Yes, this has been a week to beat the band. It has been one of those Wizard of Oz type things, a person has a great adventure, but at the end just wants to click their heals together and go home and rest. (But, I will tell you this, the work we got done, and thing that where acomplsihed, made it all worth while).
We to start... Well the best place would seem to be Monday, since thats the first day of the week. Monday we got a call about a young couple that has been attending our Bible studies on a regualr basis. They are from the north and both where raised in Tranditional beleives. The are very new to Christian ideas, and their families are not happy that they have stopped worshipping their gods. When Dora (the couples sister) called me on Monday she told me that they where at the main hospital in town, and that their son was not breathing or moving. Dora told us that he had been sick on Sunday, and after receiving medical help from a local hospital, they returned home. But on MOnday morning the boy's condition had gotten worse, and so they took himto another hospital. At this hospital they told him that the case was to serious for him, and to take the boy to the main hospital in town. By the time that they reached there, the boy was not breathing or moving.
Bismark and his wife whee for concerned that their son would die. Dora told me that she was praying that the boy would recover. She said that she felt it was Satan fighting against the gospel. After saying this she went on to explai. Basically, when she rejected the family gods, the family told here that she would die young and all the family memebers that would follow her. She said, that it Benedict where to die, the fmaily would come to the parents and tell tehm taht he had died because they had turned away from teh gods. She felt that this was a battle for her brotehr-in-law and sisters souls.
Well, to make a long store short, we got the call at 11:00 pm on Monday, the hospital was closed for visitors unitl 5:00 the next morning. So we had to wait. So off we went the next morning. We where able to catch a taxi and arrive before they opened the gates. We praise the Lord that we where able to comfort the family, adn pray with them.
Basically over the next few days, we where able to visit an perpare food for the family. Overall it was a gerat way to dimistrate the love of Christ. The greatest part of all, is that the medicine and prayers worker, and Benedict has recovered. The fmaily was very excited and keep praising the Lord for his healing power. The whole family was in church on Sunday and we where able to tell all the people about how God answers prayer.
Well, that was part of Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday. Well, splash on top of that three days of all day visitation, salvation Bibles studies, and walking. We where tried, but had a great time. We where able to speak to alot of people. Not only hav ewe been able to start new Bible studies, we have start these Studies with new trainees. Currently we have three young men that are helping us in our visitation efforts. Saturday of this last week, Inusah and I where supposed to visit is Muslim sister that wants to convert to Christianity, but we ran into a little snag. His house got flooded. Yes flooded! Our rainy season has been quite heavy these last two weeks, and some of our people that attend our Bible studies live, near a large river that flows by Anloga. The river is not properly channeled, so it floods anytime it rains heavely. Well, tha tis just what it did on Friday night. Three of my Bible study boy wake up in the middle of the night with three foot of water in their rooms. Needless to say, they where pretty busy cleaning out the house, not to mention that the river was difficult to pass. So, we did not get to go visiting together, but we did have some intersting conversation as tolked that morning.
Then came the landlady... we have been cleaning our house for about three weeks now, after removing everythig and spraying for cockroaches, into all this mess, feel our landlady. She had returned with her brothers and sister from overseas, because here borther had died. Well, after seeing all the caouse, she seemed a little angry, but Friday seemed to be climax of it all. Basically for about two weeks, all the families in our apartment building have been walking on pins and needles. No children playing out side, no making any noise, just lock the doors and stay hiden when the lady is around. But, Friday the storm came. See, I am the tenet incharge of the house, i make sure everything is in proper order, and to put it basically, things where not up to standard around here. So there I was Friday morning, feeling like a person wearing rudy red slippers, and the women talking to me was angry because my house just dropped on her sister. Get the picture! But, the Lord worked it all out. I learned that the best answer at times is not answer. All the tenants went to their family home on Sunday afternnon, and it looks like everything is all better, for now!
So the week was a fun, intersting, exciting jubble of work, activity, and stress. But that leds us to Sunday. Sunday morning came and went. W ehad three adult men, and one teenager visit. We had a great service. Then after visiting our landladies family, we headed off to evening service. IT had rained and the weather was very cloud here, about 70 degrees. The serve went well, and the preaching seemed to help everyone. But, I have a funny story to relate. I have a young community college guy that helps with translation for me, while my friend Kofi travels during his summer break. Fred, the young man, does a great job, and speaks enlgish and twi well. But, Sunday we ran into a snag. Many times here people will incorporate English into their Twi vocalbulary, giving the word a new meaing, but not with proper unsdertanding of the English words meaning or usage. One such word that has begun to be used alot in Ghana is an MAerica curse word that starts with the letter f. I have be shocked at times to hear people use this word in ther Twi, but each time they seem not to understand the word in it's English context. Well, this brings us to Sunday night. I was preaching about Satan, and that he is crafty, treaty, and clever. I was trying to diiscribe him as our enemy, and during this time, as Fre dwas translating, he used a local English. Twi expression that people use when talking about people that are crafty or powerful. So right in the middle of my sermon, Fred proceeds to say in Twi that satan is... f****** (saying three times for enfuses)! I WAS SHOCKED! Most people took it for it's local new meaning, but a few welled educated and a few missionary where in shock. I have to admit that it took me a couple of seconds to recover from that. So needless to say, I have discovered a area that Fred and I will talk about this week. I really beleive that he did not sin, but I do beleive he needs to be taught what the words mean, and that they should not be used.
So that story tops off the week. It has been a whirl-wind, it will be intersting to see what this week bring around, I am sure it will be exciting.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Cultural Death- Anger Stage
I read a quote from Isobel Kuhn that I did not understand until I became a missionary. It goes like this: "When you move to the mission field the scum of your nature raises to the surface." I have read this sentence many times since I have arrived on the field six years ago, and every word of it is true.
I spent a lot of time as a boy playing outside. And a lot of that time outside was spent in creeks and ponds. Creeks are amazing. Before a boy starts to play in one, it is clear A person can see the bottom, and might even drink out of it, if he is really thirsty, but once the boy starts to play in it, the creek is transformed. That clear water is changed, after just a few minutes of his kicking, splashing, and playing; the water is all mud and scum. No clear water can be seen then.
What is this magic that little boys has? Does the little devil carry a ton of dirt in his pockets, or maybe he just bulldozes the whole creek bed into the stream! No, we all know the problem. The boy might be the source of the agitation, but he is not the source of the scum. It was there all along, lying on the bottom of the creek, just waiting to be stirred. Once the boy comes, it covers everything, it sticks to his feet, and it fills the water.
