January has been a whirlwind of a month for Jim and me. We moved our ministry and personal belongings after 22 years from Detroit to Nashville. No sooner had we moved than we returned to Detroit for ministry reasons. Back to Nashville to further settle in and prepare to return to Congo after a 15 month absence.
We left Nashville yesterday worn out from the drain life has brought our way and walked right into the warm and peaceful atmosphere of friends near and dear to our hearts. They have graciously opened their home to us until we leave for Congo on Friday, Feb. 13. The wife of the couple has been very involved in our lives as well as Laban's for 20 years. We met her shortly after Jim's accident when we were both bruised and broken, carrying around half-crushed dreams yet to be resurrected and lived out. The unpredictably of Jim's closed head injury rushed into our livesunannounced, unwelcome, and unwilling to leave. Uncertainty plagued us. Life had become a tornado-like whirlwind that left in its wake fear and shock and sudden change. Doctors could promise nothing as far as when or if Jim would return to his normal preaccident baseline.
She has been a solace and cheerleader to me personally down through the years. I can't tell you how many lunches we have shared together and poured our hearts out to each other. She is one of my soul mates, and I love her dearly.
As we walked into their home, I felt the exhaustion take flight. The
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
How we are shaped by those who have gone before. . .
Building a hospital in Congo can be very overwhelming. Tonight I am overwhelmed. This is going to be a long post. I may lose you before you finish attempting to read it all. Nonetheless, I feel I must lay my heart and thoughts on the table.
My husband, Jim, is a man of great vision and capacity. He grew up on the mission field and saw the hand of God move powerfully as far back as he can remember. God's power was the backdrop of his childhood. That power unleashed resulted in Jim seeing people, whose darkened minds were controlled by the evil of witchcraft and satanism, turn from cannibalism, child sacrifice and fetish worship to awakening to new life which radically transformed them. Several such outcomes of radical change were their burning of fetishes--the custom of worshiping parrot feathers, goat manure, and squash seeds contained in a gourd was held near and dear to their hearts for decades to honor their ancestors--forsaking cannibalism and child sacrifice, and entering baptism 7 abreast at one time by national pastors in the lake down the hill in front of their home with as many as 1200 individuals in a single day. He still recalls how his mind's eye sees rows of women, maybe as many as twelve in a row, locked arm in arm dressed in their new beautiful African cloth (as opposed to going topless before being saved), singing, "What can wash away my sin? Nothing but the blood of Jesus."
Jim saw more than 10,000 of these Bianzi people make such professions of faith and testify of their new resurrected life through baptism. He saw much more. Adventure and drama filled his youthful days, and many evenings were spent listening to his parents discuss the return of Christ. Laban and Marcella were pioneer missionaries. They were gutsy. They plowed in virgin territory. Both their bodies have enriched African soil, someday to be resurrected in total splendor and light. This great stock left him an incredible heritage which he not only embraced early on in life but continues to cherish, greatly respect, and cling to in order that he may honor the Ancient of Days until he stands before Him one fine day in total rapture.
Being shaped by this amazing background has made Jim seize and run with the truth that Jesus Christ is all powerful and can do ANYTHING. In other words, there is nothing that the Lord cannot do! Jim is a man of faith, and he boldly brags on God all the time, fanning the fire of faith in others because he himself has the gift of faith. Do you see where he is coming from?
Recently, Jim has been challenged to involve himself in a monumental task. It entails writing 10 out of 15 comprehensive case points to present to able-bodied philanthropists who may decide to back a major portion of this enormous undertaking of erecting a hospital in the bush of Congo, Africa.
One of the points to be covered is human/societal need. Thus, the topic of this blog. In covering this point, Jim shares how the loss of a human life so dear as his father's as well as other losses over the years may have been prevented had there been a hospital near Nkara. After copying his chicken scratch (sorry Jim, your handwriting leaves a little to be desired), about a week or so ago, I can't seem to stop thinking about that day when Laban Smith left this earth. For the past several days my thoughts continue to wing their way back to those 9 hours of horror, a day forever locked in Jim's mind, a day full of bewilderment, shock, disbelief, and incredible loss, a day that heavily influenced everything about my man--his future, his commitment to Scripture, his goals, his thought patterns, the way he would walk with the Lord--everything. Not only did it alter his life, but the man and his death continue to shape his steps and life pattern and temper who he is and what he does. Not just the heart wrenching experience of watching his Dad's life fad, but the man his father really was. Nothing would ever be the same again because of what took place on that day when he was only ten as well as the years leading up to his dad's home going. On January 24, 1953. Dr. Laban Smith fell just 8 feet, and 9 hours later he was with Jesus. Read it for yourself.
The recount of my father's accident:
Breakfast was a 8 a.m. on Saturday morning. The Shannon Family had traveled 300 miles so that my father, Dr. Laban Smith, could fix Mrs. Shannon's abscessed teeth. He was an oral surgeon but also committed to the Gospel of Jesus Christ, His Lord. Malaria and high blood pressure had made him weak, but he would not stop building the new house of brick, stone, and wood with an aluminum roof.
As he was sitting down at the table, he said, "I feel so good today." I was glad to hear him say that. Dad was my hero. Nothing seemed to stop him. A prayer of thanks, breakfast, and off to work on the 3-story home. Mrs. Shannon's x-rays were not ready yet, so the dental office sat empty that Saturday.
My brother, Jack, and I took Ralph and Jack Shannon to find a fruit tree our African friends had discovered across the Ewa stream. In Congo, this was like finding a candy store, of which the closest one was 65 miles and 5 bumpy hours away.
Hardly crossing the stream, we heard and saw a young man running across the big long tree bridging the stream. "Jack ti Jim, kwisa nswalu. Tata ya beno me kubwa. Yandi kebasisa menga na munoko." Jack and Jim come quickly. Your father has fallen and blood is coming out of his mouth. "Yandi kele mbote ve." He is not good, which means it is very serious.
Jack and Ralph soon out paced me and my friends running back to the house and second story. Instead of a candy tree of fruit came the broken tree of terror, hopelessness, fear, and total desperation. This 10-year-old heart with uncontrollable tear-filled eyes ran the quarter mile to the beautiful new home Dr. Smith was building for his family, expecting to live there for many years.
As I made my way through the kitchen door to the dining room and starting up the stairs, my brother, Jack, met me at the landing. "Jimmy, Dad is lying on the cement floor unconscious and is bleeding out of his mouth badly. He can't talk. He's unconscious. I continued up the steps, turned left, and through the family room to the wide upstairs porch. My mother, Marcella, was kneeling by Dad's side, holding his hand. Her face was one of bewilderment, a voice of deep pleading, " Oh God! Help! Jesus, help!" Mrs. Shannon, a nurse, was cupping his head, examining him. The African nurse, Pierre Nsenge, had his stethoscope draped around his neck, having tested Laban's heart rate and blood pressure. Some of the work staff silently in a daze of prayer, stood at a desperate vigil that "Munganga"--doctor--would come back to normality.
Of course, Laban must be gotten to a doctor and hospital. Marcella's first choice was Vanga, the American Baptist Hospital and their friend, Dr. Osterholm. Mrs. Shannon thought my Uncle's Willys station wagon would be so much smoother than the big 6-ton Chevy truck. My uncle Mit lived at Iwungu, 65 miles away. Mr. Shannon would take Makumbi, Dad's trained driver, to get the Yosts. But at Iwungu, the Yosts were on their way to Kikwit another 60 miles. At Kikwit, Yosts had gone to Kafumba--too far away. Better use his pick up. The fact that My uncle was not available in Iwungu or Kikwit took Mr. Shannon several hours to find out.
