We're back.

Back from Congo.

It's hard to put into words our gratitude for all the Lord did  in such a short period of time.

Congo is a backward country.

Primitive.

Full of corruption.

Cursed because of its continued involvement in demonism and witchcraft, murder, and compromise.

Tribalistic.

This results in things taking much longer to get done.

Delays.

Rise of the prince of the power of the air.

Roadblocks.

Barriers.

This is a way of life in the land.  It's a land of setbacks.

But God always wins.

In spite of the delays, primitive conditions, corruption, tribalism,  roadblocks. the rise of the prince of

the power of the air, and barriers.

These obstacles are nothing to Him.

We stand amazed because:

The team from America who came to repair Radio Glory couldn't have been better..

The repaired transmitter was installed only a day after Alan arrived.  Listeners were thrtilled.

The 300' tower was completely painted in just 4 days without incident or accident.

They were all easy to please and cook for, spiritual men who love God.

They worked long and hard hours going way above and beyond their duty.

Two weeks of service from all of them, who only asked that their expenses be paid and food and

accommodations be provided.    No charge for labor.  Godsends.

Wonderful blessings.

The Lord brought another missionary friend, Dan, from Kinshasa, who worked on our Wood-Mizer

Sawmill, vehicles, and other projects.  Another wonderful blessing.

We laughed at Congo's way of life for a time.

Radio Glory's mission was accomplished in record time.

Now, there were obstacles, delays, broken down trucks, a village that told us to get out when we went

there for evangelism, problems with two staff people, and other problems.

But our hearts are full of praise and gratitude at what did get done.

Hearts are still very hungry in Congo.

We have invitation after invitation from villages asking that our team come and preach.

When things are accomplished, everyone quickly recognizes that the power is not of us but of God.

Life for the most part is very basic.

The level of gratitude is much higher than here.

One's life can count for much because the needs are so great, and there are so many open doors.

That's where we are called, so it doesn't get any better.

God dropped one on us

and This week started out as recent weeks have:

Trying to get all of our 2011 receipts ready to make our IRS return - ugh!

Doing some fun bookkeeping of last summer's trip to Congo

Sorting of clothes, food, and other goods that we will take to Congo on Feb 1

Preparing to teach Obadiah to the ladies at Ntshiangobo up the hill, many of whom have graduated from our Women's Literacy Center and after being under the leadership of the late Pastor Kilundu and now Pastor Kilasi an his wife (who is now attending LBI), are ready for some verse by verse study

Preparing to teach Haggai to the new students of Laban Bible Institute and the Women's Literacy School at Mbila.  These studies must be translated into Kituba, which is tedious for me.

Making phone calls to see who is coming to our Send Off Dinner in Michigan on Jan 24

Writing letters to inform our supporters what we'll be up to in Congo

Getting a newsletter written, printed, and sent out

Getting a special form letter of invitation to the Send Off Dinner

Translating new songs from English to Kituba with Jim and our daughter Nicol

Family time

And. . . squeezing in fun luncheons and dinners with new friends

Well, in the middle of all this deliciousness, our son-in-law, Rob, comes downstairs (we live in the lower level of their home) and says. . .

"I want to go to Congo."

What?  Amazing!

Even more amazing is that in the last week, more than half of what he will need to make the trip has come in.

We have prayed for Rob to be able to go for years!

And this week, God just dumped that one into our lap.

He is a civil engineer, which means he can look over water potential, including where we might put wells, survey waste water needs for the clinic we began to build, appraise all buildings on the mission, including the houses Dr. Smith built, as well as the ones for our pastors, Laban Bible Institute, Radio Glory, etc.

It's almost like God snuck this one up on us.  I say this with all due respect!

What a wonderful surprise.

We leave in just 17 days!  Yikes!!

Here's what I am asking you to do. . .

PRAY.  PRAY.  PRAY.

Rob still needs his visa.

We still need our new passports and transferred permanent visas which must be taken from our expired passports and transferred to our new passports--all this done in Congo.  Please pray for them to return to us soon!  Someone is going to the designated office everyday to check on their status.

Rob still needs money to make the trip.

These are 3 very important prayer concerns right this minute.  

Your prayers avail much.

PRAY, PLEASE!

Leavin' on a jet plane. . .

The time has come for us to return to Congo.  Tomorrow I give my testimony to my beloved Bible study group led by Mrs. Susie Swafford at Forest Hills Baptist Church.  I'm sharing it with you because  it also contains information about our upcoming send off dinner, departure and a very important goal to reach in Congo.

I am the product of the grace of God.  If someone would have told me that I would end up on the mission field and love it when I was a young woman, I would have told them they were dreaming.  No way!  I would never do that.

Born in an unchurched family, my parents did not even know they were in need of a Savior for years.  I was the first one to accept Christ.  I don't know of a praying grandmother, aunt, uncle, grandfather, or cousin anywhere in our family line.

At the age of 12, I used to take the Bible I was given for attending Sunday School class with my girlfriends and try to make sense of it.  Led to the Lord by a 12 year old friend the summer after I completed the 6th grade, I started attending a wonderful little Baptist church until I went to Bible College, where I met my husband.

Jim was and is a man of God, a man of the Word, and a man of faith.  We served the Lord at a local church in Dearborn for more than a decade and then went into music evangelism, flying our little plane owned by 2 others besides us all over the country.

What I didn't tell you is that I married an MK.  His parents went to Congo in 1938 when it was still a very dark continent.  After 9 years in Africa, with no furlough, Laban was asked to come minister to the Bayanzi people, who were sacrificing their live babies on hot coals.  The babies responded with terrifying shrieks, which were a necessary part of the rite in their eyes in order for their "gods" and spirits to hear and be aware of their sacrifice.  The loud cries from the person being sacrificed would be rewarded with good gardens and power in their lives.  Hence, they already knew that a blood sacrifice was required for the forgiveness of sins.

When they heard that there was a missionary somewhat nearby who was preaching that God had sacrificed His Son for the sins of mankind, it totally clicked, and they asked Dr. Smith to come and personally tell them how that could work for them.

What I hoped for was that God would overlook the fact that Jim was an MK and never require us to return to the land of his birth.  I never wanted to be a missionary, had run from it all of my life, and was paralyzed with fear at the thought of ever living in Africa.  Several years before, we had visited Jim's mom who by now had lost Laban to a fall on the mission station, and I remember standing around Laban's grave begging God to never send me there.  Of course, this was a silent prayer.  And I continued to run away from the thought of ever returning to that desolate bush location.  After all, I was a city girl, a girl who loved malls and high heels, and lunches with my friends.  And how could my children leave the grandparents they loved?

I wasn't the only one who did no want to go back.  Jim dreaded the thought because Nkara claimed his father's life.  So we decided a good substitute would be to send money to national pastors, some of whom he had grown up with.

Then everything changed.  It happened on a cold, fall night in November of 1977.  Our almost one hundred year old home burned to the ground in 20 minutes.  We lost everything.

Jim found out about the fire in a phone booth in California talking to our sister-in-law.  He said after they hung up, he fell to his knees, thanking God that he was returning to a pile of ashes of a burned out home rather than one or more funerals.

One year later, after traveling more than 50,000 miles to raise our needed support, and God granting that support, we boarded Pan Am and made our way to Rome and then on to what was known as Zaire, before that the Belgian Congo, and now called Democratic Republic of Congo.

I was expecting our youngest son, Jack.

Scared.

Pregnant.

Kicking and screaming inside.

But. . . God gave grace to obey.

I followed Jim all the way to Africa and cannot even begin to describe the gratitude I have to God for lavishing me with the needed grace to obey, though I felt anything but lavish at the time.