This creek is just like the missionary. His life is quietly and peacefully flowing in its normal pattern. The passer-by might look at him in admiration, amazed at the steady course and cleanness of his life. But all the passer-by sees is the waters. They see the missionary at his home, but what they do not see is the scum of his nature, the sinfulness that lies at the bottom of his heart, that is just waiting to resurface.
The amazing thing though, is that the missionary does not see it either. Most missionaries, I would like to think, begin to believe the many things that they hear about themselves while on deputation. After so many months of oohhhs and ahhhs, the complements, the praises, the status as a Christian demi-god (at least publicly), begins to take their toll. Now, the good missionary will never admit this to himself, that would be pride, but in his heart he does begin to think he has done something special. This super-human act must of course be done by someone that is slightly super-human if not above average. Of course this is a generalization, but I can say that is was quite true in my case.
Here is where all this scum and pride meets cultural death. The missionary has now been in country for six to nine months, the wonderful people that he has been called to reach are not so wonderful anymore, and there is a problem. He does not understand himself or them. They do things that are so different, irritating, and sometimes just wicked. He tries to understand the explanations given to him, but it is all gibberish. They are doing things that are not just wrong, but just fundamentally unheard of! The locals are calling day night, and night day. But, what is worse is that they defend these actions, thoughts and feelings. They call them right and look amazed when they are challenged. The missionary beings to wonder what he has been called to, he knew that he was called to the unsaved, the worldly, the wicked, but these people are starting to seem like… insufferable monsters, how can he reach them, At times he feels impotent, the course of events flows to fast for his immature mind in his new culture. All these thoughts build, and just like heat lighting in the African dry season, a bolt of white hot lighting shear the scene. Someone pressed a button! Boom!!! It takes a few moments for the senses to clear, and the blinding light of rage to pass, but he walks away confused. He asks himself, “What is wrong with these people?” If he is not careful everything they do reminds him of their differences, and this is even more so if he is in a place of a different language, race, and standard of living. Before long he is just angry. That scum is stirred by cultural agitation.
His anger can take a few forms now: either he will get angry when he thinks it is safe (i.e.- take it out on the family, because they will always love them), or he will find targets for his rage (i.e.- people in the culture that most represent the difference).
But sooner or later the anger will come out. Some missionary just get angry at the difficulties, but many get angry at the injustices. Their righteous wrath begins to smoke and the nationals hear again and again, “Well, in the states we do it like this…” or “That is not right, you should do it this way…” or “Where I come from…” on and on it goes.
This is the stage marked by the most activity. The missionary is not in denial, but is not to the stage of just crawling through. He sets out to mend and fix. Active is his by word. He has a plan. If it is not to fix the whole messed-up nation at least he can fix the people around him. He is like a boiling pot of water; he does not know that the motion comes from the heat of the cultural flames.
This is the stage many missionaries leave the field. The problem is that their pots begin to blow and if they are not careful they cook dry. I meet a young couple that had been in the Caribbean for six months that was passing through this stage. They had returned to raise some more support, when I meet them at a church. We talked at restaurant and I told them of my own experience with cultural shock, and told them that there where many times I was angry and even hated individuals God had called me to. I told them it was just a stage, which would pass if they looked to the Lord. Well, the young man was just passing from denial to anger, and did not agree. He said he was not going through culture shock, but I could tell he was angry. I can still remember the fire in his eyes and the curl of his lip as he described the people of the island. A person would have thought that he was talking about someone that had killed a relative not the people that he had committed to serve. But, he was in the midst of cultural death, and to him they where killing something… his way of life! I was not surprise when I heard a year or so later that they had left the field. Sometimes the anger boils too much, and all we think that we can do is run away.
I will say for me, the hardest thing about the anger is what it told me about myself. I knew I had a temper before I got saved, but that had been broken. I did not struggle with being angry, or so I thought before I came to the field. But I soon learned that I was flesh and blood, and that I could sin, and would sin.
I can remember a few times in my own experience where anger consumed me. There are numerous time to be truthful. I had many times while driving (we had a car for about two years) where the people of our city where staring as a crazy white man shouted out of his windows and yelled near Twi curse-words at drivers. I had times of rage as people asked me for money for doing the jobs that they where paid to do, or for doing things that should have been just simple civic duties. But the crowning story is our trip to Takoradi for vacation. I will try to relate it to you quickly and only tell you the needed details.
Here are the basics: I had newly bought a car, not knowing that the tags had expired, since here we write things day, month, year, not month, day and year, as in the United States. We decided to take a trip in our new car to another city on the ocean for a week trip. When we left on Monday we where quickly stopped at our first road block and discovered our old tags, and promised to correct them after returning to Kumasi. After about eight hours of stopping and going and one flooded road, on our four hours trip, we reached Takoradi. To reach our hotel we would have to cross the city, go about three miles out of town and find the hotel. This is when it all happened. We where just a mile away from our destination, when we where stopped again. Here I will try to give some more details.
We had a small four door hatch back fully loaded down, with no room to spare, except the small spot for Carey’s car set. From a police barricade a police officers began to wave for us to stop. So I pulled over and he approached our car. Before we could see our old stickers, and since I had already been through this same process eight times that day, I decided that the direct approach was in order. I told the officer that I knew that my stickers where bad, that I needed to change them, and that I would as soon as I arrived back in Kumasi. To this the officer demanded to see my license and passport, so that he could confiscate them. Here came the lighting bolt, a person could feel the energy in the air. When he told me that he wanted my passport, I told him no way, I was an American citizen, my passport was American property and he could not touch it. He demanded my license, and I gave it to him. I was hot. Once he had my license, he walked away. Patty and I sat in the chair and ranted at each other and the officer. Finally I decided that enough was enough, I was standing up for my rights. I opened the door, and slammed it, and walk over to the officer. (Please remember there are three officers, and they all have large guns). I thought that I had rights, this man was being unreasonable, I was not a local person, he could not push me around. So I walked up to him, and in a very firm voice said, “I am leaving right now, and you will give me back my license right NOW!” To which the officer told me that I was under arrest (by the way, the police here arrest everyone for everything, so that they can be paid to release the offender). He marched back to my car, telling me that I had to drive him to the police station where he would keep me. As he approached my car, my wife says to the man, “Where are you going to sit, on my lap” (remember the car is full), to this the officer started pointing his gun. Finally he walked away, and was very angry. I sat in the car with my wife and finally after the man got more angry and started to wave his gun more, we decided to drive off. Yes, I drove off.
