The Blink of An Eye

Mary Kay writes:

We all talk about it— how time flies! The Bible refers to the fleetingness of time and life on this earth, comparing us to grass that grows one day and withers the next. Poets have said that our entire life is but the blink of an eye for God.

Our family has experienced this phenomenon in many ways this summer. Today, August 3rd, as I write this marks the 3rd anniversary of our arrival in Ghana. We look back on these three years and though it has gone quickly, realize how much we have learned and grown in this time.

Yesterday marked Charlie’s and my 23rd wedding anniversary. Where is that young, slightly naïve couple that stood at the altar and pledged to love each other “’til death us do part”? We are still here, though our hair is graying and we have a few more wrinkles and aches than then. And we are still thoroughly in love with each other!

But nowhere is the passage of time more evident than in Chip’s life. Where is that little baby that we just brought home from the hospital? Or the boy that showed such curiosity about the world around him? Charlie and I were entrusted with his care for such a short time. And now he is grown—a wonderful young man who loves the Lord.

Now he has moved back to the United States. While it was hard to say goodbye, we can’t wait to see what God has in store for this next phase of his life. He will be studying Aerospace Engineering at Virginia Tech, and he is so excited about it. But he will tell you he has been forever changed by three years in Africa. Chip, we love you and are proud of you!

As for man, his days are like grass, he flourishes like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more. But from everlasting to everlasting the LORD’S love is with those who fear him… (Psalm 103:15-17, NIV)

What's in a Name?

Mary Kay writes...

Aunt Kay was my grandmother's older sister. She became the one that most of the girl descendants of the Miller clan were named after in some form. We have Kathy, Kathleen, Kesti, Mary Kay, Jean Kay, Kathryn - and that's just in the first two generations. I have no idea how many of our children are named for her - probably up in the dozens!

At least we weren't named for her sister (my grandmother). Her name was Gertrude - a little old-fashioned for me, though Trudy is a nice name. But her middle name was Mary, so there are a few of those running around. And I am the lucky one who was named after both, hence the double name, Mary Kay.

The funny thing about all this is that Aunt Kay didn't particularly like her name, and was dumbfounded that all the girls were being named for her. I can remember hearing her groan about yet another "Kathryn" in the family (one of the great-grand kids as I recall).

Well, now I'm a Grandmother! No, neither Chip nor Ken made a mistake. In Ghanaian culture, your family is not just blood relations, but all those around your family - in your village or friends of your parents and grandparents. One of my friends here is the Headmaster of the Konkori Methodist Primary School, Mr. Samuel Kwarteng. I first visited his school last fall, and helped them by testing the water quality in their hand dug well. We found bacterial contamination, so I sent him chlorine tablets and instructions on how to disinfect the well. And I attended the school's opening day (for the new term) in early March.

But imagine my surprise when I got a call this weekend telling me that his wife just gave birth to a “bouncing baby girl”. The word “baby” is almost never heard on its own in Ghana; it seems to ALWAYS be qualified with the adjective “bouncing”. So what happens if your baby is not bouncing, but sick or something?

Anyway, he asked me to name the baby, a real honor! And he calls me grandmother. Can't I be the auntie? It doesn't sound so old! So now there is little Ama Katherine Kwarteng, or Ama Kate for short. Ama is the girl name for Saturday-born in Twi. And of course, Katherine for me (mom misspelled it on my birth certificate)and by extension for Aunt Kay. Somehow, I don't think Aunt Kay ever envisioned that!

I haven't seen her yet, but pictures are on the way. I'll post them when I get them. And I can't wait until I can get back to Kumasi to meet her in person!

Ghanaian Haircut

Charlie Writes:
This Monday, I went by my local barber to get trimmed up for the coming exams period at MUCG. Upon hearing my tale, Mary Kay suggested I blog about it some.

There are more barber shops around here than you can shake a stick at. The Ghanaians are very much more likely to work in the "informal economy" than would folks in the US. This means that they do not register as a business, and the payment of Social Security or other taxes is "informal," i.e., "not done." Typical businesses include hair salons, small corner stores (stocking bread, eggs, Milo, tomato paste, rice, oil), "Comm Centers" which may include internet cafe for browsing, text processing, faxing, and other business services.




When I arrived at my usual barber (whose container is about 0.8 km from our house) there were two barbers at work, so I spent some time on the couch waiting. One was getting the usual cut, about 1/8 inch long all around, while the other was having his head shaved smooth. That's one of the things I love about Ghana, for men my age, not having any hair is not really a problem, since everyone cuts their hair so short anyway. Above are photos of the the NDC and NPP candidates for president in the recent election (NDC won after some nervous days), and the outgoing president, as examples of what I'm talking about.

The owner swept out the area near his chair, then escorted me to it. He unwrapped a six-foot length of t-roll (toilet paper in the US) to wrap around my neck, then covered me with a white apron just like in the states. There was no discussion about the style of a haircut, either because he only knows one style, or there's not enough hair on my head to do much other than that anyway!

