The Place of Ultimate Protection

I hold onto this, Lord!
Living inside your love
I move within
a world protected
not that I am
never wounded
but that you
keep me safe
from ultimate harm
from all malignant
and pernicious evil.

Inside the loving kindness
of your heart
I’m held where goodness
is my atmosphere
and tenderness the song
that plays incessantly
and heals me,
filling me 
with new hope
for this poor world.

A few days ago I was sorting through poetry written in 2002 and discovered the one above, written in August, the month before we found ourselves in the middle of the fighting in Bouake. We had been through some extremely painful experiences in 2001 and had profited from some counseling at a center in France. It had shown me how essential it was to leave my distresses with my Lord and to trust him, especially when evil raised its ugly head and life stayed hard. Learning to remember that his goodness and love were always my true home, even in the dark of despair, was now my goal. He was my one source of “hope for this poor world.” Looking back, I know he was preparing me for the danger coming in September.

We had not expected civil war to erupt in Côte d’Ivoire while we were supposed to be in training to lead seminars on Sharpening Your Interpersonal Skills, living at the SIL center in Bouake. (The session on “Managing Stress” was actually very helpful right then!) We were hearing gunfire day and night, learning how to manage a lockdown in an attempt to stay safe, dealing with fears for loved ones in other parts of the country with no way to communicate with them.

A huge advantage was that our trainers had experience with preparing for such high-risk situations. One had even done police work and coached us on safety procedures. He told us that if the gunfire became very close, we should gather on the second floor of the three-story building where we were lodged. Huddled in the central hallway with rooms on each side, as well as the floors above and below us, we would be safest. Mattresses were stashed at the end of the hall, to be stacked against the doors for yet more protection.

The 18 of us trainees were divided into teams to take care of various aspects of life. Glenn was on the cooking team, helping to make soups out of the vegetables that we had available. I was the only one without a work assignment since I was supervising a young teen, our son Bryn.

He seemed to be handling it all well. He was doing tenth grade online and needed little help. One afternoon when we had finished our training session I went out into the courtyard to take a brisk walk around it (stress relief!), inside the walls. Bryn was on the swing set as I passed that side of the yard. A few minutes later there was a screeching boom, and a fiery mortar went flying over the courtyard. Maternal instincts took over; I ran back to the swings to remind Bryn to go to the second floor. He wasn’t there! I ran inside and checked out the first floor, the second floor where people were gathering, and finally the third floor where our assigned bedrooms were. He was not in our rooms! Panic was setting in as I walked back down the hall – and then he came calmly out of the men’s bathroom. “We’re supposed to be on the second floor!” I shouted. “I know,” he replied. “I’m coming.” There was no sign of fear there at all!

That was our first experience of lying on the cement floor while we heard the mortars and gunfire tearing right over us. The rebels were on one side of the courtyard, the government soldiers on the other, shooting at each other over the courtyard expanse. Glenn and Bryn were lying parallel to each other on the floor, and I was next in the long line with my dear friend Karen DeGraaf just across from me. Often Karen and I held hands while we prayed. Twice, once for two hours and once for four, we all stayed in that hiding place, waiting it out.

One of the other missionaries took a picture of us all lying in this row; the unexpected flash of her camera startled us. Had something exploded in the hall?? No. Breathe. During the second session on the floor, Glenn and Bryn got tired of lying down in our recommended positions. They pulled out a pack of cards and sat cross-legged, playing to pass the time and handle the stress. That was not for me!

It had all begun on September 19th. On the 26th we finally got reassuring news: the French troops had been able to arrange a 24-hour ceasefire in the city so that foreigners with passports could evacuate toward the south. The first priority was the students and staff at International Christian Academy. They left, taking an eastern route away from the main thoroughfare. We were packed and ready to go, each of us assigned a place in the cars available. When we heard that it was our turn to leave the next morning, we drove out of the courtyard and joined a slow line of other cars heading south.

One of the hardest things to handle was driving through the city, seeing the crowds of young men and boys at the side of the road who had come out to watch us leave. What would they be facing by tomorrow?

The French soldiers checked passports and waved us along. We headed to Yamoussoukro, the official capital, where we were welcomed by a very unusual sight: American soldiers (a unit from Germany) flown in to protect Americans! After spending the night at the home of the Livingstons, missionaries who lived in that city (one of them was in our cohort from Bouake), we headed to Abidjan, the major city. When we arrived at the entry we had to be checked by government police. They required all passengers to exit their vehicles; cars had to be driven over to a side checkpoint to be scanned for firearms etc. Two Nigerian Christian workers were in our car with the three of us, and walked on ahead toward the agents at the checkpoint while Bryn and I hurried to the back of our station wagon to grab his backpack that contained his passport. The policeman near us was upset that we opened the back of the car, but I explained the issue. Glenn drove the car to the side and Bryn and I walked up to the checkpoint. The two Nigerians were still there, being harangued with increasing insistence by the policeman. He was speaking French, not realizing they could not understand or respond. It was clear that he viewed them as suspect, probably because they were dressed in their best clothes, long robes that are similar to Muslim male garb, in readiness to board a flight back to Nigeria. Fortunately I was able to explain in French that they had been at the same training session as I had attended, and were Christian workers, not to be feared. We were all  permitted to pass. I truly believe that the Lord used our delay to retrieve Bryn’s passport to give our friends safe passage! (Within a few weeks, we heard stories of people being shot at some checkpoints just because they had a “Muslim” name.)

