inconvenience to get it to break neck speeds. The sides of the beds are clamped on, except the side I was leaning against didn’t clamp right, so I had to hold the clamp the whole time to keep it from falling and people careening into the African bush as Do tried to avoid the holes in the dirt roads that had turned into lakes since it was rainy season and me dodging the thorns, briars, and thistles reaching to draw blood from my exposed arm. All in all, it was heaps of fun and a great adventure with only a little blood.
We arrived at the village and set up under the blazing sun with an on looking crowd. They started off with singing and dancing, about 2 hours of it, a message, and then more singing and dancing. Laura told me that a typical evangelistic outreach goes all night long; literally all night long accompanied sometimes with a rice feast. So I was thrilled when she said this outreach will only be about 6 hours long. During the message, Mamado gave the sermon in the local Senoufo dialect and Douda translated it into Bambara, Mali’s trade language. When the dancing started up again after the message, I dutifully and joyfully participated in the dancing circle that was slowly shadowed by the dust cloud the dancer’s feet stirred up. A few laughs echoed from the on looking villagers pointing at the lancky white guy stirring up his own dust, but then I really got into it, although the steps were easy. But my participation encouraged locals to join in.
After I had my fill of dancing and couldn’t keep the sweat from pouring into my eyes, Mamado walked over with two local young men and introduced them to me as two new brothers in the faith! Laura asked each of them what they wanted to do in their own words and each of them stated,
“I want to follow Jesus.”
We all shook hands then Mamado told them that “like a new baby needs food,” pointing to the chubby baby in Laura’s lap sporting an used plastic grocery bag for a diaper, “so does the new Christian.” He continued by telling them, “they need to talk with God through prayer, let God talk to them through His Word (which the Bible is only translated to Genesis 25, so this for right now means Mamado’s preaching that Tom helps him with), and they need to talk with other Christians.” We all shook hands again and they went back to their group of friends smiling. Some more dancing took place and then we packed everything up and headed home. Praise God for these two new brothers!!
So apparently Africa has attack lizards!
As I was walking around with Tom to make a list of items the team would need to bring from the States, we walked outside to look at the generator room and tool room. I was standing just outside, enjoying the sun, when we heard a massive ruckus above us on the metal roof. I stepped back to try and catch a glimpse of what it was, when over the roof ledge flew about a 6 inch lizard in a sky dive position, claws out, and a mean look in its eye, except for a slight smug grimace of enjoyment on its scaly mouth. Of course it seemed like slow motion as the attack lizard hit me square on the left temple, tail striping my collar bone. He slid down my face, leaped triumphantly off my shoulder, and retreated around the corner of the tool room laughing the whole way. I was so stunned at what just occurred that I lost everything Tom was telling me and mumbled some incomprehensible sounds ending in “Damn Lizard!”
Over lunch I learned that when Mamado was the only Christian in this area, he prayed for over a year straight, not missing a day, for missionaries to come and give his language the Bible. In fact, Nohoua and the other two Christians in Tangrela, Cote d’Ivoire are starting to pray the same now since they have no Bible in their language.
So, I’m still sitting under the tree with Douda and Salifou as I read and tend to my bloody blisters. I read in The Shack, “Growth means change and change involves risk, stepping from the known to the unknown.” Why is it that my generation seems apathetic to growth, un-wanting to change and terrified of risk. I’m not talking about the Xtreme movement that swept through youth groups and even the secular world leaving a wake of Xtreme sports, Xtreme energy drinks, Xtreme Baptist whatever youth ministry. I mean the risk that involves eternal significance; spiritual worth-while-ness. Where are the people who will heed the call to battle, take up the banner of risk, and march fearlessly into the midst of darkness, shining the illuminating glory of the One True King? Where are the 1 Corinthians 16:13 men? Where are the armor bearers of God who will give up comfort, “security,” and life to fulfill God’s mandate on this broken world? Who will go to Africa with me; whether by sending sacrificially or going? John Piper said, “Go, send, or disobey!”