They use the same buzzy razors that are used in the US, with various comb attachments to control the length of hair left standing. The haircut went as usual until the part where in the US you would have been daubed with alcohol to tighten your skin. Here, the barber went out in the street with a plastic bowl, scooped some water out of a bin, then returned inside where he poured some hot water out of his teapot, mixing with some "Dettol" a disinfectant similar to what is sold under the name "Lysol" in the US. Using a hand towel, he then rubbed down my head all over and then followed up with hair spray, which here came in a lady-like pink shade. Glancing at the ingredients, I noticed three - perfume (obviously needed, so I didn't smell like a freshly washed floor or toilet leaving the shop), protein (to give you hair "body"), and sun screen.

As you can see in the photo above, I'm ready to go for another month or so.

Be Careful What You Wish For, Part 2

Mary Kay writes...

Another lesson in "be careful what you wish for" came yesterday afternoon. I had spent a little time moping this week about how shallow our relationships with Ghanaians sometimes seem. It may be cultural misunderstanding, or just that we do things differently? Anyway, as I delivered Christmas gifts to various pastors and others, I was feeling a little sorry for myself, thinking that the gift giving seemed pretty one-sided.

But, yesterday we returned from a couple of days at the beach to quite a surprise. As we carried our wet towels and sandy bags into the house, our security man told me that someone had dropped by a Christmas present for us - a truly Ghanaian Christmas present of rice, palm oil,and a guinea fowl. I walked in the house and saw the rice and oil sitting on the floor. But where was the guinea fowl? I looked in the refrigerator and the freezer, but I didn't see anything that looked like guinea fowl meat.

Then I started cleaning up from the trip, and went to throw out some trash from our snacks in the car. As I started to drop the paper into the kitchen trash can, a small movement caught the corner of my eye. I had found my guinea fowl - it was alive!

I had to smile - a live bird for Christmas. When Charlie worked at UPS, they used to give us a frozen turkey every year. Prior to the Depression, they had actually delivered a live turkey to each employee's family. We used to laugh at the image of the UPS man having to wrestle a live turkey up to our front door during the Christmas rush. Now we were living that story!

I called the rest of the family in to see our Christmas present. The boys immediately sent up howls of protest that the "poor bird" was being held captive in our trash bin. Then they asked what I would do with it. Needless to say, my response of "wring its neck and eat it" was not well received. Chip and Ken were absolutely not going to eat anything that they had seen alive, even if the fowl did not become a pet. And never mind that the chicken and beef they eat every night for dinner was once alive.

So the guinea fowl went home with Jasper, our driver. He was very appreciative, and I am sure his family feasted well today. But I was a little disappointed. I was looking forward to finding out if I really had enough pioneer stock in me to wring a bird's neck, pluck it, and cook it for our dinner. It's probably easier to just go buy a frozen chicken at Max Mart, though. What wimps we are!

Give thanks to the LORD, call on his name; make known among the nations what he has done. ... They asked, and he brought them quail and satisfied them with the bread of heaven. Psalm 105:1, 40

Be Careful What You Wish For, Part 1

Mary Kay writes...

Be careful what you wish for! Yesterday in our newsletter, and also posted on our blog, I wrote that one of the things I missed about home at Christmas time was the sound of the Salvation Army Santas ringing their bells outside stores. Not to worry!

Today, I was in one of the larger, western grocery stores in town, Max Mart in East Legon. I was picking up a few things so that the boys and I could indulge in some Christmas baking. As I strolled the aisles with my cart, picking up dates, flour, sugar, etc., all of a sudden I started to hear a familiar sound.

There was a Ghanaian man, dressed up in a Santa suit,complete with fake beard! He was roaming up and down the aisles of the store, ringing his little brass bell. No "Ho Ho Ho, Merry Christmas" or large kettle for donations, but still a little reminder of home. I was practically rolling on the floor with laughter, as I thought of how hard God was trying to make me feel at home for Christmas!

I took you from the ends of the earth,from its farthest corners I called you. I said, 'You are my servant'; I have chosen you and have not rejected you. So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Isaiah 41:9-10

I'll Be Home For Christmas...

Mary Kay writes... I wrote the following for our newsletter, but thought I would publish it here as well.

I have the Christmas music playing on my laptop as I write; I’m trying to convince myself that Christmas is just around the corner. It is difficult, when it is in the 90s outside. And while Christmas is a celebration here in Ghana, and becoming more commercialized, it has not taken on the production levels of the US.

As I listen to Christmas favorites, I realize how many of them came from the World War II era, when soldiers were separated from loved ones and dreaming of home and a White Christmas. I dream of Christmas concerts at the church, Salvation Army Santas ringing their bells, and the scent of pine in the house. Charlie longs for cold weather, and the boys are just glad school is out!

That first Christmas was really no different for Mary and Joseph. They, too, were far from home at a time that they longed to be celebrating with family. And they did not have the luxury of e-mail and digital photos to get the news to their loved ones back home! But they did still have their faith in God , that all was happening according to His plan.

