See Something More

"I need a good adventure story." I said to myself. "A story about a journey of faith."  I don't know if you ever do this, but sometimes this is how I think when I want to study something in the Bible. I look at my own life and the place where I am, and I try to find a Bible story, passage, or book that related to what I am going through. As I prepared to venture to Burkina Faso a couple of weeks ago, I needed a good story about journeys and adventures. The Lord brought to my mind the story of the Israelites as they journeyed out of Egypt and into the promised land. So I read Exodus cover to cover in preparation for my trip.  As I read, I found myself there in the middle of the story of the Israelites. I felt their fear when they left everything familiar to them because I too would be leaving my "Egypt". I felt their discouragement when the enemy followed them across the Red Sea because I know what it is like to be attacked by my enemy, the devil, when

I watched the roofs of the houses get smaller and smaller as we climbed higher and higher into the sky. All the swimming pools looked like tiny bright blue dots in a maze of grays and browns. Soon, the ground below  looked like a patchwork quilt of greens and yellows and browns. We were on the last leg of our journey, flying from Chicago to Little Rock. I stared out the window, only because it gave my eyes something to do as my mind wandered with thought.  How do I respond to all these things? First, another amazing trip to Burkina Faso that was filled with experiences that I sometimes cannot believe I am living: delivering a baby, spending the night in a village, seeing a village receive the gift of clean water, showing the Jesus film to a people that may have never seen it before, and worshipping with brothers and sisters across the world. Then, the milestone of making a commitment to my team and to the Africans. A promise to return in the coming year.  On top of all

We stood over the hole in the ground, leaning forward to peer down to the bottom. "This is where they get their water?" We asked with wide eyes of disbelief. Their water hole was more like a pit that kept collapsing again and again, forming a deeper and deeper funnel in the ground. At the bottom of the twenty foot funnel was a puddle of milky brown water about five feet in diameter with leaves and dirt floating around in it.  We wouldn't bathe in it. They drink it.  We watched a little girl no more than eight years old maneuver her way down into the hole with a plastic bucket on her head. She weaved back and forth, careful not to slip and fall into the hole. Since there was no place to stand at the bottom, a log had been laid across the water. She gently stepped on the log, caught her balance, and then dipped her bucket into the water. She picked out the leaves and flicked out small floaters. Then she delicately climbed back out of the hole with the bucket ba

I could see it from afar because it stood out instantly - a brightly colorful gathering of people on the bland, dirty horizon of miles and miles of red dirt. Here men, women, and children had come, sitting under the shade of a small group of trees. We had not come upon them haphazardly, but rather very intentionally, and we did not come out to sight see nor to observe them, but to join in and participate with them - our brothers and sisters in Christ.  It was Sunday morning, and we were going to church.  There's no building and no pews. No stained glasses windows, steeples, decorations, or even a cross in the front and center. But that's not really what a church is anyway.  We joined in their joyful singing, clapping, and yes, even dancing. We joined in their greeting one another by shaking hand after hand after hand until I think everyone had touched everyone. We joined in their praying as one church leader introduced a topic of prayer and every one else joined in until all th

'As the sun begins to set, the people come in from the fields and gather in the center of the village. There are several trees to provide shade as well as little shelters made with thatched roofs supported by a branch at each of the four corners. Little groups of people sit here and there were enjoying each other's company as they talk and laugh, sip tea or fry dough. We join the hubbub, probably causing quite a scene because it's not every day that white people come to town.  Yobancheri, an African evangelist who is leading us, finds a place for us to set up the Jesus film    (http://www.jesusfilm.org) , which is our purpose in coming this evening. The Jesus Film Project provided us with a backpack that is neatly packed with a collapsible screen, sound system, and video player - all solar powered and perfect for this kind of work in Africa.  As the people gather and we wait for the sun to set, I break out my guitar and my dad sits down with his djembe drum. We play a few s

"Where are we going?" My dad asked as we turned off the road and headed straight into the shrubs.  "You didn't recognize this as the road?" Geoffrey responded as he pulled the vehicle off the road, around almost 180 degrees, and onto a small bike path. It was a single reddish-brown dirt path that  snaked through fields, around huts, and through creek beds. It was only the width of a bike tire in many places.  "People probably don't see a vehicle driving down this path very often!" Dad exclaimed as we ran over bushes with our tires and tried to not hit our heads on the ceiling as we bumped over rocks and down into small ravines. Needless to say, this village can definitely be described as "off the beaten path".  When we arrived, Daniel greeted us and showed us to the clinic. Daniel is a Burkinabe nurse who serves here in this remote medical facility. He diagnoses, prescribes medicine, and gives treatment to all the people in

"Let's dream away." I wrote in my journal on May 30, the very day that my dad and I arrived in Burkina Faso. If there is one theme for this trip, it comes in the form of that one word: dream.  One of the first things we did upon arrival was attend a celebratory meeting regarding the opening of a new hospital under the direction of one of the missionaries in Burkina. I listened intently as he spoke of how long and difficult the process had been, including some opposition and much waiting. It started as a dream, but God made it a reality. So from the very beginning of my trip, I knew one very important thing:  God is faithful to bring dreams to fruition.  I remember being a freshman in college and sitting at the feet of recent college graduates and new missionaries as they told their stories of how God brought them to the place where they were. I remember being joyfully envious because I myself had only a dream - to become a missionary - but absolutely no direct