Nohoua (pronounced Noah) rode his bike four hours one way from Cote d’Ivoire (Ivory Coast) to come see me today. Nohoua is a charming young man, still attending high school, and a strong leader in the church that was started by the Requadts in Tangrela, Cote d’Ivoire. A civil war and coup broke out in Cote d’Ivoire forcing the Requadts to flee as rebels marched in ransacking everything in sight. But the Requadts have maintained communication with Nohoua and the church in Cote d’Ivoire. He knows a little bit of English, so we talked in simple vocabulary and occasionally asked Laura to translate into French or English. He then looked at me and asked,
“Bear, why do you refuse to go to Cote d’Ivoire?!”
This question struck me because it is the same question I have been asking since we first started researching Mali and felt drawn to Mali. Why Mali? Why not somewhere else? But being here, unless I’m not really listening, has confirmed Mali in my heart and mind. Of course I will have to confirm this with Justin and Leah and inquire about their prayers for confirmation, but I pray they will be confirmed about Mali as I am. That would really seal the deal! Before dinner, I taught Nohoua how to turn on a computer, bring up an application like Word, typing basics, and how to shut it off. He was passed for an apprenticeship because he didn’t know how to turn on a computer and was sent home in shame. He is going to try again, but if he doesn’t get this non-paid internship… then he doesn’t get a job… and if he doesn’t get a job… he starves or farms, which is just for survival and not for profit… and more than likely could not get a wife. The only reason he is able to attend high school is because the Requadts saw what a hard worker this young Christian man is and decided to help supplement the cost. If he doesn’t get the internship, he has another option that shows the plight of African educational systems. He can apply to be an elementary or primary school teacher that runs from first grade to sixth. He would get two weeks of training and then sent into a classroom. On holiday breaks, he would get a little more training. In fact, out of the twenty or so kids that come to Laura’s Bible club, only a handful can read or write their own name and these are kids in the sixth grade! Laura put up a memory verse for the kids to memorize, which most is done orally, and the “readers” were stumped on a word. So Laura tried to get them to sound it out phonetically (which Laura had to teach them that letters have given sounds), but the kids were still stumped. After further investigation, Laura found out that the kids did not know what a Y or W was, let alone what sound went with it. The kids that come to the Bible club are “excelling” in school because, again sixth graders, Laura taught them to read. In fact, to cover this plight and raise statistics, the government’s survey on the literacy of its people is if they can write their own name, and the statistics are still extremely low! Low as in less than 50% of the population! Oh, what a multifaceted calling God has given the team! http://www.nationmaster.com/graph/edu_lit_tot_pop-education-literacy-total-population; http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/07/World_literacy_map_UNHD_2007_2008.png
“Life takes a bit of time and a lot of relationship.” – The Shack by William Young
In regards to discovering the landscape of my heart: “I often find that getting head issues out of the way first makes the heart stuff easier to work on later… when you’re ready.” – The Shack Could it be that we, sometimes, hide behind head knowledge and cerebral exercises so that we don’t have to deal with the pain and hurt in our hearts, the confusion and muck, the sin?
Douda, Salifou, and I set out for Mamado’s field this morning. I, of course on the awkwardly small bike, the other two on Douda’s bike with Salifou on the back. We hoed several rows, posed for pictures, explained to passerbies on the road why a white man is hoeing in Mamado’s field, and then I made my first of probably a million miscommunications. Douda asked if I was tired and mistakenly I said, “Yes. I’m tired.” I mean, I was tired. The short handled hoes force you to bend completely over and then use all of your upper body, but mostly your lower back, to dig weeds out of the tough ground. When Adam screwed up, he royally screwed up! Sweat mixed with dirt which mixed with broken and bloody blisters on my hands. Seventeen years of schooling has made my hands and back soft. So when I told Douda I was tired, I really meant it, but to them, it was as if I said I was finished.
They collected the hoes and our water bottles and started to walk. I stopped, confused, and pointed to the remaining rows left to be weeded and said, “We finish?” Douda enthusiastically replied, “We finish!” and kept walking. Again, “Weee fin-ish?!” pointing more enthusiastically at the unfinished rows (because apparently if you slow down and speak loud with frantic hand motions, everyone understands [sarcasm]). Again the reply was, “We finish!” and more walking. So, we made our trek home, stopping off to buy some tea, sugar, and roasted peanuts. We grabbed Mamado’s tea set at his house and peddled home to face the uncertainty of us returning after only 2 or 3 hours of work in the field. We rode up to the house to an outbreak of laughter. Jokes were thrown out and deep belly laughter was shared. I tried to make them blame it on me and showed my blistered hands, but to no avail. So the only thing to do was to sit under a tree, make tea flavored sugar, eat peanuts, and be in each other’s company. Since we couldn’t talk past simple greetings, which get old fast in a “conversation,” and random vocabulary lessons in Bamabara and the Senoufo dialect, Douda studied the next few memory verses for the kids Bible club, Salifou dutifully attended the slow process of tea making, and I wrote about both of them without their knowledge. Then came the slightly less potent 2nd round of tea flavored sugar.