Today, we work with the descendants of those cannibals of yesteryear.  They have gone from topless and almost naked savages, wearing only a G string and beads to being clothes and in their right minds.  I use the word savage because we are all savages without God.  I recoil when I hear people referring to the Congolese of the past as savages.  The Bible calls us all bruit beasts apart from Christ.  So I include myself in the savage group until I was reborn.

Laban and Marcella were a part of the great Bayanzi awakening from 1947-1953.  More than 10,000 men and women came to Christ during those years.

We work with their sons, daughters, and grandsons and granddaughters.  Many speak 5 languages, some more.  They are artistic, intelligent, joyful people who cling to God so closely they feel and depend on His sustaining power everyday, sometimes hour by hour, even moment by moment.  You know, the way it should be with all of us.

The first thing we did was o start a Bible college with a 3 year training program that includes 90 hours of study in the Word of God.  The first graduation class took place in 1984 with 7 men completing their courses.  Today, more than 700 have finished Laban Bible Institute, many of whom are pastoring more than 400 churches and involved in women's ministries in the largest populated province of Congo, Bandundu.

The heartbeat of our ministry is Bible training and evangelism.  Jim has often said that if we ever put evangelism on the back burner instead of making it the heartbeat of Laban, we are done.  This year alone thousands and thousands have made professions of faith.  The goal is to get a graduate pastor from our school into those newly evangelized villages for ideal follow up.

Speaking of follow up, that's also done on our mission by Radio Glory, which boasts a 300' tower on East Hill in the middle of nowhere and broadcasts 7 days a week.  All our broadcasters are nationals, graduates of LBI, and we have no idea how many have heard the Gospel and responded through the ministry of Radio Glory.  Listeners have told us their marriages have been saved by hearing the Word of God on the air, depression has lessened in villages, fathers have dealt differently with their children, women and men have gotten right with God, and such amazing things have taken place because of this outreach since 2004.

And that's what this next trip to Congo is about.  The tower is in desperate need of painting and tweaking.  We leave for Congo on Feb 1, and 3 men will join us on Feb 22.  Two of them will actually climb the tower, check it for lightning damage or other defects, and paint it.  The other gentleman will install new equipment in the studio.

WE COVET YOUR PRAYERS.

There is no crane on our mission campus to assist the men in climbing the tower.  No flying is allowed after 5 p.m. in Congo because dusk is beginning to set in, and there are no VOR's in Congo to give direction, just huts and rivers and trees.

We also have a wonderful Women's Literacy School.  In the village of Mbila, about 45 minutes from us, women are learning to read, write, and study the Bible taught verse by verse.  They have studied Philippians, Colossians, Galatians, Ephesians, I and II Timothy, some Proverbs, some Psalms, Malachi, and Obadiah.  Over half of the women have made professions of faith.  One lady testified that the Word of God is at the front door of their house now.  This means that the Bible has primary place in the life of her home.

The reading text is the Bible.

If you can read the Bible, you can read any book.

They love it.

This year we will have several women graduate from the school at Mbila.

God is no man's debtor.  I am a rich lady with a rich life because of what God so graciously has allowed me to see Him do in a country I never would have chosen to live or work in or be a part of.

Please, please remember us in prayer.

Prayer is power.  Much prayer, much power.

"But Mama, you said . . .

Living in a third world country has its challenges, its stretching until pulled taut, its dark shadows, its exultant spiritual victories and defeats, its unanswered questions, its attacks, joys, sorrows, burdens, heartaches and heartbreaks, and experiences lived out sometimes by necessity that one would never live out in a place like the States.

Somewhat like living in America has but with some differences:

For example, bush living offers no electricity or running water unless you buy your own generator and install your own plumbing, the free flow of which is also dependent on rain fall.  After decades we do have running water because of a simple well Jim put at the foot of the hill in our front yard.  The water is pumped through a hose by an electric pump from the well to 55 gallon drums outside of our kitchen. But, when the dry season sets in and we have company, that well gets tired and low on water.  So. . . we have to get water in buckets from another source.  Though this system is a million times better than what we had before, it has its faults with debris and a pump that needs frequent maintenance.  The water is then boiled and filtered before we drink it, while in America, every home I know of has running water and electricity without interruption.  Filtering but no boiling.  But perhaps we should.

Another difference. Our country was founded on religious freedom and has sent out more missionaries than any other country in the world.  We used to be Bible based, Bible centered, and sin was recognized as sin.

Congo's history, on the other hand, is steeped in human sacrifice, superstition, holding Jesus in one hand and satan in the other, practices lying as if it were an art, trusting fetishes and demon power to get good grades, pass exams, cast curses on other people, and using lightning to kill its enemies.  And while I sound rather outspoken about their involvement in the world of evil spirits, I have observed that they are much more aware of the spirit world than we are.

There are no answers to some of their keen spirit awareness.  Some of it is very real.  On one occasion my husband was persuaded by the Holy Spirit to deal with a young demon possessed girl.   He complied. The young lady had suffered terrible bouts of demon takeover and struggle.  She was delivered.  Hallelujah.

Travel is an incredible challenge in Congo.  Imagine living in a country as large as a third size of the United States and having not one paved road, let alone expressway, that runs either the length or the breadth of the country!  Not one!  In the rainy season, the sandy paths are washed out by torrential downpours.  In the dry season, they become consuming sand pits that defy vehicles to keep moving.  Prayer before, during, and after even a short voyage is commonplace.  Every time we get in the old beat up Land Cruiser we take to Mbila to hold classes in the literacy school there, someone in the car leads us in prayer before we take off.  Another leads us in prayer when we arrive thanking God that we made it, and when we return to the mission, a final prayer is offered up of thanksgiving that we actually made it back home.  A successful round trip--what a concept!

The enemies of the Gospel of Jesus Christ are very plentiful in Congo, including witch doctors.  They wear clothes like we do, have smiley faces, and pose as fathers, mothers, prostitutes, and pimps.  They can look disheveled or handsome, charming or dirty, angry or evil.  Enemies who are "pastors" and have a side job of being school principal or vice verse can demand female students to sleep with him in exchange for passing grades.  One such "pastor" threatened to chop off heads of our legitimate pastors who taught the Word of God if they opposed his actions in any way.  He made potions and medicines to sell in order to give people power to know the unknown, pass in school, and overpower his enemies  by casting curses on them.  As principal of the school, he charged tuition and dorm fees for each student living on campus, which was supposed to include daily meals.  Instead, he pocketed the money, and the students were forced to go scrounge the forest for something to eat.

One of the great joys is working with people who are rich in faith and pray as natural as they breathe.  So when anyone wants to meet with Jim or me or both of us, before they do anything else, they say, "Let's pray."  They think nothing at all of calling an emergency prayer meeting at will, after which they will gather to pray for a need we may become aware of or sense we are in a headlock position with the enemy.  Consistent and tireless in prayer, they are like bull dogs, pleading persistently,  prevailingly, wrestling for hours, pouring truckloads of energy into asking God for deliverance, provision, miraculous healing, souls needing salvation, traveling mercies or a spiritual breakthrough to name a few.

A common heartache among missionaries is staff betrayal.  After years of working side by side--national with missionary--ugly truth surfaces:  theft, moral failure, lies.  As piercing as David's recollection of betrayal was in the Psalms, probably from Absolom, his own son, so the heart of the missionary is shattered when he or she finds out what has been going on behind his or her back involving someone in whom there was confidence and trust.

It.  Hurts.  Deeply.