That is what we are learning: That home is not the place where you are born, or where you feel most comfortable culturally. Home is where God places you for this time in your life. And while we may be far from loved ones, we are never far from The One Who Loves Us! So we are home for Christmas, here in Ghana, but we will also be home with you, if only in our hearts and prayers.

So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.
Luke 2:4-8

Death of a Material Girl

Mary Kay writes…

Well, she’s finally dead! No, not Madonna (at least not that I’ve heard). But I definitely would have fit her description of a Material Girl in years past. Not anymore!

It is getting toward that time of year again – Christmas! Many friends and family members have e-mailed us asking what we would like to receive for Christmas. We have scoured the internet, the boys’ teen magazines and more, trying to come up with answers. But we struggle to make a list. The things we would like the most seem so insignificant – a box of Cheerios or Life cereal, some broccoli or asparagus. It doesn’t take much to make us happy these days. Of course, the things we really want, like Peace on Earth or safe water for everyone, are a lot more difficult to come by.

A couple of days ago, I walked into our local Orca store – a kind of overgrown Pier One crossed with an undersized WalMart. There was one item I needed to get, which I quickly found. But then I thought I would just look around a minute to see if there was anything I needed to get for Christmas. I was quickly overwhelmed by all the “stuff”. I definitely felt like I was in Madame Blueberry’s StuffMart (a great VeggieTales video, if you haven’t seen it!). After only a couple of minutes, and without seeing most of what was on display, I couldn’t stand it any longer and had to leave, with my one simple purchase.

Charlie hit the nail on the head last night. As we were trying to answer one more Christmas wish list e-mail, he said, “You know, it is hard to know what you “want” for Christmas here, without all the advertisers to tell you what the latest gizmos are!”

I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. Philippians 4:12

Thanksgiving Day 2008

Mary Kay writes:

It is strange and disorienting to celebrate a major custom like American Thanksgiving 10,000 miles away from home. Of course, Thanksgiving is not a holiday here in Ghana, so life is going on as if today is an ordinary day. The children are off of school – for today only – but that is only because they attend the American school. We are far from the family we are used to celebrating with.

There is not the least hint of fall, or coolness in the air. It is probably 90 or so here, and definitely over 100 in the kitchen where the oven has been going all day. We will not be able to watch the Macy’s parade on TV, as we prepare the Thanksgiving feast, and we will not sit down to watch the A&M-Texas Thanksgiving Classic after the meal. Of course, this might be a good thing for us Aggie fans, as we are probably going to get thrashed! And if I am really motivated, I can listen to the game on the internet – providing the internet is working and I want to stay up until the wee hours.

But the thing I miss the most at the moment is cooking with my Mom, and my sister. We ran my Grandmother out of the kitchen a few years ago – she is now 97+ and has cooked enough Thanksgiving dinners to give her a bye for life! And now, my niece, Shannon, has joined in the tradition. I am cooking the same foods I would be were I in Atlanta, or Houston – turkey, cornbread dressing, giblet gravy and sauerkraut - but I am having to do it by myself. I cried as I chopped onions for the dressing this morning, but I couldn’t tell if it was just from the onions or from homesickness too. I think the latter. And who is here to help me decide if there is enough salt or sage in the dressing?

I called home last night to ask Mom about quantities of the dressing recipe, as I was trying to figure out how much to make for the thirty people or so that we will celebrate with today. I had just put my cornbread in the oven. I found Mom and Shannon, my 14-year-old niece, in the kitchen, with their cornbread in the oven. So it did feel a little like we were cooking together, even though we are oceans apart. I also thought about the first pilgrim women and how they must have felt the same. Homesick in the strange new land God had brought them to, missing family and friends, yet thankful for the blessings of the year. At least I have modern communications to help me connect back home!

There is one benefit to celebrating in a place where it is not a national holiday, though – if you forget anything or run out at the last minute the stores are all open! And later this afternoon, we will gather together with the rest of our Mission Society team – both Americans and Ghanaians from all over Ghana – to celebrate. There will be plenty of food – all the traditional favorites, including green bean casserole and pumpkin pie. And maybe someone will have a podcast of one of last years’ football games that we will project on the wall and watch. We are so blessed to have this new family, complete with sisters and brothers, nephews and nieces, here in Ghana and thankful to be able to gather together to celebrate.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

Give thanks to the Lord and proclaim His greatness. Let the whole world know what He has done. Psalm 105:1 (NLT)

Drum Lessons

Mary Kay writes:

I spent a pleasant hour a couple of weeks ago sitting under the nim tree at the Kumasi Cultural Centre with the drum carvers. The head on Chip’s djimbe (one of the African drums) had split, and I had taken it back to the carver Wednesday to have it repaired. Of course, when we returned today before heading back to Accra, it wasn’t quite ready yet, but we were promised the wait would be “small”. Hint: one never knows exactly how long “wait small” means here, but since I wasn’t in a huge hurry, I decided I could wait for about an hour rather than try to figure out how to get it to someone else to bring to me in Accra.