“Relationships are never about power, and one way to avoid the will to power is to choose to limit one’s self – to serve.” – The Shack
Just as I read this, Salifou poured the tea into the two little shot glasses on a serving tray, walked over to Tom and Mamado, and served them the tea. In fact, in the Senoufo culture, when something good happens to one person, that person’s first reaction is to share with all, or at least the one’s around him. Even the children practice this at a very early age. When one gets a cookie for reciting a verse from memory, he instantly breaks it apart and divvies it out to the delight of the others. They purposefully limit what they get and share it to others. What a picture that sadly American Christianity lacks, perpetuated by the all powering “American Dream.” I can’t help to wonder if the New Heaven and the New Earth wouldn’t be a little like this: A sweet labor, not tedious or hard which came with the Fall, in the fields of the New Earth. Sitting together speaking one tongue that all could understand because the Fall at the Tower of Babble had been reconciled with the triumphant return of Jesus in the end times, and everybody serving each other with peals of laughter rolling like thunder in this, literally, glorious place.
After the deadly viper was extinguished, Douda proclaimed (as if the snake didn’t even phase him), “We finish!” We then set out on a vocabulary hunt. We would stop randomly, walk into a field and Douda would point at an object (plant, cow, plow, creek, valley, stump, axe, bike), whatever was new and say the word in Bambara and then in his Senoufo dialect. I would repeat each word several times until Douda and Salifou were satisfied with my pronunciation or laugh and say, “Let go!” The word for creek is very challenging in Senoufo. To say it, it seems that you have to swallow the word in the back of your throat and voice it at the same time, while the vowel is nasalized. This word took three tries, some laughs and a “Let go!” Justin would be in heaven with our vocabulary hunt. Justin is the linguistical brain of the team. In August 2009, he and Leah (his wife) are moving to Dallas to study in the Graduate Institute of Applied Linguistics put on by SIL/ Wycliffe. God has really put this team together because his strengths are my weaknesses and my strengths are some of his weaknesses. I praise God daily for putting Justin and Leah in my life!
We finally arrived back at Douda’s village where we stopped to greet the whole family. To be polite, they would serve me tea that had more sugar in it than water. We did this several times at different huts and I felt as if I just drank 6 gallons of sugar that had tea flavoring. I like this custom though because it takes a very long time to make the tea in which you sit and talk. Then there are several rounds of the tea, each round getting progressively weaker, which there is still more talking. I could really see the team going from courtyard to courtyard, sitting through several rounds of tea each, and slowly learning their language. It might be awkward at first when we really don’t know the language, but with as much sugar as we will consume doing this, we will have all night to talk and learn since we won’t be able to sleep.
Douda said, “We finish. Let go!” and we set off back to the Requadt’s for lunch. Along the way, we passed some carved sticks implanted in the ground and found out by Salifou and Douda that these sticks are where the fetishers offer sacrifices. Over all I think Douda took it easy on me, but these people struggle and work harder than any American I know; just to survive. Without my say or having an option, I have been recruited to work in Mamado’s field tomorrow.