Unanswered questions never to be understood here on earth.  Case in point:  After serving at two mission campuses, Dr. Laban Smith (from what we know the first oral surgeon in the history of the Congo) was invited to come preach the Good News among the Bayanzi people.  He and Marcella saw 10,000 people respond to the Gospel from 1947 to 1952, 1200 baptized at a time, eye witnessed by Jim after 2 years of instruction to be sure they understood what they were doing.  The work was flourishing.  They were happy serving Christ in Congo.  God was being implanted in the hearts of many.  A Bible school was on the docket.  Life was good.

Then, suddenly, at the height of their ministry in 1953, Laban died in a fall building the home we live in when we are in Congo.

Why?

No idea.

But two words come to mind:  trust and glory.  Life is all about the Lord receiving the most glory and trust in a God who is just and loving  We rest in these two words.

Surging, exultant victories have been an amazing thing to see in the area of evangelism.  Such power is witnessed when the Gospel is unleashed in a village where darkness has reigned supreme and spiritual hunger is voracious.  To see people imprisoned and strangled by sin's clutches and ignorance released from that hopeless, lost state is incomparable.  "The Word of God is powerful, sharper than any two edged sword, piercing to the dividing asunder of both joint and marrow and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart."  Amen and hallelujah!

Rebirth.  The lost found.  Victory over satan.  Hope for the first time ever.  God visibly lavishing His love on those bound for hell.  Mercy.  Grace  Redemption. Forever with Jesus. What can compare to this?

Hospitals are few and far between in Congo, and the lack of local clinics which rarely have a doctor on hand means total reliance on The Great Physician.  This total reliance has delivered people from high malarial fevers, sudden onset of unknown illnesses, and babies born not breathing time after time after time.  I've seen this with my own eyes. . . more than once.

Which brings me to the point of the title of this blog.  "But, Mama you said. . ."

It was a sunny day.  We gathered in a nearby village for the sake of one of our staff members, Kimpala.  Young and tender, he had been working with us for about 4 years.  His wife would eventually bear 9 children.  In those days (1983) the Congolese would bear up to 10 children in hopes that half of them would survive the wiles of malaria, typhoid, yellow fever, whooping cough, measles, chicken pox, and other tropical illnesses.

We had jut returned from furlough, which basically means an indescribably busy "break" in America, during which time missionaries aim to visit all their supporting churches, gain new financial support to keep up with the growing needs of the ministry and family, spend quality time with family members, get their children settled in a good school, hopefully live in the area of the home church where the children can find refuge with friends in a church setting, listen to the children discover that they do not fit in a society from which they have been absent for a term (our term was 3 1/2 years), and that the country they left was no longer the country to which they were returning plus fun fun times of eating food so missed, like cheeseburgers, fries, and candy galore!

Now we were back in the bush.  Shawn and Nicol were miles away attending The American School of Kinshasa.  Todd was still with us on the mission.

Jack was 4 years old.

The average Congolese had a life expectancy then of about 47 years.  So that means that dealing with death in some form or other was a common experience for our family.  Sometimes people losing loved ones would come to us for boards to build a casket with or ask for money to buy cloth to cover the casket with or sheets with which to cover the body.

Life for most Congolese is hard and short.   Period.

Since death was a reality, Jack had questions.  Though he was too young to process death and even begin to understand the concept of a soul, much less the concept of a soul being eternal, we attempted   as best we could, to explain that when a person dies, the body goes into the ground for a time, but the soul immediately goes to heaven.  He parroted what we told him.  Life continued.

Time passed.

Then Kimpala's little became ill very suddenly.  She clung to life for a matter of a few days.

They took her to our dispensary, where meds were prescribed, which she took.

Maybe too little too late.  Maybe just too late,

And now we were seeing it again, before our eyes.

Death.

The death of a baby.

Kimpala's baby.

She lay there in a tiny casket, so beautiful, with thick, black, oh so soft curly hair.

We wept.

After the service ended, we all walked to the site of her burial.

They lowered the casket into the sandy, Congo soil.

And as they were doing so, Jack looked up at me and said, "Mama, I thought you said, when people died, they went to heaven?"

"Well, Jack, you see the soul goes to heaven right away."

"Then, why are they putting her into the ground?

Back to the drawing board.  We had more ground to cover.

The testimonial of Ntawana

Another lovely lady a few years back stepped forward to talk about how her life has been changed through the Ladies Literacy Center in Congo.

"My name is Ntawana.  I am 24 years old, and I first heard about the literacy school through the broadcasts on Radio Glory.  I shared the news with my father, and he said, 'You aren't that well educated.  It would be good for you to go there next year.'

The radio ad said, 'Here at Nkara we have a school for women.  We teach women how to read, sew, and to learn the Bible.  They end up learning to read very well.'

In My village I lived in confusion.  I didn't know Jesus.  Before I went to the school, I knew very little.

The school has opened my eyes to wonderful and practical things like reading, writing, knitting, sewing, and how to have order in my house."

When asked what were the circumstances that led Ntawana to knowing Jesus, she replied, "I walked the 30 kilometers on foot in October.  School started on October 10 and the very first day I came I accepted Christ as my Savior."

Mama Marie asked me "If you died today, where would you go?"  Ntawana replied, '" would go to heaven."

Marie continued, "And when you stand before Him, what would you say to him as far as why He should let you into heaven?"

Ntawana, "Because I died."

"Then Marie presented the Gospel and I accepted Christ.

I lived near Nkara where the school was located at the time with a relative, Pastor Ezekiel, a graduate of Laban Bible Institute.  He now ministers to the soldiers and police because he is a former soldier.

Some changes that have taken place in my life are:

I can now pray.

I now know God.

I can write.

I can read.

All I could do before was to grow a garden.

Before, my friends would come and get me, and we would go dancing on the street of my village just to have something to do.  We would smoke and dance and drink into the night and then in emptiness return to our homes.

I went home for Christmas vacation my first year in school at Nkara, and my friends came again to my house to asked me to go out for the night and do whatever, but I told them no.

After some time, they told me I was different and two of my girlfriends walked all the way to the school but had to turn around and walk all the way back home because there is no dorm on the mission for them to live in.

I am blessed to be staying with my relative, but they have no one here.

It is difficult when I go home because though my parents pray, they do not know Jesus.  They practice a religion that does not read the Bible, and so the differences in our beliefs makes life hard.

Though I finished 6th grade, I never learned to read.  This is a problem in Congo.  Even some students who have finished 8th or 9th grade do not know how to read or write because:

1.  The parents give some beans because they do not have money to give for tuition, and the beans are used as a bribe to pay off the teachers, and students are passed on to the next grade, even though they cannot read.

2.  Parents don't want to keep praying for the same year if their student fails a grade, so even if the student does not understand what they are reading or can't read at all or write, the parents pay something to have them passed.

3.  Teachers may or may not be paid by the government.  Because they are not being paid they don't show up for class, which means there is no instruction that day for the children.  So then pay for the teachers becomes the full responsibility of the parents.  They refuse to have their child failed, so once again bribing becomes the ticket to going on to the next grade in school.

I am so thankful I had a second chance.  I give God great thanks for the new sight you have given me."

A Clean Sheet of What?

The excitement was mounting!  Just weeks away from our first furlough after 3 1/2 years "on the field" as they say, Jim, Shawn, Nicol, Todd, little Jackie, and myself were all ready to head back to dear friends, missed family, catching up with supporters, central air, running water, shopping malls, high heels, clothes with fashion instead of faded, worn out duds, mobility, and fine fast food!  

And we couldn't wait!!!

Home schooling for Shawn, Nicol, and Todd was coming to a close as the spring semester was about to end.  

