French wounds, Ghanian balm

Little girl around a corner in Tamale
School boys wanting their picture taken. This is in the area Aidan and I shared Jesus.


Sweet little boy.

They have all sorts of Jesusy enterprise titles!

Monday June 23, evening

Alas, I didn’t sleep again so today I was very tired. But somehow, some way, I was able to make it through our day with few yawns.

The story of the day is Aidan. I didn’t know how he would do evangelizing in the neighborhood surrounding the seminary. I asked if he wanted me to go with him as his partner, but he said, “No, mom, I want to choose a partner.” He chose Emmanuel, a Ghanian seminary student. They walked through the dusty, dirty, sewage-laden neighborhood and shared Jesus. Aidan shared the story of creation all the way to Jesus Christ. The people they shared with were so moved that they invited Aidan and Emmanuel to come back on Wednesday to tell the story again, and this time they would bring their friends.
I spent my time with a girl named Rebekah. God gave me another opportunity to give, which I shared with Aidan. She wants to go to school to learn how to do batik. So Aidan gave some money to her pastor who will oversee her schooling.
I prayed for a few folks as we walked through the village. One boy in particular stays in my mind. “Please pray for my lungs,” he said.

He must’ve been Julia’s age, wearing a ratty shirt and soiled pants. I asked him if I could put my hand on his shoulder to pray for him. He agreed. As I touched him, I could feel his lungs rasping. I prayed God would heal him, then said Amen. I do pray the Lord heals his lungs. I believe He can.

We spent the evening teaching future Sunday school teachers how to put together their own lessons. I had three seminary students (men) in my small group. I was impressed with their hearts for Jesus, their ability to share Him freely. But what surprised me was that they didn’t know what a glue stick was. Of course they caught on very quickly, but it was something I hadn’t even thought about. Glue sticks are high tech!
The missionaries who have hosted us have been such a blessing. They feed us, tell us great stories, and they share freely their hopes and frustrations. They are a rare breed—past retirement age and fervently serving Jesus. Maybe there’s hope for my family to do ministry yet.

“This trip so far has changed my life,” Aidan just told me. “I will never be the same. My worldview is completely changed. I’m amazed,” he told me, “that people will listen to what I say when I share Jesus. As long as I knew Axel (his friend in France), he never let me share.”
And that’s how I feel right now. Sharing Christ in the neighborhoods with such open, sweet people has been a balm on my heart. After two and a half years ministering to folks in France where the ground was so hard, it’s lovely to experience the opposite.

Maybe God will work through me. Maybe France wasn’t a failure. Maybe God will use the heartache there in more fertile ground. Or maybe the lesson all along has been to trust Jesus through the ambiguity.
I’m broken here. But in a good way. I feel lost, but in a good way. I’m lonely, but in a good way. I’m hungering after a touch from Jesus.

Oh dear Jesus, touch me deeply. Please heal the wounds from France on Ghanian soil. Would You do that, Lord? I long for it.

This is a big, wide world and I’m so small. So terribly small.

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