He began the return to Nkara for Laban. It had been at least 6 hours since Shannon left. Marcella Smith and Mrs. Shannon decided they could not wait any longer. The decision was to use Laban's 6-ton Chevy truck, and the driver would be Jack Smith, who started to drive t age 7 and was now 13. Dad was gently loaded into the truck by several men led by Dad's dear coworker, Toma, who began to work with Dad 14 years earlier. They picked him up carefully, firmly, tenderly from the porch, cautiously watching each half step they took down the winding staircase. This was the body of the man who led them out of darkness into The Marvelous Light, a representative of Jesus Christ. They gently loaded him into the monstrous truck. I sat in the front. Mom, on her knees, cradled Dad's head in the back of the truck. Mrs. Shannon kneeled by his side. Jack started the truck. Toma would not leave his side. He would see him to the hospital, helping and encouraging Marcella all the way. He also counseled Jack to drive easily and with courage.
The two Lukwa bridges were 20 and 10 feet long, rather narrow, and immediately there was a steep hill to climb. Up the 1/2 mile road leading from the mission Jack drove to the top, made the left turn on the main road, which was hardly fit to be called a road, to Kikwit where the hospital was located.
As we passed the village of Longo--the largest of the Bayanzi Tribe and the village which called Dr. Smith to come tell them of Jesus Christ , God's Son, to which 10,000 Bayanzi's in a matter of 5 years responded wholeheartedly, accepting Dr. Laban Smith's Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ who forgave all who believed all their sins, even their cannibalism--quiet bodies stood, slowly waving, praying Dr. Smith, their missionary and doctor, would live and return to them again.
Jack slowly approached the Lukwa Bridge and stopped so Toma could direct the wheels over the planks. I was told to get out of the truck, but Marcella and Mrs. Shannon stayed with Laban. They would not leave him by himself. They would also go down if the truck and Jack went down.
Reloaded, Jack started up the steep Lukwa River Hill. The truck engine did not stop but smoothly, thank God and Jack, 12 minutes later made it up the winding hill to the level savannah. The drive was normal and smooth as Jack at 13 drove the lumbering beast carefully. His father was on the floor on a mattress.
Driving in the Kwilu Forest and down its hills to end up at the barge of the Kwilu River--always a breathtaking experience, even for professional drivers--how will Jack do? Maybe an experienced driver will be available to put it on the barge. More than once trucks have gone off the front, killing driver, riders, and the loss of all cargo. Our cargo was Dad. The river was over a thousand feet wide, 90 feet deep with a 6 mile an hour flow speed.
At 13, Jack had become a young man trying to save his father. Jim was praying and meeting God in a real way at the age of 10.
Halfway to Kikwit with quiet but strong supported national staff and Toma, they began to say, "Mr. Shannon's truck is up ahead coming toward us." Jack easily but immediately rolled to a stop. Shannon and Makumbi took Shannon's truck and Shannon took the 6 ton Chevy truck. Jack would not have to drive Dad on to the barge or off of it into the city of Kikwit.
Mr Shannon drove up the hill at 5 p.m., and 45 minutes later he was at the hospital. Toma helped to push Dad and the mattress to the end of the canvas-covered truck. Male nurses were on the ground to receive him and carry him to his room.
Marcella and Mrs. Shannon were talking to the head doctor, Fimi, describing what had happened.
Laban was given morphine to put him to rest. Jack and Jim were brought in to see their dad. He seemed to be resting. All was quiet. We were praying and trusting in Dr. Fimi. Mom led us back out to the truck where Jack and I sat in the front just waiting, praying, bewildered, hoping==waiting for mom to come back and say something to us. In an hour of arriving at the hospital, things went fast. After a half hour, mom came out to the truck and said, "Boys, I think your daddy will be leaving us soon." I said, "Where is he going?" "To be with Jesus," she said. " He will have a new home and be with God." Courageously, Marcella returned to Laban's side.
Fifteen minutes later Marcella let out with a desperate, lonely wail of a 49-year-old wife and partner who saw her husband's soul and spirit depart his body to be with His Lord, Savior, Creator, and God, whom he loved and served faithfully.
Mom came to the truck. Her cry told us something bad had happened, but we hoped to her that he was worse but not dead. However, she said, "Boys, your dad is with Jesus. He died a few minutes ago." Jim asked, "Will Jesus let him talk to us tonight?" "No, Jim. Daddy can't talk to us on earth. You will someday." "Mom, what does Daddy look like now?" "He is in glory in the presence of Jesus and God, the Father. In Revelation it says, 'The saints are dressed in white clothes, and they are all glorious within."
Uncle Howard Street drove his panel truck to take us down to the mission hostel to eat and sleep. The next day the funeral would be in the dining and living room area which was connected and open. The Belgian Governor of the Kwilu District told Marcella that Dr. Smith is "one of ours, and we will make his coffin, and we want him to be buried here in Kikwit."
That dad's body could not walk, talk, build, evangelize, fix teeth, be present, protect, lead, but be put into a casket and that in the ground was unthinkable, strange, another world. But that would happen to my father, a man of doing, solidness, life, purpose, a love for God and the Bible. However, now he was in the presence of Jesus Christ. He was seeing his son, Gary, who died 6 years before on furlough. The dreams and realities of life after death were his to know now--more real than the physical of 53 years. Earth cannot describe it. Paul said, "To be with the Lord is far better."
Howard Street preached the funeral. A Mennonite ladies' trio sang Saved by Grace, Face to Face, and I Shall Know Him. We did not know there were so many cars in the Kwilu District as Belgian officials, businessmen, and their wives, and the many Portuguese families who were involved in the palm oil industry came to honor Dr. Smith, who was their dentist but also the man whom they could easily talk to. And out of the love of his heart for them and for the Lord Jesus Christ, he had in such tenderness and joy shared the Gospel of Jesus Christ. How interesting, as they sat in his dental chair and he shared Christ with them, he spoke in the Kituba language. When they could, they would respond in the Kituba language. He never pushed, never forced but in grace. Now they were saying goodbye to him. A long line, practically bumper to bumper, most unusual in that part of the Congo, followed Mr. Street's green suburban Chevrolet up the mile-long road to the cemetery. Hundreds of Africans were there. Many missionaries and government people who knew and greatly respected Laban were there for the funeral.
As we walked out of the guest house, it was amazing to see all the cars waiting nearby in the compound which they had filled, who could not even attend the funeral, but wanted to be part of the funeral procession. Missionary men let his body down into the grave with straps and, as Mom, Jack, and I stood off to the right, I remember that hit so hard--my father was being put into the ground. But the soul and spirit were with the Lord. Dad and Mom had so prepared Jack and me for what happens to the Christian when they die because they talked about heaven as if they were had been there. The world we lived in changed and changed me in many ways I can't even tell. Dad was no longer with us, but he was with the Lord. I would see him again.
And so a boy losing his father at age 10--what is that all about? I don't know. What I do often ponder are these possibilities:
Would Jim have become the man of faith he is today if his father would have lived?
Was his father's death the catalyst along with his older brother's death that made him promise God he would give Him a year and read a chapter everyday for a year to test God and see if he was who he said he was.
Is Jim's drive so strong because he lost his hero at such a tender age?
Would the Lord Jesus Christ be so vital in Jim's life had he not had to thrust himself on his only real source of comfort besides his mother at that age?
Would he seek the mind of Christ without experiencing the sufferings of Christ; i.e. the horrific death of his dad?
Would he ever have gone back to Congo to give his life for the African people he loves so much without being stripped of the life of his father?
I have no idea, but I thank God for having shared 44 years with a man who
walks the walk instead of just blabbing a bunch of empty, air-filled words and unkept promises.
has chosen to walk away from bitterness and self-pity
whose lips are full of praise all the time for the Great I Am
who locks his sight into things afar off which are unseen rather than centering his short life on earth on things that are tangible
and I am still overwhelmed with the idea of building a hospital in the bush of Congo! HELP!!!
