If . . . Then!

If I truly crave you 
the way I feel hunger pangs 
on a day of fasting, 
not forgetting to seek you 
like I do when I am “fed”,  
satisfied with earthly food, 

if I really listen for you, 
and let those pangs alert me 
to pause, to hear what you say, 
hungering for your words, 
the bread we undervalue, 
and let you satisfy my soul, 

then I need to respond, 
to turn and put in action 
the words that you speak. 
What you want me to do 
is to help others, be merciful– 
it matters more than sacrifice. 

And then, you say, I will be 
like sunrise breaking through 
dark clouds: bright light! 
I will be the very water 
thirsty souls are looking for,
an orchard full of fruit!

Meaningful celebrations are getting closer every day: Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem (then his betrayal by the people), his gift of love when he became the sacrifice that saves us, then his resurrection—the grave could not hold him! During these days leading up to those crucial memorial holidays, we are in “Lent,” a season of preparation for them. It has morphed from an exclusively Catholic observance to one that is meaningful to many Protestants as well. The practice that most often comes to mind is fasting during the forty days leading up to Easter. It is self-denial—which could be traditional fasting from food during certain hours or days, or even from social media or some other “addiction” or habit in order to focus more time reflecting on all that Jesus gave up for us. That can be very worthwhile when it is accompanied by digging into the Word and time in prayer. But, as my Master told me when I wrote that poem above, “then I need to respond, to put in action the words” that he speaks.

There is nothing wrong with fasting—Jesus himself fasted for forty days and nights in the wilderness before launching his ministry. It also prepared him to go through intense temptation (Matthew 4). The widowed prophetess Anna fasted and prayed day and night (Luke 2:36-37). Early church leaders fasted so that they could listen more clearly to the Lord’s leading in decision-making (Acts 13:2; 14.23).

The danger is that it can become yet another religious rite. And just giving up something for a few days certainly does not earn us points with God—there is no way we can increase our standing with him just by changing a habit for a short while. It depends on how it is done and for what purpose.

Jesus made it clear that one must never do it to show off (Matthew 6:16-18); only if fasting is done solely in the presence of God will it ever be rewarded. And the reward seems to be mainly spiritual growth, and renewed sensitivity to our Lord’s voice as certain distractions are removed. The yearning for whatever it is that we give up can become an incitement to focus more on him. I tell myself: May each hunger pang turn my heart toward Yahweh, to listen and to converse! This produces the reward’s healthy spiritual fruit that can nourish others.

There is a powerful passage concerning this in Isaiah 58:1-11. Moïse and I were just working through translation of these verses into Nyarafolo last month, and I had to digest it once again. In the context, God is explaining to his people why they have deserved the punishment he has inflicted on them. They wanted him to answer their prayers, to give them a smooth road. success (Isaiah 57:1-18). But their hearts were divided: They also wanted to commit sexual sin, to worship false gods. Many of us could shrug that off as irrelevant to us (depending on how one interprets other ways of adoring physical satisfaction or a seemingly powerful person).

But then Yahweh becomes explicit about another thing that made him truly angry: sinful greed (v.17). Each one was going on “in the way of his own heart.* (Isaiah 57:17 ESV) They wanted to manipulate God to give them what they needed or wanted, but reserved the right to make their own choices, do their own thing.

For day after day they seek me out; they seem eager to know my ways, as if they were a nation that does what is right and has not forsaken the commands of its God. They ask me for just decisions and seem eager for God to come near them. ‘Why have we fasted,’ they say, ‘and you have not seen it? Why have we humbled ourselves, and you have not noticed?'” (Isa. 58:2-3a NIV)

Sound familiar? A person like this could be a faithful church attender, or even one who regularly listens to sermons online. It could be an American who only cares about certain issues that are biblically based, while others are discarded as irrelevant. Let’s consider the principles that Yahweh underlines:

Yet on the day of your fasting, you do as you please and exploit all your workers. Your fasting ends in quarreling and strife, and in striking each other with wicked fists. You cannot fast as you do today and expect your voice to be heard on high. Is this the kind of fast I have chosen, only a day for people to humble themselves? (Isaiah 58:3b-5a NIV)

They were not caring appropriately for those they supervised. And in their own fellowship group they were quarreling, lashing out at each other. In this political season it is all too easy to fall into this latter trap.

So then Yahweh explains that practicing self-denial as a way to get God to act as they please is useless. He goes into detail about the kind of self-giving that matters. It demonstrates an undivided heart, one totally in submission to the Master’s values:

Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:

to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke,

to set the oppressed free and break every yoke?

Is it not to share your food with the hungry

and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter-

when you see the naked, to clothe them,

and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness1 will go before you, and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard. Then you will call, and the LORD will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.

“If you do away with the yoke of oppression,

with the pointing finger and malicious talk,

and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry

and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,

then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday. The LORD will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.  (Isaiah 58:6-11 NIV)

I propose that in the days of Lent that remain, we consider how we can actually do what Yahweh, the Almighty Sovereign of the Universe, our Father and Master, says we must do—if we really want him to guide us and provide for us, making us shining lights and refreshing sources of food and water for those around us!

Back to Congo

My Congo! 
Oh, to be out in your cold morning air, 
To feel the chill bite of your wind, 
To see the red sun peeking over your pines 
Hear hummingbirds humming a hymn! 

I long to be there when the sun spreads her warmth 
To the black, rich dirt at my feet, 
To walk between violets, and pansies, and moss, 
To hear a young lamb’s hungry bleat. 

I long to climb into the sheltering cave 
Of a giant, loose-hanging vine, 
To pick a “matunda” and taste its sour tang-- 
Oh, I wish you were once more mine! 

When the sun says good night at the close of the day, 
Turning pink your blue mountains of snow, 
I’ll wait for your stars and your moon to come out, 
And watch for your sky’s midnight glow. 

The beauty of Congo – there’s nothing can match 
Your mountains, your jungles, your plains. 
Who can blame me, my Congo, if the one thing I want 
Is to see you, be with you, again! 

© Linnea Slater   (1965)


When I drafted this blog I was sitting in a home in Belgium, but Congo was all around me. We were visiting Philip (with me in the photo above), someone who had meant a lot to me when I lived there where my parents served as missionaries until we were evacuated in 1961. I felt like I was going back to Congo as memories and a key relationship were renewed.

When I was yearning for my first childhood homeland and wrote that poem, I was just 13 and it was the landscapes that I focused on. War had forced us to change countries, and although Côte d’Ivoire was beginning to work its way into my heart, I was longing for the beauty of my Congo nature playground. My new “home” was so dry and flat, such a contrast. It took some years of digging, of letting my feet run in the dust, to uncover new treasures. Later I began to realize that what I missed even more about Congo was my friends.

It was much harder as a child to find African playmates in Côte d’Ivoire where we moved in 1961. The hospital compound was outside the town and children were not encouraged to come our way. In Congo we not only had many comrades from the village right next door, but there was also the close relationship with Philip, our big “brother.” He was sent to our family during the vacations from his boarding school from 1957-59, when I was 5-7 years old. Our mission had started the school for mixed-race kids, called “métisse” there in Belgian Congo. They were denigrated by both whites and blacks in that culture and usually ended up abandoned, like orphans. We found it a delight to welcome Philip. He was eight years older than I was, so already a teen, but had a gentle fun way with us kids.

When independence came to Congo in 1960 unrest was rising all around, especially in the eastern region where we lived. My dad and his brother, Dwight and John Slater, had taken our families out of Katwa, Congo, to spend some of the summer in Kampala, Uganda, for safety; they had stayed behind to continue their medical work. The missionaries working with the métisses had evacuated those kids to Kampala as well, given the dangers heating up. They were given the choice of going to America or Belgium. Philip and his younger brother chose Belgium, and off they flew. It was the beginning of many long-distance separations.

