One Banana

By Laura Jean Holt

Date of original journal entry: Sunday January 22, 2017

According to the blood smear on the test strip I’m positive for another case of malaria; my sixth, but whose counting.  We use the CDC recommended prevention of 100mg of Doxycycline every day and we practice common sense precaution, yet none of it is a 100% surety one won’t contract the potentially life-threatening illness. Being caucasian doesn’t help; we don’t have natural immunities the indigenous African has built up over the generations and our cases are typically more severe.

B.R.A.T.T. Bananas, Rice, Applesauce, Tea, Toast

This is a simple memory aid for simple foods to help those with diarrhea and vomiting both of which I have quite violently.  Yesterday and Friday this acronym was all I could think about, like a little jingle rolling around my fevered, slightly delirious brain.  Bananas, Rice, Applesauce, Tea, Toast — over and over.  Rice and Tea were simply out—they just did not sound good.  At all.  Yes, tea did notsound good to me; I must be sick for sure!  Applesauce and Toast sounded way toogood but there was no way for either of those; applesauce is a rare treat and the only bread we have is what I make.  But, oh, for a simple banana.  I was longing for just one.

Early this morning, while it was still dark, I managed to slug out to the kitchen feeling completely horrid when I noticed a banana peel in the compost bowl on the side of the sink.  Am I still delirious?  A banana?  I nearly accosted Stephen as he was making his coffee.  “Where did you get a banana?” I exclaimed with all the energy I could muster.   “Oh, there’s a bunch of them for you out on the veranda table,” was his casual reply. I told him I had been wanting just one. But as I went out on the veranda I found nearly 50 of them!  They were sent by David Johnny, “For Mummy Laura,” he had said as he stuck the over-flowing basket into the truck when Stephen passed through Tendabu.  

I could only manage to eat one but did it ever taste good!  I wanted just one and here was a table piled with them!  Interestingly, this is the first time David’s done this and he said they were for me.  He didn’t even know I was sick but the Lord did and sent the one thing that sounded good: a banana.  

Post Script:  It may seem odd that obtaining a banana was so difficult in the African jungle village.  Our village of Baomahun is a gold mining center and no one here has care or time to bother with something as lowly and menial as agricultural prospects; they’re all busy trying to strike it rich prospecting for gold so all produce must be trucked in.  The other factor is that we’re literally the end of the road for any vehicles larger than a motorcycle and most of the time the produce has been offloaded at other places. We can go weeks without seeing bananas which only makes this story all the more amazing.  Normally Brother David sells his bananas in markets downline from us where they fetch a higher price.  Incidentally, there were actually 60 bananas — I counted them after writing the above entry.  A generous gift from a poor village farmer.

Call to Prayer

by Laura Jean Holt

Date of original journal entry:  Sunday, January 8, 2017

Our village of Baomahun boasts three mosques, two of which have a minaret.  The minaret, or tower, was traditionally used by the muezzin, the man who, in a wailing high tenor falsetto, calls the faithful to mandatory prayer five times a day. But the minarets in West Africa sport incredibly loud P.A. systems with recorded Arab voices to which we are subjected five times a day and even more on Fridays, the Islamic holy day.  By two mosques.  At the same time. But … not quite exactly!  A chaotic sounding overlap is the result.

Since the first call begins roughly at five o’clock in the morning, we try to rise around 3:45 to have one blissful hour of quiet before the mosques begin their morning wail which is often the loudest of the day to rouse the drowsy faithful.  

On this particular morning, following some much needed quiet prayer and completely unaware of the time, I started reading Proverb 8. I suddenly had a most incredible overlay of scripture with this Arabic call bringing into sharp relief the spiritual struggle which we encounter daily in Sierra Leone.  To maintain the incredible effect of this moment, I’ll give you only the Arabic here, just as I would have heard it; the full call to prayer, along with its English translation, is at the end of the post. 

“ Allahu Akbar” [pause]

            Doth not wisdom cry … ?

Completely awe struck by the split-second and improbable timing, I too paused for my own prayer at each phrase.

“Ashhadu an la ilaha illa Allah” [pause]

            And understanding put forth her voice …  [prayer] 

“Ashadu anna Muhammadan Rasool Allah” [pause]

            She cryeth at the gates, at the entry of the city … [prayer]

“Hayya ‘ala-s-Salah” [pause]

            Unto you, O men I call;

            And my voice is is to the sons of man … [much prayer]

I was so moved to prayer by this stark contrast of light versus dark, understanding versus gross ignorance — willful ignorance, a choosing on the part of the sons of man to remain in the darkness.  Wisdom quite literally cries at the gate of our “city” and puts forth her voice calling, “whosoever will, let him come and take of the water of life freely.” (Revelation 22:17) I will never be able to read Proverb 8 without praying for Muslims around the world to hear and heed the real call to prayer.