The morning was overcast, so it wasn’t too hot yet. I sat under the shade tree and watched the men work on Chip’s drum, as well as other projects. And an African drumming and dance troupe was practicing in the background. A beautiful day in Ghana.

There were drums in all stages. Some whole logs were still waiting to be rough carved. One apprentice was working on the rough shaping and carving for two large ceremonial drums. The master was carving intricate detail into a beautiful drum, and several drums were awaiting new heads. There were drums of all types: beautifully carved drums that may well end up as decoration in some tourists home in the US or Europe, funeral drums covered in black cloth, ceremonial drums covered in real! ocelot or leopard skin, and much plainer, more functional drums. But all with the same purpose – to add beauty, both decorative and musical – to our lives.

I was especially fascinated by the finishing touches being put on Chip’s drum. The head had already been replaced, and was being tightened. When the apprentice started, the drum had no tone, just a dull thud sound. But he worked his way around the drum pulling on the strings, tightening them as he went. By the third time around, the strings were so taut that he was twisting them around a stick, which he then used as a lever against the drum itself to pull them tighter. It looked like at any moment the strings would break under the tension, and we would have to start over. But then, he was finished, and the drum had the beautiful ringing high pitches, and deep low tones of a Ghanaian djimbe.

As I watched, I thought about my life. Sometimes I feel stretched to the limit. I think, if one more thing goes wrong, I will just break. I can’t handle any more. But the Master Drum Maker continues to stretch me anyway. But it is in the stretching that I am transformed. The stretching strengthens me and transforms me, so that I am better able to worship and glorify God.

How has God stretched you lately?

"Peter Bread"

Charlie writes:

The Ghanaians speak an English closer to British than American. A prominent feature for me coming from New Jersey is that the letter 'R' is rarely pronounced. Normally this is not a problem once you get used to it, but we found an interesting mis-transcription of our favorite Lebanese flatbread at the store this week. As you can see from the scan, what we would call "Pita Bread" is marketed here in Ghana as "Peter Bread!" which sounds the same to Ghanaian ears.

Raising Global Kids

Mary Kay writes…

Our children are growing up in a very different world than we parents did. The changes in travel, immigration patterns, communications, and the like have created a global environment. But how do we raise our children to succeed in this environment and to be aware of the differences around them? How do we teach them to understand and value that future co-worker who comes from halfway around the world?

Charlie and I both grew up in fairly homogeneous environments. Everyone was pretty similar to us – same language, same culture, same general values. Being different in my elementary school meant that you either had just moved into the neighborhood from somewhere else or you were one of the Jewish children (there were three in my grade). But by the time we were leaving our jobs to come on the mission field, we were working in a completely different environment. Charlie worked in one group at Lucent that had group members from the US, Nigeria, China, the Ukraine, and India. Throughout my consulting career, I worked with Indians, West and East Africans, a Jordanian, Eastern Europeans, Russians, Taiwanese, Koreans, and more, as co-workers, as subordinates, and as clients. Boy, had the world shrunk since my elementary school days!

I recently received a missions e-mail on raising global kids, which really got me thinking about this issue. What had we done, prior to moving overseas, to help prepare Chip and Ken for life in a global society? What were we doing now, and how was it different?

We always tried to raise our children’s awareness of global issues as they were growing up. Our first strategy was to send the boys to our local elementary school, Chesnut Charter School, where at the time we attended there were students from 26 different countries, speaking 13 languages in the home. We introduced them (OK, not so successfully for those of you who know how picky an eater Chip is) to foods from around the world. We had a globe and an atlas and we would look up places that we heard about on the news. Eventually, we hung a world map in our hallway and placed a dot in each place that we had friends living, so that we could see it and remember to pray for them. It was amazing how widespread our network was, even before we entered the mission world!

We also traveled, trying to show the boys other parts of the world. This started the process that landed us in Ghana – we came to visit friends who had moved here. Ostensibly we just wanted to show the boys another part of the world, a place very different from suburban Atlanta, but God had a different plan. We had no idea when we visited in 2002 that we would all fall in love with Ghana and her people, much less end up living here!

We moved our children overseas to Ghana 2 years ago when they were 15 and 12. It has been amazing to watch their transformation. We had always lived in a fairly multi-cultural environment. However, in looking back on it now, that was still an environment where all these children from all over the world were trying to become American (except on International Festival Day). The difference in being in a (no more diverse) international school is that everyone brings their own culture to the table. If I were looking at schools back in Atlanta now, I would definitely explore sending the children to an international (expatriate) school there, as a way of growing global kids.