My husband, Jim, is a man of great vision and capacity. He grew up on the mission field and saw the hand of God move powerfully as far back as he can remember. God's power was the backdrop of his childhood. That power unleashed resulted in Jim seeing people, whose darkened minds were controlled by the evil of witchcraft and satanism, turn from cannibalism, child sacrifice and fetish worship to awakening to new life which radically transformed them. Several such outcomes of radical change were their burning of fetishes--the custom of worshiping parrot feathers, goat manure, and squash seeds contained in a gourd was held near and dear to their hearts for decades to honor their ancestors--forsaking cannibalism and child sacrifice, and entering baptism 7 abreast at one time by national pastors in the lake down the hill in front of their home with as many as 1200 individuals in a single day. He still recalls how his mind's eye sees rows of women, maybe as many as twelve in a row, locked arm in arm dressed in their new beautiful African cloth (as opposed to going topless before being saved), singing, "What can wash away my sin? Nothing but the blood of Jesus."
Jim saw more than 10,000 of these Bianzi people make such professions of faith and testify of their new resurrected life through baptism. He saw much more. Adventure and drama filled his youthful days, and many evenings were spent listening to his parents discuss the return of Christ. Laban and Marcella were pioneer missionaries. They were gutsy. They plowed in virgin territory. Both their bodies have enriched African soil, someday to be resurrected in total splendor and light. This great stock left him an incredible heritage which he not only embraced early on in life but continues to cherish, greatly respect, and cling to in order that he may honor the Ancient of Days until he stands before Him one fine day in total rapture.
Being shaped by this amazing background has made Jim seize and run with the truth that Jesus Christ is all powerful and can do ANYTHING. In other words, there is nothing that the Lord cannot do! Jim is a man of faith, and he boldly brags on God all the time, fanning the fire of faith in others because he himself has the gift of faith. Do you see where he is coming from?
Recently, Jim has been challenged to involve himself in a monumental task. It entails writing 10 out of 15 comprehensive case points to present to able-bodied philanthropists who may decide to back a major portion of this enormous undertaking of erecting a hospital in the bush of Congo, Africa.
One of the points to be covered is human/societal need. Thus, the topic of this blog. In covering this point, Jim shares how the loss of a human life so dear as his father's as well as other losses over the years may have been prevented had there been a hospital near Nkara. After copying his chicken scratch (sorry Jim, your handwriting leaves a little to be desired), about a week or so ago, I can't seem to stop thinking about that day when Laban Smith left this earth. For the past several days my thoughts continue to wing their way back to those 9 hours of horror, a day forever locked in Jim's mind, a day full of bewilderment, shock, disbelief, and incredible loss, a day that heavily influenced everything about my man--his future, his commitment to Scripture, his goals, his thought patterns, the way he would walk with the Lord--everything. Not only did it alter his life, but the man and his death continue to shape his steps and life pattern and temper who he is and what he does. Not just the heart wrenching experience of watching his Dad's life fad, but the man his father really was. Nothing would ever be the same again because of what took place on that day when he was only ten as well as the years leading up to his dad's home going. On January 24, 1953. Dr. Laban Smith fell just 8 feet, and 9 hours later he was with Jesus. Read it for yourself.
The recount of my father's accident:
Breakfast was a 8 a.m. on Saturday morning. The Shannon Family had traveled 300 miles so that my father, Dr. Laban Smith, could fix Mrs. Shannon's abscessed teeth. He was an oral surgeon but also committed to the Gospel of Jesus Christ, His Lord. Malaria and high blood pressure had made him weak, but he would not stop building the new house of brick, stone, and wood with an aluminum roof.
As he was sitting down at the table, he said, "I feel so good today." I was glad to hear him say that. Dad was my hero. Nothing seemed to stop him. A prayer of thanks, breakfast, and off to work on the 3-story home. Mrs. Shannon's x-rays were not ready yet, so the dental office sat empty that Saturday.
My brother, Jack, and I took Ralph and Jack Shannon to find a fruit tree our African friends had discovered across the Ewa stream. In Congo, this was like finding a candy store, of which the closest one was 65 miles and 5 bumpy hours away.
Hardly crossing the stream, we heard and saw a young man running across the big long tree bridging the stream. "Jack ti Jim, kwisa nswalu. Tata ya beno me kubwa. Yandi kebasisa menga na munoko." Jack and Jim come quickly. Your father has fallen and blood is coming out of his mouth. "Yandi kele mbote ve." He is not good, which means it is very serious.
Jack and Ralph soon out paced me and my friends running back to the house and second story. Instead of a candy tree of fruit came the broken tree of terror, hopelessness, fear, and total desperation. This 10-year-old heart with uncontrollable tear-filled eyes ran the quarter mile to the beautiful new home Dr. Smith was building for his family, expecting to live there for many years.
As I made my way through the kitchen door to the dining room and starting up the stairs, my brother, Jack, met me at the landing. "Jimmy, Dad is lying on the cement floor unconscious and is bleeding out of his mouth badly. He can't talk. He's unconscious. I continued up the steps, turned left, and through the family room to the wide upstairs porch. My mother, Marcella, was kneeling by Dad's side, holding his hand. Her face was one of bewilderment, a voice of deep pleading, " Oh God! Help! Jesus, help!" Mrs. Shannon, a nurse, was cupping his head, examining him. The African nurse, Pierre Nsenge, had his stethoscope draped around his neck, having tested Laban's heart rate and blood pressure. Some of the work staff silently in a daze of prayer, stood at a desperate vigil that "Munganga"--doctor--would come back to normality.
Of course, Laban must be gotten to a doctor and hospital. Marcella's first choice was Vanga, the American Baptist Hospital and their friend, Dr. Osterholm. Mrs. Shannon thought my Uncle's Willys station wagon would be so much smoother than the big 6-ton Chevy truck. My uncle Mit lived at Iwungu, 65 miles away. Mr. Shannon would take Makumbi, Dad's trained driver, to get the Yosts. But at Iwungu, the Yosts were on their way to Kikwit another 60 miles. At Kikwit, Yosts had gone to Kafumba--too far away. Better use his pick up. The fact that My uncle was not available in Iwungu or Kikwit took Mr. Shannon several hours to find out.
He began the return to Nkara for Laban. It had been at least 6 hours since Shannon left. Marcella Smith and Mrs. Shannon decided they could not wait any longer. The decision was to use Laban's 6-ton Chevy truck, and the driver would be Jack Smith, who started to drive t age 7 and was now 13. Dad was gently loaded into the truck by several men led by Dad's dear coworker, Toma, who began to work with Dad 14 years earlier. They picked him up carefully, firmly, tenderly from the porch, cautiously watching each half step they took down the winding staircase. This was the body of the man who led them out of darkness into The Marvelous Light, a representative of Jesus Christ. They gently loaded him into the monstrous truck. I sat in the front. Mom, on her knees, cradled Dad's head in the back of the truck. Mrs. Shannon kneeled by his side. Jack started the truck. Toma would not leave his side. He would see him to the hospital, helping and encouraging Marcella all the way. He also counseled Jack to drive easily and with courage.
The two Lukwa bridges were 20 and 10 feet long, rather narrow, and immediately there was a steep hill to climb. Up the 1/2 mile road leading from the mission Jack drove to the top, made the left turn on the main road, which was hardly fit to be called a road, to Kikwit where the hospital was located.
As we passed the village of Longo--the largest of the Bayanzi Tribe and the village which called Dr. Smith to come tell them of Jesus Christ , God's Son, to which 10,000 Bayanzi's in a matter of 5 years responded wholeheartedly, accepting Dr. Laban Smith's Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ who forgave all who believed all their sins, even their cannibalism--quiet bodies stood, slowly waving, praying Dr. Smith, their missionary and doctor, would live and return to them again.
Jack slowly approached the Lukwa Bridge and stopped so Toma could direct the wheels over the planks. I was told to get out of the truck, but Marcella and Mrs. Shannon stayed with Laban. They would not leave him by himself. They would also go down if the truck and Jack went down.