Yes, we were stressed out. Our futures were all still entirely uncertain. The gunfire and mortar blasts had made it all too clear that danger was all around. But we were now safe, if unsure of next steps.

I still deal with some post-traumatic stress reactions, although they are much milder than in the past.. The sound of guns at a shooting range, and fireworks, are unwelcome. But the Father has continued to hone me, teaching me to trust him in ways that have made many more endeavors possible during these past 19 years – including returning to Côte d’Ivoire during the years of crisis when the rebels still held power in the north where we lived.

All along the way, the essential truth that I have clung to is that my Lord is loving and good, and he has a plan. My part is to trust him and wait, hard as that may be when I don’t see things change right away. Maybe you are facing distress right now. Whatever form it may take, hold onto this truth, and listen for his encouraging words. He does still speak to our hearts if we open our inner ears!

When He Whispers: Learning to Listen on the Journey — You can find my book of poetry on my growth in the discipline of listening at the following marketplaces:

Direct from the publisher, WestBow Press: https://www.westbowpress.com/en/bookstore/bookdetails/824658-when-he-whispers

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/When-He-Whispers-Learning-Journey/dp/1664224106/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=when+he+whispers+learning+to+listen+on+the+journey&link_code=qs&qid=1620606002&sourceid=Mozilla-search&sr=8-1

Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/when-he-whispers-linnea-boese/1139300248?ean=9781664224100

Christian Book Distributors: https://www.christianbook.com/when-whispers-learning-listen-the-journey/linnea-boese/9781664224100

In Your Palm

cupped in your palm
covered by your right hand
(safety ‘round my soul)
you hold me close
caress my tears away

and still your hand is busy
flinging star showers
weaving the winds
keeping danger at bay
(it’s skulking all around) 

I’m terrorized, Lord, but
I know you’re watching
I curl into the curve
inside your fingers
where I rest

It has been 20 years since the 9/11 attacks, and as a nation we’ve been remembering the devastation. We were overseas in Côte d’Ivoire when it took place, but followed the news with horror and grief. It definitely woke us all up to the fragility of peace and to our vulnerability.

One year after that, we faced grave danger ourselves. We had known that there might be violence in that country; there was much political turmoil and even a military coup. In fact, for about ten years we had studied how to handle risk, and were required to have evacuation plans filed and ready for implementation. Backpacks carrying necessities were sent with our daughters to their boarding school in Bouake. Ours – Glenn’s, our son Bryn’s, and mine – were stored in the top shelf of our clothes closet. We had files for Plan A, Plan B if that main road was closed, Plan C if we might not be able to join the other missionaries further north at all. (We would find a way to “hide” with Christian friends in a more remote village, hoping that news would not spread too fast about the white family staying there. It would be impossible to truly hide.)

But we got used to living with the ‘maybes.” Shortly after the commemoration of that first anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, we got ready to go to Bouake, the city the boarding school was located, to participate in a training seminar that would qualify us to lead Sharpening Your Interpersonal Skills workshops. Bryn was doing 10th grade via online schooling (his sisters were in the U.S. by then), and at first the plan was to leave him in Ferke (about four hours north of Bouake by road), with a friend. But the night before we left he said that he really would prefer going with us. I had just returned from a translation workshop in Mali and Glenn had been at meetings; he wanted less separation. We agreed. Looking back, we believe the Lord made sure he would be with us. He alone knew what was ahead.

We settled into life at the SIL facility in Bouake, where there was a walled courtyard containing a large meeting/dining room and another building three stories tall with dormitory-style bedrooms and community washrooms, kitchens and sitting areas. The training began.

On September 19, 2002, we were sitting in the little kitchen on the 3rd floor where we were lodged, eating breakfast with a few others, when we heard gunshots. Not just one; a whole series! They were fairly distant. We wondered if maybe the police had finally figured out who was robbing various banks and neighborhoods in Bouake and were chasing them down in town. Then one of the other workshop attendees came into the room with frightening news that she had heard on the radio. Rebels were attacking the three largest cities in the country: Korhogo to the north (just west of Ferke, where we lived), Bouake, and Abidjan on the coast.

We discovered that it was the group of government troops in Bouake who were being attacked by rebels led by soldiers who had lost their positions after a president with strong southern affiliation had won the 2001 election. It developed into a conflict between northerners who had felt marginalized and deprived of government services for years, and the southern ethnic groups and power-holders. (News outlets seemed to jump to the conclusion that it was the “Christian south” versus the “Muslim north,” and while it was true that some “Christians” in the south were attacking Muslims who were characterized as “northern” since they had originally come from northern countries, Mali and Burkina, and the north was about 40% Muslim, the civil war that erupted was not fought on religious grounds.)

So there we were, in Bouake, one of the major cities where there was daily fighting, some of it very close to us. What would it mean for the over 200 students at the boarding school at the edge of the city? What would it mean for us, in our courtyard not far from the government soldiers’ training school?

This story will continue in next week’s blog, remembering that crisis and the way we were protected. But right now I want to focus on a major lesson learned: whatever is happening, the Lord knows where his loved ones are, and they must put their trust in his goodness, presence and sovereignty.

The picture of being held in his hand became a comforting theme for me.