I didn’t see Philip again until December of 1978, when Glenn and I were studying French before heading to Côte d’Ivoire as missionaries ourselves. We left Albertville, France, to travel to Brussels, Belgium, to meet up with Philip. It was refreshing for me, and the immersion in French really helped Glenn’s language facility take off.

Then life took over for us all. Philip was now a high school math teacher, and a couple of years later he married a widow who was also from Congo, Léontine. Family became a wonderful, major focus for each of us. We were focused on our new ministries: the hospital in Ferkessédougou, Nyarafolo learning and linguistic endeavors, church development in “our” village, Tiepogovogo, and our children. Philip and his wife ended up with five children.

After a while we lost touch with Philip. Mom and Dad Slater visited him, but the last time he saw them was when they were retired and returning from a visit to Uganda—Mom was hospitalized in Brussels with severe malaria. Then their retirement life in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, followed by the challenges of old age, quieted their communication with him as well.

Glenn and I retired in 2019, not ever having stopped by to see Philip all those years. I so wish that we had; I had lost all of his contact information. I was astonished and delighted when I suddenly got a WhatsApp message from him last August! He had been trying to contact Mom and Dad by their email address, not realizing they had already passed away in 2017. Then he got in touch with the daughter of other former Congo missionaries and she gave him my phone number, so he reached out to me on WhatsApp! When he urged us to stop by the next time we traveled the U.S./Côte d’Ivoire/U.S. route, it really hit home. “Home” in more ways than one! Here was my “big brother,” lost to me for so many years, longing to see me and get family news. So this time, we chose to spend a week in Belgium with him as we returned from our two months in Africa.

I was so glad we did that! We caught up on details I didn’t remember, since I had been so young back when he spent time with us in Congo. He says it was my mom who really made the Good News about Jesus clear to him, and who made sure that Pastor Berg was the contact he had in Belgium when he evacuated there. The Bergs took him in, as well as his brother, giving them the support they needed as they finished high school and took further training. Philip was baptized at his church. His brother is no longer alive, and neither are the Bergs. But Philip’s faith has stayed strong over all the years.

I have never been back to Congo, physically. But Philip and Léontine went back in 2000 for a visit. Some of their children have also gone to visit, and even to work there for a time. Philip has become a connector for other métisses  and Congolese immigrants in the Brussels area, so they are constantly receiving gifts from Congo from any who travel back to visit. Here in their house there is Congolese art all around, in addition to all the family photos. And Léontine keeps sharing delicious food treasures given to them—like smoked chicken!

They took us to the Matonge quarter in Brussels, a basically Congolese-style market area with so many stalls and shops with Congolese goods that, if it weren’t for the ancient European buildings, one could find themselves with feet back on the ground, back there. I felt it. And Léontine came alive. It was “home.”

So there we were, “family” reunited, sharing our Third Culture life stories. Probably most of you are familiar with the term “Third Culture Kid (TCK),” which describes especially a child who grows up in a culture different than his parents’ original culture and develops a personal mixture of those cultures. I am one of those, I was born to American parents and was periodically re-entering the U.S. but spent most of my growing-up years in Congo and then Côte d’Ivoire. Philip was born to a Belgian father and Congolese mother (that he didn’t know), raised by Americans in his boarding school and our Slater family home, then transferred to life in Belgium.

Having this kind of mixture can be challenging, because you don’t fit completely into any one of those cultures that have formed you. You are different. But it can be viewed as a rich treasure that brings unique understandings of different cultures, often with skills about living cross-culturally. And I see the same kind of Third Culture development in adults that adapt to different cultures that they integrate into this way—like in my husband Glenn.

It is very evident in Philip. There is constant African music playing in the dining room. When their toddler grandson comes over for the day, French/Lingala/Swahili children’s programs play on the tv. The phone rings, and the conversation might be French, might be Swahili. But the house is Belgian in furniture and equipment. The neighborhood stores are Belgian, so most food is as well. Philip had taught high school math there in public high schools until retirement.

I was not only delighted to be found by my brother again, but to be able to tie our bonds more firmly now that we are in the evening of our lives. It was amazing to discover how many ways we share the same values and worldviews!

A psalm that has spoken to me in a personal way concerning this kind of multi-cultural lifestyle is Psalm 139. Ever since a friend studied it with me while we were both at Wheaton Graduate School in 1977, I have resonated with its strong message that Yahweh is present no matter where his people are, in the far east (where the sun rises) or the far west (where it sets). For me, that was Africa and America.

5 You fence me in, behind and in front, you have laid your hand upon me. 6 Such amazing knowledge is beyond me, a height to which I cannot attain. 7 Where shall I go to escape your spirit? Where shall I flee from your presence? 8 If I scale the heavens you are there, if I lie flat in Sheol, there you are. 9 If I speed away on the wings of the dawn, if I dwell beyond the ocean, 10 even there your hand will be guiding me, your right hand holding me fast. (Psalm 139:5-10 NJB)

I can’t escape his accompanying presence, and that is great comfort for me. He will always guide me and hold me securely in his grip. He has done that for me in the 46 years since I last saw Philip, He has held Philip in the same way. And he made both of us, created us, with our life stories in mind. Philip, who had no close relationship with his original father or mother, learned to deal with that trauma by sharing life with other kids who had the same experience. He says that boarding school experience was healing for him, and it shows up now in the way that he reaches out to others to be sure that they feel familial love. God knew him and shaped him, bringing healing even after he had gone through so many wrenching losses.

13 You created my inmost self, knit me together in my mother’s womb. 14 For so many marvels I thank you; a wonder am I, and all your works are wonders. You knew me through and through, 15 my being held no secrets from you, when I was being formed in secret, textured in the depths of the earth. 16 Your eyes could see my embryo. In your book all my days were inscribed, every one that was fixed is there. 17 How hard for me to grasp your thoughts, how many, God, there are! 18 If I count them, they are more than the grains of sand; if I come to an end, I am still with you. (Psalm 139:13-18 NJB)

Yahweh has used Philip in Belgium to help other immigrants find their way forward, and to keep close connections to those in his expanding family (many who now live in several other countries!). He who had no relationship with his birth parents found acceptance in Mom and Dad Slater, and then the Bergs. Now he fervently lives out family love.

Yahweh formed me to live my life in Congo and Côte d’ivoire, preparing me to reach out to the Nyarafolo, and in retirement to live out his truth in Detroit. He also put that same extended family love in my heart through my parents’ open arms and open home.

Father Yahweh knows our days and what he has planned for us. And that is true whether we grow up in a strong, stable family or go through the kind of challenges that Philip faced all his life. Our part in the story is how we respond to his guidance, whether we trust him and his unending love! How can you trace his design?

That Long Climb

(My hand held by my young friend while climbing–photo credit to Josh Wohlgemut)

“The joy of the Lord is my strength.” 
And how does that work out? 
I’m tired, dragged down by all the brokenness: 
women scrounging far and wide for water, 
youth without a future, men distressed. 
Marriages are fragmented, replete 
with selfishness, misunderstanding, pain. 
Wars and crime are headlines every day. 
I cannot make it go away. 

“The joy of the Lord is my strength.” 
I turn away from the huge mess 
and try to focus all on him: 
my eyes, my inner being, frenzied mind. 
What I see is goodness: pure and strong, 
healthy, wise, courageous, tender, 
understanding, pulsing love -- 
love that gives itself completely for the other, 
and for me and for my good as I press on. 
 
May I remember this: it is a long climb! 
There is joy in the journey: new views, 
victories, signs of transformation, 
friends who care, numerous blessings 
way beyond what I deserve. 
If I just take time to notice. 
He holds my hand, and goals are met, 
slippery slopes avoided, treasures found. 
Remember these, tired soul; keep pushing on! 