The other thing that has really impacted us is listening to, watching, and reading non-US news media sources. With the internet and cable now, you can listen to or watch BBC, Al Jazeera, and other similar networks. It is very interesting to compare and contrast their reporting. Our local Ghana news TV station shows 30 mins each of CNN, BBC, and Al Jazeera each morning. It is eye-opening to watch the same news stories covered from three different angles. With older children such as ours, this has given us a real opportunity to discuss media bias and discernment when watching any single source. Other programs, like the BBC Africa radio call-in show “Africa Have Your Say” have been the basis for many interesting dinner table discussions on topics we would never have discussed in the US, such as the merits (?) of polygamy and the torture of female circumcision (try discussing that with teenage boys!). As with anything, we work to bring a Biblical perspective to these topics, but I daresay they would never have even surfaced in the US.

As we visited colleges this summer, one of the experiences most often promoted is the college semester abroad. These are great experiences for any of our young people, opening their eyes to new worlds! I really applaud those students who choose to go to the hard places like Africa and India, rather than just hanging out and having fun in Europe. But Chip had an interesting comment on this: “If my family lives in Africa and I am going to school in the US, are all my semesters considered semesters abroad?”

I have become all things to all men so that by all possible means I might save some. 1 Cor 9:22 (NIV)

MUCG B-School Dress Code

Charlie writes:

The dean of the Methodist University College's Business School has posted this announcement regarding their take on appropriate dress at the University. Not sure if I will be expected to wear a tie when I am teaching classes with BBA/MBA students, but I've packed one in my office desk to be safe.

Having worked at United Parcel Service headquarters, I recall having been concerned that I dress according to the style expected of lecturers here. The Principal set my mind at rest, saying that there was no formal dress code at the school last year. I understand that the "casual Fridays" rule at UPS Headquarters may be extended to the non-summer months - it seems that in the US, dress codes have fallen into disfavor. During the 1970's when I worked at Chevrolet's Central Office, we were required to show up in suit and tie, but could park our suits in a closet in our office unless visiting customers/clients.

Another interesting aspect of the document is the use of a wide variety of fonts. The Ghanaian, once he masters the use of a computer to typeset documents, tends to go overboard with the idea of clip-art and weird fonts. This particular document had only one font family (Times Roman), but included three different sizes, bold, and ALL CAPS (which from my perspective seems like I am being yelled at). Not sure that the Ghanaians feel the same way, however.

Lord and Master

Mary Kay writes:

I am currently reading through a series of excerpted devotionals from Oswald Chambers’ My Utmost for His Highest that deal specifically with missionary topics. The devotion I read today (September 22) is entitled “The Missionary’s Master”. Chambers talks about how poorly we understand the term Master. We tend to equate it with “boss” – someone to be obeyed. But the word means much, much more. As Chambers writes, “To have a master and to be mastered is not the same thing. To have a master means that there is one who knows me better than I know myself, one who is closer than a friend, one who fathoms the remotest abyss of my heart and satisfies it, one who has brought me into the secure sense that he has met and solved every perplexity and problem of my mind. …In the Bible obedience is based on the relationship of equals, that of a son with his father. Our Lord was not God's servant, He was His Son. "Though He were a Son, yet learned He obedience . . ."”

As I read this again, I am struck by how differently Ghanaians would interpret this than we Americans do. We take even the roles of father and son pretty lightly in our culture. So many want to be “friends”. The respect and absolute trust that obedience often requires is frequently missing, even in our parent/child relationships. Therefore, we see the son’s obedience to the father as optional – something the son does if he wants to.

Ghanaian sons would only at great personal peril (not physically perhaps, but relationally) disobey their father, or even their extended “fathers” – uncles, family friends, others in authority. Charlie and I were really struck by seeing a drama of the story of the prodigal son. At the end when the father tells the older brother to go join the party, the brother did! We had always just assumed that he stayed outside sulking – what many of our North American reactions would be. And at first, I thought that this better mirrored how God wants us to be in relationship with him. Not only obeying when we want to or it fits our agenda, but obeying always, without question.

But now as I write this and continue to ponder, I think that Ghanaians miss the mark too. For they often obey out of fear or cultural pressure. The father-son role is often very authoritarian and dictatorial. Again, though for different reasons, respect and absolute trust are missing.

I remember hearing someone (Max Lucado?) preach one time about being a father – and building that relationship of absolute trust. He told an anecdote of being in a situation where the child’s life was threatened by a poisonous snake just behind her feet. The father knew that if he told the child about the snake, she would freeze in fear and probably be bitten. But he also knew that if he just told her to slowly walk toward him, she would because she trusted him and would obey. After she was safe in his arms, he could tell her about the snake.

Oh that we could be the same – obedience to God not when we choose or desire it, and not out of fear, but out of total trust. Absolute trust that He knows what is best for us, even when we cannot see it.

"Ye call me Master and Lord: and ye say well; for so I am." John 13:13

Famous Last Words

Mary Kay writes:

The week of Pentecost, I was asked to preach the sermon at the Methodist University Chapel Service. My first reaction was, “I can’t do that – I’m not a preacher!” But a good missionary must be prepared to pray, preach, or die at the drop of a hat…. And I received three preaching invitations within two days, so it seemed clear that this is something God wants me to take on. Then I looked at the lectionary text for that week – talk about a “gimme”. I think any missionary anywhere could preach on the quintessential missionary Bible verse – Acts 1:8. Ironically, the text for one of the other preaching assignments was Matthew 28:19. So maybe this preaching stuff isn’t so hard after all! Here are some of my thoughts on Acts 1:8.

