…..and now the rest of the story…
We left our little inn in Accra and headed for Manso-Amenfi about 8 hours inland. In the crowded little bus with some seats made from wooden slats, we crowded in and ventured forth into parts unknown to us Brunies (broonies) (that’s what we were called because we are white)… so here we go, a bus full of Brunies along with our beloved host pastor and Mary, one of our interpreters. Since it was the rainy season, rain would come down suddenly and the steam would make the non-air conditioned bus like a sauna & we would all be dripping – what a ride we had with all the sweat & laughter. How could such an uncomfortable, close-quartered ride in a rainstorm be joyous? We were about to find out. We didn’t know the driver who never said a word to anyone – Pastor said he was a Muslim. As he drove cautiously in the rainstorm on a mud road, we passed by large log trucks stuck in ditches next to the hills along the way – even they couldn’t get back on the road. As we drove around one, our bus went headlong into the ditch. There we were stuck in the mud in the rainforest with a Muslim driver who didn’t like our laughter nor our gospel songs. The driver got out and looked at the wheels and told Pastor there was no way we could maneuver our way out, even with pushing. So what did we do? We prayed & everyone started moving back & forth in the seats and just prayed “Jesus” over & over.
I KNOW angels are NOT little, feminine, wimpy, fairy-like creatures because one of them had to have miraculously picked up the back end of the bus & slide us right back onto the road – that is the only explanation possible. We felt the bus move right back onto the road & no one was outside it. It was such an awe-inspiring testimony to the Muslim driver, he gave his heart to Jesus right there. Someone had a video camera & we have it on record – our first convert in Ghana was our Muslim driver who said he wanted to serve an awesome powerful God who listened and answered prayers. Sometimes all it takes is a Christian doing what comes naturally to a Christian & praying our way out of a muddy mess & letting others see the loving, powerful Savior who can & will do amazing miracles.
I love Him.
Sometimes during the day, we need little reminders of God’s love and faithfulness to keep us going.
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A few weeks ago I received a beautiful banner and pillow cover in the mail. First of all, I have to say how amazing these items smelled when they arrived. I kept holding the packaging and items to my nose because they seriously smelled SO good! Sometimes, when you order something online, it arrives smelling unpleasant so this was nice. 😉 Second, I was amazed by the quality! Being someone that sews, unintentionally, I look at things like seams, creases, and zippers. These products are not only aesthetically pleasing to the eye but are constructed to last with durability. The fabric is top notch and the seams are strong.
But most of all… It has been wonderful to see this banner as I walk through my home or on my way out the door and find myself humming or singing “Be Still My Soul” as I go about my life. I have had a rough couple of weeks and to remember the Lord is on my side has meant so much to me. The pillow rests on my couch and when my kids are being silly with a mess on the floor I remember that even amongst the toys, my nest is abundantly blessed. It’s the little things sometimes, more than the big things, that bring the most reassurance of His love for us when we need them.
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Watching TBN a few minutes ago – Restoring The Shack – brought back a vivid memory of my visit to a Catholic mass. Today’s Shack program was an eye-opener. A Protestant was visiting with her Catholic friend and went to mass in a huge palatial Catholic Church. The priest delivered a message and then came time for the Holy Eucharist Communion. The ladies got up to get in line – but the Catholic lady had the Protestant lady go back to her seat with the words -“This is only for Catholics”. The lady went back to her seat alone feeling very conspicuous. The priest went immediately to the lady who was told to sit down & gave her communion with the words, Christ died for all not just Catholics…
When I was a child around 9-10, I visited St. Francis DeSales Church in my hometown with a friend. Upon entering those massive, ornate doors I was pulled aside by a very old bossy lady in teeny, tiny spectacles looking frantic. “Hurry hurry – put on this robe and get in line!” I had no time to respond before I was fully clad in a bright red, long skirt – and white over-garment. Given the old lady’s demeanor, I dared not refuse. I was very shy and quiet as a child. In the meantime, my friend had gone in and sat down waiting for me. Then came time for the grand processional into what can only be described as a Gothic Castle – I was near the back of the line and petrified trying to look for my friend. I finally spied the back of her curly head as she turned and saw me in the processional- Wide-eyed and red-faced is only a minuscule description of her reaction. I never visited church with her again.