Reloaded, Jack started up the steep Lukwa River Hill. The truck engine did not stop but smoothly, thank God and Jack, 12 minutes later made it up the winding hill to the level savannah. The drive was normal and smooth as Jack at 13 drove the lumbering beast carefully. His father was on the floor on a mattress.
Driving in the Kwilu Forest and down its hills to end up at the barge of the Kwilu River--always a breathtaking experience, even for professional drivers--how will Jack do? Maybe an experienced driver will be available to put it on the barge. More than once trucks have gone off the front, killing driver, riders, and the loss of all cargo. Our cargo was Dad. The river was over a thousand feet wide, 90 feet deep with a 6 mile an hour flow speed.
At 13, Jack had become a young man trying to save his father. Jim was praying and meeting God in a real way at the age of 10.
Halfway to Kikwit with quiet but strong supported national staff and Toma, they began to say, "Mr. Shannon's truck is up ahead coming toward us." Jack easily but immediately rolled to a stop. Shannon and Makumbi took Shannon's truck and Shannon took the 6 ton Chevy truck. Jack would not have to drive Dad on to the barge or off of it into the city of Kikwit.
Mr Shannon drove up the hill at 5 p.m., and 45 minutes later he was at the hospital. Toma helped to push Dad and the mattress to the end of the canvas-covered truck. Male nurses were on the ground to receive him and carry him to his room.
Marcella and Mrs. Shannon were talking to the head doctor, Fimi, describing what had happened.
Laban was given morphine to put him to rest. Jack and Jim were brought in to see their dad. He seemed to be resting. All was quiet. We were praying and trusting in Dr. Fimi. Mom led us back out to the truck where Jack and I sat in the front just waiting, praying, bewildered, hoping==waiting for mom to come back and say something to us. In an hour of arriving at the hospital, things went fast. After a half hour, mom came out to the truck and said, "Boys, I think your daddy will be leaving us soon." I said, "Where is he going?" "To be with Jesus," she said. " He will have a new home and be with God." Courageously, Marcella returned to Laban's side.
Fifteen minutes later Marcella let out with a desperate, lonely wail of a 49-year-old wife and partner who saw her husband's soul and spirit depart his body to be with His Lord, Savior, Creator, and God, whom he loved and served faithfully.
Mom came to the truck. Her cry told us something bad had happened, but we hoped to her that he was worse but not dead. However, she said, "Boys, your dad is with Jesus. He died a few minutes ago." Jim asked, "Will Jesus let him talk to us tonight?" "No, Jim. Daddy can't talk to us on earth. You will someday." "Mom, what does Daddy look like now?" "He is in glory in the presence of Jesus and God, the Father. In Revelation it says, 'The saints are dressed in white clothes, and they are all glorious within."
Uncle Howard Street drove his panel truck to take us down to the mission hostel to eat and sleep. The next day the funeral would be in the dining and living room area which was connected and open. The Belgian Governor of the Kwilu District told Marcella that Dr. Smith is "one of ours, and we will make his coffin, and we want him to be buried here in Kikwit."
That dad's body could not walk, talk, build, evangelize, fix teeth, be present, protect, lead, but be put into a casket and that in the ground was unthinkable, strange, another world. But that would happen to my father, a man of doing, solidness, life, purpose, a love for God and the Bible. However, now he was in the presence of Jesus Christ. He was seeing his son, Gary, who died 6 years before on furlough. The dreams and realities of life after death were his to know now--more real than the physical of 53 years. Earth cannot describe it. Paul said, "To be with the Lord is far better."
Howard Street preached the funeral. A Mennonite ladies' trio sang Saved by Grace, Face to Face, and I Shall Know Him. We did not know there were so many cars in the Kwilu District as Belgian officials, businessmen, and their wives, and the many Portuguese families who were involved in the palm oil industry came to honor Dr. Smith, who was their dentist but also the man whom they could easily talk to. And out of the love of his heart for them and for the Lord Jesus Christ, he had in such tenderness and joy shared the Gospel of Jesus Christ. How interesting, as they sat in his dental chair and he shared Christ with them, he spoke in the Kituba language. When they could, they would respond in the Kituba language. He never pushed, never forced but in grace. Now they were saying goodbye to him. A long line, practically bumper to bumper, most unusual in that part of the Congo, followed Mr. Street's green suburban Chevrolet up the mile-long road to the cemetery. Hundreds of Africans were there. Many missionaries and government people who knew and greatly respected Laban were there for the funeral.
As we walked out of the guest house, it was amazing to see all the cars waiting nearby in the compound which they had filled, who could not even attend the funeral, but wanted to be part of the funeral procession. Missionary men let his body down into the grave with straps and, as Mom, Jack, and I stood off to the right, I remember that hit so hard--my father was being put into the ground. But the soul and spirit were with the Lord. Dad and Mom had so prepared Jack and me for what happens to the Christian when they die because they talked about heaven as if they were had been there. The world we lived in changed and changed me in many ways I can't even tell. Dad was no longer with us, but he was with the Lord. I would see him again.
And so a boy losing his father at age 10--what is that all about? I don't know. What I do often ponder are these possibilities:
Would Jim have become the man of faith he is today if his father would have lived?
Was his father's death the catalyst along with his older brother's death that made him promise God he would give Him a year and read a chapter everyday for a year to test God and see if he was who he said he was.
Is Jim's drive so strong because he lost his hero at such a tender age?
Would the Lord Jesus Christ be so vital in Jim's life had he not had to thrust himself on his only real source of comfort besides his mother at that age?
Would he seek the mind of Christ without experiencing the sufferings of Christ; i.e. the horrific death of his dad?
Would he ever have gone back to Congo to give his life for the African people he loves so much without being stripped of the life of his father?
I have no idea, but I thank God for having shared 44 years with a man who
walks the walk instead of just blabbing a bunch of empty, air-filled words and unkept promises.
has chosen to walk away from bitterness and self-pity
whose lips are full of praise all the time for the Great I Am
who locks his sight into things afar off which are unseen rather than centering his short life on earth on things that are tangible
and I am still overwhelmed with the idea of building a hospital in the bush of Congo! HELP!!!
Monday, January 19, 2009
Back from the dead
Last week we moved to Nashville. This week we are back in Michigan wrapping up tasks, appointments, making ministry deadlines for fiscal year reports to the government, attending a board meeting, a planning committee meeting for spring events, visiting a supporting church, connecting with remaining family in this area, having one last goodbye with friends, and tending to a myriad of events to prepare for our next upcoming trip to Congo.
After six days straight of living in the fast lane from morning til night and seeing God's hand at every turn of the way in making crooked paths straight and giving us strength to finish this prep before leaving, I was able to sandwich in a visit to my dear sister, Gerry. Gerry underwent back surgery in September, acquired severe infection, broke part of her spine, underwent three more surgeries to alleviate the intense pain she was suffering, was coded for cardiac arrest and a collapsed lung, and was intubated with a feeding tube and ventilator. Most would never have survived such trauma and body breakdown, but my tough little big sister did! The Lord amazingly has brought her back to life, back from the dead, and she is very alive and well.
As my darling, beautiful niece, Terri, wheeled her out to see me in the foyer of the beautiful facility which provides hours of physical therapy, hope, kind treatment, and loving care, my eyes beheld her miraculous countenance. She speaks, is in her right mind, has gained back 11 lb (she went down to 89 lb.), and talks, reasons, cries, and responds wonderfully well. The sound of her voice and her precious animated face were such sweet music to my ears, rather like a symphony.
About half way through our visit, in walked my handsome nephew, Mark. Tears filled my eyes as well as Gerry's and Terri's as I recounted their loving kindness to their mama while she was so critically ill. They were by her side most of the time, soothing her traumatized body and mind, telling her how much they loved her and that she was going to be okay. They patted her arm, gently stroked her face, and ran their fingers through her hair, speaking hope and soothing tenderness into her spirit. It was wonderful to behold.