Imagine with me for a minute that you are one of the Disciples. Think back on the emotional roller coaster that you have been on over the last month and a half:

• 43 days ago, you watched your Teacher and Master brutally tortured and put to death on a cross. You then hid away in The Upper Room for fear that the authorities might come after you next!
• 40 days ago, you awoke to shouts from some of the women in your group that the tomb was empty. You may have even been in the group that ran to verify what the women were saying.
• Later that day, Cleopas comes running back to the Upper Room to tell you that he met Jesus on his way home to Emmaus.
• Since then, Jesus has visited your group several times – both in Jerusalem and in Galilee. When He sent you back to Galilee, you must have wondered whether that was the end, and you were being released back to your old life again. Were you one of the ones who returned to fishing?
• Your emotions have swung between the depths of despair and total elation. Jesus has been teaching again, but you have barely been able to take the lessons in, in the wonder that He has risen from the dead!
• And now He has disappeared again – taken up into the sky. You start to compare notes with the other disciples around you. What were those last words He said to us?

Last words are very important. I think about when I first started leaving our two boys at home by themselves. My last words were things like, “Don’t open the door to strangers.” Important commands that I wanted to make sure they obeyed – for their own safety and well-being. Or they were words like “I love you”, that I want them to carry with them always.

Or think about it like this – the forty days the Disciples had just been through were like Revisions Week. They had sat at the Teacher’s feet for three years, taking in His teachings, watching Him perform miracles, seeing how He interacted with a hurting world. Now, it was almost time to write the examination. So for a final few days, the Disciples are given the chance to once more sit at Jesus’ feet and prepare for the upcoming exams. When you sit with a Lecturer during Revisions Week, if they tell you to pay attention to a particular concept, you can be certain it will show up on the exam!

So what did Jesus think the Disciples needed to know for the exam? What were Jesus’ last instructions to the Disciples and by extension to us? While they differ slightly in the details, each of the four Gospel writers record the same final instructions – “Go and tell everyone about me.”

The big question for me is how do I live this out on a daily basis – whether here in Ghana, or at home in Atlanta, or traveling to some other destination?

“But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth. Acts 1:8.

Optical Fiber Deja Vu

Charlie writes:

Thursday afternoon, I walked over to the Lartebiokorshie campus of Regent University to listen to Prof. Steve Squyres of Cornell speak on the Mars Rover expedition. Turns out his elder daughter is visiting Ghana while a student at NYU, and one of the Rover drivers is a Ghanaian in the diaspora who was a classmate of a lecturer at Regent. A great talk, followed by some inspirational comments made by the provost and president of the college to the effect that with "Spirit" and "Opportunity" you can achieve anything you set your mind to. Dr. Squyres let me have a copy of his presentation which I shared with Chip and Ken that evening.

On my way over, I passed an unusual scene - dozens of Ghanaian men working with picks and shovels, digging a four-foot deep trench all along the road, preparing to bury a fiber optic line for MTN, the multinational African telco that sponsored the recently completed Africa Cup of Nations 2008 soccer tourney in Ghana.

The contrast of seeing people selling used clothing, tropical fruits, and repairing appliances adjacent to a high-tech telecom installation was jarring. You have the open gutters clogged with water sachets and rotting peels, dirt and dust. And of course, all the PVC water and drain pipes which were chopped open by the workers and then patched back up. Reminded me of the time BellSouth was trying to lay fiber in our Briers North neighborhood back in Atlanta, and they seemed to hit water and gas lines even with them supposedly being marked ahead. The idea of marking such lines in Ghana is ludicrous to even consider.

Having worked in a factory where we made such cables, I tried to see what brand they were pulling, but was not able to make it out.

After the stories in the newspapers about the Electric Company of Ghana not being able to keep copper cables in stock (they are stolen from locked storage areas and hocked for the copper inside!), I was interested to see what techniques MTN would use to keep people from stealing their fiber cables.

As you can see, they worked it from both ends: HIGH POWER LASER INSIDE-- DOES NOT CONTAIN COPPER.

Life In Ghana

Ken wrote the following haikus for a recent English assignment. We thought they gave a good picture of life in Ghana, so we asked him if we could share them with you. As I post this, the roosters in the neighborhood are going nuts! The photo is Ken in 2005.

Power Out

The night has begun.
Our microwave won’t start up.
It is power out.

Morning

The morning cock crows
As the sunlight fills the house.
Ghana’s life returns.

Rat

Coming out at night,
The rat skitters through the roof;
It eats all our food.

Me

No attention span,
I start daydreaming in class.
I get in trouble.

Akokɔhene
(Chicken King)

The royal cock crows.
His fiery crown stands up as
He struts proudly by.

copyright 2007 Ken Jackson

Daughters of the King

Mary Kay writes...