After getting to the hotel, I flagged a taxi, and went to the police station. On the way I explained everything to the taxi driver, who laughed in my face. He told me I was an ignorant ‘broni’- foreigner, and told me that if I had just paid the guy some money I would have had not problems. After about five minutes, we reached the station. I was meet by the sergeant, and after the office from the road arrived, everything got interesting. Basically to make it short, they wanted to arrest me, lock me up, asked me if I would done that in my country (Which I wouldn’t have), and told me I had to pay a fine.
I thought that the whole thing was crazy, the guy had waved a guy at my wife and baby, but the taxi driver took my outside and to me to shut up and follow his led. We went back inside, I was literally forced to plead for mercy and told to ask forgiveness. After this the taxi driver and the sergeant bargained over my “fine” and off we went with my license. It was a long three hour ordeal.
Needless, to say I am much embraced about this story. But it is true. I was in the anger stage of cultural death. I can remember this and other things that I did that I pray that I will never do again. The anger was real, but I did not follow the Bible at these moments. The Bible says, “Be angry and sin not!” That is not what I did.
Anger during culture shock is understandable. As a missionary, a person is confused, out of focus. But, that anger should not cause us to sin. I believe that the main reason most missionaries to not complete their first term is that when they reach this stage, and they see how wicked they are, they will not accept it. They will not admit they are the wicked one. Most missionaries at this point are still to convinced of their holiness, and so they blame the nationals, laws, or customs. They do not see that it is not these things that are the scum, but their own nature.
I have been through the anger stage, long and hard. It taught me a lot about myself. I saw who I was and what I was capable of doing. This are not easy things to learn about, but they are very important if God is going to brake a missionary and use him. I hope to never see some of those things again, but I am glad I had to face them.
I want to say this to new missionaries going to go through this stage, and missionaries going through, You can make it! If a person turns to God, and lets God teach him about himself, he will make it. The key is that a missionary can not blame the nationals for his failings, and must wait on God through prayer and the Word to keep filling his pot. Sure, the fire will make it roll at time, but if God keep filling it with water, instead of it charring, it will clean the pot.
For those that are reading this that will never be missionaries, please pray. Anger is a hard enemy to face, but it can be defeated. A missionary is only as strong as his prayer support, so please pray.
**(For further reading about the struggles of missionaries please read these book: In the Arena, Behind the Ranges, Hudson Taylor and Maria- Pioneer missionaries, Have we no Right)
I spent a lot of time as a boy playing outside. And a lot of that time outside was spent in creeks and ponds. Creeks are amazing. Before a boy starts to play in one, it is clear A person can see the bottom, and might even drink out of it, if he is really thirsty, but once the boy starts to play in it, the creek is transformed. That clear water is changed, after just a few minutes of his kicking, splashing, and playing; the water is all mud and scum. No clear water can be seen then.
What is this magic that little boys has? Does the little devil carry a ton of dirt in his pockets, or maybe he just bulldozes the whole creek bed into the stream! No, we all know the problem. The boy might be the source of the agitation, but he is not the source of the scum. It was there all along, lying on the bottom of the creek, just waiting to be stirred. Once the boy comes, it covers everything, it sticks to his feet, and it fills the water.
This creek is just like the missionary. His life is quietly and peacefully flowing in its normal pattern. The passer-by might look at him in admiration, amazed at the steady course and cleanness of his life. But all the passer-by sees is the waters. They see the missionary at his home, but what they do not see is the scum of his nature, the sinfulness that lies at the bottom of his heart, that is just waiting to resurface.
The amazing thing though, is that the missionary does not see it either. Most missionaries, I would like to think, begin to believe the many things that they hear about themselves while on deputation. After so many months of oohhhs and ahhhs, the complements, the praises, the status as a Christian demi-god (at least publicly), begins to take their toll. Now, the good missionary will never admit this to himself, that would be pride, but in his heart he does begin to think he has done something special. This super-human act must of course be done by someone that is slightly super-human if not above average. Of course this is a generalization, but I can say that is was quite true in my case.
Here is where all this scum and pride meets cultural death. The missionary has now been in country for six to nine months, the wonderful people that he has been called to reach are not so wonderful anymore, and there is a problem. He does not understand himself or them. They do things that are so different, irritating, and sometimes just wicked. He tries to understand the explanations given to him, but it is all gibberish. They are doing things that are not just wrong, but just fundamentally unheard of! The locals are calling day night, and night day. But, what is worse is that they defend these actions, thoughts and feelings. They call them right and look amazed when they are challenged. The missionary beings to wonder what he has been called to, he knew that he was called to the unsaved, the worldly, the wicked, but these people are starting to seem like… insufferable monsters, how can he reach them, At times he feels impotent, the course of events flows to fast for his immature mind in his new culture. All these thoughts build, and just like heat lighting in the African dry season, a bolt of white hot lighting shear the scene. Someone pressed a button! Boom!!! It takes a few moments for the senses to clear, and the blinding light of rage to pass, but he walks away confused. He asks himself, “What is wrong with these people?” If he is not careful everything they do reminds him of their differences, and this is even more so if he is in a place of a different language, race, and standard of living. Before long he is just angry. That scum is stirred by cultural agitation.
His anger can take a few forms now: either he will get angry when he thinks it is safe (i.e.- take it out on the family, because they will always love them), or he will find targets for his rage (i.e.- people in the culture that most represent the difference).
But sooner or later the anger will come out. Some missionary just get angry at the difficulties, but many get angry at the injustices. Their righteous wrath begins to smoke and the nationals hear again and again, “Well, in the states we do it like this…” or “That is not right, you should do it this way…” or “Where I come from…” on and on it goes.
This is the stage marked by the most activity. The missionary is not in denial, but is not to the stage of just crawling through. He sets out to mend and fix. Active is his by word. He has a plan. If it is not to fix the whole messed-up nation at least he can fix the people around him. He is like a boiling pot of water; he does not know that the motion comes from the heat of the cultural flames.
This is the stage many missionaries leave the field. The problem is that their pots begin to blow and if they are not careful they cook dry. I meet a young couple that had been in the Caribbean for six months that was passing through this stage. They had returned to raise some more support, when I meet them at a church. We talked at restaurant and I told them of my own experience with cultural shock, and told them that there where many times I was angry and even hated individuals God had called me to. I told them it was just a stage, which would pass if they looked to the Lord. Well, the young man was just passing from denial to anger, and did not agree. He said he was not going through culture shock, but I could tell he was angry. I can still remember the fire in his eyes and the curl of his lip as he described the people of the island. A person would have thought that he was talking about someone that had killed a relative not the people that he had committed to serve. But, he was in the midst of cultural death, and to him they where killing something… his way of life! I was not surprise when I heard a year or so later that they had left the field. Sometimes the anger boils too much, and all we think that we can do is run away.