One thing we had learned early on in our adaptation to Nyarafolo culture was the importance of the right hand: it is the “good hand,” the one to be used for eating, for shaking hands, for giving something to someone else. The left hand is the “bad hand,” the one for wiping off nasal fluids and excrement (no toilet paper available). So if you were to hand money or something else to someone with your left hand, it would be seen as an insult.  But the right hand was the hand for right action and for showing respect.

It is evident that the Jews saw things that way as well, so the imagery of the right hand comes up frequently (see the verses below). The place of authority and honor was at the right hand of the king or other authority. And God’s right hand is the one that I can count on to hold me securely.

So, when chaos and danger lurk all around, let us rest in the palm of his hand, the one place where we are completely protected. He will not let us go. He holds us fast.

Well, someone will say, how about those who do die in the war? The only answer is that in God’s timing, it was then that he wanted to bring them home to unending peace. They were still held tightly in his hand.

And we are held too, when we belong to him, whether in ongoing life with opportunities to serve or in great release from all this world’s troubles when our time has come. He is a good, good Father, and King of the world!

FROM THE WORD:

Show me the wonders of your great love, you who save by your right hand those who take refuge in you from their foes. (Ps. 17:7 NIV)

You give me your protective shield; your right hand supports me; your willingness to help enables me to prevail. (Ps 18:35 NET)

Save us and help us with your right hand, that those you love may be delivered. (Ps. 60:5 NIV)

I cling to you; your right hand upholds me. (Ps. 63:8 NIV)

Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand. (Ps. 73:23 NIV)

If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. (Ps. 139:9,10 NIV)

The depths of the earth are in his hand, and the mountain peaks belong to him. (Ps. 95:4 NET)

The Dance of Worship

pum da pum da 
bum da pum
dancing with Bintou
balaphones booming
dark arms beating out
rhythms and tones
Bintou’s feet move 
shuff-ta-shuff-ta
shoulders turn
to face the fire
then swerve to bow
to the velvet night
my foreign feet
try to follow her
beat for graceful beat

then flip into high gear
suddenly whirring
I’m dancing in heaven
my soul flies high
joy in the making
of worship and praise
our song rising smoothly
our lips mouthing truth
“These are the sweet words
that Jesus taught us” –
thirsting for righteousness
panting for peace
clapping for Jesus
and all of his wisdom

loving my neighbor
we whirl and stomp
and the balaphones bellow
a clarion counterpoint
Bintou is dancing
and so am I
these Baptist feet
have learned to worship
this white-skinned heart
is joined in oneness
with this sweet sister
the dust is rising
billowing upwards
and so is praise

I was surprised when I found out that “celebration” is one of the practices that can transform us spiritually (cf. Spiritual Disciplines Handbook, by Adele Ahlberg Calhoun, pp. 27-28), and that it includes many ways to recall God’s goodness and express your joy in him. One sentence that stands out to me is this: “To celebrate God’s grace to you, write a song of celebration, make a collage that represents your joy, write a poem of praise, play music and dance before the Lord . . .”

One of the most precious things I learned from my Nyarafolo sisters in northern Côte d’Ivoire was the way they lived out the concept of celebration in community. Having grown up in an American church culture that frowned on dancing, learning to dance with them was like entering another dimension. It had not been common during my youth in the same West African area, either, but by the ‘70s the nationals were adopting ways to celebrate that fit their own culture. It was my privilege to discover that, yes, I could use my whole body to worship my beloved Lord and Father.

At first, of course, I had to concentrate on the steps. The poem expresses one of those moments when learning catapulted to free participation as I danced with a Nyarafolo friend in response to a particular song one night. I felt unity in praise in a way I never had before.

That culture usually relegates women to a back seat and silence. But singing and dancing are liberated space where women lead, then others join as they initiate a dance response that fits the situation, following each other. The counter-clockwise circle with its various rhythms and body movements may express meditation on a biblical event, or joy at a milestone moment (such as a baptism, or the dedication of Scriptures in Nyarafolo in July which is in the video above), or heart-felt gratitude. When the song’s theme or rhythm changes, so do the steps. It is all about celebrating together in the community of believers.

Joining my sisters in expressing their love for each other, for music, and for Jesus became a highlight of going to church in the village, singing with the Nyarafolo Group on Sunday afternoons in my backyard, and dancing into the wee hours during celebratory “wakes” at Bible conferences, Christmas Eve, and Easter Eve. The stomping feet raised dust in the air, so occasionally the women would bring out buckets of water to splash around, and we would then go on until dawn. The dance steps would become especially energetic when the young men participated, often leaping when a song of celebration reached its climax (as in the video above).

Cross-cultural ministry requires learning new modes of expression, something I found exciting. Each culture has its ways of translating emotions or messages into the public sphere. Here in my American home church, I still worship in song but need to change my movements to those that are appropriate for praise or for community participation, such as raised hands or clapping. Sometimes, when next to certain African-Americans or other friends who cannot help swaying, I can move more freely. Churches often have very different expectations in this domain.

But we believers are called to find ways to join with others in the Family in praise. How do you feel at home and free to praise and celebrate the Lord where you worship? Is it in joyous singing? Do you move? Or do you find movement distracting? What promotes that joy in worshiping with others, for you?

What is important is that we praise our Lord together in ways that honor him and speak clearly in our communities. The Scriptures do not command us to adopt a certain style. But Psalm 150 lets us know that the Hebrews loved instrumental and full-body involvement when they sang praise to Yahweh. He accepts our voices (we have breath, v.6) as well as dancing and instrumental accompaniment, in the sanctuary and elsewhere. This is an invitation to us to use music for his glory in our various settings!