I went to a crusade in the village of Kushibu, about an hour outside of Tamale, last night. I met a wonderful mission team from Heritage Christian Academy in Dallas, TX, at the guest house where I was staying, and they invited me to join them for the evening.

It was the usual stuff of village crusades – singing, dancing, praying, and preaching the Gospel. The entire village will turn out for something like this – but then again, what else is there to do on a given Wednesday night in a village in the middle of nowhere? The children all gather around, wanting to touch us, greet us, and practice their few words of English – which in this village seemed to be limited to “my brother.” I tried to teach them “my sister” or “sistah” as a Ghanaian would pronounce it. But since my Dagbani is at least as limited as their English, it was a lost cause.

During the sermon, which was entirely in Dagbani, I found myself watching the mothers of the village, who were standing across the circle from me. My heart feels such a bond with these women. But tonight, I found myself wondering whether we were more alike or more different.

I’ve always focused on the similarities before. They marry, have children, care for their families. They cook and clean and work to help support them. They love their children and try to raise them to become productive and respected members of society. They want the best for their children. I observed all this as I watched mothers quiet children who were noisy or restless. And as the hour grew late, every so often a mother would get up, gather her sleepy preschoolers, and take them home to bed.

But then I was hit by the differences. The women my age are grandmothers, if they have survived this long, and have given birth to 6, 8, even 10 or more children. They look more like they are in their sixties or seventies, than their mid-forties. And I don’t have to watch my children run around half-clothed in rags (well, except for Chip’s fashionably torn jeans!). I won’t hear their cries as they go to bed with empty stomachs (again!) because the rains have not come and the crops are failing. I don’t have to worry that the next mosquito bite will be the one that brings my child a fatal case of malaria. I can turn on the tap, rather than worry about where I will go to find water for my family, or about whether the water I and my daughters fetch will make us sick, or about what might happen to my daughter as she goes to fetch water or search for firewood. Most of these women cannot read and write. Most will never travel further than Tamale, while I am typing this into my laptop on a plane bound for Europe.

And yet, we are all daughters of the King. God loves each of us passionately. He calls us His “beloved, beautiful and precious in [His] sight” (Isaiah 43:4). Jesus cares about each of us individually and wants to know us personally. He wants to share in our joys and our sorrows, to comfort us in our fears, to give us hope for a better tomorrow. But many of these village women may never know that they have a wonderful inheritance, theirs for the asking.

I pray that I never become complacent or self-satisfied. I want an ever-burning passion to share Jesus’ love with my sisters – in Kushibu, in Dansoman, in Dunwoody – wherever I meet them. I pray that God will use the bonds that we share to bridge the gaps, whether cultural, language, or lifestyle, that divide us.

He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; He gently leads those that have young. [Isaiah 40:11]

All Creatures Great And Small, Part 2

Mary Kay writes...

For the last six weeks or so, we have had a visitor living with us. Not someone we invited in, by any means!

Our awareness of our house guest started when we heard scurrying in the ceiling. At first, I would only hear this during the day time. Later on, our friend would wake us up in the night, racing around our bedroom ceiling. Fortunately, it is solid wood, so I didn’t think he would fall through on us! We decided that we had mice, and hoped the racing was one of the neighbor cats coming over and chasing them. This seemed to be the case, as one morning I awoke to see a small mouse crawling across our bedroom window sill. Needless to say, I woke Charlie up and left the room! But the mouse got away.

Then, he started to take greater advantage of our hospitality. One morning I walked in, and a large bite had been taken out of a banana sitting in our fruit bowl. That seemed odd, as I didn’t think mice ate bananas, but maybe they are different here. We got some poisoned grain and scattered that around the kitchen hoping to get rid of our friend. We even put some on a banana, hoping that would attract him. But our guest was smarter than that, and not fooled in the least by the grain or the banana. Would Snow White have eaten it if the witch had offered a poison banana instead of an apple?

Things soon escalated. I went into a cabinet one morning to get a new carton of milk, and found that our visitor had chewed a hole in the side of one of the milk cartons. There was milk everywhere. In addition, he had eaten one entire container of shelf-stable yogurt also in the cabinet. This was an all-out declaration of war!

The next night, we put out poisoned yogurt in the cabinet. Once again, our friend didn’t touch that – instead he went for the cartons of fruit juice! And this time, not just one. Four cartons of juice were punctured and had to be thrown away. What kind of creature is this that is eating fruit and milk, not bread and grains? Do we have a bat or something?

Last week, Chip went into the kitchen at lunch to put his uneaten pizza away. Opening a drawer to get a plastic bag, he shrieked and ran out of the kitchen. For sitting in the drawer was our house guest – a huge, 8-inch plus tail, rat! Chip says the photo bears a good resemblance to our furry friend, but is not nearly ferocious enough. The kids and I ran out of the house, and sent in the security man, our driver, our housekeeper and Charlie to try and catch it. After about thirty minutes of chasing it around the kitchen, the rat got away. We put out more poisoned yogurt and grain, hoping to finally kill it.