But we had one small problem, not for Nicol or Todd, but for Shawn.  

The Congo of those days was at a low ebb.  After former President Mobutu told the ex pats to go home; that Congo (then Zaire) did not need them, well--they up and did!  And they took all of their gear and products with them.  Supplies were at an all time low.  

And one supply we could not do without was. . . 

Paper

We had run out.

She still had a very important assignment to mail to the US which was due before we were to leave the country.

So we did what had become a natural response to any need.

We prayed.

The year before, visitors had come from America to spend time with us at Nkara.  One was a pastor from Hixson Tennessee, whom we had never met until he planted his feet on the mission. Of all things, the mission board we were with at that time made an appeal to ministers over the radio to come to Congo and actually visit us.  And this pastor took Dr. Zodhiates up on it!  Totally a God orchestrated encounter, he eventually became a dear friend.  

Having had no idea of the dearth we faced, he apologized repeatedly for not bringing gifts for the family.  After a couple of weeks, we said our good byes and agreed to visit his church when we got back to the States.

So, you may well imagine our surprise and delight when we discovered that a package was waiting for us in the city of Kikwit, about 60 miles away from us and sent by this very pastor.  Most packages were intercepted long before they got to us, so we pretty well gave up on asking anyone to send anything.

But, this one made it.  Hurray!

Since there was no easy way of communicating with people in America those days, we had no idea it was on its way.

Jim hand delivered the precious cargo to our dining room table, and we all gathered around to see what treasures might be inside.

Not one time did we suggest to this dear man what he might send us.  This was a loving project he took upon himself.

And that made it all the more intriguing.  What could possibly be inside?  After all, it was a good sized box.

With only days away, Shawn, almost 14, and I had gathered in our bedroom many a night with the other children, who were now almost 12, 9, and almost 3 along with Jim to spend our evenings together.  It was the prettiest room in the house, with wedge wood blue walls Jim had so lovingly painted, sheets with a matching blue pattern in them serving as drapes over the 4 windows, and a matching bedspread--all purchased in the States by a generous cousin so we could have some pretties in dark Africa--and it became a refuge for our family. 

There were times, many times, when I felt like I was losing my mind I would go to this room and pray for sanity and the grace to stick it out.  The Lord always, always came through.

It was on this almost sacred ground that we prayed, we talked, we laughed, we cried, and we dreamed--of furlough and returning to all we had known previously.  

And it was in this room that I prayed in the quiet of the night as I lay on my bed that the rapture would take place in those early days of our arrival at Nkara so I could get out of what I considered the worst nightmare of my life--being a missionary in Congo!

We waited no longer.  Jim got a knife and slit the box open.

And right there

On the top of all the other goodies

Was of all things

A ream of the paper we had prayed for!

The paper that would enable Shawn to finish her report

The paper through which God showed His loving care

The paper which was a picture of God's faithfulness

The paper the Lord told Pastor B to buy and send

And not only to send but to put right on top so we could see God's face when we opened the box

The paper that would be appreciated more than the toys and goodies that lay beneath it; that is, by Shawn at least.

And that night as we gathered once again in that beloved haven of a bedroom, which even boasted a small piece of bright red carpet (the only carpet in the whole house which Jim had taken out of the top of our Suburban to cheer me up and put on the floor of our bedroom)

Shawn, sitting on the floor of our bedroom, glanced up at me, and said as she held her gift,

"Mom, have you ever seen anything so beautiful as a clean sheet of paper?"

I shall never forget that day.  

A day that is one of my most beautiful memories of living in Congo with our whole family among us.  It still brings tears to my eyes and joy to my soul as I think of Shawn's words.

Words of deep satisfaction and even joy over such a simple commodity as a sheet of paper?

Words she would never have uttered had she not had to do without.

Words of bounty because she knew what it was to experience lack. 

Words of thanks because she had a dead line that could not be met without paper to write on.

That deadline could only be met by God's supply.

God had supplied.  Big.  Time.

Our solace: a bottle of Coke!

She missed her sister terribly.  The pain was almost unbearable, not only for Nicol who was 10 years old, but for me, her mother watching helplessly.

We had been in Congo for less than 2 years, returning to the scene of a great awakening among the Bayanzi people which took place in the late 40's.  Life was far from great at this point in our lives.

It was now late fall of 1980.  Nicol spent a good deal of time with the Congolese children, especially after Shawn left to attend 7th grade at school at Karawa, the Swedish Covenant mission station. . . 600 miles away with no available roads, accessible only by air.

We struggled and struggled with the thought of packing her off to boarding school, but she was down to about 80 some pounds at the age of 12, suffering severe homesickness and culture shock.  Virtually everything had been pulled out from under her:  no more grandparents, no more friends she grew up with, no more familiar surroundings, including department stores, grocery stores, playgrounds, school grounds, tasty food, and snow or at least a change of seasons.

So. . . we decided to try the option of different surroundings.

Because Nicol played with African children whose parents many times had to choose between a can of sardines or soap for the family with which to bathe, she developed recurrent cases of lice.  We had no good and tried treatments for lice, we resorted to what we did have--kerosene.  Mind you, we lived 400 miles in the interior of Congo, not exactly a place filed with Walgreens or CVS pharmacies

Bout after bout of these lice plagues, delayed culture shock (Nicol adjusted extremely well in the beginning), malaria encounters, and missing Shawn put Nicol in a pit of despair and loneliness.

Things came to a head.

I found Nicol in her bedroom sobbing.

My heart broke.

I felt guilty for ever bringing her to this isolated piece of Africa.  What had we done?  What were we thinking?

She poured out her heart to me as she lay on her bed.

I listened.  We were alone.  We cried together.

She said, "Mom, when I look out my window, all I want to see is Grandpa's green Catalina (Pontiac) driving down that hill, and instead all I hear is people speaking a language that is not my own, and I'm surrounded by unfamiliar faces."  No cousins.  No relatives other than our immediate family.  No activities to look forward with other American playmates.  No ice skating.  No roller skating.  No gymnastics.  No Shawn.

What to do?

I had no way of bringing Shawn home for the weekend on such short notice,  no way of convincing my parents to come for a visit--no way, and no way of sending Nicol back to the US for a visit.

We were stuck.

"Stuck" in living out God's will for our lives.

It's one thing to know that God has called you to be a missionary.

It's another thing to live out your missionary role.

To perform the expectations others put on you to fulfill the role of a missionary.

To live out the life God has for you.

To feel like a missionary.

 It takes time.  It is a process.

We needed more time.

The will of God did not yet fit like a glove as I had been told in Bible college.

I didn't even know if I could hold out.  Some days I felt like I was going to lose my mind.

I felt like I was living on Mars totally inept for the call that was so evident on my husband's life.

I never felt called.  I know it goes against the grain and everything you might have heard about having to have a call on your life.

I went because I belonged with my husband, and I was sure of God's call on his life.

It was this simple:  If God called him, He also called me.

But as far as sensing a separate call from the Lord on my life to serve Him in Congo--no.  It wasn't there.

So, there we were.

I told Nicol to wait a moment.  I would be right back.

In our attic was a case of cokes. . . a very precious commodity.  A treaure hard to come by.

Cokes all the way from Kinshasa, hundreds of miles away, not available locally.  Saved for very special occasions.

This was a very special occasion.

Usually shared by two people, each shared bottle was sipped slowly by both.

But drastic situations call for drastic measures.

Down I came with not one coke, but two.

Nicol's eyes brightened.  We had made this case last for a long time.  She knew she was valued and loved.

She rose to the occasion.