And grab the hands of others, give them hope, 
especially one stumbling on the path. 
But while you keep on serving, 
hold tightly to that one strong hand 
that always pulls you through. 
Feel his goodness coursing through your veins 
to give you joy, and strength to climb 
to the sweet goal that lies ahead: 
renewal on the mountaintop, and rest. 

That climb up Ferke Mountain over a week ago reminded me of so much that I have been learning all my life. Let me share a few of the symbolic moments that are reminders of truth.

All the slippery gravel coating the climb made it essential to find what looks like a solid rock for your next step. I thought I was doing pretty well, even though the others in our company (all much younger than me) were making headway much more quickly. Then it happened: my left foot slipped a few inches on clustered pebbles and I fell. My left hand caught hold of a rock, and although my palm looked red there was no blood, not even a scrape.  I was not hurt. No bruises even! But everyone turned to check on me, and young Fouyahaton (one of the two teen Nyarafolo boys with us) scampered back to me and grabbed my right hand. He held onto it all the way up to the solid rock that covers the mountain top, making sure that kaceliɛwɛ (the respectful term for “elderly lady” in Nyarafolo) was safe. When we were climbing back down, Josh Wohlgemut held my hand for a while, then Fouyahaton took over again. I couldn’t help but think of these verses:

9 If I live at the eastern horizon or settle at the western limits,1 10 even there Your hand will lead me; Your right hand will hold on to me. (Ps. 139:8 CSB)

Wherever I am, wherever you are, in the U.S. or in some other land, Yahweh our Good Shepherd is with us. He is not just passively beside us; when we come to tricky places on the path that he’s put before us, he will grab us and hold us with his right hand. Why his right hand?  Because in the Hebrew world view, the right hand is the hand for good action and blessing; the left hand is reserved for doing necessary dirty work. West Africans have that same cultural understanding. We had to learn never to give a gift or pay for something with our left hand, since that is offensive. Your left hand is what you use to wipe your nose (no tissues available) and other places where body fluids exit. The right hand reaches out with respect and to do clean work. You only eat with your right hand!  My husband Glenn, who is left-handed, had to learn to do that in public spaces. 

While translating the Old Testament I kept running into the wonders of God’s right hand:

Your right hand, LORD, was majestic in power. Your right hand, LORD, shattered the enemy. (Exod. 15:6 NIV)
I keep my eyes always on the LORD. With him at my right hand, I will not be shaken. (Ps. 16:8 NIV)

So whether my friend was holding my right hand with his left or my left hand with his right hand, I was firmly held and did not slip again. It was a firm picture of this verse:

The LORD makes firm the steps of the one who delights in him; though he may stumble, he will not fall, for the LORD upholds him with his hand. (Ps. 37:23,24 NIV)

Yes, climbing that mountain there were a couple of times when the next rock was too far away for my foot to reach, and I slipped a little bit. But the support of that hand holding mine kept me from falling! This “song of ascents” is very relevant:

A song of ascents. I lift up my eyes to the mountains-- where does my help come from? 2 My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth. 3 He will not let your foot slip-- he who watches over you will not slumber; 4 indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. 5 The LORD watches over you-- the LORD is your shade at your right hand; 6 the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. 7 The LORD will keep you from all harm-- he will watch over your life; 8 the LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore. (Ps. 121:1-8 NIV)

Right now the “mountains” we are probably climbing are more like those mentioned in the poem above: lament over world conditions, compassion fatigue, difficult choices, hearts broken by harsh words, concern for suffering or wandering loved ones. Whatever we are facing, we can be aware of Yahweh’s hand holding us and hold onto him! He is King of the Universe, and nothing is too hard for him. It may be a long climb to finally reach the mountain top where we can gain new perspective, looking all around to the horizons. We may be out of breath, but once there we can sit on a big solid rock and rest. Even now our Shepherd will give us rest as needed and show us the path to take, the one that brings honor to him and to his purposes:

The LORD is my shepherd, I lack nothing. 2 He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, 3 he refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths for his name's sake (Ps. 23:1-3 NIV)

Sometimes that path leads up a mountain, or into a deep valley, but no matter where, he is with us. Always. All the way to that mountain top  where we will find our eternal peace and rest—he has promised this. As the psalmist wrote:

23 Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand. 24 You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me into glory. 25 Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. 26 My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.  (Ps. 73:25-26 NIV)

It may be a long climb, but we can make it with him holding us. And he even will give us promptings to run over to someone and hold their hand when life is tough, just like he does for us—and just like Fouyahaton literally did for me.  With God's good love pulsing through us, we are strengthened and moved to reach out to share his strength and love with others!

Prayer for Ferke Mountain

We stand here on a rock 
you pushed out of the earth, 
a mountain of granite 
and colorful quartz, 
cracking apart over centuries 
so that trees take root, 
spread out, grow tall, 
and bushes thrive. 

Creator, your art is magnificent! 
The wind blows across it 
singing your praise! 
And yet there are remnants 
of desperation, humans begging 
for intervention from a god 
who made nothing, 
who has no love. 

He can’t wipe away tears, 
and has no intention 
of bringing healing— 
just grabbing attention 
with constant pretention 
that a dark spirit 
can calm their fears 
and answer prayers. 

Take back your mountain, 
Great King of the World! 
Sweep away strongholds 
of demons exulting 
in food that is offered, 
snidely chuckling as these, 
their slaves, come  
begging for peace. 


We were at the rounded summit of Ferke Mountain, relishing the cool breeze and sunrise on the horizon. The six of us had conquered the slope of broken rock and slippery gravel, some grassy areas burned to facilitate the climb. I was now searching for a certain spot where four of us teens had left a memorial of our eleventh-grade year, studying by correspondence in Ferke: we had gathered stones and lined them up as “FHS,” for “Ferke High School.” I’ve heard that some other MKs later wrote their names with stones up there too.

I had not known it when I was young MK (missionary kid) growing up in the area, but after years of studying the local Nyarafolo culture I had learned that this was a “sacred high place.” Just like the Canaanites who worshiped the gods of land areas, mountains (high places), and certain trees, the traditional religion here required the same practices. So when I had climbed the mountain with my family as an adult, accompanied by some Nyarafolo friends, I was intrigued when I saw a strange object hanging from the limb of a tree. One of the young men explained that it represented a kind of pact with the local god.

Later another friend told me that when he’d been in elementary school his teacher had taken the class on a field trip up there. The kids had found stones laid out like words, and the teacher had told them never to touch them: those were “sacred stones”! What had we done?!!

When I found the extended flat rock area where some of the lines of stones still existed, a sacrifice offering was nestled there, a bowl (one-half of a calebasse gourd) that had once held something liquid and a line of cowrie shells and kola nut shells. The bowl was leaning against some of those stones once forming letters put in place by us ignorant foreigners.

On the other end of the summit we saw chicken feathers near a dip in a rock that would have cradled the sacrifice. And hanging from a tree there was a string that had once held a piece of cloth; another tree had a small can left balanced between branches coming out of the trunk. Yes, they all represented sacrifices.

Pastor Fouhoton Pierre, our long-term friend from Tiepogovogo, had climbed the mountain with us this time. I asked him to refresh my memory about this “god” that people came to worship and to beg for help. He said his name is Weliefoli, and is believed to be a god of protection and provision. Each different offering we had seen represented a certain kind of petition.

Right now I am working on translating the Book of Isaiah into Nyarafolo with Moïse, and Yahweh God warns his people repeatedly that the idols they worship represent false gods who cannot predict the future or do them any good:

28 I look but there is no one– no one among the gods to give counsel, no one to give answer when I ask them. 29 See, they are all false! Their deeds amount to nothing; their images are but wind and confusion. (Isa. 41:1 NIV)

Yahweh warned them about the trap they were in because he was calling them back to himself, to the Almighty God who was indeed the Sovereign One and could protect and help them.