Praise the LORD! Praise God in his sanctuary! Praise him in the sky, which testifies to his strength! 2 Praise him for his mighty acts! Praise him for his surpassing greatness! 3Praise him with the blast of the horn! Praise him with the lyre and the harp! 4Praise him with the tambourine and with dancing! Praise him with stringed instruments and the flute! 5 Praise him with loud cymbals! Praise him with clanging cymbals! 6 Let everything that has breath praise the LORD! Praise the LORD! (Ps. 150 NET)

The Mango Cycle of Life

there is an orange mango
hanging in the sun
soaking in the morning warmth
ripening silently
hanging on
its long stem firmly attached
to a slender branch
sucking in sustenance
growing gradually rounder
full of succulent juice
vitamins A and C
swaying slightly
as a breeze comes through
to caress the smooth skin
and whisk off dust
breath of heaven 
and sap of life
and healing light
I hang here too
knowing soon
my turn will come
to fall, matured
and ripened,

fruit that tells a story
of life sustained
by love and grace
attachment to the Source
hanging where I'm placed
living out my little span
being fruit
falling to the soil
to die, to let my seed
be buried whole
to grow into a leafy tree
with crowds of limbs
and flowers bursting
into fiery clusters
that drip down
becoming stems
with balls of green
forming on their ends
and it begins again
but now it's hundreds
of green newborn fruit
sipping the sap
the sun and the breeze
    and on it goes . . .

Mangoes are such a blessing! Watching the mango trees grow heavy with fruit every year, fruit that I longed for, was one of the riches of living where I did in northern Côte d’Ivoire. The family ate the fresh fruit with delight. I always had plans to make mango pie, ice cream, mango sauce, mango butter, and freeze whatever would fit in the freezer. Still, many fell to the ground and rotted. But how could a new tree be produced unless that happened?

The Scriptures are full of the imagery of producing fruit. The one we are most familiar with is that of the vine, of how we are to be like branches that cling to the vine and thus are nourished by the sap and can produce fruit. It is vital to understand that one. It is true of mango trees as well: if a branch loses its hold and is whipped off the tree, it dies. There is no fruit.

But I am intrigued by the way this image of “fruit” is also used to describe a tree:

The fruit of the righteous is like a tree producing life, and the one who wins souls is wise. (Prov 11.30)

Here I can picture a tree growing from a seed, and then, when it produces its fruit, this gives life to others! That fruit will nourish many, and some will fall on good soil and become yet other fruit-bearing trees. And the fruit that gives life involves right actions (what the “righteous” do) that encourage others and promote justice, and that invite people to enter that same way of living.

Jesus talked about how it matters whether the soil on which seed lands is receptive or not. When the Good News is received with conviction that lasts, the result is a healthy plant that also bears fruit.

But as for the seed that landed on good soil, these are the ones who, after hearing the word, cling to it with an honest and good heart, and bear fruit with steadfast endurance. (Luke 8:15)

In these verses it is clear that the fruit of that seed comes from living out the truth, the Word, in such a way that others are impacted. Clinging to the Word “with an honest and good heart” means learning it, absorbing it and letting it direct one’s actions – definitely not just claiming the title “believer” or “Christian”. It requires “steadfast endurance.”

Then in John 15 Jesus makes it clear that living out that truth hangs on whether mutual affection is a reality in the community. In fact, the command to love one another is underlined as the obedient action that allows the disciple to remain in God’s love. “Remaining” is explained by that metaphor of staying attached to the vine, which is where the disciple receives the strength and capacity to actually love others in this fundamental way, absorbing instruction that leads to living for others the way that Jesus did. I would encourage you to truly meditate on the entire chapter; here I will just highlight this emphasis on mutual loving. It has really clarified things for me:

My Father is honored by this, that you bear much fruit and show that you are my disciples. 9 “Just as the Father has loved me, I have also loved you; remain in my love. 10 If you obey my commandments, you will remain in my love, just as I have obeyed my Father’s commandments and remain in his love. . . .12 My commandment is this– to love one another just as I have loved you. 13 No one has greater love than this– that one lays down his life for his friends. 14 You are my friends if you do what I command you. . . 16 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. 17 This I command you– to love one another. (Jn. 15:8 NET)

There it is! And I do believe we miss applying this way too often in our communities. What is the world noticing about Christians in the U.S. these days, for example? Is it not our divisions, our quarrels, and our public maligning of those who differ from us in their political position, social class, race or immigrant status? Do we listen lovingly to those who are experiencing more challenges or suffering than we are?

Showing love is always a challenge, especially when it requires finding ways to show it to those who are mistreating us or misunderstanding us. I like the example that Paul gives in the following verses, where he asks for grace for those who have opposed him in the Family of Christ:

At my first defense, no one came to my support, but everyone deserted me. May it not be held against them. (2 Tim. 4:16 NIV)

This past year in Côte d’Ivoire the dry season lasted too long, so that the “mango rains” the come before the rainy season did not come until a few months too late. The mango harvest was truly disappointing. It made me realize how important it is that the nourishment of the sap, the life-giving liquid in the tree, can flow as it should and therefore produce fruit. If we are going through spiritual drought, not getting the nourishment we need, it is no wonder that we find it so difficult to love as Jesus commands us to love. It is up to each of us to analyze where we get our nourishment, and whether it is really from him or from the world. Let’s figure out how we can love one another!