We sat on the edge of the bed with feet dangling and even swinging as we sipped away.

Each one being solaced with her own bottle of Coke.

Life was good again.

Imagine with me. . . Christmas in Congo

Picture yourself as an average Congolese national waking up at our mission station of Nkara to Christmas morning.  this is what you would look around to:

Your bedroom consists of one small wooden bed frame covered with a grass-filled "mattress" gathered by you on a dry, sunny day.  No dresser or chest of drawers enhances your bedroom, just a small trunk with yours and your siblings' clothes locked inside; no comforters or soft sheets to cover up with, just maybe clothes or old rags.  If you have visited the little mission boutique lately, you may have been able to purchase a small lacy curtain to cover your screen-torn window.

The living room consists of a couple of unupholstered wooden chairs surrounding a small coffee table, and off to the side of the room is a somewhat larger table and 2 more chairs used for guests who drop by to visit and chat.  The The coffee table may boast a doily crocheted by the woman of the house after attending the Women's Literacy School where she has learned to sew, write her name, and read the Bible for the very first time.  Some of the walls may be lined with Penney's catalogue pages with which children have been rewarded for memorizing Scripture in Sunday School.  No Christmas tree will light up the room, and no decorations will give a festive mood.

There is no inside plumbing, no closets, no picture windows.  The home will either be made of cement block, approximately 600 square feet with a tin roof, or it will be a mud/stick dwelling with a thatched grass roof, about 400 square feet.  As many as 4 children will sleep in one bed.  The average-sized family has 8 to 10 children because so many die in childbirth or from malaria, typhoid, measles, pneumonia, or who knows what.  So your home may have 3 bedrooms with 4 or 5 kids in two of the bedrooms and a third "master bedroom" for the parents.

Your feet will not feel the comfort of rugs.  There will be no pretty dishes, no wallpaper, no paint on the walls, few towels, no TV, and no kitchen cupboards.  An outside kitchen, which is really more like a smokehouse, sits close by.  That way, if the kitchen catches on fire, at least the whole house doesn't burn down. Meals are cooked over an open fire, no ovens unless you have had one made out of mud brick.  In either case, the aroma of Christmas cookies will not entice your senses.

Stark is the atmosphere, drab the surroundings, but you can make a big difference in the lives of these hard-working men and women of Laban and their precious families.  Each year, we offer the gift of a Dream Package, which includes a new piece of cloth for the mother, a new pair of shoes for the father, a dress or shirt and pants for each girl or boy, cokes for the family, and a feast consisting of dried fish, fresh beef, bread, rice, beans, saka saka (or close to our spinach) and a toy for the children.  Congolese parents are just like us.  They want to offer their children the benefits of a special day like Christmas, which include presents.  Your kindness will brighten up the dullness and flood their lives with holiday cheer and the love of Christ.

Proverbs 19:17 says that whoever gives to the poor actually lends to the Lord, and the Lord will repay that person.  After all, the Lord is no man's debtor.  Just earmark your check "Dream Package", and send it to P O Box 251, Taylor MI 48180.

Blessings and gratitude from us and from the staff of Laban Ministries International in Congo, Africa!

Total Awe

Christmas, 2012

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?

"Who being in very nature Jesus 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, for your mercy and loving kindness which endure forever," we give you great praise!

When I Fall. . .

In church this past Sunday, the pastor chose as his text Micah 7.

For the past several years I have become very interested in the minor prophets, minor because of their size, not their content. There are 14 of them in the Old Testament, and they are worth the read.

They mirror life in these tumultuous times.  They are contemporary though written hundreds of years ago.  They narrate human nature, which is the same, basically, world wide.

The men who wrote them were specially chosen of God to teach, warn, admonish, and even cry and beg for their people to return to God.   These brave souls often faced humiliation, rejection, suffering, and the risk of looking like fools.

Such is the case with Micah, which means, "Who is like the Lord?"  Micah lived during the days of kingships of Jotham, Ahaz, and Hezekiah.  Assyria invaded Samaria in 722-721 B. C., and Judah faced repeated threatenings from more than one Assyrian king.

Micah was a contemporary of the great major prophet, Isaiah; you know, the guy who got sawed in two by wicked, evil King Manasseh of Judah, the southern kingdom vs. Israel, the northern kingdom.  This mad man Manasseh left his stench and curse on Judah for years and years to come.  Manasseh's father, Hezekiah mentioned above had not yet begun to reign.

Micah faithfully warns anyone who will listen that the nation will be destroyed because of the wicked hearts of its leaders, including civic leaders, prophets, and priests, who were all guilty of not fearing God any more. This general malaise toward recognizing and dealing with sin in their lives had a trickle down affect on the general population, who followed suit.  Sluggishness and apathy towards the holiness of God reigned, therefore, in the population as well as in the leadership.  There was no fear of God, whatsoever.

One thread throughout all the prophets, both major and minor, was the shortcoming of the prophets and priests in withholding the truth of the consequences that would fall on them and the people as well if they did not turn from their sins and repent.  They failed to proclaim the doom to befall them and instead promised false hope and repeated declaration of peace.

The prophets and priests often proclaimed that these leaders preached "peace, peace, when there is no peace."

Another thread throughout these books of the Old Testament is that since God busies Himself with our every step, He sees and rewards the remnant who refuses to go along with the crowd.  To that remnant who remain faithful to Him, He promises His blessing.  To that remnant who follow Him, a better day is coming perhaps in their lifetime, but for sure in their death, as they will dwell with the Lord forever and He will reward them openly for their lives surrendered to Him instead of living for the pursuit of materialism, fame, compromise, or their own will.

As I sat in the church pew on Sunday, I listened intently as the pastor sited verses 7-9 out of Chapter 7.  And in this final portion of Micah is a great guideline for us when we fall.  It's a simple, uncomplicated (not necessarily easy or quickly embraced because of our weak flesh) prescription for rebound from sin, recovery from life's jabs, and hope in a mighty God who delivers us from ourselves.

The order of the points is not in order if that makes sense.  We will see a back and forth movement from verse to verse, but there is a very practical order.  Many times the Bible is like that.  It is not necessarily in chronological order.  That's why often one must dig into the text, think, pray, return to it, read it again, and wait for the Lord to shed light.

So we are looking at 3 powerful verses in Chapter 7.  Verses 7, 8, and 9.

Let's start in verse 8.

1.  "When I fall. . . "

Relief floods my soul at this statement.  Often put on pedestals, leaders are expected to live lives devoid of falling, devoid of slipping, devoid of sinning.  Expect it.

Micah is not positioning himself to be anything different from what he is. . . a sinner.  He is going to fall.

The fall may come as a result of sin but it doesn't have to.  The fall may be the result of a great blow:

death
divorce
loss of a job
family turmoil
or sin

BUT IT WILL COME.  WE ALL FALL for one reason or another.

What do we do when that happens?  Go to verse 7.

2.  "But as for me, I will look to the Lord."  Ahhh, there's my answer.  Relief again.  I will look to the Lord," who is

my refuge
my hiding place
my strong tower which I can run into and be safe
my paraclete (one who walks alongside of me)
my advocate (lawyer)
my intercessor (Jesus stands continually before the Lord pleading our cause)

to name a few

3.  "I will wait with hope and expectancy for the God of my salvation; my God will hear me."

Confessing to God what He already knows is essential.  It's obviously for us, not for Him.  Are we not humbled at naming our evil, our shortcomings, our anger, our jealously, our lack of forgiveness?  Does not the mention of these acts reveal who we really are and how much we need Him to forgive us and clear the air once again, restoring us to Him?