I will say for me, the hardest thing about the anger is what it told me about myself. I knew I had a temper before I got saved, but that had been broken. I did not struggle with being angry, or so I thought before I came to the field. But I soon learned that I was flesh and blood, and that I could sin, and would sin.
I can remember a few times in my own experience where anger consumed me. There are numerous time to be truthful. I had many times while driving (we had a car for about two years) where the people of our city where staring as a crazy white man shouted out of his windows and yelled near Twi curse-words at drivers. I had times of rage as people asked me for money for doing the jobs that they where paid to do, or for doing things that should have been just simple civic duties. But the crowning story is our trip to Takoradi for vacation. I will try to relate it to you quickly and only tell you the needed details.
Here are the basics: I had newly bought a car, not knowing that the tags had expired, since here we write things day, month, year, not month, day and year, as in the United States. We decided to take a trip in our new car to another city on the ocean for a week trip. When we left on Monday we where quickly stopped at our first road block and discovered our old tags, and promised to correct them after returning to Kumasi. After about eight hours of stopping and going and one flooded road, on our four hours trip, we reached Takoradi. To reach our hotel we would have to cross the city, go about three miles out of town and find the hotel. This is when it all happened. We where just a mile away from our destination, when we where stopped again. Here I will try to give some more details.
We had a small four door hatch back fully loaded down, with no room to spare, except the small spot for Carey’s car set. From a police barricade a police officers began to wave for us to stop. So I pulled over and he approached our car. Before we could see our old stickers, and since I had already been through this same process eight times that day, I decided that the direct approach was in order. I told the officer that I knew that my stickers where bad, that I needed to change them, and that I would as soon as I arrived back in Kumasi. To this the officer demanded to see my license and passport, so that he could confiscate them. Here came the lighting bolt, a person could feel the energy in the air. When he told me that he wanted my passport, I told him no way, I was an American citizen, my passport was American property and he could not touch it. He demanded my license, and I gave it to him. I was hot. Once he had my license, he walked away. Patty and I sat in the chair and ranted at each other and the officer. Finally I decided that enough was enough, I was standing up for my rights. I opened the door, and slammed it, and walk over to the officer. (Please remember there are three officers, and they all have large guns). I thought that I had rights, this man was being unreasonable, I was not a local person, he could not push me around. So I walked up to him, and in a very firm voice said, “I am leaving right now, and you will give me back my license right NOW!” To which the officer told me that I was under arrest (by the way, the police here arrest everyone for everything, so that they can be paid to release the offender). He marched back to my car, telling me that I had to drive him to the police station where he would keep me. As he approached my car, my wife says to the man, “Where are you going to sit, on my lap” (remember the car is full), to this the officer started pointing his gun. Finally he walked away, and was very angry. I sat in the car with my wife and finally after the man got more angry and started to wave his gun more, we decided to drive off. Yes, I drove off.
After getting to the hotel, I flagged a taxi, and went to the police station. On the way I explained everything to the taxi driver, who laughed in my face. He told me I was an ignorant ‘broni’- foreigner, and told me that if I had just paid the guy some money I would have had not problems. After about five minutes, we reached the station. I was meet by the sergeant, and after the office from the road arrived, everything got interesting. Basically to make it short, they wanted to arrest me, lock me up, asked me if I would done that in my country (Which I wouldn’t have), and told me I had to pay a fine.
I thought that the whole thing was crazy, the guy had waved a guy at my wife and baby, but the taxi driver took my outside and to me to shut up and follow his led. We went back inside, I was literally forced to plead for mercy and told to ask forgiveness. After this the taxi driver and the sergeant bargained over my “fine” and off we went with my license. It was a long three hour ordeal.
Needless, to say I am much embraced about this story. But it is true. I was in the anger stage of cultural death. I can remember this and other things that I did that I pray that I will never do again. The anger was real, but I did not follow the Bible at these moments. The Bible says, “Be angry and sin not!” That is not what I did.
Anger during culture shock is understandable. As a missionary, a person is confused, out of focus. But, that anger should not cause us to sin. I believe that the main reason most missionaries to not complete their first term is that when they reach this stage, and they see how wicked they are, they will not accept it. They will not admit they are the wicked one. Most missionaries at this point are still to convinced of their holiness, and so they blame the nationals, laws, or customs. They do not see that it is not these things that are the scum, but their own nature.
I have been through the anger stage, long and hard. It taught me a lot about myself. I saw who I was and what I was capable of doing. This are not easy things to learn about, but they are very important if God is going to brake a missionary and use him. I hope to never see some of those things again, but I am glad I had to face them.
I want to say this to new missionaries going to go through this stage, and missionaries going through, You can make it! If a person turns to God, and lets God teach him about himself, he will make it. The key is that a missionary can not blame the nationals for his failings, and must wait on God through prayer and the Word to keep filling his pot. Sure, the fire will make it roll at time, but if God keep filling it with water, instead of it charring, it will clean the pot.
For those that are reading this that will never be missionaries, please pray. Anger is a hard enemy to face, but it can be defeated. A missionary is only as strong as his prayer support, so please pray.
**(For further reading about the struggles of missionaries please read these book: In the Arena, Behind the Ranges, Hudson Taylor and Maria- Pioneer missionaries, Have we no Right)
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Cultural Death- Denial Stage
The funny thing about going through denial is that a person can only see it after they have passed through it. It is the nature of the problem. There is a proverb in West Africa that says, “A bird that flies from the ground onto an anthill does not know that it is still on the ground” Many times as new missionaries we think our activity means that we have accomplished something, but in reality we have not even gotten off the ground.
I remember this stage well. I thought that because I had left America and traveled to Ghana, that I was… well, done with the struggles and on to the victory. For a new missionary on deputation, departure is the big focus. That is what everyone asks him -- “So, when are you leaving for the field?” After awhile, he thinks that if he can just get to the field, everything will be fine. Departure is the end. The checkered flag will wave, and he will be the winner. But, departure is just a jump onto the anthill. It is a beginning, but he is not in the sky yet.
I remember when we got to the field. The first night in Ghana I was scared out of my mind. I laid awake all night thinking, ‘What in the world are you doing????’ I kept looking at my watch -- it had the ability to keep two times, and it was set for America and Ghana. I remember that at about 3:00 in the morning I finally set the American time to Ghana time. I remember that I went to sleep after that, and I thought that I had won my battle with culture shock. Yes, in one night, I was high in the mountains of cultural acceptance, but I had no clue that I was just sitting on the anthill of denial.