I want to thank everyone for praying for Gerry. Her illness took her to the depths of the death pit, and now God has chosen to resurrect her and allow us to enjoy her presence a while longer. Thank you for standing in the gap for her when she couldn't even speak, sleeping her days away, trying to regain her strength. Praise you, Jesus, for your amazing healing power. Just a glance in her direction, just a spoken word, just a wisp of the expression of your will, or just a healing thought for her is all that was needed to bring her around. I am so grateful that you chose to show her mercy by allowing her to come back to us from that pit. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
After six days straight of living in the fast lane from morning til night and seeing God's hand at every turn of the way in making crooked paths straight and giving us strength to finish this prep before leaving, I was able to sandwich in a visit to my dear sister, Gerry. Gerry underwent back surgery in September, acquired severe infection, broke part of her spine, underwent three more surgeries to alleviate the intense pain she was suffering, was coded for cardiac arrest and a collapsed lung, and was intubated with a feeding tube and ventilator. Most would never have survived such trauma and body breakdown, but my tough little big sister did! The Lord amazingly has brought her back to life, back from the dead, and she is very alive and well.
As my darling, beautiful niece, Terri, wheeled her out to see me in the foyer of the beautiful facility which provides hours of physical therapy, hope, kind treatment, and loving care, my eyes beheld her miraculous countenance. She speaks, is in her right mind, has gained back 11 lb (she went down to 89 lb.), and talks, reasons, cries, and responds wonderfully well. The sound of her voice and her precious animated face were such sweet music to my ears, rather like a symphony.
About half way through our visit, in walked my handsome nephew, Mark. Tears filled my eyes as well as Gerry's and Terri's as I recounted their loving kindness to their mama while she was so critically ill. They were by her side most of the time, soothing her traumatized body and mind, telling her how much they loved her and that she was going to be okay. They patted her arm, gently stroked her face, and ran their fingers through her hair, speaking hope and soothing tenderness into her spirit. It was wonderful to behold.
I want to thank everyone for praying for Gerry. Her illness took her to the depths of the death pit, and now God has chosen to resurrect her and allow us to enjoy her presence a while longer. Thank you for standing in the gap for her when she couldn't even speak, sleeping her days away, trying to regain her strength. Praise you, Jesus, for your amazing healing power. Just a glance in her direction, just a spoken word, just a wisp of the expression of your will, or just a healing thought for her is all that was needed to bring her around. I am so grateful that you chose to show her mercy by allowing her to come back to us from that pit. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
A New Land
Recently, someone asked me how many states I have lived in during my lifetime. He was obviously referring to states as in United States of America. I answered "only one." But I have liived in another land in another world on another continent. And while traveling to that other land over distant seas, it has been my experience to view, touch, taste, hear and handle other cultures, spiritual domains, languages, traditions, and people who have enriched my life in so many ways for various reasons, one being just simply because they are different from the American way.
Long, long ago, Abraham, our patriarch journeyed to a far off country. Hebrews 11 (the Hall of Fame Faith chapter) commends him with these words, "Urged on by faith, Abraham, when he was called. obeyed and went forth to a place which he was destined to receive as an inheritance; and he went, although he did not know or trouble his mind about where he was to go. Prompted by faith he dwelt as a temporary resident in the land which was designated in the promise of God though he was like a stranger in a strange country, living in tents with Isaac and Jacob, fellow heirs with him of the same promise. For he was waiting expectantly and confidently looking forward to the city which has fixed and firm foundations, whose Architect and Builder is God."
That far off land for me 30 years ago this past December was Congo, as in the Democratic Republic of Congo. It too became my inheritance. Congo is the birth place of my husband, Jim. Shaped and conformed by life as lived with Laban and Marcella, his parents, he is a man of great faith, abiding love, immeasurable patience, and devoted to chasing Jesus and following hard after God. Returning to Congo for Jim was a piece of cake. For me it was like drinking sour lemonade until. . . one day I woke up after crying for 2 years, and it wasn't strange anymore. God's grace allowed me to buy into it. The land, the people, their customs, and their love won me over.
Just 3 days ago we moved to Nashville, Tennessee. In so many ways, this new land for us is not strange at all. It is beautiful; we are near family members, and living here is a long-awaited dream. But it will also have its challenges, disappointments, heartaches, and triumphs. We are excited to see what doors God opens here for us as a couple and for the ministry. We are already won over. We already feel at home. We are so grateful the Lord has allowed living here to become a reality after decades of praying that Nashville would one day be our home.
Our home in Congo is awaiting us as well. On January 30, we will once again wing our way to that special place where Laban and Marcella carved out such an incredible work of God that they are legends there. How grateful we are for the decision they made 70 years ago to go to "Congo land" as Laban called it. How grateful we are for the inheritance they left us. How grateful we are that we will be greeted and welcomed by valiant men and women of God whose love for Him is an amazing inspiration and whose love for us never ceases to amaze us.
It will take about 21 hours to get there, leaving Nashville to Washington Dulles to Johannesburg where we overnight, and the next day on up to Kinshasa, the wild, impoverished, dark, dangerous capital of Congo. Our mission station of Nkara is 400 miles due east of Kinshasa, and Mission Aviation Fellowship will fly us there soon after our arrival. Roads are a joke, and what used to take 15-24 hours by land vehicle now can take up to 5 days, with bandits on the road and barriers to traverse that require "fines". Thank God for MAF.
So we are leaving our new land to go back to an old land that has become a place of worship, ministry, great friendship and commeradery, and a proving ground for God's saving grace, snatching men and women from the burning fires of hell, (when is the last time you heard a message on hell?), and experiential grace that enable us to actually live out the demands of each day in a land that not too long ago was practicing child sacrifice while steeped in and duped by demon worship. Will you please pray for us?
Moses in the wilderness said to the Lord Almighty, "If your Presence does not go with us, do not send us up from here. How will anyone know that you are pleased with me and with your people unless you go with us? What else will distinguish me and your people from all the other people on the face of the earth?" Ex:33:15 That is always our plea when we return to Congo. It is a land that is full of demon worship and witchcraft, unhidden, in your face. Warfare there is obvious. It is easily recognizable. We go in the Lord's strength and victory, or we do not go at all. We know Satan's devices there. We see his cunningness. We feel the oppression that is so thick one can cut it with a knife. Darkness has reigned supreme in many parts of Africa. On our mission station alone, babies were once offered as a sacrifice for sin, placed on hot coals, cut up into pieces and eaten to appease the gods, seeking good crops and ancestral blessing. Satan is a wily foe. We remember that we do not fight against flesh and blood but against spiritual wickedness in high places.
"For though we walk (live) in the flesh, we are not carrying on our warfare according to the flesh and using mere human weapons. For the weapons of our warfare are not physical weapons of flesh and blood. but they are mighty before God for the overthrow and destruction of strongholds.
Inasmuch as we refute arguments and theories and reasonings and every proud and lofty thing that sets itself up against the true knowledge of God; and we lead every thought and purpose away captive into the obedience of Christ, the Messiah, the Anointed One."
Will you pray these verses over our going, staying, and coming back to America in April? Thank you. Your prayers will make all the difference. We actually feel them. We look to them. We count on them. Please intercede for us and the wonderful people of Congo land.
Long, long ago, Abraham, our patriarch journeyed to a far off country. Hebrews 11 (the Hall of Fame Faith chapter) commends him with these words, "Urged on by faith, Abraham, when he was called. obeyed and went forth to a place which he was destined to receive as an inheritance; and he went, although he did not know or trouble his mind about where he was to go. Prompted by faith he dwelt as a temporary resident in the land which was designated in the promise of God though he was like a stranger in a strange country, living in tents with Isaac and Jacob, fellow heirs with him of the same promise. For he was waiting expectantly and confidently looking forward to the city which has fixed and firm foundations, whose Architect and Builder is God."