Navigating the Flash Flood

What had been just a ribbon of sludge
across the road on the way to the village
is now a mass of watery mud
covering the road between the bushes.
Are we blocked? Is it now too deep?
Should we try to carefully creep ahead?
What if we sink in a ditch instead?

A motorcycle passes, rushing brazenly on
into the murky mass, intent on making goal.
The motor splutters and dies and it sinks
underwater, its tires stuck in mud beneath
what had seemed to him a shallow puddle.
Two women, however, make each step a scout
carefully finding a way through the muddle.

The road we traveled for so many years every Sunday out to Tiepogovogo for church was always a challenge. Every time a heavy rain came it would carry away loose dirt, leaving rocks exposed and jagged trenches that only got deeper with time. Sometimes driving felt like playing a tense video game.

The first Sunday that we were back in Côte d’Ivoire last month we were eager to visit that church and the people there that mean so much to us. Glenn was even asked to preach, since the pastor was elsewhere that week. Fortunately, we had been loaned a Toyota that could handle bush roads. We loaded the car with the pastor’s wife and kids, dear friends of ours, and took off.

It had rained hard that night, and a flash flood had begun to cover the road, but not as badly as the time we remembered when we had watched the motorcycle die as it unwisely dove in. (The next Sunday we heard from the pastor that it had become completely impassable by then!).

So Glenn worked that illustration into his message. The printed Nyarafolo Scriptures (the NT+OT portions) are now available, and so much hangs on whether the people will actually use them. We know of some other language Bibles that have ended up mostly left in their shipping cartons, and that is not the desired outcome!

A priority is inciting a hunger to be able to access the Word personally. For those who never attended school (and no more than 10% of that ethnic group have been able to do that) it means learning to read. Those who did attend even a few years of school learned to read in French, the national language, and need to transfer those skills to reading their mother tongue. Is the hard work worth the outcome?

Yes, it is! For those who want to know Truth, especially those who are on the “Jesus Road,” the Scriptures are their guide to walking that Road. The Word points out the dangers that lurk and how to avoid them, as well as giving directions for doing what is right and in line with the Master’s goals for us.

Just like the motorcyclist who took his chances and just plunged into the murky flood, believers who pay no attention to the signposts that the Lord has left us in his Word are heading into disaster. But if you know, step by step, the right way forward and follow it, all is well.

When the message was over, the oldest man in the Tiepogovogo congregation, Fulokuo, stood up to give a comment. “When we were young,“ he said, “there was no Bible here. We were told that in order to have  anything go well in life, we had to keep on sacrificing chickens (to the territorial gods). Now we have the Word, so we have left all those sacrifices behind to follow Jesus. As my friend Sikatchi has said, if a Nyarafolo now does not go to heaven it is because they choose to ignore that Word. So pray that many Nyarafolo – including the women and children – will follow Jesus, that they will get their Bibles and learn to know him. I myself cannot yet read, but I will get a copy and try to learn!”

A carton of the Scriptures was on the podium, and after the service there was a line of men and women eager to get their very first copy of this Holy Book. May many more also benefit from this treasure that is sweeter than honey to our souls!

In Michigan and elsewhere we have been experiencing flash floods as well, with all the dangers they bring with them. We’ve seen freeways inundated with water, cars floated over to the side. For me it is now a reminder of the way I need to both trust my Lord’s protection and follow his instructions – not rushing ahead into waters covering the way forward, but waiting for guidance, and listening to what his Word has already told me to do.

The decrees of the LORD are firm, and all of them are righteous. They are more precious than gold, than much pure gold; they are sweeter than honey, than honey from the honeycomb. By them your servant is warned; in keeping them there is great reward.

 (Ps. 19:9b-11 NIV)

Launch Beyond!

If we launch our boat into the sea
but hug the shore, not daring to leave
the place known best, the incoming waves
will rise and roar and crash on our heads!
So instead of the calm we thought we’d find,
we get battered and tossed instead.

But if we put our trust in the Pilot
to know the way to the place in his plan,
whether close at hand or a far-off land,
we will find we were made to bounce on the currents,
with freedom to fish or to speak words of peace
and blessing to those we are with.

Let’s leave fear behind and follow his plan!
At first we’ll face giants, those crashing waves,
but we’ll keep on going, doggedly rowing,
holding firmly to hope and Messiah’s goal,
eyes fixed ahead to where it is calmer,
ready to launch into the beyond!

It was like the blessing of whipped cream on chocolate cake when we got to spend a couple of days beside the beach before flying home!

Two days after the dedication of the Nyarafolo NT+OT portions, we had to leave for Abidjan to get our pre-flight COVID-test. That gave us two days to wait for results, then take our flight back to the U.S. on August 5th. Knowing that this might well be our last visit to this beloved country, we chose to go to one of our favorite hangouts, a hotel in Grand Bassam along the coast. Sitting near the shore was rest, much needed after the hours crammed with interactions, precious as those had been. There is not a long shelf of sand there, so the waves rise out of the deep and crash close to shore, providing glorious splashing fountains and dangerous undercurrents. It is not a place to swim, but you can soak in the view.