Here we were, on Ferke Mountain, seeing the evidence of ongoing worship of a useless “god.” There are certain trees considered sacred spiritual portals as well, and villages or clans make annual sacrifices to the god of their specific property in order to renew their covenants with whatever god “owns” that area. I’ve heard so many stories of the spiritual oppression that results from this kind of worship, and of how Jesus is the one Rescuer who changes everything.

So the six of us gathered in a circle there on the summit, and prayed to the Creator to take back this mountain he had put in place, to show himself to the people who live around it, to sweep away these agents of the Enemy who love to keep people in bondage to useless rites.

Then we scattered to enjoy the beauty of the ancient trees that stretch long branches across the rock face, almost as if they were roots above ground, and to look out over the countryside at the villages and Ferke town in the distance. I couldn’t help but think about how when Glenn and I arrived as missionaries in 1979 there were so few Nyarafolos who knew Jesus—just one small group out in the village of Pisankaha. And yes, God has been at work calling this people group to himself. Now there are five village churches and multiple other small group gatherings, and in Ferke town there are three churches using Nyarafolo in services, and others making plans to do so. Here beside me on the mountain was Fouhoton, rescued from spiritual oppression as a young teen by coming to Jesus, now a leading pastor in town. The Lord has indeed been revealing Truth to them, bringing them out of darkness into the Light of the Good News!

There are still many who do not know Jesus yet. The Nyarafolo qualify as “least-reached.” But they are “engaged.” Churches are reaching out in new ways, using their language and the Jesus Film in Nyarafolo. Teens are being organized to be missional and go to villages that have not heard the Good News. Certain Nyarafolo leaders are making videos of their testimonies so that the power of the Savior can become known. One is a pastor who used to be a thief, another is a pastor’s wife who once had to hide from her first husband to save her life, others are getting ready to tell their stories of how Jesus set them free.

They have two-thirds of the Nyarafolo Bible in print and available on phones. And we are working on the remaining books of the Old Testament! The God of the Universe truly loves all peoples, including those looked down on as irrelevant—which was formerly true of the Nyarafolo! He says these powerful words to foreigners in Isaiah, long before Jesus came to save us all:

This is what the LORD says: “Maintain justice and do what is right, for my salvation is close at hand and my righteousness will soon be revealed. 2 Blessed is the one who does this– the person who holds it fast, who keeps the Sabbath without desecrating it, and keeps their hands from doing any evil.” 3 Let no foreigner who is bound to the LORD say, “The LORD will surely exclude me from his people.” . . .  6 And foreigners who bind themselves to the LORD to minister to him, to love the name of the LORD, and to be his servants, all who keep the Sabbath without desecrating it and who hold fast to my covenant– 7 these I will bring to my holy mountain and give them joy in my house of prayer. (Isa. 56:1 NIV)

And Jesus said:

“All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. 19 Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, 20 and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” (Matt. 28:18-20 NIV)

I am one of those foreigners, now a child of the King. So are these precious Nyarafolo believers who have joined the royal Family. Our Father is not only taking back something like a misused mountain, he is also calling to himself whoever will listen and come. May there be many many more!

Dry Season Hope

Water my soul, Lord!
I know there was a rain
a while back
but in the interim
the sun has walloped me
with vicious rays
I’m shriveled
thirsty and dry

I know that when you come
you will bring a goblet
full of your choice drink
liquid that refreshes
all my roots
and in the morning
I’ll wake up to the miracle
of golden blossoms
then fresh green shoots

Waiting for refreshment? Everywhere I look here in northern Côte d’Ivoire, the earth is dry, heaps of leaves cover the ground where there are trees. Where there are no trees, withered plants and dust reign.

But as we came home from Tiepogovogo church on Sunday we noticed that the golden rain trees along the road were beginning to bloom. There has not been rain for weeks, but suddenly they show up and brighten the landscape with their blooms. They bring hope, because we know that they are a sign that dry season is ending; soon rain will fall. There is hope!


If this were your first time going through dry season here in Côte d’Ivoire, you would not recognize the signs. But if someone could point them out to you, you could look forward to rain and more green coming to life.  It’s like when you’re going through tough times but you can trust that good things are coming because you know who is in charge of the seasons.

The last two Sundays at Tiepogovogo the messages have underlined our need to trust God to supply what we need. He is the Sovereign King, the one who reaches down to provide.

Glenn spoke on the 10th, telling the story from 1 Kings 2 about the severe drought that God had sent on Israel to punish them. The prophet Elijah had been hiding in the wilderness where there was still a little water, ravens bringing him food. But even that source of water dried up. Then Yahweh sent him to a widow in Zarephath, in a foreign country, and provided for him and for her there:

So he got up and went to Zarephath. When he went through the city gate, there was a widow gathering wood. He called out to her, “Please give me a cup of water, so I can take a drink.” 11 As she went to get it, he called out to her, “Please bring me a piece of bread.” 12 She said, “As certainly as the LORD your God lives, I have no food, except for a handful of flour in a jar and a little olive oil in a jug. Right now I am gathering a couple of sticks for a fire. Then I’m going home to make one final meal for my son and myself. After we have eaten that, we will die of starvation.” 13 Elijah said to her, “Don’t be afraid. Go and do as you planned. But first make a small cake for me and bring it to me; then make something for yourself and your son. 14 For this is what the LORD God of Israel says, ‘The jar of flour will not be empty and the jug of oil will not run out until the day the LORD makes it rain on the surface of the ground.'” (1 Ki. 17:10 NET)

And that is what happened! Her flour and oil kept on being replenished right there in the jar and the jug! This was the result of her willingness to give up the last tiny bit of food that she had, sharing it with a man she had never met before. She had to trust his astonishing prediction of provision as not merely coming from a man.

The point is this: we have to put our trust in God and do what he says to do, even when we are running out of resources.

Pastor Brahima, the new pastor at Tiepogo, picked up on this theme again on the 17th. He started by asking the congregation: what was the teaching you heard here last week? A young man raised his hand and repeated the story and application—that in itself was proof that the message had been heard and digested! Brahima then underlined our need to trust God, that when we give what we have so that his purpose is accomplished, he will provide what is needed and we get JOY! Jesus himself said:

You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that remains, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name he will give you. (Jn. 15:16 NET)

Brahima then shared another story of faith in Yahweh that once again took place in a foreign nation with an amazing outcome. “Neither the one about Elijah nor this one are in your Nyarafolo Bible yet,” he said, so he told it to them. It is in 2 Kings. The commander of the Syrian army, Naaman, had a severe skin disease:

Raiding parties went out from Syria and took captive from the land of Israel a young girl, who became a servant to Naaman’s wife. 3 She told her mistress, “If only my master were in the presence of the prophet who is in Samaria! Then he would cure him of his skin disease. (2 Ki. 5:2-3 NET)

This little girl had been removed from her home and family, and was now a slave in the home of an extremely powerful man. She dared to share her faith in the healing power of the prophet in her home country. So Naaman, desperate, traveled there, and of course went to the most powerful person there: the king! The Syrian king had sent a letter telling the king to heal Naaman, sending along payment for the service. The king of Israel was really upset—he knew that he was not God, he could not heal him! Elisha heard of the issue and sent a message to remind the king that there was a prophet of God in Israel! So the king gladly sent Naaman away. Now Elisha would have to deal with this problem.

But Elisha was not going to let it seem like he was the one who had the power to heal. He had to get Naaman to obey the washing ritual assigned to him, so that he would learn to trust a word that came through the prophet but was actually from Yahweh, the God he did not know. And although Naaman’s servants had to convince him to actually take this unexpected trip to the Jordan to bathe, once he did it and was healed, he confessed that now he knew the truth:

He said, “For sure  I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel! Now, please accept a gift from your servant.” 16 But Elisha  replied, “As certainly as the LORD lives (whom I serve),  I will take nothing from you.”  (2 Ki. 5:15-16 NET)

All the credit was to go to God!