The thunder storms out here are marvelous, powerful, wondrous, and awe striking. As the storm rolls in, it reminds me of an angry ocean inverted in the sky, breaking in waves, producing horrible deep screams from within its grey and green billows. Tom and I just got back from our walk, when God allowed the clouds to take its wrath out on the dry red ground. Lightning swirled through the sky and flashed to the ground, striking utter terror in the small children, which had no problem cowering under a filthy rag for a sense of security. A storm of this magnitude reminds me of God’s awesome power and wonderfully beautiful creativity. Piper’s words from his sermon Don’t Waste Your Life (you can hear it free on www.desiringgod.org), rolls through my head with each peel of thunder, “Our lives are held by a slender thread of God’s sovereign grace!” How is it that God would call me first for salvation, which is infinitely more than I deserve, but secondly for the privilege of serving the King in Mali. Oh the adventures and life that God has allowed me thus far and I pray for the rest of the time He would give me. My life has been one streaming adventure, full of twist and turns; of foreign and exotic journeys. Why is God so good to me?! Why has He provided so much?! Why has He seemingly kept me since my miracle birth for Him and His service, despite my stupid rebellion and laziness?! Such mysteries of His goodness and grace! I’m overwhelmed!!
Laura made snicker doodles which are fabulous and since the humidity is so high, the cookies go soft, so we have to eat them fast. Yet another example of God’s grace. Note to self: have wife learn how to make snicker doodles from scratch.
This morning I woke up to a bowl of cinnamon apple porridge and instant coffee (I will certainly have to find a way to do drip, brewed coffee here!). Douda and one of the Salifous (two young men who I have grown close too. They are the ones that took me to play basketball, but they didn’t have basketball shoes, so Leon wouldn’t let them play.) arrived and we set out on our bikes to the field. Douda carried Salifou on the back of his bike and I struggled to follow behind. I haven’t ridden a bike in almost 5 if not 7 years. Plus I had to borrow Laura’s bike that was like a kid bike to my height. So, there were several laughs as I clumsily rode by on my awkwardly small bike, not to mention a white man riding a bicycle (which is very uncommon). We rode several kilometers to Douda’s village, stopping to say hi to family members and to announce that a white man was going to work in his field. Then we rode farther into the forest that eventually broke into a clearing covered in fields. Douda handed me a small handled hoe with a simple metal head on top. The style of the tool looked as if they haven’t changed in centuries of farming. I asked Laura about them having new tools that don’t force you to bend over and new crops but, 1) you can’t just give tools away (you can’t create a dependency on the missionary, plus you would have to give the same tool to everyone who has a field in the village because of their strong sense of community) and 2) the people are very cautious to the point of fear to try new things because if the new tool or crop fails… your family starves to death. To gamble on a new crop or tool would be to gamble with the lives of your family. Therefore, they do what they have always done for centuries with the tools that have provided in the past.
Douda, Salifou, and I set out to weeding the rows of millet that Daouda was growing. At first I didn’t see any reason for the weeds we were pulling and the, what looked like, “weeds” we left, but after a row of weeding I caught on. The weeds and the millet look almost identical, except the weeds have a maroonish tint at the base. Also, after a row or two, you start to see the millet rows and the order that eluded me at first. We weeded about 5 or 6 rows, killed a poisonous viper, and set out on our way.
I didn’t even see the serpent and almost grabbed it, but Salifou held my arm and said, “Serpent!” There in the weeds I was about to pull, was a smallish diamond patterned viper, coiled up and ready to strike. He was brown and black, with a white underbelly and a typical viper shaped broad head. We stared at him smelling the air with his forked black tongue, until Douda bashed its head in with the short handled hoe. For good measure, Salifou hit it a few more times, carried the limp body to the edge of the garden, and hit it again.
Douda proclaimed, “We are finish,” and we set off on…
{To Be Continued} Don’t you hate it when this happens! The story gets exciting; you’re sucked into it, and then come up short. Who does this!
Today was relaxing and restful. I spent most of the day reading, laboriously, through Segu. I never read fiction and this confirms why, but the cultural aspects of Segu are invaluable. It has explained so much, just in the short time I have been in Mali. Tomorrow I am going to experience Douda’s life. In the morning I’m setting off on a bicycle to Douda’s village to weed his garden for a good harvest. I’m sure to be tired.
Tom and I went through Psalm 37 today, especially verses 3-6 in regards to what Christians are to do and the direction they are to walk in. He has a simple, but deep way of explaining verses and life that leaves my mind dumbfounded and my mouth speechless. He will ask me some extremely simple question and my mind would race for the lofty theologically astute answer I would need for University and come up blank. Then, patiently but not understanding, he would say the answer is “prayer” or “studying God’s Word” or some ridiculously simple answer that would make all the sense in the world. After a week of these, I finally looked at him and said, “I’ve been in University to long!” He would shrug and ramble on about wanting to coach an American football peewee team. His deep simplicity carries over into every facet of his life, even in translation. It bothers him when other translations add things to the text “for clarification or understanding,” which turns out to cause bigger difficulties later on, especially when the Church matures and starts to do word studies or learn the Greek and Hebrew.