The next months went by quickly. We found out that we were not going to live in the port city of Tema and would not be working with a veteran missionary. God guided us to our present home of Kumasi, and we began to live in the home of a Nigerian pastor and began our work in his church. The months were filled with new colors, languages, foods, and feelings. But through it all, we marched in this foggy stage of half-awareness.
I still remember our arrival in our local apartment. It was a three bedroom local style place on the third floor in the midst of Anloga community. (I will take the time here to describe our first home- Anloga is a local community that is made up mostly of Ewe people, a sub-group in our city. It covers about ½ square mile, but is densely populated, probably about 20,000 to 25,000 people. They are mostly people living in square one-floor houses, with no in-house toilets, and each room being occupied by one family. All five to ten families in these compounds share the courtyard of the house. The courtyards are always open to the sky. Our house was different in that is was a half square and multi-stored. Our portion of the square was walled off with a half wall and door for more privacy. We had three rooms, two of which were bedrooms, (One for Patty and I, and one for Pastor Samson), and there was also a kitchen that consisted of a table, refrigerator and wall faucet for water with a drain. The bathroom was two parts, one room being a pit shower, and the other room being the water closet with a toilet. It was very local, but we have a lot of fond memories about the months that we stayed there.)
Back to our arrival -- the veteran missionary that helped us for our first few months showed us around. When we got to the shower room, there was a huge red cockroach on the wall. Brother Mark just smiled and said, “That’s George, our pet cockroach, just turn on the light and splash some water on him, and he will go away!” Well, his humor helped, and we laughed and took it all in. The first few months were lived in a smiling stupor. Everything was great! Cooking on our one electric burner was an adventure, washing and bathing from a bucket was exciting, and the constant smell of cook fires was exotic.
Please understand, I do not regret anything, and to me they are normal now, and I have never suffered much as a missionary, but I mention all this to make a point. I was in a totally new place, with new ideas, new sounds, and new experiences, but I was in this stage of denial. I thought that it was all great! I was at home, it did not matter that everything was different; I was not going through culture shock.
But just like with grief, things started hitting me. I had to admit that things were different and that I was going to have to adjust. Here I will relate two stories to the reader. One is quite funny. I think that I had been in Ghana for about two months, and Patty and I were trying very hard not to get malaria. I had gotten a new cell phone and was trying to call my family. The phones at the time did not have good antennas, and I had to sit outside to call because of the concrete house. So here I was, it was hot season in Ghana, about 95 to 100 degree, it was 7:00 pm at night, and I had to go outside on the balcony to make my call. But what about the mosquitoes? I really wanted to talk to my family. So there I went. I think Pastor Samson must have thought I was crazy. I had running pants on, socks and sandals, a tee-shirt, a hoodie, and was wrapped in a blanket from head to toe so that I could not get bitten. I was cooking alive; the sweat was rolling off me, as I made that 20 minute call. Finally, I got to my room and sat in front of the fan in just my shorts for about 10 minutes. (Luckily we are not so paranoid after six years). That broke through the fog! I was starting to dislike all this wonderful mission field stuff.
The second story centers around our meat shop. We had been in Ghana about nine to ten months and Carey was about six months old. We have shopped at this same meat shop since we have been in Ghana. On this particular day it was really hot, and I was not in the best of moods. I was really starting to feel the culture crunch. The youngest of the three brothers that own the shop was waiting on us. He was about 19 years old then, and he made this comment: “Pastor John, give me your daughter, I want to marry here, she is very beautiful!” Now remember my daughter was only a few months old, and this guy was a teenager. My wife says that I just started fuming; the smoked poured out my ears; I got this hateful look in my eyes. I remember the rage that I felt. I was thinking, “What in the world, is this guy some kind of pervert, I am going to kill him!” I was shocked! After a curt response, I had to go outside to cool down, even though it was 105 degrees in the sun! After we got in the taxi, Patty looked at me with one of her concerned looks, and asked, “Are you ok?” To which I said, “I’m fine,” I was still seething inside, “It is that guy that has a problem. I mean what is his deal? I just don’t get it!” The fog had finally burned away.
Here in Africa, when a person travels in the early morning he will see fog everywhere in the bush, and everything is cool and wet, but by 8:00 a.m. the sun will begin to shine brightly and the heat will make all the fog disappear. This is just like cultural death. At first everything is cool and foggy, but once the sun beats on him long enough, that fog will disappear and he will pass to his next stage, ANGER!
I did not know that I was in denial until that day, until the anger surfaced, but I was! I had been setting on that anthill, looking down, but when the ants bit, I knew. If the reader is a missionary in this stage, he will say, “That was you, but that is not happening to me!”
My response to them is simple: he might not see it now, but soon he will. There are always signs when a person is in denial. The greatest sign is their quest for the ‘normal’, the things that reminds them of life before the mission field. They just want to forget the loss and hold on to the past. A new missionary will love to search for American foods in the grocery store; will love watching movies and shows from home; will obsessively email, write, and call friends and family; and most of all he will hunger for fellowship with people from his home culture. All these things point to the same undeniable fact -- he is in denial! He wants the old, but is stuck in the new.
At this point a missionary will make some very important decisions. He will seek to isolate himself. As the Congo proverb says- a single bracelet does not jingle. He will not have to think or hear the sounds of cultural difference if he just stays in his single world view. Or, he will realize the problem and start to deal with it. He will force himself deeper into the cultural waters and swim to the other side. But no matter what he does, if he stays in the foreign country he will pass to the second stage.
I remember this stage well. I thought that because I had left America and traveled to Ghana, that I was… well, done with the struggles and on to the victory. For a new missionary on deputation, departure is the big focus. That is what everyone asks him -- “So, when are you leaving for the field?” After awhile, he thinks that if he can just get to the field, everything will be fine. Departure is the end. The checkered flag will wave, and he will be the winner. But, departure is just a jump onto the anthill. It is a beginning, but he is not in the sky yet.
I remember when we got to the field. The first night in Ghana I was scared out of my mind. I laid awake all night thinking, ‘What in the world are you doing????’ I kept looking at my watch -- it had the ability to keep two times, and it was set for America and Ghana. I remember that at about 3:00 in the morning I finally set the American time to Ghana time. I remember that I went to sleep after that, and I thought that I had won my battle with culture shock. Yes, in one night, I was high in the mountains of cultural acceptance, but I had no clue that I was just sitting on the anthill of denial.