That far off land for me 30 years ago this past December was Congo, as in the Democratic Republic of Congo. It too became my inheritance. Congo is the birth place of my husband, Jim. Shaped and conformed by life as lived with Laban and Marcella, his parents, he is a man of great faith, abiding love, immeasurable patience, and devoted to chasing Jesus and following hard after God. Returning to Congo for Jim was a piece of cake. For me it was like drinking sour lemonade until. . . one day I woke up after crying for 2 years, and it wasn't strange anymore. God's grace allowed me to buy into it. The land, the people, their customs, and their love won me over.
Just 3 days ago we moved to Nashville, Tennessee. In so many ways, this new land for us is not strange at all. It is beautiful; we are near family members, and living here is a long-awaited dream. But it will also have its challenges, disappointments, heartaches, and triumphs. We are excited to see what doors God opens here for us as a couple and for the ministry. We are already won over. We already feel at home. We are so grateful the Lord has allowed living here to become a reality after decades of praying that Nashville would one day be our home.
Our home in Congo is awaiting us as well. On January 30, we will once again wing our way to that special place where Laban and Marcella carved out such an incredible work of God that they are legends there. How grateful we are for the decision they made 70 years ago to go to "Congo land" as Laban called it. How grateful we are for the inheritance they left us. How grateful we are that we will be greeted and welcomed by valiant men and women of God whose love for Him is an amazing inspiration and whose love for us never ceases to amaze us.
It will take about 21 hours to get there, leaving Nashville to Washington Dulles to Johannesburg where we overnight, and the next day on up to Kinshasa, the wild, impoverished, dark, dangerous capital of Congo. Our mission station of Nkara is 400 miles due east of Kinshasa, and Mission Aviation Fellowship will fly us there soon after our arrival. Roads are a joke, and what used to take 15-24 hours by land vehicle now can take up to 5 days, with bandits on the road and barriers to traverse that require "fines". Thank God for MAF.
So we are leaving our new land to go back to an old land that has become a place of worship, ministry, great friendship and commeradery, and a proving ground for God's saving grace, snatching men and women from the burning fires of hell, (when is the last time you heard a message on hell?), and experiential grace that enable us to actually live out the demands of each day in a land that not too long ago was practicing child sacrifice while steeped in and duped by demon worship. Will you please pray for us?
Moses in the wilderness said to the Lord Almighty, "If your Presence does not go with us, do not send us up from here. How will anyone know that you are pleased with me and with your people unless you go with us? What else will distinguish me and your people from all the other people on the face of the earth?" Ex:33:15 That is always our plea when we return to Congo. It is a land that is full of demon worship and witchcraft, unhidden, in your face. Warfare there is obvious. It is easily recognizable. We go in the Lord's strength and victory, or we do not go at all. We know Satan's devices there. We see his cunningness. We feel the oppression that is so thick one can cut it with a knife. Darkness has reigned supreme in many parts of Africa. On our mission station alone, babies were once offered as a sacrifice for sin, placed on hot coals, cut up into pieces and eaten to appease the gods, seeking good crops and ancestral blessing. Satan is a wily foe. We remember that we do not fight against flesh and blood but against spiritual wickedness in high places.
"For though we walk (live) in the flesh, we are not carrying on our warfare according to the flesh and using mere human weapons. For the weapons of our warfare are not physical weapons of flesh and blood. but they are mighty before God for the overthrow and destruction of strongholds.
Inasmuch as we refute arguments and theories and reasonings and every proud and lofty thing that sets itself up against the true knowledge of God; and we lead every thought and purpose away captive into the obedience of Christ, the Messiah, the Anointed One."
Will you pray these verses over our going, staying, and coming back to America in April? Thank you. Your prayers will make all the difference. We actually feel them. We look to them. We count on them. Please intercede for us and the wonderful people of Congo land.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Once again, His Faithful Hand Prevails
2008 has come and gone. Our "high places of trouble, suffering or responsibility" according to Habakkuk 3:19, Amp., this year have included walking down the corridors of death together as a family, watching the ups and downs of ministry funding due to the catapulting downward spiral of America's economy, and sorrowing the loss of Romai, a Congolese staff member electrocuted by lightning while huddling in a round, grass-roofed, 4-poled shelter, endeavoring to escape the tropical storm's fury. To Romai's right sat Kibala, and on his left, Nkwe. They escaped. Romai died. Or is it the other way around? Romai escaped to rapturous glory. He is walking with The Great I Am, the Ancient of Days, the One who formed him while he was yet in his mother's womb. Romai is more alive than ever before. Why would He ever want to come back here? Nkwe and Kibala, continue to "live" in a land filled with despair and hopelessness humanly speaking. Theirs in many ways is a living death, albeit, a temporary existence. But James sheds light on their blighted condition. He proclaims that their wealth does not consist in the clothes they wear, the stuff they display in their homes or the satisfaction of a growing savings account. Their riches are displayed in their faith (James 2:5) because they live out the reality that their earthy surroundings do not measure their worth, nor can they dictate true joy.
Ministry wise, every so often we come to a crossroads of true ownership. We face the fact boldly once again that Laban Ministries from start to finish belongs to the Lord of Lords and King of Kings. Because my husband, Jim, was born into ministry and began earning a living in ministry at the age of 19, and then myself marrying into ministry in a local church at the age of 22, the lines can get murky. That is, we or at least I tend to find difficulty in separating myself from the work. We love our "job", we love the Congolese people, and we love watching the harvest God continues to reap. We love seeing the Lord make the crooked paths straight, (winding paths made crooked by the evil one, by human error, by the Lord's testing, and by things that are not seen).
I absolutely jump up and down inside when the provision through God's people amounts to more than the outgoing expenses for this mushrooming, thriving, vibrant, exciting organism so close to our hearts made of up over 100 Congolese nationals. They are the hands of Jesus through the Radio Ministry, our little dispensary where hundreds of babies are delivered each year through the loving efforts of our own Florence Nightingale, Marvina, through the weekend preaching of our student pastors at Laban Bible Institute, through dedicated professors who teach the student pastors, and through women professors who carry beat up, defeated village women who can't even read or write their own names to a place of determination to not only read and write their names but to a higher ground of tackling the goal of becoming acquainted with the Word of God, a place of quiet confidence and gleeful achievement as they learn that the Bible is comprised of books, chapters, and verses that will change their lives. As they speak this Holy Writ into the depths of their being, they rewallpaper and renew their minds with truth that sets them free from their former prisons of ignorance and despair. Those are a few of the upsides.
On the other hand, I fight my own giants of panic, fear, and stopping dead in my tracks when the monies aren't there to meet monthly ministry expenses. This year has been one of those years. We haven't been able to return to Congo in more than 12 months because of lack of funds, and salaries have been seriously behind. In October, we faced the possibility of shutting down the Bible institutes because there was no money to feed the students. Would the ministry continue? Some ministries have had to make tough decisions this year by cutting staff and making concessions that have been excruciatingly painful. When Laban's funding got so low that we couldn't feed our 50 students, it forced us once again to re-evaluate. Each times this happens, we search our hearts. We plead with our Congolese staff to search their hearts, which they are so willing to do through all night prayer meetings and fasting, and we relinquish any mistaken "ownership" on our part to the Lord Jesus Christ. January through September were hard, hard times.
Mercifully, during the last quarter of 2008 the Lord has lavished us with evidence that tells us He wants the work to go on. It is because of His compassionate heart that we are able to share with you that through the Dream Packages and gifts from total strangers who view our website, as well as prayer partners who read our letters and share the vision of reaching the lost in Congo, that we are ending 2008 in the BLACK!!! To those of you who have taken Laban Ministries into your hearts and minds by praying, fasting, and/or giving we thank you from the depths of our souls. Satan's defeat is being acted out in front of our eyes. Christ, who always leads us in triumphal procession, is also our rear guard. In other words, HE'S GOT US COVERED! Amen and Hallelujah. Oh, the beauty of seeing his faithful hand prevail.