Watching the fishing boats make their way out past the tumult into the calmer deeps beyond gave rise to some deeper thoughts. If those boats had stayed close to shore, they would have been destroyed. And they could not have caught fish. Sure, they were still being lifted and dropped, bounced around by the formidable ocean currents. But they were far safer than if they had been closer to shore, and out in those depths they could fish.

Since we had just been processing once again the story of our mission adventure, forty-plus years of experiencing similar ups and downs, it hit home: if we had stayed in what seemed a less distant location closer to where family lived in Michigan, we would not have been able to experience what the Lord had planned when he called to us to go: “Serve where I send you!” For us, that meant Ferkessédougou, Côte d’Ivoire, among the least-reached Nyarafolo people.

We were exultant during this visit as we celebrated the arrival of two-thirds of the Bible in the previously unwritten Nyarafolo language and worshiped with the growing community of believers from that ethnic group. When we had arrived in 1979 there was just one small group in one remote village. Now there are a few hundred who know Jesus. We had two Sundays there, which gave us the opportunity to visit the church we had planted and the church they had planted, two village churches constantly reaching out to tell others the Good News. And Nyarafolos now form a significant portion of the Ferke town church congregations.

Being there this time was like bouncing on the currents further out on the ocean on a sunny day. But as we look back, we remember the first years when we were struggling just to greet people properly in their language and to know how to dress and interact in respectable ways. We remember mistakes we made. We remember the storms that nearly toppled us. But look at what has been accomplished because we said “yes” to the Pilot and let him direct the boat and take us where he wished. It was so totally worth it! He brought in the “fish,” calling many into his Family. He brought us through the storms.

I write this now to encourage all those who may be hearing that Voice that says to launch beyond the shore. Don’t be afraid to go! And the message is also for parents whose children may be considering that kind of calling. I have known families that have discouraged their offspring from going overseas because they longed to be close to their grandchildren. The longing is normal, but putting up that barrier is really asking the young ones to close their hearts’ ears to the Master’s Voice. Who knows what he might accomplish through them (and in them) if they would just launch out?

Not everyone is a fisherman. Some work in the market and at home, getting out the Word where they live, keeping the fires burning and the light shining there as well. The key is to do what the Master says.

“Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will send you out to fish for people.” (Mk. 1:17 NIV)

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

Be Servants of the Word

This is indeed our calling,
that when we follow Jesus
we are “servants of the Word.”
He is the Word! He speaks to us,
through his Word that's written down
and also through our Guide,
the Counselor within.

My inner ears will learn
to carefully discern
that precious voice
that worms its way
through all distractions
and life’s noise
to direct my daily actions,
footsteps, and my words –

to guide my growth
in this profession,
this divine and pure obsession,
that I might learn how I can be
a servant of the Word!

Being a “servant of the Word” can take different forms (cf. Luke 1.2, Rom. 1.2). The Scriptures were written by prophets, scribes, record-keepers, apostles and others. But each one had one thing in mind: to pass on the Truth that God was impressing on them.

My life story fits into that puzzle somewhere, as does yours if you are a follower of Jesus. For example, we each “must tell a future generation the praises of the LORD, His might, and the wonderful works He has performed.” (Ps. 78:4 CSB) Silence is not an option. And some of us he called to take his Word to a people not yet blessed with access to his Word. When Jim Gould, the first missionary to the Nyarafolo, died in 1965, I felt my heart nudged: “You need to carry on this work someday!” But I dismissed it; I was “just a girl.” In time the Lord made it clear that he was going to make it happen anyway.

When we went back to attend the celebration of the printed Nyarafolo Scriptures (NT + OT portions), July 31, I knew that one step I should take was to speak to the crowd in Nyarafolo. Why? Because every time I did something like that, those who did not yet know that this language was respected, written, even learned by a white foreigner, were astonished. It honored the Nyarafolo people; it delighted them. So I drafted a message, worked with my former Bible co-translator Moise to edit it, and wrote it in French for Glenn to use as my translator. Yes! It had that impact — Nyarafolos responded as I spoke, and afterwards a government representative told one of my friends how it wowed him. Often this is great publicity that draws new people to want to learn to read their language and use these Scriptures.

I posted a video of my speech, and you can watch it here, but only a few of you out there would be able to understand either language. So I have translated it into English below the video for you (I inserted an asterisk wherever there was a break for Glenn to speak). Here is the point I wanted to make: God loves the Nyarafolo and would not let them be left out — he has done all this to call them to himself!

I greet you: all of you who come from far away, and all of you who come from here in Ferkessédougou, as well as all of you who are the dignitaries —  all you who came here to celebrate with us. *

Maybe some of you know that I was here in Nyarafololand during my childhood. My father and mother worked at the hospital here. When I was thirteen years old, God showed me that some day I should share the Good News with the Nyarafolo. But me, I thought that I could not do such work since I was female. (laughter in crowd). *

After all that, when my husband Glenn and I presented ourselves to the mission and said that we would be willing to go anywhere they would choose for us, they said they would send us to Ferkessédougou because Glenn would be able to direct the laboratory at the hospital there. When they told us that we knew that this indeed was God’s own will for us. *

When we arrived here in Nyarafololand, we began to learn Nyarafolo so that we would be able to share God’s Good News with them in their language. Wow! Nyarafolo is difficult! (laughter in crowd) But it is also really great! Glenn began to do his work at the hospital. I put myself doggedly into continuing to learn Nyarafolo. *