The next months went by quickly. We found out that we were not going to live in the port city of Tema and would not be working with a veteran missionary. God guided us to our present home of Kumasi, and we began to live in the home of a Nigerian pastor and began our work in his church. The months were filled with new colors, languages, foods, and feelings. But through it all, we marched in this foggy stage of half-awareness.
I still remember our arrival in our local apartment. It was a three bedroom local style place on the third floor in the midst of Anloga community. (I will take the time here to describe our first home- Anloga is a local community that is made up mostly of Ewe people, a sub-group in our city. It covers about ½ square mile, but is densely populated, probably about 20,000 to 25,000 people. They are mostly people living in square one-floor houses, with no in-house toilets, and each room being occupied by one family. All five to ten families in these compounds share the courtyard of the house. The courtyards are always open to the sky. Our house was different in that is was a half square and multi-stored. Our portion of the square was walled off with a half wall and door for more privacy. We had three rooms, two of which were bedrooms, (One for Patty and I, and one for Pastor Samson), and there was also a kitchen that consisted of a table, refrigerator and wall faucet for water with a drain. The bathroom was two parts, one room being a pit shower, and the other room being the water closet with a toilet. It was very local, but we have a lot of fond memories about the months that we stayed there.)
Back to our arrival -- the veteran missionary that helped us for our first few months showed us around. When we got to the shower room, there was a huge red cockroach on the wall. Brother Mark just smiled and said, “That’s George, our pet cockroach, just turn on the light and splash some water on him, and he will go away!” Well, his humor helped, and we laughed and took it all in. The first few months were lived in a smiling stupor. Everything was great! Cooking on our one electric burner was an adventure, washing and bathing from a bucket was exciting, and the constant smell of cook fires was exotic.
Please understand, I do not regret anything, and to me they are normal now, and I have never suffered much as a missionary, but I mention all this to make a point. I was in a totally new place, with new ideas, new sounds, and new experiences, but I was in this stage of denial. I thought that it was all great! I was at home, it did not matter that everything was different; I was not going through culture shock.
But just like with grief, things started hitting me. I had to admit that things were different and that I was going to have to adjust. Here I will relate two stories to the reader. One is quite funny. I think that I had been in Ghana for about two months, and Patty and I were trying very hard not to get malaria. I had gotten a new cell phone and was trying to call my family. The phones at the time did not have good antennas, and I had to sit outside to call because of the concrete house. So here I was, it was hot season in Ghana, about 95 to 100 degree, it was 7:00 pm at night, and I had to go outside on the balcony to make my call. But what about the mosquitoes? I really wanted to talk to my family. So there I went. I think Pastor Samson must have thought I was crazy. I had running pants on, socks and sandals, a tee-shirt, a hoodie, and was wrapped in a blanket from head to toe so that I could not get bitten. I was cooking alive; the sweat was rolling off me, as I made that 20 minute call. Finally, I got to my room and sat in front of the fan in just my shorts for about 10 minutes. (Luckily we are not so paranoid after six years). That broke through the fog! I was starting to dislike all this wonderful mission field stuff.
The second story centers around our meat shop. We had been in Ghana about nine to ten months and Carey was about six months old. We have shopped at this same meat shop since we have been in Ghana. On this particular day it was really hot, and I was not in the best of moods. I was really starting to feel the culture crunch. The youngest of the three brothers that own the shop was waiting on us. He was about 19 years old then, and he made this comment: “Pastor John, give me your daughter, I want to marry here, she is very beautiful!” Now remember my daughter was only a few months old, and this guy was a teenager. My wife says that I just started fuming; the smoked poured out my ears; I got this hateful look in my eyes. I remember the rage that I felt. I was thinking, “What in the world, is this guy some kind of pervert, I am going to kill him!” I was shocked! After a curt response, I had to go outside to cool down, even though it was 105 degrees in the sun! After we got in the taxi, Patty looked at me with one of her concerned looks, and asked, “Are you ok?” To which I said, “I’m fine,” I was still seething inside, “It is that guy that has a problem. I mean what is his deal? I just don’t get it!” The fog had finally burned away.
Here in Africa, when a person travels in the early morning he will see fog everywhere in the bush, and everything is cool and wet, but by 8:00 a.m. the sun will begin to shine brightly and the heat will make all the fog disappear. This is just like cultural death. At first everything is cool and foggy, but once the sun beats on him long enough, that fog will disappear and he will pass to his next stage, ANGER!
I did not know that I was in denial until that day, until the anger surfaced, but I was! I had been setting on that anthill, looking down, but when the ants bit, I knew. If the reader is a missionary in this stage, he will say, “That was you, but that is not happening to me!”
My response to them is simple: he might not see it now, but soon he will. There are always signs when a person is in denial. The greatest sign is their quest for the ‘normal’, the things that reminds them of life before the mission field. They just want to forget the loss and hold on to the past. A new missionary will love to search for American foods in the grocery store; will love watching movies and shows from home; will obsessively email, write, and call friends and family; and most of all he will hunger for fellowship with people from his home culture. All these things point to the same undeniable fact -- he is in denial! He wants the old, but is stuck in the new.
At this point a missionary will make some very important decisions. He will seek to isolate himself. As the Congo proverb says- a single bracelet does not jingle. He will not have to think or hear the sounds of cultural difference if he just stays in his single world view. Or, he will realize the problem and start to deal with it. He will force himself deeper into the cultural waters and swim to the other side. But no matter what he does, if he stays in the foreign country he will pass to the second stage.
Monday, June 8, 2009
The Cultural Death-
I have been reminded of my own passage through culture shock of late. We have new missionary friends that have now been on the field for six months, and we are beginning to see the early signs of culture shock that they are going through.
It is nice to be able to remember my own experience of culture shock with that detachment that only comes from the passing of time. I have been through it, and can remember all the stages and pain, but like with all things, those feelings have become less painful with time.
Just some picture from the last year!
Culture shock is a life-changing event. It has the power to transform a person’s life for good or bad! I have personally seen and have heard of many missionaries and expatriates that have been scared by culture shock. The amazing thing, though, is that for those that allow it, it can transform them for good. It can be a tool God greatly uses in their lives.
Rodney Ruppel, a long term missionary in Cambodia, explained culture shock like this: Culture shock is the hardest and most difficult thing a missionary can pass through. It is like dealing with the grief of loss, but not just the loss of one person, but a whole way of life. It is like every family member, friend, and Christian Brother or Sister all dying at once. A missionary’s way of life, language, and everything that he identifies with is suddenly gone. This level of loss is culture shock in its deepest form. It is no wonder, when culture shock is put in these terms, why it is said that 75% of all missionaries leave the field during or just after their first term.