Father, it is an awesome privilege to call you Father, even more intimately, our Abba (Daddy). You are not obligated to us. You are the boss. You call the shots, but we sure love it when the shots you call are so in line with what we want to see happen. You can do anything you want to do. We humbly bow in obedience, awe, respect, and love, and proclaim that You continue to do all things well.
I leave these verses with you, which are swimming around in my mind with such fury and force that I can't stop thinking about them. There is an earnest desire on my part to experience their reality, and yet I find them scary because of the brevity, gravity,and implications of commitment to them it will take to realize even a portion of victory. I also remind myself that God takes us at our word. Nevertheless, here they are. With blessings and a grateful heart, Nancy Smith
Jeremiah 33:3 is a very well known verse, but I love the Amplified version:
"Call to Me and I will answer you and show you great and might things, FENCED IN AND HIDDEN, which you do not know (DO NOT DISTINGUISH AND RECOGNIZE, HAVE KNOWLEDGE OF AND UNDERSTAND)." I want to know those hidden, fenced in things that I am not distinguishing and recognizing nor do I have any knowledge of or understand.
This is the one that requires my all to even bring before God everyday:
Acts 24:16
"Therefore I always exercise and discipline myself (mortifying my body, deadening my carnal affections, bodily appetites, and worldly desires, endeavoring in all respects) to have a clear (unshaken, blameless) conscience, void of offense toward God and toward men."
This is so not me that I tremble at the thought of wanting to make this my life, but I cling to II Timothy 3:16 that states, "Every Scripture is God-breathed, (given by His inspiration and profitable for instruction, for reproof and conviction of sin, for correction of error and discipline in obedience, and for training in righteousness, (in holy living, in conformity to God's will in thought, purpose, and action). Whew!
Monday, December 15, 2008
Have you ever seen anything so beautiful as a. . . ?
The year was 1982. Our first term in DRC (Democratic Republic of Congo) was winding down with only a month to spare. We made it! Three and a half years were behind us instead of looming in front of us. Language barriers, culture shock, feeling like aliens on Mars, daunting loneliness, and fear of losing my baby in the bush of Africa had been exchanged for speaking Kituba and actually being understood (the kids had no problem whatsoever), acclimating to a new culture, settling in to ways that were not quite so foreign and finding some of them actually delightful, finding refuge in the Ancient of Days whose sustainability covered me in the loneliness, and watching Jack, our baby, grow and thrive in spite of malaria, boils, severe diarrhea, and playing with a snake on our front porch. The Great I Am had once more proven his grace is sufficient for every need for everyone, not sufficient for just some needs he chooses to shell out to only a few.
We LOVED having visitors from the States. One such visiting pastor had joined us for about 10 days earlier that year. His name was Dr. Bobby Douglas, and he was a Southern Baptist minister. Bobby didn't know us personally. He heard about our work on the radio through a mission agency, AMG International, headquartered in Chattanooga, TN. How incredible that the Spirit of God drew him to our remote mission station of Nkara located 400 miles due east of Kinshasa in the middle of no where to missionaries who were not members of the Southern Baptist denomination, 8500 miles from his residence.
We loved Bobby right away--all of us. He was genuine, concerned, God loving, fun, joyful, and soon took on a burden for our work. Nicol was 11 at the time, and she gave up her room for Bobby. He stayed with us for about 10 days. We hated to see him leave.
Todd, 8, and Jack, 3, were totally immersed in life in Congo, and they couldn't have cared less that furlough was fast approaching. A furlough is a period of designated time missionaries leave their field of work to return to the States to regroup and hopefully rest? while visiting their supporting churches and individuals, and recruiting new partners in ministry to assure sustaining funding when the time comes to return to the foreign service location for their next term of 3 to 4 years usually.
As we drew nearer to our departure date, I gazed at my little self-made make-shift calendar I made as a survival tool for eking life out in Africa, at least to begin with. Shortly after our arrival at Nkara, I counted the years in days that we would be there, framing each day in by square lines. Our term was 3 years and 5 months, so that gave us 1221 days in Africa. Each day I lasted was a major victory simply because I didn't leave. I didn't leave physically, and God's grace kept me from checking out mentally and emotionally. A huge turning point occurred after 812 days had gone by or about 2/3 of our term. The daily crying stopped; I was communicating with our staff; frequent spurts of joy surprised and delighted me. Was this obedience yielding the peaceable fruits of righteousness?
Now with only approximately 30 days left, Shawn, 14, and I had a major problem. We were home schooling, and many assignments were due. We needed to send them to Pensacola, Florida for evaluation. The major problem was we had run out of paper. No paper? No Rite Aids. No Walgreens. No Walmart. What to do?
We prayed. .. and prayed. . . and prayed. No worry. God is the Way Maker.
Receiving packages in Congo overwhelmed us with sheer delight. And one day a package came from Bobby Douglas. He wrote on the enclosed note how sorry he was that he didn't bring small toys for the children; that he didn't know we couldn't even get gum there; that he wished so he had brought candy and other goodies for our family. Out of a heart of love he packed a box of goodies that made our eyes pop out of our heads. We read the note, tore the box open, and what do you think was on top? PAPER!
Bobby never knew our desperate need for paper. We did not mention it one time. I find it amazing that out of all the things children might find appealing, of which he sent many, notebook paper may not show up on the radar, but it was at the top. The voice of God shouted through the paper. "Before you call I will answer.. . . I told you I would provide every need according to my riches in glory. . . I wouldn't let your work suffer because of a lack of something so basic as paper. . . We cried with joy.
After experiencing long-awaited sugar highs (candy never tasted so good), perusing and stroking all the wonderful gifts he sent for our pleasure which God does to us for His pleasure, and allowing the feeling of being lavished on to wash over our souls, Shawn and I settled down to tackle her school work in our master bedroom late that afternoon.
As she gingerly gathered her prized ream of notebook paper in her hands, she looked up at me and said, "Mom, have you ever seen anything as beautiful as a clean sheet of paper?"
It still brings tears to my eyes today when I choose to remember that moment forever photographed in my mind, and I can't help but think of these beautiful words in Scripture: Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but when it is fulfilled, it is a tree of life. Thank you, my Mighty King, for busying yourself with our every step. You are amazing, and I love you so.
We LOVED having visitors from the States. One such visiting pastor had joined us for about 10 days earlier that year. His name was Dr. Bobby Douglas, and he was a Southern Baptist minister. Bobby didn't know us personally. He heard about our work on the radio through a mission agency, AMG International, headquartered in Chattanooga, TN. How incredible that the Spirit of God drew him to our remote mission station of Nkara located 400 miles due east of Kinshasa in the middle of no where to missionaries who were not members of the Southern Baptist denomination, 8500 miles from his residence.
We loved Bobby right away--all of us. He was genuine, concerned, God loving, fun, joyful, and soon took on a burden for our work. Nicol was 11 at the time, and she gave up her room for Bobby. He stayed with us for about 10 days. We hated to see him leave.
Todd, 8, and Jack, 3, were totally immersed in life in Congo, and they couldn't have cared less that furlough was fast approaching. A furlough is a period of designated time missionaries leave their field of work to return to the States to regroup and hopefully rest? while visiting their supporting churches and individuals, and recruiting new partners in ministry to assure sustaining funding when the time comes to return to the foreign service location for their next term of 3 to 4 years usually.
As we drew nearer to our departure date, I gazed at my little self-made make-shift calendar I made as a survival tool for eking life out in Africa, at least to begin with. Shortly after our arrival at Nkara, I counted the years in days that we would be there, framing each day in by square lines. Our term was 3 years and 5 months, so that gave us 1221 days in Africa. Each day I lasted was a major victory simply because I didn't leave. I didn't leave physically, and God's grace kept me from checking out mentally and emotionally. A huge turning point occurred after 812 days had gone by or about 2/3 of our term. The daily crying stopped; I was communicating with our staff; frequent spurts of joy surprised and delighted me. Was this obedience yielding the peaceable fruits of righteousness?