4.  "I will bear the indignation of the Lord because I have sinned against Him."

I must agree with my sin.  It's my fault, nobody else's.  I must bear my consequences myself.  I can't blame anyone else.  I can't sling mud, not with God.  He knows all.

So whatever I have coming to me, I will embrace it.  I will take it.  I will bear it by the grace of God and not make someone else my scapegoat.

Neither will I blame God.  I will allow no bitterness to cling to me.  By the grace of God, I will allow it though it wash over me, to keep going.

Depending on the reason for the fall and the fall itself, this has to be a process.  It's not a flash in the pan.  It may take a while to get out of the fog of living in God's indignation.

Personally speaking, the death of a baby is one of the most unexpected blows a parent or grandparent can punched with.  Another is internal family issues that rip the heart right out of the body.

These can cause one to fall.

The looking to the Lord becomes a lifeline, a safety net, a secure hold from focusing on the horrible night of the soul in its loss or the nightmare of volatile emotional eruptions within the family instead of the One who wants to get us out of the pit.

What has caused you to fall?  Find respite in looking to the Lord again and again and again and again. He hears you though the clamor of trauma continues to resound.  Though He seems distant.  Though the storm seems to prevail.  He hears.  Keep watch.  Be patient.  God has His own timing.  His wheels grind slow but sure.

The indignation of the Lord may be hard to bear, but He, the Loving Parent that He is, always does the right thing, distributes in the exact proportion needed, and stops when He sees His purpose is fulfilled.  Carry on in His grace.  In all of your suffering, He stands beside you with abounding grace, enough to more than get you through.  Enough to keep you sane.  Enough to give you hope.

Verse 9 in the Amplified says that after He has pled my cause and executed judgment for me, "He will bring me forth to the light, and I shall behold His righteous deliverance."

Now comes the last verse (7)

5.  "I shall arise when I sit in darkness.  The Lord shall be a light to me."

Here is grace in action.  Grace enables us to endure the darkness. It keeps us from losing our minds. Through grace we can arise from the darkness. . . eventually.  It lubricates our nerves enough to get up again and get going.  Grace is a balm.  It is the salve of the Holy Spirit that soothes the raw wounds that may have caused us to fall in the first place.  It accommodates us and makes a way for us to wade through whatever fog, grief,  or turmoil we might be stuck in one step at a time.

I love the verse in Revelation that says in the future there will be no sun or moon because we won't need them.  Jesus Himself will be our light.

Until then, Jesus will break through that dark night of the soul and shed light, His light.  That light consists of peace with ourselves, joy, hope, and the reality gripping our soul that though nothing has changed--that is, that baby we so miss will never come back here, the divorce has not been reversed, joblessness is still just that, the family is still broken and wounded, or scars from the sin are still felt--the Presence of Christ is so real that life is going to be livable.  We can breathe again.  We can function again.  We can laugh again.

The final part of verse 7 concludes, "I shall behold His righteous deliverance."

Deliverance.

What relief.  Pure joy.

Deliverance.

Praise you Jesus for deliverance.  We love you so.

January 24, 2013: SAVE THE DATE

""How can they hear without someone preaching to them?"

This verse is near and dear to many missionaries, whose mission is to proclaim Jesus Christ to the world.  Though we as believers are all commanded to preach the Gospel, not everyone is commissioned by a church or an organization to go specifically to another part of the country other than their homeland to try to make Jesus famous.

Contrary to some well meaning individuals who have told me that they could never be a missionary and "beg" for money, I tell you, my husband and I have never considered fulfilling Christ's commission an act of "begging."

In fact, as outlined in Romans 10, God reveals His plan for the unevangelized, unreached souls to be evangelized and reached:

"How can they call on the one they have not believed in?

How can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard?

How can they hear without someone preaching to them?

And how can they preach unless they are sent?"

People are lost all over the world.  They don't know Jesus died for them.

They don't know they must believe in Him because they have never heard the Gospel.  Someone has to tell them it's by faith and not "the way that seems right to them."

Someone has to preach the Good News because God has ordained preaching as the means of getting the message across.

Finally, in order to tell people about Christ, the messenger must be sent.

My husband Jim and I have had the privilege of living among people in Congo for almost 34 years now.  His parents went to Africa in 1938.  Thus, we have deep roots there, 74 years' of roots.

Because we are also responsible for raising funds here in America, we live here part time and in Congo part time.

And every time we return to Africa this verse rings in our ears; in particular, the question, "How can they preach unless they are sent?"

In 1987, we began hosting a dinner each year to update our donors in a more in depth fashion about what we do there and where their money goes.

This annual benefit dinner has become a way of sending us off.

Our 27th annual send off dinner is just around the corner.

On Thursday, January 24, we will gather at Crystal Gardens on Fort Street in Southgate, MI to once again heighten awareness of the amazing feats the Lord is accomplishing in Congo, Africa.

A lovely family style meal including pork tenderloin, ham in pineapple sauce, and vegetable lasagna, mashed potatoes, green beans, salad, rolls, pasta, and ice cream will be served,

Our son, Jack Smith, will render his passionate voice in several musical selections.

Our daughter, Shawn Lantz, will be the featured speaker.  In addition to her first book, Congo Vignettes, she has written two Bible studies, including Living with Unmet Desires:  Exposing the Many Faces of Jealousy and Encountering the Healing Power of Forgiveness.

A brand new DVD is being prepared which will show snipits of the Women's Literacy School, evangelism, and Radio Glory from our summer, 2012 trip.

The dinner is underwritten by generous sponsors.

Your only obligation is to call and save your seat for the evening, 313 292 5445.

Help us fill a table of 10.

Come celebrate Jesus with us!

The Rescue of Mama Ibo

"I stuttered in those days.

Didn't start talking until I was four.

I stumbled through life.

It was hard, monotonous, routine, predictable.

Walked in a fog of ignorance and despair.

Day after day after day, same old, same old.

Eventually I married .  Lost my first baby at 5 months.

Second baby died at 3 months.

Our third baby died as well.

Then my husband died in 2003.  He died one day while standing up.  Collapsed.  The end.

I was an angry woman.

Praying was such a bore.  I always fell asleep.

I decided to enter the Women's Lit Center at Nkara.  Life changed.

The way I saw my professors pray in school gave me great happiness.  They cared about me.

Before, when I ate, I never gave thanks to God, but now before I take a bite I pray.

My life came back to me.  I am more than alive.  I am transformed.

Now I must worship God.  I don't fall asleep anymore.

After attending the school for 3 years, I find myself reaching out to God.  I pray.  I read God's Word.

I completed my classes at the literacy center.  It took me three years.

One day while attending classes, a young man broke into my home.  He stole everything.

Even my prized solar radio that I listened to Radio glory with.  It was no more.

My connection with the outside world.  My escape from isolation in the bush.  Christian music. 

The daily Word of God--now silenced.  The radio was my gift from LMI when I graduated.

All that I learned at school, I have and keep on sharing with my relatives and friends in my village.

After my husband died, my house fell to the ground because there was no one to take care of it.

So now I am in the process of building another one.  I will use money from my crops to do this.

I, myself, get the grass for my roof from the forest.  I pay for the sticks.  A young man is covering the sticks with mud.

The village of Nkara laughed at me when I started school.

Whether I have a lot of problems or a good day, I am a happy woman!"

Note:  Mama Ibo is a tremendous blessing to the Women's Literacy School.  She graduated in 2008.  She is now on staff at our school and instructs women in knitting and needlepoint.  A woman of beautiful countenance.  I love her and thank God for her.  