For a missionary to pass through culture shock and remain on the field, he must walk down a pathway of death. He must allow God’s calling on his life to force him to be separated from all that he knows is normal, and be willing to die to what he knows of himself.
The best way to describe this process is Luke 9:23, And he said to them all, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.
To help future missionaries and ones that are currently going through this process of culture shock, I want to talk about the stages of culture shock and grieving, and discuss my personal journey through my own cultural death.
Before I start this short series of blogs I want to say a few things: first, cultural shock is real, and every missionary staying outside their home culture goes through it. Second, culture shock must be dealt with. Thirdly and finally, culture shock in its self is not unspiritual, it is a fact, when a person has culture shock he is not unspiritual. It is how a person deals with this cultural death that will determine how they grow spiritually.
The first thing that I want to give the new missionary is an understanding of the process of culture shock, which can be understood more fully as cultural death. Culture shock is broken up into three major parts: the honeymoon phase, the negotiation phase, the adjustment phase. Here is a basic description of culture shock and its stages:
Culture shock refers to the anxiety and feelings (of surprise, disorientation, uncertainty, confusion, etc.) felt when people have to operate within a different and unknown cultural or social environment, such as a foreign country. It grows out of the difficulties in assimilating the new culture, causing difficulty in knowing what is appropriate and what is not. This is often combined with a dislike for or even disgust (morally or aesthetically) with certain aspects of the new culture.
Phases of culture shock
(These stages only fully occur for people that reside in another culture for an extended period of time.)
Honeymoon Phase - During this period the differences between the old and new culture are seen in a romantic light, wonderful and new. For example, in moving to a new country, an individual might love the new foods, the pace of the life, the people's habits, the buildings and so on.
Negotiation Phase - After some time, differences between the old and new culture become apparent and may create anxiety. One may long for food the way it is prepared in one's native country, may find the pace of life too fast or slow, may find the people's habits annoying, disgusting, and irritating etc. This phase is often marked by mood swings caused by minor issues or without apparent reason. Depression is not uncommon.
Adjustment Phase - Again, after some time, one grows accustomed to the new culture and develops routines. One knows what to expect in most situations and the host country no longer feels all that new. One becomes concerned with basic living again, and things become more "normal".
(SOURCE: Wikipedia online- Culture shock)
With this basic knowledge a person can understand the theoretical side of culture shock, but to more fully understand a missionary’s experience, before I discuss my own journey, we have to understand that the missionary’s culture shock more closely mimics the grieving pattern in all its points then the simple culture shock model.
Here is a basis run down of grief as described by Wikipedia:
The five step grieving mode was first introduced by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her 1969 book "On Death and Dying". It was described, in five distinct stages, a process by which people deal with grief and tragedy, especially when diagnosed with a terminal illness or catastrophic loss.
Stages
1) Denial:
Denial is usually only a temporary defense for the individual. This feeling is generally replaced with heightened awareness of situations and individuals that will be left behind after death.
Example - "I feel fine."; "This can't be happening, not to me."
2) Anger:
Once in the second stage, the individual recognizes that denial cannot continue. Because of anger, the person is very difficult to care for due to misplaced feelings of rage and envy. Any individual that symbolizes life (or the person lost) is subject to projected resentment and jealousy, or the opposite feelings of attachment.
Example - "Why me? It's not fair!"; "How can this happen to me?"
3) Bargaining:
The third stage involves the hope that the individual can somehow postpone or delay death. Usually, the negotiation for an extended life is made with a higher power in exchange for a reformed lifestyle. Psychologically, the person is saying, "I understand I will die, but if I could just have more time...”
Example - "Just let me live to see my children graduate."; "I'll do anything for a few more years."; "I will give my life savings if..."
4) Depression (Loneliness):
During the fourth stage, the dying person begins to understand the certainty of death. Because of this, the individual may become silent, refuse visitors and spend much of the time crying and grieving. This process allows the dying person to disconnect themselves from things of love and affection.
Example - "I'm so sad, why bother with anything?"; "I'm going to die . . . What's the point?"; "I miss my loved one, why go on?"
5) Acceptance:
This final stage comes with peace and understanding of the death that is approaching. Generally, the person in the fifth stage will want to be left alone. Additionally, feelings and physical pain may be non-existent. This stage has also been described as the end of the dying struggle.
Example - "It's going to be okay."; "I can't fight it, I may as well prepare for it."
Kübler-Ross originally applied these stages to people suffering from terminal illness, and later to any form of catastrophic personal loss (job, income, freedom). This may also include significant life events such as the death of a loved one, divorce, drug addiction, or an infertility diagnosis.
Now that we have laid a good foundation, I hope in the next few blogs to relate my own experience of passing through cultural death. As any missionary knows that has remained on the mission field, culture shock is very real and personal, but if it is given to God it can change your life for the better.
It is nice to be able to remember my own experience of culture shock with that detachment that only comes from the passing of time. I have been through it, and can remember all the stages and pain, but like with all things, those feelings have become less painful with time.
Just some picture from the last year!
Culture shock is a life-changing event. It has the power to transform a person’s life for good or bad! I have personally seen and have heard of many missionaries and expatriates that have been scared by culture shock. The amazing thing, though, is that for those that allow it, it can transform them for good. It can be a tool God greatly uses in their lives.
Rodney Ruppel, a long term missionary in Cambodia, explained culture shock like this: Culture shock is the hardest and most difficult thing a missionary can pass through. It is like dealing with the grief of loss, but not just the loss of one person, but a whole way of life. It is like every family member, friend, and Christian Brother or Sister all dying at once. A missionary’s way of life, language, and everything that he identifies with is suddenly gone. This level of loss is culture shock in its deepest form. It is no wonder, when culture shock is put in these terms, why it is said that 75% of all missionaries leave the field during or just after their first term.
For a missionary to pass through culture shock and remain on the field, he must walk down a pathway of death. He must allow God’s calling on his life to force him to be separated from all that he knows is normal, and be willing to die to what he knows of himself.
The best way to describe this process is Luke 9:23, And he said to them all, If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.
To help future missionaries and ones that are currently going through this process of culture shock, I want to talk about the stages of culture shock and grieving, and discuss my personal journey through my own cultural death.