Now, forty years later, you have seen what God has accomplished among the Nyarafolo. The Nyarafolo language is now written (clapping). And there are lots of books available to help people who want to learn to read Nyarafolo. And God’s Word has been translated (clapping). This is it!  (Printed Scripture book lifted) The Pentateuch, the Psalms, and the New Testament!  (clapping) God’s Word is sweet. It helps people to know God, and shows them how they can walk the Jesus Road. Every day it truly helps me! *

As it is written in God’s Word, in the Book of Romans:

For everything that was written in the past was written to teach us, so that through the endurance taught in the Scriptures and the encouragement they provide we might have hope. (Rom. 15:4 NIV) *

I thank God for all of this! He is the one who prepared the road, who chose certain people to be his servants who would translate his Word into Nyarafolo and teach people so that they could read it and know his Word.  God, he is the one who made it happen that SIL personnel would help us accomplish this work. It was God who called out to believers in America and showed them how they could help this work to go forward, so they took up our load and provided funds. This is because God loves the Nyarafolo! And that is why he is calling them to come believe in Jesus. They must come and become his people! *

I also give thanks to God for placing me here among the Nyarafolo. It was precious to me to study Nyarafolo and to learn their culture. It was all a rich benefit for me.

As it says in God’s word, in the Book of Philippians:

Therefore, my brothers and sisters, you whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, dear friends! (Phil. 4:1 NIV) *

I am praying that God will call out to many Nyarafolos to come and buy his written Word, to know the Truth.  May God put his good hand of blessing on you!  May it be so!  (Amen!)

I See His Fingerprints!

When I trace his distinct fingerprints
on the lives of partners, Nyarafolo friends,
on the victories "somehow' achieved in time
over insurmountable challenges,

all I can do is to offer thanks.
These are the songs in my heart that hum
when I see the woman set free from the curse
of barrenness, cast out of jealousy --

when I dance with the widows once unseen
now given honor and status through jobs,
when I hear the eloquent preaching on texts
in Nyarafolo, once brushed aside

as irrelevant, its speakers marginalized.
Our dear Lord loves all peoples! It's true!
So he called them "beloved," and opened the path
to give them his Word. We all give thanks!

Two Sundays spent with fellow believers in village churches, a week of days filled with visits morning through evening, a dedication of translated Scriptures in Nyarafolo (the New Testament, Pentateuch and Psalms) — all of these precious moments incite gratitude! In the photo above, people are lined up to purchase their copy; Abdoulaye Ouattara, director of the translation project these past 4 years, is signing them. Excitement is everywhere!

When we began ministry in the Nyarafolo region over 40 years ago, we had absolutely no idea that it would result in so many wonderful outcomes. We were just “doing the next thing,” one step at a time. But looking back, we have to give God all the credit. He made us his servants, much loved and encouraged along the tough path. He brought others into our lives to work with us. And now there are so many stories to tell that we cannot condense them into one. There will be blogs to come! But we have to express the thanksgiving that is in our hearts, and this is what we can offer back to the one who has written this narrative.

Yesterday we had our Covid tests done, since we are to board our flight back to the U.S. on Thursday. It was a two-hour wait under four sets of canopies outside the testing center down in the oldest section of Abidjan. We were sitting next to a family with two boys, and I saw the youngest one showing his mother several pages of cartoon-like scribbles he had put in her little notebook, telling the stories behind them. I told the woman that he reminded me of my son Bryn (who was beside me, 34 years old) when he was that age, and we began sharing about our families and why we were visiting this country again. She is Ivorien, married to a Frenchman, and they had spent two weeks visiting family. When she heard that we had come for the Scriptures dedication, she burst into excited praise: “Rien n’est par hasard! C’est le Seigneur qui fait ceci!” (Nothing is by accident! The Lord has made this happen!) She said that she had become a believer in Jesus just two years ago, through a friend, and she was so thrilled to meet one of his servants. As we talked and I learned what her mother tongue was, Jula, I told her that our friend Moussa Diakite had translated the Bible into that language. She was overwhelmed with excitement! I gave her his phone number, and we hope that some day she will even be able to own one and hear the Word in her heart language.

It is a precious thing, to be able to hear the Lord speak through his Word in the language that is in your heart. What a blessing it is, all the Scripture translations that we get to choose from in English! May we never take that for granted, but read and meditate and be nurtured by his Word. And I pray that the Nyarafolo and the Jula will do so as well. It is not for nothing that the Lord made these things happen!

Present to God a thank-offering! Repay your vows to the sovereign One! Pray to me when you are in trouble! I will deliver you, and you will honor me!” (Ps. 50:14 NET)

He Did It!

He did it!
The God of the whole world,
who loves all of its peoples,
he did it!
He called, and they heard,
and some answered with joy
and came!
It started with three
then added two more –
it began
in a village nobody would choose
as a key place to start.
He chose it!
He knew who was ready
to seek him, to know him,
to follow
no matter the push-back from others.
We taught them the Truth;
they shared it.
And now the Family has grown,
the magnetic gospel drawing them in.
He did it!

When I compare “now” with how things started, four decades ago, I am overwhelmed with gratitude to the Lord who loves all peoples of the earth.

Sunday morning we attended church in Tiepogovogo, a village out in the middle of cashew groves, cotton and corn fields and granite outcroppings in the wilderness. The village is still a small gathering of women’s huts and men’s rectangular houses. But the church itself now welcomes people not only from Tiepogovogo but also other nearby villages. Who but the Lord would have chosen this place to begin his work in that eastern region?

