See Something More

“Religion that is pure and faultless is this: to care for widows and orphans in their distress, and to keep oneself from being stained by the world.” James 1:27 Several months ago in the fall semester, I did a study on the book of James with some women from my church.   James encourages readers to hear God’s Word and obey it. He calls readers to demonstrate faith with purposeful action. Since James is a book of action, our group leader started the very first session with a discussion question: “If you could do anything in the world and be guaranteed success, what would you do?” Without thinking too much (because I was second in line), I answered, “I would start a medical clinic in a place with no health care.” Less than a month later, I met the Matheny family at the Global Missions Experience, and I found out about the work in Burkina Faso. “We are hoping to start a medical clinic and an orphanage,” they explained. What I had almost thoughtlessly thrown out as a

After we turned off the main stretch of paved road, we bumped down to third gear and began the bumpy ride down the long stretch of Africa-red dirt roads. I watched out my window, noticing the large fields of barely crooked rows, tiny green plants popping up and promising hope of a harvest, and an occasional woman bent over her work with determination. Up ahead were a few small huts, just like you would imagine from seeing pictures in National Geographic. As we got closer, we could see that the village was grouped into courtyards. Each courtyard floor was so hard-packed that you might think it was concrete at first. Surrounding each courtyard were several mud-brick houses with thatched roofs, usually one for each wife of the husband. Several miniature circular huts served as storage units for grain or other products. In the courtyard, I saw a woman throwing a large wooden club into her press again and again, crushing and grinding her millet or corn. She had a baby tied

When I arrived in Yako, it must have been at least 110 degrees because it felt like 130 to me. When the intern finished the ten-minute tour of the orphanage, sweat had saturated my shirt, was dripping into my eyes, and was running down my legs. There is no air conditioner in Yako, no place to escape the heat except the shade. It’s only 105 in the shade. “You wanna come with me to visit the pastor?” the intern asked us. We agreed and walked about five minutes in the scalding sun to the church building where we found Pastor Valentin, who was reclining in a chair by the window. He was smiling and obviously elated to see us. He is Burkinabe, but he understood and spoke English excellently. After some brief introductions, we sat down and he offered us drinks. His wife brought out a pitcher and glasses. “Would you like some hot tea or coffee?” I couldn’t believe it, but I accepted a steaming hot coffee in the middle of a steaming hot desert on a steaming hot day. Then the

She’s a modern day Ruth. She was lonely and poor, ashamed because of the tuberculosis infection of the skin that had left its ugly mark on her face. So she began to gather the leftovers and scraps from another man’s fields. In time, he took notice of her, and his heart went out to her. He bought medicine for her and compassionately cared for her. “I knew that she would one day be healed,” he said, “and I fell in love with her.” Not too long after that, he married her and took her into his own home. She’s a modern day woman at the well. Despite her husband’s care and provision of medicines, the tuberculosis wound on her face continued to plague and embarrass her. That’s why she went to the well to gather water in the heat of the day. Hopefully no one else would be around at that time to see her as she collected her water. But one day a missionary, Geoffrey, made a visit to the well in the middle of the day, and he saw her there all by herself. He began to talk to her, a

He pulled up a wooden chair for each of us, an then lastly one for himself along with a tiny teapot with black stains from sitting many times on the hot coals. I watched him, a weathered man of 54 years, as he poured the steaming tea from the pot to a glass, then back into the pot, then back into the glass. He tasted it, smacked his lips, and then continued to pour back and forth as if to say, “It’s not quite ready yet". He would hold the pot way up in the air as he poured, making a long, steady stream that amazingly made it into the glass below without spilling a drop. When it reached perfection, he filled a small glass cup for each of us and passed them around, waiting for our reaction. He smiled when my eyes lit up at the taste of hot African tea with a flavor of mint.  The greatest form of hospitality here in Burkina Faso is to invite someone for tea. If the guest is an acquaintance, only one cup will be served, but for the closest of friends and most honored guests, th