So as we were going through Psalms 37, my mind rested on verse 5, “Commit your way to the Lord; trust in Him, and He will act.” I passionately believe that it is the Lord’s will for me to reach the unreached tribes, starting with the Senoufo in Mali. So I commit my way to Him and He has opened doors for me beyond my wildest dreams. Many Christians are waiting for this idea of a call, and yet neglect ministry today. Daily serve God faithfully, walk with a vision bigger than yourself, and watch as God amazes you by providing open or closed doors. As John Mott would say to the Student Volunteer Movement, “link up your life to a great cause.” And I would add, “and give your life for that cause!”
This morning is an overcast "cooler" day, so Laura was able to use the oven and make walnut cinnamon muffins from scratch. Everything becomes harder here, like when you can use the oven and not be driven out of the kitchen by the overwhelming heat perpetuated by the hotter sunny days. Laura saw me observing her doings this morning and asked me to tell the wives to know how to cook most stuff from scratch like muffins, pasta, cookies, almost anything. Unless you are in the capital of Bamako, there are no instant meals here. Every item must be made from scratch, which takes 3 to 5 times as long to make a simple meal. Laura says that it will be a lot harder here if the wives are having to deal with language acquisition, the climate, longer time to do everything, and having to learn how to cook without pre-prepared stuff. If they can already learn how to cook from scratch, then that is one less difficulty to deal with when they get here. I know it will be hard, but I can't wait to live a simple life in the bush.
I am spending the morning with Tom and Mamado in the office, working on Genesis 24:50 - 25:1. SIL has provided some great tools to help in translation, such as software that keeps a translator organized. Tom and Do (what people call Mamado) bounce between Tom's exegesis of the original Hebrew or Greek, 2 other Senoufo dialect translations, French, and several English translations; comparing and contrasting according to the original Hebrew. Do tediously converts the other Senoufo translations to his tongue. Tom helps to make sure that they are sticking to the original Hebrew, because he is a literalist in translation, and helps to work through various theological issues that arise through the various ways to translate a Hebrew word. Once the verse is written out in Do's tongue, they recheck it with the original Hebrew, Bambara, 4 French and 4 English translations, and the 2 other Senoufo translations. Once the verse is how Do and Tom like it, according to meaning and the literalness from Hebrew, Tom types it out and creates interlinear connections for each word for quick reference later. In translation work, the more you can do now with each individual verse, the less you will have to do later. Like the interlinear word connections which makes a concordance easier to do at the end because it is already done or a cross reference for when the church matures enough to do word studies. A big principle in translation that I believe should be carried over to a lot in life is to plan and work now, with the end in mind. This is why a literal translation is important. It may not be of much benefit now for the national church, but when they mature and study the Bible themselves, they will start to ask why certain words were or were not translated certain ways. If the vision is to see a church mature to the point that they can feed themselves, then you have to translate now with that in mind, that one day nationals will be checking this translation with the original Hebrew or Greek and question why you did or did not stick with the original.
Do is a rare find because he knows French, he knows how to read and write, he knows Bambara, he is certainly intelligent, and he is a committed and growing Christian who knows the culture and the tongue in which he lives. More than likely, Justin and I will not have a Do. This is especially important because when you do a translation, you have to do a cultural analysis of the people. But when the Requadts had to flee Cote d'Iviore due to civil war, they lost 2-3 years of cultural analysis. So to do the cultural analysis again would take another 2ish years, unless you have a Do, which God provided for Tom. Without a cultural analysis of the culture and people and tongue of the people you are working with in translation, you could easily produce false teaching, because you could say one thing and they could understand it another. For example, you could tell them that God created the world, but they could apply their existing creation stories to that phrase and synchronize their animism with what the Bible teaches. So you have to know their creation stories and keep that in mind when you teach and translate so you do not miss-communicate the Word.You want the translation to be accurate to the meaning of the original and understandable or "is good to the ears" as Do would say.