Elisha had faith that what the Lord had given him as a message for Naaman would result in his healing. The little enslaved girl had that faith too. And Jesus even put this miracle together with the case of Elijah and the widow of Zarephath  to point out to those in the synagogue in his hometown, Nazareth, that faith is necessary or there is no miracle taking place (Luke 4:24-27).

It was intriguing to watch the congregation at Tiepogo drink in this preaching—they probably had not heard those biblical stories before.

And then a stunning conclusion happened: one of the singers, Koufanhawori, stood and said that he had a song to share. He hummed the tune to the balafon players, who launched a rhythmic flow of notes, and Koufanhawori sang the story he had just heard, a new song composed on the spot! What a way to underline the need for faith in the one and only God!

Most of you know those stories; you have them in your complete Bibles. And most of us are not living out an economic situation where we have nothing left. But put yourself in the place of poor farmers whose crops failed to bring in a profit last year–the cotton was diseased so did not yield, and the price paid for their cashews dropped significantly. They are now waiting for the rains to come so that they can plant the summer crops again. Think of the faith required to give the little money you have into an offering basket so that the pastor and his family can eat too. Think about how desperation can turn our heart eyes away from looking up to the Sovereign God in trust!

This may be a dry season for you, whether it is financial, physical, emotional or situational. But turn your eyes away from the dust and withered leaves to Yahweh, his promises, and trust that the rains will come! He will give signs of hope, of changing seasons—like the golden blossoms suddenly appearing on the dry branches of a leafless tree!

Make Me Ready


Keep a towel on my arm!
Keep me ready to kneel 
before my tired friend
to lovingly rinse the dirt glued on
as they kept trudging
through thick and thin,
the rut and puddle, 
the stuff that sticks
from where they’ve been, 
a long and painful road.

Give my eyes the knack to catch
weariness, hurt within
a gesture or a sigh.
Give me kindness that 
moves my fingers, strength
to knead tight tendons loose,
massage sore soles,
de-tense cramped muscles
always leaping up, 
sweeping up the dust.

Make me Just like You --
You, who gently bathes
my own tired feet
in balm of Gilead!
You wipe dust away,
cleansing pores
now clogged with grime.
Show me now who needs
their dry feet bathed, who
longs for comfort and relief!

We are in northern Côte d’Ivoire in the dry season, when months pass with no rainfall. The harmattan wind blows down from the Sahara over West Africa, picking up fine dust and sand particles as it goes. A dusty haze covers the landscape and muffles the brightness of the rising sun. Dust drops onto everything: leaves look brown, furniture needs constant dusting.

So during this season dirty feet are the norm, unless you are wearing socks and closed shoes—then those get covered with dust. Of course we want to leave shoes at the door rather than take that extra dust into the house! Washing shoes, at least dusting them off, becomes routine. If you’re wearing sandals then your feet change color, your skin color only showing through where a strap was tightly wrapped around them.

We wash our own feet, and it feels SO good to get them clean. Experiencing this dusty world makes the examples of foot-washing in the Bible very real. Throughout the Old Testament it is part of welcoming visitors (see Genesis 18,19,24,43). Water was supplied for visitors to use to wash their feet. and omitting that showed a lack of hospitality (1 Sam. 25:41; Luke 7:40–50; 1 Tim. 5:10). If servants were present they got the job. Wives were to wash their husband’s feet. It was a demonstration of care and humility.

When Jesus washed his disciples feet (John 13:1-13) he definitely shocked them. He was showing them that he loved them deeply (verses 1-2) as well as giving them an object lesson they would never forget:

2 When Jesus had washed their feet and put on His robe, He reclined 1 again and said to them, “Do you know what I have done for you? 13 You call Me Teacher and Lord. This is well said, for I am. 14 So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.1 15 For I have given you an example 1 that you also should do just as I have done for you. 16 ” I assure you: A slave is not greater than his master,12 and a messenger is not greater than the one who sent him. 17 If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them. (Jn. 13:1-13 CSB)

Jesus was the Master who was sending his disciples out. What they had not realized was that they were to have the same kind of compassionate heart that their Master had. When they saw someone with “dirty feet” who needed help getting water and cleaning them up, they were never to consider themselves too highly place to bend down and do the work of a servant. They were to be messengers who were ready to serve.

How many times have I not noticed a way that I could serve someone who just walked through some tough stuff and needs relief? The “foot washing” might be actually physical, like offering a shower and a bed to someone on a long trip. It might also be offering a listening ear to someone overloaded with inner stress or distress, “dust” accumulated by compassion fatigue, carrying heavy loads for others. Maybe they just need a safe space where they can rest.

When I’m busy with my own business, it’s easy to overlook the opportunity to offer that attention. Didn’t Jesus say that just a cup of water might be enough?

And if you give even a cup of cold water to one of the least of my followers, you will surely be rewarded.” (Matt. 10:42 NLT)

I was reminded of that this month when a young woman named Tene (ten-eh) came over to show me her newborn baby, and asked how to spell my name “Linn” since she wanted to give it to her daughter. I had known Tene’s mom for a very long time, helping her through many tough situations. But Tene I had mostly known as the little girl who would stop by my house in Ferke town on her way home from school. She and her girlfriends just wanted a drink of water after the long day, in the middle of the long walk home. And now she wanted to name her baby after me.

I was humbled at this thought. I know I could have done more to show her love. But that cup of water had been enough. She remembered. On Sunday we were at her parents’ courtyard to celebrate their wedding anniversary—13 years together, through thick and thin and lots of poverty, always pushing forward. (They had wanted to do this for their 10th anniversary, but that was during COVID.) Many people had said, when they married, that they would never make it, being just too poor. But they had, and they thanked God. I grabbed little baby Linn and held her for a while. I pray that she will grow to faithfully follow Jesus the way that her grandparents have, and that Tene will as well.

And I pray that I will grow ever more aware of how to reach out in a meaningful way to serve those that the Lord brings my way. “Foot washing” is an image for all kinds of service. The main requirement is to do it in love and with humility.

The Spotlight Shifted!

They were shoved to the margins,
viewed as insignificant,
poor people scattered
in little bush villages,
living off infertile land.

But some had been waiting
to hear the Good News,
and when it arrived
their hearts opened wide,
fertile, welcoming seed.

“Now how can we sing 
praise to our new King?” 
Other peoples had songs,
but this language had tones
that required their own fit.

Then it began, launched
one Christmas night,
hands clapping along.
Enthusiasts gathered
to create some more.

Still shoved to the shadows,
spotlight on the others,
they pressed on for years
with just one balafon.
But it died. What to do?

No funds for repair. But
they found new direction,
and turned to tradition:
a unique pair of drums
used to energize work.

And it worked! Their new music
was tuned to the beat
that incited all feet
to delight in the heat,
arms threshing the air.

Praise lifted, encouragement
flowed like a current!
It now shouted out:
“Let’s work for the Lord!”
Now, spotlight on them!!

Ever since we attended the music festival Sunday afternoon my heart has been contemplating this Scripture:

7 He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the garbage pile  8 in order to seat them with nobles– with the nobles of His people. (Ps. 113:7-8 CSB)

That is what our God has done for the Nyarafolo! He has lifted them up and placed them in a high position of respect that no one would have predicted!

 You know what happened this past Sunday if you saw my Facebook post about the concert, and if you took a few minutes to sample the music shared on my YouTube channel: https://youtu.be/vlZZy-mMYQM?si=2ZvcntE3HpdC5QF9

Here is a summary. A group associated with the national Ministry of Culture invited chorales from churches in various language groups to gather together, highlighting those that are using traditional instruments rather than Western ones. We were excited that the Nyarafolo Chorale was representing the area where we work, Ferkessédougou, and that for a second time they had been chosen to sing at the concert in the large town west of here, Korhogo. When we were still out here full-time, I had participated in that chorale. Now I was an observer there to support them and enjoy the many varieties of other ethnic music.