Now with only approximately 30 days left, Shawn, 14, and I had a major problem. We were home schooling, and many assignments were due. We needed to send them to Pensacola, Florida for evaluation. The major problem was we had run out of paper. No paper? No Rite Aids. No Walgreens. No Walmart. What to do?
We prayed. .. and prayed. . . and prayed. No worry. God is the Way Maker.
Receiving packages in Congo overwhelmed us with sheer delight. And one day a package came from Bobby Douglas. He wrote on the enclosed note how sorry he was that he didn't bring small toys for the children; that he didn't know we couldn't even get gum there; that he wished so he had brought candy and other goodies for our family. Out of a heart of love he packed a box of goodies that made our eyes pop out of our heads. We read the note, tore the box open, and what do you think was on top? PAPER!
Bobby never knew our desperate need for paper. We did not mention it one time. I find it amazing that out of all the things children might find appealing, of which he sent many, notebook paper may not show up on the radar, but it was at the top. The voice of God shouted through the paper. "Before you call I will answer.. . . I told you I would provide every need according to my riches in glory. . . I wouldn't let your work suffer because of a lack of something so basic as paper. . . We cried with joy.
After experiencing long-awaited sugar highs (candy never tasted so good), perusing and stroking all the wonderful gifts he sent for our pleasure which God does to us for His pleasure, and allowing the feeling of being lavished on to wash over our souls, Shawn and I settled down to tackle her school work in our master bedroom late that afternoon.
As she gingerly gathered her prized ream of notebook paper in her hands, she looked up at me and said, "Mom, have you ever seen anything as beautiful as a clean sheet of paper?"
It still brings tears to my eyes today when I choose to remember that moment forever photographed in my mind, and I can't help but think of these beautiful words in Scripture: Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but when it is fulfilled, it is a tree of life. Thank you, my Mighty King, for busying yourself with our every step. You are amazing, and I love you so.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Feed your soul - Feed a family in Congo
Are you having fun yet? The joys of Christmas include a lot of hustle and bustle as we search for just the right gift for our families and friends. We anticipate the look on their faces as they open each treasure under the tree prepared and packaged especially for them. Far greater than any earthly treasure we could ever buy for the special people in our lives is THE GIFT of God's Son, Jesus Christ.
What an unfathomable act of humility it was for Christ to become an embryo and nestle in the womb of Mary, a woman He Himself created. What must it have been like for Jesus to limit Himself to that seclusion for nine months after leaving the glory and majesty of heaven?! He,"Who being in the very nature God, did not consider His equality with God something to be grasped, but made Himself of no reputation taking upon Himself the form of a servant". . . The Lamb of God, the Lion of Judah "had to be made like His brothers in every way in order that He might become a merciful and faithful high priest in service to God, and that He might make atonement for the sins of the people." To you, Lord, Who earnestly remembered us in our low estate and imprinted us on your heart and engraved us in your hand, for your mercy and loving kindness which endure forever, we give You great praise!
Recently, two major evangelism thrusts took place in the Congo. Poverty drives people to their knees. Abject poverty in Congo keeps these dear ones in that position and sometimes in a completely prone one. The bent knee and heart are precious in God's sight, and many, many hundreds turned to Christ during these crusades. The updates via cell phone are priceless. Pastor Mbuku, Dean of Evangelism, is amazingly focused on the implementation of rescuing souls from hell.
We love our staff in Congo from the leadership of Gary, our National Director, Kapem, Vice National Director and Dean of Academics at Laban Bible Institute, Iwungu, Mboma, Director of Radio Glory, and Assistant National Director to our masons, carpenters, mechanics, women professors, male professors, Mama Marie, Director of the Literacy Center, nurses, radio announcers, evangelists, and students to our general foremen, and general work staff. Some never finished high school; others have degrees. They love to laugh. They love their wives, husbands, and children. THEY LOVE GOD. From time to time they pray all night for you and for us. They are rich in faith, moving mountains in their prayers. Many live the fruit of the Spirit. They have nothing, yet they have everything.. They are real people! They feel deeply. They are emotionally rich, intelligent, and brilliant men and women who serve God day in and day out.
Every Christmas we try earnestly to provide a Dream Package for as many of these precious families as funds allow. This enables them to buy cloth for their wives, shoes for their husbands and perhaps a shirt and belt, a little dress or shirt and pants for their girls or boys, a Christmas dinner consisting of dried fish, rice, bread, a coke for each family member, fresh beef, fruit, and a special toy for each child. For $300 you can furnish one of our overseas families with a feast and a wonderful gift day, as well as enabling them to go to bed with a full stomach for the average 12-member family. Your Dream Package will go a long way to lift the hearts of wonderful staff members who serve the Lord in Laban Ministries. The Lord bless you as you contemplate making a huge difference in the life of a servant of Christ in Congo, Africa. To donate go to:
Click here to make a donation.
Your act of kindness will feed your soul, and someday in Glory they will thank you for reaching out 8500 miles to them, a people you most likely will never meet. Go ahead, lend to the Lord and watch him return your investment. (Proverbs 19:17) Merry Christmas!
What an unfathomable act of humility it was for Christ to become an embryo and nestle in the womb of Mary, a woman He Himself created. What must it have been like for Jesus to limit Himself to that seclusion for nine months after leaving the glory and majesty of heaven?! He,"Who being in the very nature God, did not consider His equality with God something to be grasped, but made Himself of no reputation taking upon Himself the form of a servant". . . The Lamb of God, the Lion of Judah "had to be made like His brothers in every way in order that He might become a merciful and faithful high priest in service to God, and that He might make atonement for the sins of the people." To you, Lord, Who earnestly remembered us in our low estate and imprinted us on your heart and engraved us in your hand, for your mercy and loving kindness which endure forever, we give You great praise!
Recently, two major evangelism thrusts took place in the Congo. Poverty drives people to their knees. Abject poverty in Congo keeps these dear ones in that position and sometimes in a completely prone one. The bent knee and heart are precious in God's sight, and many, many hundreds turned to Christ during these crusades. The updates via cell phone are priceless. Pastor Mbuku, Dean of Evangelism, is amazingly focused on the implementation of rescuing souls from hell.
We love our staff in Congo from the leadership of Gary, our National Director, Kapem, Vice National Director and Dean of Academics at Laban Bible Institute, Iwungu, Mboma, Director of Radio Glory, and Assistant National Director to our masons, carpenters, mechanics, women professors, male professors, Mama Marie, Director of the Literacy Center, nurses, radio announcers, evangelists, and students to our general foremen, and general work staff. Some never finished high school; others have degrees. They love to laugh. They love their wives, husbands, and children. THEY LOVE GOD. From time to time they pray all night for you and for us. They are rich in faith, moving mountains in their prayers. Many live the fruit of the Spirit. They have nothing, yet they have everything.. They are real people! They feel deeply. They are emotionally rich, intelligent, and brilliant men and women who serve God day in and day out.
Every Christmas we try earnestly to provide a Dream Package for as many of these precious families as funds allow. This enables them to buy cloth for their wives, shoes for their husbands and perhaps a shirt and belt, a little dress or shirt and pants for their girls or boys, a Christmas dinner consisting of dried fish, rice, bread, a coke for each family member, fresh beef, fruit, and a special toy for each child. For $300 you can furnish one of our overseas families with a feast and a wonderful gift day, as well as enabling them to go to bed with a full stomach for the average 12-member family. Your Dream Package will go a long way to lift the hearts of wonderful staff members who serve the Lord in Laban Ministries. The Lord bless you as you contemplate making a huge difference in the life of a servant of Christ in Congo, Africa. To donate go to:
Click here to make a donation.
Your act of kindness will feed your soul, and someday in Glory they will thank you for reaching out 8500 miles to them, a people you most likely will never meet. Go ahead, lend to the Lord and watch him return your investment. (Proverbs 19:17) Merry Christmas!
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