Her name is Kinkufi

She finished in 2008.

The fact that Kinkufi completed three years in our literacy school in Africa is of itself an incredible feat.

In Congo, women are the work horse.  Often chosen by their future husband according to the size of their calves, they sign contracts agreeing to bear x number of children (7-9).

There is no dating in our neck of the woods, which is known as the bush of Congo.  So when a man spots a favorable prospective "wife," he approaches her father, who dictates the requirements of her dowry.

Some more stringent dowries include a $20 piece of cloth for the mother, out of which she can make a 3 piece skirt, top, and wrap around her waist which doubles as a shawl for the cold and a bunting wrap around in which to carry her baby.  The mother also may ask for a pretty scarf for her head, which she will magically wind, tie, and fold to ornament her head, earrings and a necklace.  The father often asks for new shoes, a new suit, a cow for the family or a couple of goats, and a case of coke or beer plus money.  Of course, it could take years to pay this off, and if anything were to happen to his wife in the meantime, the debt continues to hang over his head.

Lesser dowries may require cloth for the mother of the bride, a shirt and shoes for the father, a case of coke or beer, and some money.

For his bride, the prospective husband may be asked to buy pots and pans, dishes, new cloth, and jewelry.

Barbaric?  Primitive?  Slavery?  Yes, yes, and yes.

Choosing a woman like you choose a horse, ox, or other work animal is barbaric.  Making her sign a contract to produce 7-9 children to accord her worth is primitive.  Dumping her with the responsibility of planting and harvesting a huge garden and walking to the nearest water source, which could be a mile away, and lugging the family's water home for bathing, cooking, and washing is slavery.

And that is precisely why the greatest eye-opener, life-giving gift we can give to both men and women is the gift of reading, studying, and being taught the eternal, priceless, life-transforming Word of God.

Listen to Kinkufi's own words:

"My life is so different now. I used to be very angry.  If someone came to me before, even if it was a small problem to present to me, I would lash out at them.

I used to belong to a group of women who delighted in bragging about themselves, lying, and especially gossiping about someone who was not in their presence.

Today I refuse to be a part of that group anymore.  My husband is in mechanics' school.  I was led to Christ by Marie, (director of our Women's Literacy School), who was also her neighbor.  As she watched her chaotic life, Marie told her, 'You need to learn the Word of God and get it inside of you. You will notice that changes will take place.  The way you are living now is not helping you.'

So I began attending classes, and I learned beautiful things.  I was taught the Word of God and also learned how to share the Word in a group of ladies.  I am giving God glory because of the peace and joy that I now have in my heart.  I learned so much at the ladies' school.

I did know how to read before I came to school and am a little better educated than most but did not know Jesus when I started.

I now listen to what my husband has to say.  I didn't know how to manage money, but the professors in the school taught me how to do that plus how to put order in my home.  I now know how to wash dishes, make beds, sweep floors, and organize my clothes before washing them.

And now I can make my own clothes and do needlework to make my house pretty!  Though I know how to make clothes, I am asking you for permission to attend another year of sewing classes so that I can learn more, as I have trouble cutting the material out in a pattern.

Therefore, I am thanking God and you for the idea of opening a school for women, and I pray you will keep remembering us in this way in Congo, so we can get ahead in our culture."

Okay, so God is using the school to deliver women out of the darkness of ignorance.  It is changing their way of thinking.  Scripture is offering them the choice between heaven and hell.  It is giving them  hope, courage, and the thrill of knowing Christ Himself.

What about the men?

It's a slow process.  BUT, some men who have been taught the Word of God; in fact, some of these men work with us in Laban Ministries, now go to the gardens with their wives.  They help them carry the water or get water themselves instead of sending their wives.  They actually hug their wives in public and value them as never before.  They want to please them by buying something pretty for them when they go into Kkwit or Bulungu or Kinshasa.  They are reading the Bible together and praying together.  Their homes are less stressful.  They are actually beginning to enjoy each other's presence.

Did this come about by education alone?  Not at all!  And it sure didn't happen overnight.

However, it is HAPPENING, and we are all eternally grateful.

So join me in this Thanksgiving month to give praise and adoration to Jesus Christ, who is the lifter up of our heads, gives and always has given dignity to women, and cherishes us like no other, sings over us with song and shouts of deliverance, and has all of our tears recorded and kept in bottles, who listens so attentively our prayers go right into His ears, and who intercedes for us 24/7 before the Throne of God.

Thank you Jesus for loving us like no other ever could.

For lifting us from the pit and placing us on the Rock.

For valuing us and making life worth while, whether it's in the remote, impoverished, isolated bush of Africa or abundantly blessed, self-absorbed, entitlement mindset America.

Your Word and our souls are the only things we can take to heaven.  May we treasure your thoughts, genius, mind, plans, and redemption as spelled out in the Bible as much as the desolate, poverty-stricken but rich in faith women in Congo.

We love you God.  You are incomparable.  Thank you for loving our souls and bodies so much you did not even withhold Your only begotten Son to make us fit to dwell with you forever.

We treasure and adore You.  Everything we are or ever hope to be we owe to You, Ancient of Days!

In the beginning. . . of Laban Ministries International

Failed to post this on October 20.

That was a very, very special day.

On October 20, 1938, Dr. Laban and his wife of just a few years, Marcella Knopp Smith, left from the New York harbor on the ship named Jean Jadot for the dark continent of Africa. He was an oral surgeon. She was a woman sold out to God from Shamokin, PA. They left not having a clue for the ride awaiting them!!

The trip

 took six weeks, traveling all the way to Antwerp and Brussels, Belgium to get authorization to serve in the Belgian Congo. Reboarding the Jean Jadot once again, they continued on to Africa.

Landing in the city of Matadi, they took the train up to the capital city of Leopoldville (now Kinshasa), then on to Kikwit to await arrival of their gear shipped on another boat. However, their truck and some equipment came with them. They gathered food and some other supplies and headed for Shambungu, down near the Angolan border and Kahemba, where the regional government center was located. It was now early 1939.

How incredible that they would leave a very successful dental practice in two locations, a gorgeous home in Grosse Pointe, MI, and 10,000 patients for the grasslands of Congo!

Shambungu, infested with mosquitos, already boasted the grave of a young husband, whose pregnant wife found herself back on a ship to America within just months of her arrival, not having even learned the language yet.

A lady by the name of Vera Rhomburger, spotted some land up out of the valley called Kajiji and felt it would be a better spot to form a mission station. So, the Millers, the Smiths, Miss Rhomburger, and the Zooks all made their way to Kajiji. The 3,000 feet above sea level Kajiji offered was much freer of mosquitos than Shambungu.

For the next 5 years, they would live at Kajiji, building a large church which seated at least 1,500, a clinic, a dental office, and the family home. A missionary told him, "Dr. Smith, this church will never be filled." It was filled from the very first day.

In December of 1939, Jim's older brother, Jack was born, and then in 1942, Jim came along. During this time the Belgian Government built roads for Dr. Smith because of his medical profession. He was valued by them! We know of no another oral surgeon in the Belgian Congo at that time.

People in and near Kajiji were receptive to the Gospel. The villages were open. Dr. Smith was not only a medical doctor, but also greatly involved in evangelism and the starting of churches. Other missionaries were also involved, but it was as if his heart were on fire to expose the saving grace of Jesus Christ. Dr. Smith's first two children, Herb and Phyllis, from his late wife, Ruby, were adjusting, especially Herb. Herb would have been 9 years old and Phyllis about 11.