This is a translation of the prayer call which we hear five times a day and, as stated, more on Fridays.  During the holy month of Ramadan this call starts at three in the morning!  The final call is at seven, eight, or sometimes nine at night.  Sleep can be difficult at times.

Allahu Akbar

God is Great

(said four times)

Ashhadu an la ilaha illa Allah

I bear witness that there is no god except the One God.

(said two times)

Ashadu anna Muhammadan Rasool Allah

I bear witness that Muhammad is the messenger of God.

(said two times)

Hayya 'ala-s-Salah

Hurry to the prayer (Rise up for prayer)

(said two times)

Hayya 'ala-l-Falah

Hurry to success (Rise up for Salvation)

(said two times)

As-salatu Khayrun Minan-nawm

Prayer is better than sleep

(said two times)

(said only for predawn [fajr] prayer)

Allahu Akbar

God is Great

(said two times)

La ilaha illa Allah

There is no god except the One God

Read Laura Jean Holt’s Previous Post: Which Department Please

Which Department Please

by Laura Jean Holt

Sometimes I’m asked about my role as a missionary wife and I think to myself, “Hmmm . . . it might be difficult to define that role.”   A missionary wife wears many hats but here is a small sampling of my many and diverse functions.

I am an unregistered nurse –  Especially to Stephen when he has been through some very debilitating sicknesses.

I am a unlicensed doctor – I have a book called Where There is No Doctorand with the aid of this book, I have successfully diagnosed and treated Stephen, myself, and others who have come to us seeking medical assistance.  And - I’m quite happy to report - I have never lost a patient!

I am an unlicensed pharmacist – This same book gives suggested medicines and dosages for treatment along with how to substitute if something’s not available.  However, most of what we need is accessible at “pharmacies” - basically on the street.

I am an unlicensed veterinarian – I have treated our own dogs, goats, and chickens as well as other people's animals with the assistance of yet another book: Where There is No Vet

I also have the book Where there is no Dentist but I steadfastly drew the line at Where There is No Midwife. These ladies have been successfully delivering babies for centuries and I decided - they really don’t need my help in that department!

When Stephen is away I am a night security watchman – Armed with a flash light, a machete, and our two dogs, Goodness and Mercy, I must investigate around the compound when the dogs alert me. People need to see and know that we respond.  What exactly I would do with the machete I don’t know but it makes me feel better to have it. 

I am a dietitian – no easy task where our main foods are rice, bulgur wheat, eggs, and dried beans.  If we have bread it’s because I made it. And if I don’t cook it’s fast food such as canned beans, sardines, or some such as there are no other options. Stephen is very understanding those times but I work hard to not do that to him if I can help it. 

 Often I have to be the handyman's assistant but I am also an administrative assistant – I make copies, collate pages, and staple lesson outlines; I gather reference materials for Stephen as he prepares lessons; I develop power point presentations for his classes; I handle all the  correspondence and Field Reports; I do what ever he needs to help ease his burden thereby freeing him for teaching and evangelism whether at home or on the circuit.

I am the house keeping department ~

The Sunday School department ~

The agricultural department ~

The art department...

Sometimes when Stephen asks me to do something I answer him by saying that I will inform the appropriate department.  One day he responded with, “You have more departments than the Pentagon and getting through to the correct person is harder than the IRS.”

Juggling my departments is a daunting task at times.  The dietitian might call in sick and not want to cook.  The house keeper might be in a foul mood (veryfoul).  The art department might have the mistaken notion that they are the only ones with work to do and so nothing else gets done.  Somebody may need the nurse but she just really doesn't feel like seeing anybody at that moment.   I have departmental squabbles and conflicts on a regular basis but I try to keep them all in line and productively employed. Besides . . . I really can't fire any of them anyway.

First and foremost, my function and role is that of wife to my dear husband – which it should be for any wife.  It is difficult for me to adequately communicate to you that Stephen and I are all we have. Due to the vast cultural, spiritual, and intellectual differences, there is not a single person he depends on more than me.  That knowledge is a heavy weight at times.  I know I must do my best to be my best for him at all times and in every way.  I am not very successful in this but with the Lord's help, I’m learning.  