When we started studying Nyarafolo with a monolingual helper from that village in 1980, we had no idea why he “just happened” to come from a place where other young men his age were looking for Jesus. One of them, Lacina, had laid to sleep one night only to see a man in shining white standing at the foot of his bed. Shocked, he asked who he was. “I am Jesus,” he said, “and if you follow me many others here will too.”

Long-story-short, he and another friend began their search, not understanding what was said about Jesus in other languages. Then one day we walked into the village with our language helper, to meet the people there, and knowing we were from the mission hospital the two young men said, “Ah! We are chosen!”

They waited until they knew us better, then asked to be taught. They were joined by some friends, and little by little the group meeting at night by a campfire grew. They built a small open shack, which worked for a while, then a small cement church as yet more people came – especially wives of the men. And now there is a congregation that can fill this large church if everyone is there.

We did not expect this growth. Stumbling along in the language, relying on translators when preaching or teaching, learning the culture and the complex language, we were just doing what we could and it was not what anyone would call powerful. But the Lord can use anyone who is just willing to be his messenger. And he sure did!

The two young men who were the first to seek Jesus are elders there, one of them a lay preacher whose youngest brother is now the pastor. The son of the man who saw Jesus is now pastor in another village, planting a church there. Once again we can see that it was the Lord who was writing this narrative!

And because of that village’s welcome, and the need for God’s Word in their language that became clearer every time we tried to teach it, their people group, the Nyarafolo, are now receiving a printed book that includes two-thirds of the Bible in their language. That is the New Testament, Pentateuch and Psalms.

In Paul’s words, adapted slightly to express our testimony:

Yet [we] dare not boast about anything except what Christ has done through [us], bringing the [Nyarafolo] to God by [our] message and by the way [we] worked among them. , , ,  20 [Our] ambition has always been to preach the Good News where the name of Christ has never been heard, rather than where a church has already been started by someone else. 21 [We] have been following the plan spoken of in the Scriptures, where it says, “Those who have never been told about him will see, and those who have never heard of him will understand.”  (Rom. 15:18,20,21 NLT)

Because You Hold My Hand

You hold my hand; you love me:
King of this whole world, you lead me,
making my right hand your chosen tool
so that each act becomes
a holy service
in your master plan.

You hold my hand; you love me:
Lover of my soul, you treasure me
and nurture every gifting given
and make each weakness
a new way 
to intervene with strength.

You hold my hand; you love me:
Father-love that cares for me
that clears the rubbish from the path
that grasps me tight
when gale-force winds 
would sweep me off my feet.

You hold my hand; you love me:
Spirit-love that fills me up
and squeezes out the selfishness
so that instead your love and joy
reach out with grace
to spread your peace.

And you are God:
     the One who made me
     the One who sent me
          always with me.

Remember what it was like to have Daddy or Special Uncle hold your hand when you were small? That is one of my treasured memories. When my dad took me exploring, whether it was nature or a new town somewhere in the world, I would reach up to his strong hand and grab at least a finger, and he would clasp mine in his. Yes, I did have to learn to lengthen my stride to keep up with him, or sometimes run. But it was worth it, and taught me a confidence and a love for walking ahead that has stayed with me.

Yesterday we arrived back in the land of nine years of my childhood, and over forty years of mission service, the Côte d’Ivoire. We are still in the huge city of Abidjan where our flight landed, but already the memory triggers are flooding my smiling soul: moms with babies wrapped on their backs with colorful cloth, a young girl and a toddler “helping” Mom sell attieke (manioc processed so that it is like tapioca beads) at the side of the road, sons hauling sheep by ropes down the road while they try to keep up with their father who is walking ahead in a hurry. Traffic is roaring by, but each of the kids is safe with that trusted adult.

Tomorrow we will fly to the north to “our” town of Ferkessédougou. We became “Maman” and “Papa” to lots of kids there, and seeing some of them again, more grown up of course, is something we are eager to do. Glenn is especially good with kids, and when we entered the village of Tiepogovogo where we were learning language and culture and eventually planting a church, several would run up to hold his hand as he walked through, greeting people. That relationship was one of feeling accepted, loved, belonging.

And on July 31, there will be an Event, the one we came here for. We will be joining the Ferke community in celebrating the Scriptures now available in print in the local Nyarafolo language, a language that had not even been written before the Lord brought us to that region with that people group on our hearts. Many others joined us along the way, each one adding their gifting and background to accomplish the task. I didn’t know, growing up, that my Father was getting me ready to be part of his plan for this linguistic work and Bible translation! It is when I look back that I can see how very kindly he was holding my hand, often pulling me along, comforting me by tightening his grip, pulling me back on the path when I stumbled or took a faulty step. And it was indeed because of his loving hand guiding me and others too that now two-thirds of the Scriptures are in a printed Bible book for them: the New Testament, Pentateuch and Psalms. It was, after all, what he intended them to accomplish, that he empowered them to do!

I am so glad that this is what our Father is like, and I can only shout my praise and gratitude — so I will, in this blog and soon in the company of Nyarafolos and friends as we sing and dance and thank him in community. We may come from different earthly nations, but we are all one Family, and he holds his children’s hands.

And he is not done yet: he is holding out his hand to many more people, inviting them to slide their hand into his and let him be their loving guide and protector. May they accept the privilege!