The billboard at the gate advertised the title: “Afrik Arts: Concert Balafon et autres instruments!” The balafon is one of the most well-known West African instruments, originating from northern Mandinke ethnic groups and borrowed by many other peoples. It was often used in traditional occult ceremonies. We all remember when there was a three-year-discussion in our area on whether such an instrument could be used by Christians in our Baptist churches—a lot like the long process of debating whether guitar music was acceptable in American churches. The verdict was that instruments could be redeemed for the glory of God. The balafon is loved by many Christians here, widely used.

There were several groups that performed first in the hot afternoon sun as the concert began, using balafons, and the crowd was slowly gathering (this is not a time-oriented culture), listening quietly. Then the Master of Ceremonies announced that the Nyarafolo from Ferke were next and asked the crowd to shout their name out loud after him, twice: “Nyarafolo! Nyarafolo!”

They came on stage, about twenty singers accompanied by the unique set of drums (the “pire” (pronounced “pray,” a tenor and a bass) that had captured the attention of the Afrik Arts coordinators. The chorale lined up, their paired drums next to them along with a shaker (a gourd laced with shells or beads). The singing began, the song composer leading out, her verses punctuated by a repeated response chorus from the chorale as they danced in place, shuffling feet and swishing arms back and forth as though working in a field.

Suddenly people began popping out of their chairs, swaying, dancing, enthralled! As my husband Glenn said, it was as though they had been given some kind of energy shot. After the Nyarafolos had sung two songs, other groups took their turns. Nowthe crowd remained actively involved.

The whole concert was being recorded by a drone camera swooping over them; another video camera held by a man was following the groups on stage. The performances will be viewed by many more people too!

I couldn’t help but be amazed. For years the Nyarafolo had been marginalized as insignificant poor farmers with little education or standing in the community, even by Christians from other ethnic groups. We had tried unsuccessfully for years to have some services in Nyarafolo begin in our association of town churches that are multi-ethnic, but were always turned down. Things started changing as their music gained traction in the community, and then when their printed Scriptures arrived (the New Testament, plus Pentateuch and Psalms) they had even more respect. Now there are two Nyarafolo pastors in the four Baptist churches in Ferke, and in one of the other two churches the Nyarafolos have been accorded their separate service as well. It’s a revolution!

Yes! This is what our loving God does!

7 He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the garbage pile  8 in order to seat them with nobles– with the nobles of His people. (Ps. 113:7-8 CSB)

My assessment was confirmed when a pastor here in Ferke from a different language group, one who had cooperated in organizing the concert, came into the translation office where I was working on Monday.

Two members of the team there are leaders in the group that has formed the Nyarafolo Chorale, one as a key musician  and the other as an organizer. The pastor wanted to confer with them about some plans, but he first stood among us all and said, “Just think about what has happened! The Nyarafolo, who were viewed as insignificant, are now nationally famous!”

It took years for them to be seen as worth paying attention to. But God had a different plan, one that included sending us (!!) to them and calling more and more Nyarafolos into his Family. One of his key instruments is Moïse, who began working with me in translation 24 years ago and also composed that first Christian song so that the small group of Nyarafolo believers in Ferke would have one to contribute at the churches’ combined Christmas celebration. He then invited them to continue meeting Sunday afternoons, one of their main goals being to be able to pray and worship together in their heart language. Another one was to keep making their own songs.

It took off and grew much larger. Glenn had a large gazebo built behind the house where we lived so that they would have a good place to meet. And they are still doing it, creating more and more music in their traditional style, learning to read their language and getting solid teaching in it, building strong community as they work together. Now their influence is spreading, mainly through their music. May it incite many others to live out Psalm 150 the way that these believers have learned to do:

Praise Him, Praise Yah!

    1      Praise Yah![1]

Praise God in His sanctuary;

Praise Him in His mighty expanse.

    2            Praise Him for His mighty deeds;

Praise Him according to the abundance of His greatness.

    3      Praise Him with trumpet blast;

Praise Him with harp and lyre.

    4            Praise Him with tambourine and dancing;

Praise Him with stringed instruments and pipe.

    5            Praise Him with resounding cymbals;

Praise Him with clashing cymbals.

    6            Let everything that has breath praise Yah.

Praise Yah! [2]

[1] “Praise Yah” is a translation of the Hebrew word usually written in English translations as “Alleluia”. “Yah” is a short form for Yahweh.

[2] Legacy Standard Bible (Three Sixteen Publishing, 2022), Ps 150:1–6. The LSB is a joint-venture product of The Lockman Foundation, Three Sixteen Publishing, and the John MacArthur Charitable Trust. The translation committee consists of a group of biblically qualified, faithful men from the Master’s University and Seminary, all of whom are scholars and preachers.

I Belong to Yahweh!

I belong to Yahweh!
I am his, and he is mine.
He lives in me--astonishing, 
this truth I can’t absorb!
I live in him, in whom I have
my being, my true home,
my source of life and strength,
all my giftings and my soul,
the “who” I am, because of him.


“I AM,” he said to Moses
and he says it now to me:
the Alpha and Omega, 
the Truth from A to Z,
the One beginning and the end
but there’s no starting place,
no finish line that ties up time;
HE IS eternally. And
I am his, and he is mine!

Yes, I belong to Yahweh. And for years I didn’t know I could call him by his name!

Rich treasures of truth have been poured out on me through the work God gave me to do: Bible translation. I would never have guessed what a learning curve it would become, not only in terms of the fascinatingly complex Nyarafolo language I was sent to work in, but also through digging into the original language texts. A key principle of accurate translation is knowing what the message meant to those who first wrote and heard it. Then you try to capture that in the target language.

I have lots of stories I could share, but recently an essential key term came up for discussion again. Right now I am over here in Nyarafololand for a few weeks. Today we  gathered together a group of Nyarafolo pastors and some lay people who help us edit translation drafts in order to review our rendering of God’s personal name. In Hebrew it is YHWH, often called the tetragrammaton. In the Pentateuch and Psalms, which have already been published along with the New Testament in Nyarafolo, we have used a transliteration that is different from the ones  in other languages around here, but reflects the meaning of YHWH, which is based on the Hebrew verb “to be.” In Nyarafolo we have used Yewe, because ye is the verb “to be” and the suffix we makes it a noun: the being one/the one who is! Two related languages use Yawe, which is also a possibility. One of those always accompanies it with their word for God in order to identify it clearly, since a mispronunciation could confuse it with their word for “mother.” That could happen in Nyarafolo too.

That special rendering, Yewe, had been suggested by our former SIL partner here, David DeGraaf, who helped us get off to a good start in translation back in the ‘90s. Then he and his wife Karen were needed in other areas, and the young Nyarafolo man who had worked with him translating the Gospel of Mark went off to get further training. Moise and I leapt in to keep things going. Our first challenge? The Pentateuch, which is Genesis through Deuteronomy.

We had realized that those books were necessary background to understanding the Good News about Jesus, and much other teaching. And right away, in Genesis, we had to decide how to translate YHWH. I’ll make a long story short and explain why I am glad we chose to use Yewe rather than a substitute word like what we are used to reading in almost all English (and French) translations:  LORD (Kàfɔli in Nyarafolo).