In the mornings they translate verse by verse, but in the afternoons, after nap time, Do leads the kids Bible club while Tom prepares the verses for the next day by translating the Hebrew, and putting the 2 Senoufo languages below it, verse by verse. He also pre-works through Hebrew difficulties like Genesis 24 when Isaac is in the field. The Hebrew word that is used is the only time it is used and context clues do not describe what the word means.
Leon came and got me for basketball tonight. We played the usual 2 games which we were all exhausted by the end. I was schooled multiple times, but I briefly got to talk to Leon at the end. He is from Togo and studied English in France. He said he was a Christian, but I think this was only to please me, although he wasn't fasting for Ramadan, so I don't think he was person (at least not practicing). Either way I took the opportunity to invite him to church on Sunday. He said he would come, but again i think this was only to please me. We'll see if Leon shows up Sunday.
The book Tom is reading, while Laura diligently works on her jigsaw puzzle, started me thinking about what love is.
What is love... but the firm comittment of a man's word?
What is love... than the thought of growing old with your best friend, hand in hand?
What is love... but maintaining purity, for the sake of the other, to please God Almighty?
What is love... but a silent aimless walk just to be with each other?
What is love... but wearing cologne in hopes that she would notice?
What is love... but melting when she smiles at me and yet acting as if strong and unmoved?
What is love... but the thought of waking up next to her, showering her in kisses and holding her despite our messed up hair and bad breath?
What is love... but praying together; growing closer to God and to each other.
What is love... but her enduring patience with me when I forget the French vocabulary word that we just went over, in hopes that I can have another minute with her?
What is love... but to say "I do! For better or for worse! Till death do us part!"
Mondays are market day. The once secluded street, open and free to cars, is transformed into a bustling, busy, crowded path with odors and experiences, most of which are not pleasant to the senses. There are a variety of goods to buy from NFL jerseys, to dried little fish heads, to elegant cloth material, to dough grease balls that really don't resemble anything in taste except for old grease. We walked around the market, with Laura bartering and buying simple vegetables to use for lunch, and the children that always follow us carrying the bought goods. Actually it is custom for the women to carry stuff, unless there are children present, then the children carry the stuff.
For the most part, you just blend in as best you can... except when playing basketball with giants that have been playing religiously all their life. This was a kick in the face to the reality of my whiteness and my long absence from basketball. I pretty much held my own until the second game, dehydration (which sets in instantly here), and a very tall Senegal man that evened out the teams. The court is a rough and broken concrete slab that is very unforgiving to hands that try to touch it, leaving my palms bloodied and the men saying in broken English, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Of course my pride is threatened and on the line, so you shake the blood off your hand, adding to the red dirt, ask for the ball, drive to the basket... and get it blocked by a towering Senegal hand. The organizer of the game's name is Leon. A nice, but cocky fellow, since everything in life is going his way right now. He has a job at the gold mine, good looks, plays a strong game of basketball, actually has basketball shoes, has a woman cheering his name, kids looking on with admiration, and a white guy from the States to play basketball with. His English was very good, with a full vocabulary. He even took joy in showing the American a thing or two about how to play basketball. At the end of the second game, I was exhausted and 10 pounds lighter from sweating. So, inside I rejoiced when Leon called it a night. You always greet when you meet and when you leave, so I went over to greet Leon and to thank him for the game. He asked where i was living and I told him, "at the missionaries house down the road." He quickly shot back, "you are a Christian?" I hesitated and weighed the situation, but replied, "Yes. I am a Christian." We said our goodbyes and i agreed to come and play again tomorrow. Maybe I will grow tonight for the game tomorrow.
It has been several hours since the end of the game. I have had a shower, a meal, sat infront of a fan on high, and yet I still have not stopped dripping with sweat. Today was in the 90s with 80 to 100% humidity all day. Now Tom is reading another chapter from a book, Laura is working on another jigsaw puzzel, and I again am tired. I asked Tom and Laura about always being tired here and my many and long naps. They said that eventually you get used to it, but in coming out for just 17 days you can expect to always be tired; just don't let it keep you from ministry. Pace yourself, take naps, and be there with people when it counts, since relationships, not tasks are important.
More Posts
Next page »