We haven’t seen our “friend” any more, but he is getting the last laugh. Apparently, he finally went for the poison, but chose to die behind the cabinets (or maybe under the washing machine?). Because now we can smell our late guest.

“How many are your works, O Lord! In wisdom you made them all; the earth is full of your creatures. Psalm 104:24

All Creatures Great And Small, Part 1

Mary Kay writes...

One of the great things about living in Africa is the chance to see a different part of God’s creation.

I always enjoyed watching wildlife in the U.S. As a little girl, on our summer vacations in the Hill Country of Texas, my family, my grandparents and I would pile into the back of my grandfather’s pick-up each sunset and go for a drive. The purpose was to see how many deer we could count each evening, as they came out to graze. Some nights we would see over 100 during the 30 minutes or so we were out!

Later, as a Mom, the boys and I would laugh as we watched the squirrels play outside our kitchen window, and we would put out bird seed in our feeder to attract all sorts of birds. Occasionally, a rabbit would show up in our backyard (before we got a dog!). And for one brief period of about a month, there was a beautiful red fox that we would spot in the neighborhood as we walked to the bus stop.

But here in Ghana, wildlife watching has gone to a whole new level! When we first arrived in Accra, we were surprised to see so many chickens running loose, but now we are accustomed to spotting a good variety of animals in our urban neighborhood. There are goats, cows, and sheep, often with their herders nowhere obviously nearby. On the grassy area of the roundabout by our church here, a pair of tan donkeys have shown up, and a horse joins them sometimes, calmly grazing while watching the tro-tros and taxis speed by.

Last Christmas, when we traveled to the Volta Region, we were able to visit the village of Tafi Atome. Here, the traditional religion worshipped the local mona monkeys as messengers from the gods. Christianity almost wiped out the monkey population, as taboos were lifted and monkeys were killed because they represented the old ways. Fortunately, ecologists stepped in and were able to show the villagers how the monkeys could be saved and eco-tourism could improve their economy. Human visitors arrive each morning and evening to watch the monkeys, who now sleep safely close to the village. We were even able to feed them bananas – the monkeys would come right up to us and take the fruit from our hands!

But not all the wildlife is so innocent! In June, I took a bus to Wa to watch a borehole being drilled. At one stop, I looked down from my window at a man who was calling out loudly on the sidewalk, selling something. Movement on his hat caught my eye, and I looked closer: live scorpions! Imagine my discomfort when, as the bus was preparing to depart, he stepped on! Yikes! What if these critters got loose on our very crowded bus? It turned out he was selling bush medicines – herbs and barks to treat all sorts of ailments – including scorpion stings. He gave his sales pitch in both Wali and English for the benefit of the “oboruni” (foreigners) on board. He was very entertaining, reminding me of the patent medicine sellers in movies about the American West. But I never took my eyes off those scorpions!

“All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small…the Lord God made them all.”

Dancing For Joy

Mary Kay writes...

Last weekend, I went to Lawra to watch a borehole being drilled. The water is for the Lawra Integrated Health Project, run by the Methodist Church Ghana. This program started as a nutrition and feeding center for malnourished children and pregnant/nursing mothers. As the program grew, and those in charge could see the needs around them, a general health care clinic was started, then an HIV/AIDS clinic and counseling center, and finally an orphanage. While the program has been in operation for many years, they have never had a reliable source of potable water.

When I first visited in March, the clinic staff was fetching water from the river. They did have one connection to city water, but this was a problem because they never knew when the water would be turned on and for how long. Some days, the city water flowed only 10 minutes for them, some days not at all. (One of my US water engineering magazines recently carried an pipe manufacturer’s advertisement featuring a dry faucet with the headline “What if you turned on the tap and nothing came out?” This reminded us just how crazy that would have seemed just last year, while it is very much part of our life here in Africa.)

A group of churches in Georgia, with a heart for Ghana and the orphans at Lawra, generously raised the $6700 needed to drill a borehole for the clinic. I arranged for a driller to put in the borehole, and last weekend, it was installed. The borehole is 63 meters deep and is producing 36 liters of water per minute. This will be enough to serve all the clinic’s needs for years to come. Praise God for his provision of water!

I was privileged to be present for part of the drilling and installation of the borehole, though I was not able to be there the entire time. Seeing the joy on everyone’s face as the well was going in was wonderful.

The children were so cute. The clinic staff had set up a bench where the children could watch, but be out of harm’s way. They sat there, fascinated, for two days watching their borehole being drilled. Big grins were on all their faces!

The best part was the dancing, though. The diesel engine on the drill rig had a definite rhythm to it, not unlike the native drums these children are used to hearing. So, at one point, they got up and danced! Danced for joy at the gift of water – hope for the future. And Marjorie, the clinic’s director, and I danced, too. It was a moment of grace and joy in the midst of struggles and adversity.

“Sing to the Lord a new song…Let them praise His Name with dancing and make music to Him with tambourine and harp.” Psalm 149:1,3