I had grown up knowing the Lord, praying to him, singing about his name in songs like this one: Glory to his name, Glory to his name; There to my heart was the blood applied; Glory to his name!  (“Down at the Cross”).  I didn’t think much about what his name actually is; I was always told that his “name” just stood for his character. But then one summer while in college I went to the InterVarsity training camp in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, Cedar Campus, and learned something new. The Bible teacher that year was using The New Jerusalem Bible, and I was astonished as I heard “Yahweh” and discovered that it was the way God had identified himself to people all through the Old Testament. When my parents asked me what I wanted to get for Christmas that year, I told them I wanted a copy of that Bible. I was off on a journey of discovery.

The more I studied the Word, both in doing translation and in seminary, the more I realized what a privilege it is to know that God wanted human beings to know his name—not just however they said “God” in their language, the one above all the world and transcendent, but as the one who actually wants them to know him, and to call him by his personal name. And his name has deep meaning that tells us he is eternal:

‘I am the Alpha and the Omega,’ says the Lord God, who is, who was, and who is to come, the Almighty. (Rev. 1:8 NJB)

When he revealed himself to Moses, and Moses wanted to know who this was who was sending him back to Egypt to rescue the enslaved Israelites, he told him:

God said to Moses, “I AM WHO I AM.”And he said, “Say this to the people of Israel: ‘I AM has sent me to you.'” (Exod. 3:14 ESV)

God said to Moses, ‘I am he who is.’ And he said, ‘This is what you are to say to the Israelites, “I am has sent me to you.” ‘ (Exod. 3:14 NJB)

Putting I AM in capitals does make it stand out as his name! 

When we translated that part of Exodus into Nyarafolo, we found that the phrase “I am he who is”  ends with the words YE WE. It seemed like a miracle, something put in place by God himself to make himself known to the Nyarafolos by his name:  Yewe.  It is a language-friendly transliteration of YHWH, reflecting its meaning!

But now, comparing their translation to the French ones all around who use SEIGNEUR, “LORD,” and a similar rendering in an unrelated language that is a trade language, some workers in translation and the churches were wondering whether we should not just do like those others, and use the Nyarafolo word that means leader/chief/master (Kàfɔli). We dug into the consequences, and the use of YHWH in texts. And decided to stick with our rendering–I am delighted!

We had a very interesting discussion today. I had found an article published in The Journal of Translation in 2005, by Nico Daams, that provided an excellent outline for looking at YHWH in various constructions. It guided my choice of lining up verses in Nyarafolo that show how using God’s personal name actually has much more meaning that covering it up with “Lord.”  I’m going to try not to get too lost in scholarly ramblings here. I just want to share this one example that struck me in a whole new way this week as I prepared for the discussion:

God said to Moses, “I AM WHO I AM.1 This is what you are to say to the Israelites: ‘I AM has sent me to you.'” 15 God also said to Moses, “Say to the Israelites, ‘The LORD, the God of your fathers– the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob– has sent me to you.’ “This is my name forever, the name you shall call me from generation to generation. (Exod. 3:14 NIV)

God said that this is the name that he should be called always! And yet what name do we almost always use in English in this verse ? The LORD. It has been substituted throughout wherever YHWH is actually written. But it actually refers to his position as sovereign. It is not his personal name. Because of the way his name has been hidden, few of us even know what that really is.

There is a long history behind that. To summarize: After the books of the Old Testament had been written and not long before the coming of Jesus, the Jewish leaders decided that it was risky to keep pronouncing YHWH when they read it (most likely something like “Yahweh”), since they might take it “in vain” and disobey the commandment forbidding that:

“You shall not take the name of the LORD your God in vain, for the LORD will not leave him unpunished who takes His name in vain. (Exod. 20:7 NAS)

So they said out loud their word for “Lord”, adonay, instead, whenever they saw YHWH. And starting in about the 6th century AD they began adding vowels to their written language—previously just consonants—so that the untrained could more easily read the Hebrew. They put the vowels for adonay into YHWH. And centuries later, Masoretes (monks trained in Latin) misread that and transliterated it as Jehovah using those vowels that actually represented adonay, with different consonants since they didn’t have the y or the w in their language. 

And many people, not knowing this mistake, are still using Jehovah in songs etc., even though it has been taken out of nearly all English translations. Instead, there we have LORD. It hides his personal name. And people want to know his name, so that version—”Jehovah”–has stuck around.

A personal name is important. When I first came to Nyarafololand, my friends in town kept calling me “Madame.” I finally told them that it made me feel like I didn’t really belong, like an outlier of some kind. They said that “Linn” was strange to them. So I asked them to give me a name in their language, and they did. Even now, forty years later, when I tell new people I meet over here that my name is Penyuɔnɛkuɔ, they laugh with delight and begin building a friendship with me. Knowing my name, and me knowing their name, brings a new measure of closeness.

When God told his chosen people his name, it identified him for them that way: as a unique, personal God whose name also revealed that he truly exists, always has and always will, and who wants them to belong to him.

And now, those of us who have come to him are his chosen people too:

But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. (1 Pet. 2:9 NIV)

And we are to sing his praises, even the praise of his amazing name. Compare these translations. I find it much more inspiring to praise Yahweh, the I AM who loves me and will hold me forever, than just a word that means “Master”:

Praise the LORD, for the LORD is good; sing to his name, for it is pleasant! (Ps. 135:3 ESV)

Praise Yahweh, for Yahweh is good, make music for his name — it brings joy- (Ps. 135:3 NJB)

Praise Yahweh, for Yahweh is good; sing praise to His name, for it is delightful. (Ps. 135:3 CSB)

He is way above me, but he has brought me into his family and wants me to “be one” with him (cf. John 17). I am so delighted to know him, and to share with others the joy of belonging to him. I will indeed learn more and more about how to praise Yahweh, my God!

I Am That Heifer!

You’ve made me your heifer, pulling the plow,
you’ve shaped me and trained me, showing me how
to lean to the left when your strong hand presses,
to walk straight ahead, cleaning up messes
and tearing out weeds, preparing the way
for planting the seed in that soil on the day
when all is in readiness, soft dirt tilled,
and we press in the seeds till the rows are all filled.

You bring out the seed: it’s sorted, it’s good;
it’s all about health and the way that we should
be loving our neighbor, helping the torn,
the poor, the lost, the hungry, the worn,
carefully living, meticulously,
the love of the Father for you and for me
and for all the husbandless, all those alone,
for all of the fatherless needing a home.

You must give the seed; my own is diseased.
Show me how to plant it, then as I wait, please –
you must send the rain that will make the shoots thrive,
the rain of what’s right and of hope that’s alive.
The roots will go deep, the stems will grow tall,
the leaves will shout green and the blossoms will fall
to make way for grain that is bred up above:
a life-giving harvest of unfailing love.

That line of kids sitting on the long exposed root of an old tree in the village of Tiepogovogo keeps coming to my mind these days. Why? Because that was Sunday School back in the early days, when the group of believers there was beginning to grow. I saw the kids hanging out and wondered how they could be reached. My fluency in Nyarafolo was nowhere good enough to teach them. But I knew a young woman, Mariame, who might come with me to the village and do it. It worked! She had a gift for teaching! I would help her plan the lesson, but she taught them. The adults were meeting in a temporary thatched shelter. We just used the shade of that huge tree nearby for Sunday School; the root served as a bench. The kids were enthralled.

And now, a little boy who came to Sunday School a couple of years before those in the row in the photo is the Sunday School teacher at Tiepogovogo. In addition he works in the Nyarafolo Translation Team, translating a Sunday School curriculum into the language as well as working in many other ways.  

I did not know back then what fertile soil was in his heart, and in others there, or what fruit would come from that simple beginning. But we were sowing seed where the Lord had told us to, and he was making it grow.

When I wrote that poem likening myself to the heifer it was twelve years ago; we had finished three decades of ministry and were pressing forward. There were, however, many ongoing challenges. I was increasingly realizing how imperative it is to keep letting the Master direct me constantly. Only he knew which soil was fertile, where to go, what to do, and how to plant the seed of the Good News (think about his parable of the Sower in Matthew 13).

