When traveling from a wet and cold Oregon winter to a dry and hot Nigerian “winter;” when leaving the luxuries of our modern, western, American homes to live for a few weeks in one of the most impoverished countries in the world; when temporarily abandoning family and friends to travel for 30+ hours by plane in order to go and minister to “strangers”; when taking oneself out of the situational comfort zones within which we daily live to be stretched outside of them by the introduction of new personalities, styles, customs, languages, cultures, foods, colors, creatures, and risks, you can expect the results to be anything but normal. It has taken some adjusting for me and, though I haven’t had the chance to check in with my teammates since our return to the states, I have a feeling they too sense the disruption from normalcy that such a trip causes.
12 days was too short to experience such richness. Likewise, this article will be too brief to adequately convey all that we did experience. But I will begin with this: God is mighty. He can and will bear good fruit according to His great purposes long after we have all come out of Africa.
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There to minister to missionaries serving in Niger, the trip initially felt a little lopsided. Due to plane schedules we as a team arrived in Niamey nearly 5 days before the Spiritual Life Conference began. Of course, with the extra time we did what any self-respecting group of Americans would do: we went on mini-safaris and sought out markets to barter and buy souvenirs (I am joking – that’s not all we did. Keep checking back for more details on what those days held for us, as we will likely continue to fill in some of the details left out for time’s sake).
Wednesday came and brought with it missionaries traveling into the capital city from all over Niger: Galmi, Makolondi, Maradi, and countless other regions and villages that to my discredit I can’t remember. Amidst busy check-ins and introductions to those with whom we would spend the next few days, we kept hearing one thing over and over again: this conference is always the highlight of the year for these faithful few. That was a nice thing for them to say about the conference.
A couple Shaun and I had met in Makolondi (a rugged bush village one hour’s drive southwest from Niamey) told us a story of a missionary vacationing in his village. “If you vacation in Makolondi,” he joked with the visitor, “that must be some village you live in.” Throughout the weekend I found myself putting on the metaphorical shoes of the men and women I met. I was entirely shaken as I imagined what the good-byes would be like, leaving my family in Oregon, my church family at Southwest. I was torn as I considered all the implications of this imagined decision: what that would mean for my future children, growing up without the close relationship to Grandpa and Grandma and cousins that I had experienced in childhood. (These thoughts called up all kinds of memories and emotions, like the uncontrollable excitement I felt when loading up the van for our annual road trip to Southern California.) How difficult it would be to make a decision that would take my husband and me and our children away from those rich experiences. I wasn’t alone in sensing the pain that must come with that kind of a sacrifice; I remember praying with Rose one night in our room over the burden she felt for a grieved mother she had spoken with earlier. I was humbled as I privately projected onto these new acquaintances my experiences and memories and fears and questions about the life of a foreign missionary.
Before I knew it Sunday had arrived and the Spiritual Life Conference was coming to a close. I had been with the Jr. High and High School students throughout the weekend and the five of us working with them – Mike, Shaun, Rose, Pat, and I – had our own time of teaching and fellowship separate from the adults. But today we were all going to church together. Gary gave his final message for the weekend and broke from his series on the Psalms to look at Hebrews 10. He spoke about our great High Priest, Jesus, because of whom and by whom we have constant and continual and unhindered and unconditional access to the righteous and holy God we serve. Well, one condition: that we are bought by the blood of Christ; that we belong to Jesus. He gave a vivid and compelling illustration of what access to God looked like before Jesus entered our race. I listened so intently and with such joy. That sermon moved me. And I could tell that the others gathered with me were just a compelled as I was to marvel at and enjoy what I can only describe as an immeasurably wonderful truth: access. Access to God. Because of Jesus. The passage concludes with the exhortation, “let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together…” As Gary closed, he explained that there is only one other place where this phrase “gathering together” or “meet together” is used: 1 Thessalonians 4:17. He said something to this effect: “This group will never again meet together like this here on earth. But we will meet together like this again; we will meet together like this when we are caught up together with Jesus in the clouds.” Following the sermon we took communion together. Mr. Walton took us right back to the book of Hebrews to consider the body and blood Christ. The time was so clearly God-orchestrated and in tandem the passages focused my heart on my High Priest who entered once for all, finishing the work of the salvation and bringing access to God by His perfect sacrifice. There was a tangible unity – not only in the Scriptures selected and in the exhortations given, but a tangible unity in the people present; a unity that doesn’t come simply through adequate planning and organization. God was moving.
That evening as we closed the conference, Mark and the team led out in worship and I could just taste the joy that filled the room as we all sang together. It filled up the tiny meeting hall and spilled out onto the campus where we met. Tears filled my eyes as I considered this the last time for some time that I would worship with the Lau family – possibly the last time ever in Africa. And certainly the last time ever with this group of believers. But before sorrow sunk deep I was struck by a fresh and affirming realization: this is a family. This is what they meant when they told us that SLC was the highlight of their year. Just like those road trips to California, this was their opportunity to see and play games with, to laugh, cry, eat, and have coffee with; to be challenged and encouraged by their family. And though it does not and will not likely lesson the difficulty of leaving the one, realizing that, witnessing that reality brought a wave of joy to my soul. The family of God is so amazing – not because people in and of themselves are amazing, but because God is amazing, and He accomplishes amazing things in and of His people.
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Epilogue
It was not until I returned home to my normal schedule and my normal job and my normal place in my normal read-through of God’s word that I came to this passage – a passage that, as I read it, brought a fresh picture to mind of that little gathering hall surrounded by the joyful sounds of the family of God singing praises to His name:
“While He was still speaking to the people, behold, His mother and His brothers stood outside, asking to speak with Him. But He replied to the man who told Him, ‘Who is my mother, and who are my brothers?’ And stretching out His hand toward His disciples, He said, ‘Here are my mother and my brothers. For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.’”