Hunting antelope was a frequent venture. Otherwise, there was no meat. Besides, he loved to hunt, a great shot. He was an outdoors man, having owned a cabin on the Au Sable Rive in MI, and deer hunting with his buddies was an annual winter activity.

Marcella found Africa a strange thing. She still was not called there and had come because she was Laban's wife and surrendered to God's call on his life. She felt totally out of place, tried to fit in, but life was difficult for her in those early years. She found learning the language difficult, and she had no real desire to jump in and learn Kituba as Laban learned Kichok. However, before being able to speak Kichok, Laban almost gave up because of frustration of not being able to communicate. It almost did him in.

Her new jobs were to deal with her culture shock, set up their home, and register each basket of dirt the grade school students brought for building the mission homes until they could get access to the stone quarry. Soon, her first baby was on his way, which kept her occupied and delighted as well. Though the adjustments were hard, she stuck it out until Congo became. . . her own inheritance.

Because the Belgian officials wanted Dr. Smith closer to the territorial center of the Kwilu District of Congo, they asked him to relocate. In addition, there were disagreements among some of the other missionaries regarding how much the national workers should be paid. Dr. Smith was a relatively new Christian at the time, and he was very enthusiastic about getting the Word of God spread over a larger area. So, with all these factors in mind, they picked up and moved to a mission called Iwungu, about 200 miles to the north.

To be continued. . .

Like ·  · Share

• 2 people like this.
• 

  Cheryl Rae Backing Laurel Backing our daughters b-day also..

  November 4 at 5:35pm · Like
• 

"Whatever happened to Holy, Holy, Holy?

It was no ordinary day in chapel at Detroit Bible College. Attending classes taught by some of the most amazing men of God was my daily portion.  I was a freshman at the age of 21, having graduated from medical secretarial school, where I studied lab technique, anatomy and physiology, medical terminology, medical coding, and then worked as a medical transcriptionist for 2 years in a downtown hospital in Pontiac, MI. 

Less than a year before I had looked forward to a December wedding. However, we realized we were making a mistake, broke off the engagement, and returned all of our shower gifts.  Bible college had a sudden appeal, and so I sent an application to a nearby college and decided to live in the dorm. 

You can imagine how perplexing this news was to my parents, and the next year had its ups and downs as they tried to make sure I hadn't gone off the deep end and was not making a rash decision that would later cause regrets. 

In those days students paid their own way.  Yet to be were the days of runaway inflation and almost morgageable educational costs.  And in my case, I was able to pay for my first year's tuition and room and board.  Each day was full of wonder as the Bible was taught along with World History and music courses.  I was so in love with learning.

Though the speaker's name skips me, I remember hanging on to every word.  His text was Isaiah 6.

1  "In the ;year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up, and the skirts of His train filled the most holy part of the temple.

2  Above Him stood the seraphim; each had six wings:  with two each covered his own face, and with two each covered his feet, and with two each flew.

3  And one cried to another and said, Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of His glory."

I was awestruck with the power of these passage.  He then pointed out that God is to be the standard in our lives, not other people for comparison purposes.

As we gaze on Him, verse 5 can then take place.

5  "Then said I, Woe is me!  For I am undone and ruined, because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips, for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!"

As we make our way through these days of chaos, godlessness, no Bible in the classroom, no prayer in the schools, pornography at the push of a button, no standards on TV in programming as well as advertising, same sex marriage, and abortion abounding, I ask, whatever happened to holiness, that is, the acknowledgement of God's holiness.

All of this abandoning of the Holy One has not made Him unholy.  He is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

And the older I become, the more aware of how sin sick my heart is.  

Could there be one more awakening in America before Jesus comes back in judgment the next time?

Revival must begin with me, for judgment begins with the household of God.

In reading this passage once again yesterday, a fresh awareness of the holiness of the Godhead swept over me, and I cry out with the angel and Isaiah:

"Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of His glory!"

Be Still My Soul

The lyrics to this old hymn have been around since 1752 and still so applicable today.  Our daughter, Nicol Sponberg,  recorded it when she was in Selah.  Her haunting, ethereal voice permeates my inner being each time I hear her sing this beloved poem. The author is Katherine A. von Schlegel, about whom little is known.  What a bummer because undoubtedly she has a story to tell  like everyone else.

"Her words, joined with the haunting tune of Finlandia by Sibelius made this a classic hymn.  It comforted an entire nation [during World War II]."  Virgil J. Bachman

If you are familiar with the old hymns, you know that we don't continue to love them because they're old.  We cherish and return to them again and again because they remain true.  They are rich in theology.  They minister to the soul.  They give us an image of Christ, His character, His thoughts, His will, and His holiness.  They are a balm to our spirits and a salve to our wounds.

There are great, true stories behind them penned by real people who suffered loss of children or spouses, or heartache of financial devastation, crippling diseases, or circumstances so painful--even to the extent of being called insane--that enable their words to penetrate our hearts and minds.  If only their one-sided grief were penned, misery would abound.  We would all despair at the depth of their sorrowing,  but it is the unfeigned hope, their awe of a holy God, and their clarity and profound love of Him in response to their difficulties that comes bursting through the stanzas, which allow us to identify  with them and embrace for our very own the message God has given them to share with mankind.

Be Still My Soul has a very special place in my heart of my husband, Jim.  And here is why:

"After having flown over hundreds of miles of ocean with dawn beginning to break the African skies and waking up from an off and on sleep, I realized we were above the continent of Africa.  We had not been to this land for many years.  In my heart, I had no desire to go back.  Neither did Nancy, my wife, sitting beside me.  For me, Congo was the place that took my father's life at the age of 10.  My older brother, Jack, two and a half years my senior, longed to return.  He would have too, I believe, had he not been crushed to death by a rock fall in Arkansas at the age of 18.

God's call was strong and clear, and eventually we surrendered, packed up our family, and now we were almost there.

There was no turning back.

These were sanctified moments.

Thoughts of what awaited us flooded my mind. I knew no one would be at the airport to meet us.  We didn't know a single soul to contact ahead of time.  "We" consisted of Nancy, Shawn 10, Nicol 8, and Todd 5.  A bolt of fear swept over my soul.  What was I bringing my family to?  Nancy was expecting Jack, our fourth.  How well would she do delivering our son in the bush? How much had Congo changed in 11 years?  How would our other children adjust?  Was this really of God? The idea of actually going to Africa to live was terrifying, even weakening.

Then the Holy Spirit, the Great Comforter, swept up my thoughts and brought the truth of Be Still My Soul to my heart and mind as I sat there, contemplating what our new normal would be.

We landed.  The language came back to me well enough to communicate where we needed to go in the capital city of Kinshasa.  Two days after our arrival, a wonderful family took us into their home until we could get all of our papers together and were ready to go up country. God's grace was ours as we began living in a country so foreign to my wife and children and, yes, in some ways, even to me.

Allow me to share the depth and beauty of this timeless hymn.  Let it wash over you and draw you" to the Rock who is higher than I."

To the One who bids us come and rest awhile.

To the One who is whispers peace.

Who says, "Be still and know that I am God."

Be still, my soul! The Lord is on our side;
bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;
leave to your God to order and provide;
in every change He faithful will remain.
Be still, my soul! You best, your heavenly Friend
through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

Be still, my soul! Your God will undertake
to guide the future as he has the past;
your hope, your confidence let nothing shake;
all now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul! The waves and winds still know
his voice who ruled them while He dwelt below.

Be still, my soul!  The hour is hastening on
when we shall be forever with the Lord,
when disappointment, grief and fear are gone,
sorrow forgot, love's purest joys restored.
Be still, my soul! When change and tears are past,
all safe and blessed we shall meet at last.