Before I start this short series of blogs I want to say a few things: first, cultural shock is real, and every missionary staying outside their home culture goes through it. Second, culture shock must be dealt with. Thirdly and finally, culture shock in its self is not unspiritual, it is a fact, when a person has culture shock he is not unspiritual. It is how a person deals with this cultural death that will determine how they grow spiritually.
The first thing that I want to give the new missionary is an understanding of the process of culture shock, which can be understood more fully as cultural death. Culture shock is broken up into three major parts: the honeymoon phase, the negotiation phase, the adjustment phase. Here is a basic description of culture shock and its stages:
Culture shock refers to the anxiety and feelings (of surprise, disorientation, uncertainty, confusion, etc.) felt when people have to operate within a different and unknown cultural or social environment, such as a foreign country. It grows out of the difficulties in assimilating the new culture, causing difficulty in knowing what is appropriate and what is not. This is often combined with a dislike for or even disgust (morally or aesthetically) with certain aspects of the new culture.
Phases of culture shock
(These stages only fully occur for people that reside in another culture for an extended period of time.)
Honeymoon Phase - During this period the differences between the old and new culture are seen in a romantic light, wonderful and new. For example, in moving to a new country, an individual might love the new foods, the pace of the life, the people's habits, the buildings and so on.
Negotiation Phase - After some time, differences between the old and new culture become apparent and may create anxiety. One may long for food the way it is prepared in one's native country, may find the pace of life too fast or slow, may find the people's habits annoying, disgusting, and irritating etc. This phase is often marked by mood swings caused by minor issues or without apparent reason. Depression is not uncommon.
Adjustment Phase - Again, after some time, one grows accustomed to the new culture and develops routines. One knows what to expect in most situations and the host country no longer feels all that new. One becomes concerned with basic living again, and things become more "normal".
(SOURCE: Wikipedia online- Culture shock)
With this basic knowledge a person can understand the theoretical side of culture shock, but to more fully understand a missionary’s experience, before I discuss my own journey, we have to understand that the missionary’s culture shock more closely mimics the grieving pattern in all its points then the simple culture shock model.
Here is a basis run down of grief as described by Wikipedia:
The five step grieving mode was first introduced by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her 1969 book "On Death and Dying". It was described, in five distinct stages, a process by which people deal with grief and tragedy, especially when diagnosed with a terminal illness or catastrophic loss.
Stages
1) Denial:
Denial is usually only a temporary defense for the individual. This feeling is generally replaced with heightened awareness of situations and individuals that will be left behind after death.
Example - "I feel fine."; "This can't be happening, not to me."
2) Anger:
Once in the second stage, the individual recognizes that denial cannot continue. Because of anger, the person is very difficult to care for due to misplaced feelings of rage and envy. Any individual that symbolizes life (or the person lost) is subject to projected resentment and jealousy, or the opposite feelings of attachment.
Example - "Why me? It's not fair!"; "How can this happen to me?"
3) Bargaining:
The third stage involves the hope that the individual can somehow postpone or delay death. Usually, the negotiation for an extended life is made with a higher power in exchange for a reformed lifestyle. Psychologically, the person is saying, "I understand I will die, but if I could just have more time...”
Example - "Just let me live to see my children graduate."; "I'll do anything for a few more years."; "I will give my life savings if..."
4) Depression (Loneliness):
During the fourth stage, the dying person begins to understand the certainty of death. Because of this, the individual may become silent, refuse visitors and spend much of the time crying and grieving. This process allows the dying person to disconnect themselves from things of love and affection.
Example - "I'm so sad, why bother with anything?"; "I'm going to die . . . What's the point?"; "I miss my loved one, why go on?"
5) Acceptance:
This final stage comes with peace and understanding of the death that is approaching. Generally, the person in the fifth stage will want to be left alone. Additionally, feelings and physical pain may be non-existent. This stage has also been described as the end of the dying struggle.
Example - "It's going to be okay."; "I can't fight it, I may as well prepare for it."
Kübler-Ross originally applied these stages to people suffering from terminal illness, and later to any form of catastrophic personal loss (job, income, freedom). This may also include significant life events such as the death of a loved one, divorce, drug addiction, or an infertility diagnosis.
Now that we have laid a good foundation, I hope in the next few blogs to relate my own experience of passing through cultural death. As any missionary knows that has remained on the mission field, culture shock is very real and personal, but if it is given to God it can change your life for the better.
Thought from a Book I am Reading
Taken from the book, God’s Missionary.
“We dread malarial fever, and fear lest it should get hold of us and drive us out of the mission-filed. Should we less dread this spiritual malaria, the fever of a restless soul, which has a power, we know not how, to enervate the very fiber of our being, and so unnerve us for the fight? Surely this is the most dangerous form of fever possible. A fit soul in an unfit body is doubtless uncomfortably crippled, but it is not wholly ineffective: but what is the good of a fit body with an unfit soul inside it? It may as well go home at once for all the fighting it will do in the mission battlefield.”
“But is there no a better way?”
Searcher of spirits,
Try Thou my reins and heart
Cleanse Thou my inward parts
Turn, overturn and turn.
Wood, hay and stubble see,
Spread out before Thee,
Burn, burn.
Savior of sinners,
Out of the depths I cry,
Perfect me or I die:
Perfect me, patient One;
In Thy revealing light,
I stand confessed outright,
Undone.
O to be holy!
Thou wilt not say me nay
Who movest me to pray.
Enable to endure:
Spiritual cleansing Fire,
Fulfill my heart’s desire.
Make pure
Amy Carmichael
“We dread malarial fever, and fear lest it should get hold of us and drive us out of the mission-filed. Should we less dread this spiritual malaria, the fever of a restless soul, which has a power, we know not how, to enervate the very fiber of our being, and so unnerve us for the fight? Surely this is the most dangerous form of fever possible. A fit soul in an unfit body is doubtless uncomfortably crippled, but it is not wholly ineffective: but what is the good of a fit body with an unfit soul inside it? It may as well go home at once for all the fighting it will do in the mission battlefield.”
“But is there no a better way?”
Searcher of spirits,
Try Thou my reins and heart
Cleanse Thou my inward parts
Turn, overturn and turn.
Wood, hay and stubble see,
Spread out before Thee,
Burn, burn.
Savior of sinners,
Out of the depths I cry,
Perfect me or I die:
Perfect me, patient One;
In Thy revealing light,
I stand confessed outright,
Undone.
O to be holy!
Thou wilt not say me nay
Who movest me to pray.
Enable to endure:
Spiritual cleansing Fire,
Fulfill my heart’s desire.
Make pure
Amy Carmichael
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