The following verses had spoken to me in a new way:

Ephraim is a trained heifer that loves to thresh; so I will put a yoke on her fair neck. I will drive Ephraim, Judah must plow, and Jacob must break up the ground. 12 Sow righteousness for yourselves, reap the fruit of unfailing love, and break up your unplowed ground; for it is time to seek the LORD, until he comes and showers his righteousness on you. (Hos. 10:11 NIV)

My spiritual gifting is not evangelism, but I was seeing ways that the Lord was using me as part of a team to make his Good News clear to people who were from a culture traditionally resistant to the Good News, the Nyarafolo.  It was like “unplowed ground” that had become hardened, no one cultivating it. That meant hard work, most of all the kind of work that softens the soil so that it can accept seed and even produce a crop.

Preparation of the soil is actually necessary. So how could that be done?  These verses pointed out some essentials: living out God’s commands for right living that demonstrate “unfailing love.” That covers just about everything! For me, it included showing those kids that they were important and deserved to hear the Word too. God had put it on my heart. It is necessary for the worker to be led by the Spirit—the “yoke” that guides the heifer, God’s hand pressing his servant to move in certain directions.

Derek Kidner’s comments on these verses clarifies the background and their application:

“The point about the heifer in the opening verse (11) is that threshing was a comparatively light task, made pleasant by the fact that the creature was unmuzzled and free to eat (Dt. 25:4) as it pulled the threshing-sledge over the gathered corn. This owner’s pride in his beast, and his consideration for it (cf. Pr. 12:10), together with the creature’s obedience and contentment, provides one of the many affectionate touches in these troubled chapters . . . But the idyllic scene had to change. Perhaps we are meant to see that in any case there must be a transition to hard and testing work, in any worth-while enterprise and for any growth to maturity:   ‘Although he was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered’. ‘For the Lord disciplines him whom he loves’ (Heb. 5:8; 12:6).’ . . . Yet the picture is not one of unrelieved or pointless gloom. The yoke, after all, is there to serve the best of ends, the harvest, through the best of means, the plough and harrow. So verse 12a is as positive as it is practical, and 12b as generous as it is urgent.”[1]

What we are supposed to do is to keep at what he is telling us to do, all the time. We are not in charge; a true servant is like the yoked heifer. Only the Master knows what is to come next in the planting project:

As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the body is formed1 in a mother’s womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things. 6 Sow your seed in the morning, and at evening let your hands not be idle, for you do not know which will succeed, whether this or that, or whether whether both will do equally well.  (Eccl. 11:5,6 NIV)

There is another truth about being in the yoke that is chosen for us: it is actually directed by the kindest Master there is, who cares about how much we can bear. Jesus himself said:

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matt. 11:29 NIV)

May we be part of the workforce that is being guided by Jesus, bringing in a life-giving harvest of unfailing love!

[1] Derek Kidner, The Message of Hosea: Love to the Loveless, ed. J. Alec Motyer and Derek Tidball, The Bible Speaks Today (England: Inter-Varsity Press, 1976), 97.

It’s a Continual Sacrifice!

slow motion eastward
the world whirls
turning constantly
towards its sun 
then welcoming
the dark embrace of night

and swirling all around
smokey mist rises
incense in all colors
contrasting textures
braiding together
with purpose in flight

first day of the week
it intensifies
as praises are sung
and the worship expressed
in the Family of God
covers the rotating earth

one longitude
gives way to another
but in each space
there are hearts in prayer
or two or three
or a crowd together

a fourth dimension 
of reverence and joy
mixed with pain
and shades of yearning
a constant sacrifice
reaching toward Love

the incense keeps rising
from every nation
and in each language
that knows the Truth
the aroma twirls
into magnets of light

Where were you last Sunday? Was your heart overflowing with praise? If so, I picture incense rising up to heaven, a part of the worldwide flow that intensifies the first day of the week as believers gather together. What a chorus that must be!

Last Sunday we were back in the Tiepogovogo church that began about 40 years ago when a few young men asked us to begin teaching them about Jesus. At first we met at night around a fire in a courtyard. When more people joined the group, they built an open thatch shelter where we could gather Sunday mornings. After that a tiny church was built, a cement building the size of a living room, then finally the current church where believers from multiple villages come to worship together.

Over the years we learned a lot from these Nyarafolo believers. One of the dynamics that I miss when we are in our other home country, the U.S., is group worship through dance. I had not realized just how much I am missing it until this past Sunday when I joined Minata in the circle dance—she is my longtime friend who was playing the metal scraper for percussion and leading out into the space in front of the pulpit. Other women joined us, each of us listening to the song and trying to respond verbally with the chorus after each of the singer’s calls (like verses). At first I was just glad that the steps were coming back to me naturally. Then I lifted my heart to the Father above and thanked him that I could be with these dear sisters leading in the dance. I began to worship, not just following the song’s lyrics but praising the Father for his creativity and love for all peoples. And suddenly I was choked up, trying not to let my tears began to fall. The joy was overflowing!

It isn’t every time I am at a church meeting that I experience that, although sometimes it happens. Every time I am truly worshiping the Lord with others in his Family, I know that it pleases him deeply. He has recently been prompting me to pay increasing attention to him when singing, in the congregation or the choir—wherever I am. It is so easy to focus on the quality of the music, or even to just sing the words without really processing them and lifting them up to him as a “sacrifice:”

Through Jesus, therefore, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise– the fruit of lips that openly profess his name. (Heb. 13:15 NIV)

At Tiepogovogo this week, the songs they were singing were new to me. That is fantastic! It means the singers are still creating songs in their style and teaching each other through them, or inciting worship. The call/response style means they don’t need hymnbooks or words on a screen; once you listen to the chorus, you know what to say when the singer pauses, what to repeat in song with the congregation. I watched the children joining the movements, enthralled by the dance. May they be absorbing the words as well as yearning to be part of the balaphone band or the ring of worshiping dancers!

And I’m sure that the Lord was deeply pleased by the joy rising here as well as in the next town, the neighboring countries on this continent, then as the world kept turning and others gathered to the west, all the different languages and musical styles that were rising high and into his heart. He loves variety (just look at the amazing assortment of plants and their flowers, trees and their leaves and fruit, birds, animals, and ethnic groups around the world). He loves the richness of world music!

Followers of Jesus no longer offer actual incense offerings, but their prayers, the words of their heart, and their body movements can have that same fragrance as they lift them up to their beloved God. The Word does liken our heart’s worship to an offering:

May you accept my prayer like incense, my uplifted hands like the evening offering! (Ps. 141:2 NET)

The culture we’ve been raised in, or where we’ve been worshiping, can affect what we are comfortable doing. I realize not everyone is inspired by the dance the way that I am (my husband is different from me in that regard). But the Word commands us to sing our worship, so let’s do it with sincerity and joy in the way that speaks to us in our culture, in whatever mode we find brings us together! He is calling all nations to participate, and someday they will, we all will:

For from the east to the west my name will be great among the nations. Incense and pure offerings will be offered in my name everywhere, for my name will be great among the nations,”  says the LORD who rules over all. (Mal. 1:11 NET)

Let all the people of the earth acknowledge the LORD and turn to him!  Let all the nations  worship you! (Ps. 22:27 NET)

All the nations, whom you created, will come and worship you,  O Lord. They will honor your name. (Ps. 86:9 NET)

Let them praise his name with dancing! Let them sing praises to him to the accompaniment of the tambourine and harp! (Ps. 149:3 NET)

Praise him with the tambourine and with dancing! Praise him with stringed instruments and the flute! (Ps. 150:4 NET)

Wherever we are, let’s contemplate how to put his command into practice next time we gather with others to worship him!

Worship  the LORD with joy! Enter his presence with joyful singing! (Ps. 100:2 NET)