At times I found it difficult to block out what other missionary wives do and listen to the Lord for His direction.  I had the perception that I was expected to do certain things.  That notion was partly my own and partly placed in my mind by talking to people while on deputation.  “This is what a missionary wife is and does,” or,  “You will be having such and such type of ministry, won't you?”  But God is not in a box and each mission work and missionary wife is an individual.  I do not want to imply that we can't learn from the work of others – that would be foolish – but we should not limit ourselves or feel constrained by what others do or expect of us.

The Lord greatly used Stephen to help define my main function in the work we share in Sierra Leone - Illustrated Evangelism.  This role is quite outside the “typical” expectations for a missionary wife as the illustrations fill a need we could not have understood until actually involved in the work.  As the head of the art department, I try to keep my staff of one up to speed with the ever increasing demand for illustrations.  As the work develops and progresses, Stephen and I are continually coming up with new ideas.  One long-term project currently under development is a wordless evangelistic book for the book of John were we will focus on one major teaching from each chapter; something I’m very excited about.

Most likely, if you were to visit our remote mission compound, you’d find me at home or very nearby. I don’t often travel out of our village. So if you need me, just take a number, wait in line, and I’ll direct your request to the correct department - if they’re available!

Oranges

by Laura Jean Holt

All thy garments smell of myrrh, and aloes, and cassia, out of the ivory palaces, whereby they have made thee glad. (Psalm 45:8)

The open markets in Sierra Leone are quite the experience. People, voices, colors, animals, chaos. To me it’s rather fun. But then there are the many smells, raw and pungent. Rotting fruit, dirt, endless smoke, open sewers, potent palm wine, throngs of sweaty bodies. The meat stalls; the fish, both fresh and smoked. Garbage everywhere. They all combine and mingle to make one overwhelming, unforgettable odor.

As we learn to make our way through the market, we generally know where to go to get what we need and have largely gotten used to the sights and smells of the market mingling in with the rest of the crowd, well, as much as two whites in West Africa are able.

But then, on occasion, my olfactory perceptions are startled out of the routine. Something sweet and refreshing has arrested my attention: oranges. Women sitting on short stools with baskets of oranges peel away just the outer skin leaving the white pith attached to the flesh. These are sold as a kind of primitive juice box. You firmly squeeze your orange, rather like massaging it, and thus release the juice which remains contained within the pith. You then bite off the end and suck out the juice while continuing to squeeze.

The delightful aroma is an oasis in the midst of the filth of the market. Their sweetness rises above even the most foul odor.

And isn’t that just like our Lovely Lord Jesus? Even a touch of the hem of his garment can relieve the heartaches of life. Leaning on his everlasting arms, encircled by his perfumed robe is the very place of peace, comfort, and contentment despite the chaos happening all around.

Beginnings

by Laura Jean Holt

I’m not even beyond the first verse of the first chapter in my reading and I find myself marveling in a lesson as broad as the world and as deep as the Savior’s love for that world.

Mark 1:1 The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God

Glory to God it was just the beginning! The the mosques have just finished their loud and lengthy early morning broadcast via loudspeakers adding poignancy to the lesson; the beginning of the gospel will silence vain religion. As I sit enjoying the fresh quietness, I take consideration of some beginnings.

The beginning of the gospel. Such a simple statement yet this morning it has caused me to think of all the far flung places to which the gospel has traveled and the vastly different people it has touched.

Two weeks ago, in the poorest country on earth, a dear old Muslim man, Mr. Combi, nearing the ending of his physical days, made June 3 his own beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. He is a fragment gathered, a soul saved, while the long-suffering of God waited for him, not willing that any, including Mr. Combi, should perish.

And one just week ago in one of the most privileged countries on earth, a little boy, only six years old, at the very starting of physical his days, made June 16 the beginning of the gospel in his young life. Caleb Daniel Thoma, our own dear grandson, is a fragment gathered, a soul saved; yes, God was not willing that he should perish either.

The beginning of the gospel. God is no respecter of persons; he is not willing that ANY should perish but that ALL should come to repentance. Young or old, rich or poor, educated or illiterate, privileged or disadvantaged in life, God doesn't see people as man sees. He sees them all the same: as souls which need to be saved from eternal damnation. There is one, and only one, aspect in this life which is entirely and eternally fair - Salvation is a free gift to all, to each, to any, and to everyone who will call on the Lord.

The beginning of the gospel. Two people, Mr. Combi and Caleb Thoma, were used of the Lord this morning as the vast comparisons of life were spread before my eyes; they couldn’t be more opposite, yet to God, they were entirely the same. What a privilege to have a view of these immeasurable differences and to truly see men, women, boys, girls the way God does, only as fragments which need gathering; as souls who need to come to the beginning of the gospel in their lives regardless of social standing, rank, ethnicity or nationality.