“When you get out there and when things get hard – really hard – remember this. . .”
The words hung there above the table between us.
Veteran Missionary Johansson had leaned forward in his chair, apparently for emphasis. It was early 1972 near Rochester, New York, a few days before Ann and I would fly to Africa, embarking on the adventure of our lives. I probably wasn’t ready for his three-word punchline.
“Remember”, “when things get really hard, Love your wife.”
Now, here I stood, a dozen years later, poised to open a conference room door in Nairobi and face the distressing thing awaiting me, whatever it was.
“Remember. Love your wife.”
Before we entered our own trial, I had heard of married couples so undone by hardships and testings, that the best they could muster at the end of a day was to silently weep themselves to sleep in each other’s arms. Ann and I had entered such a level of “broken”.
Yet, a curious thing had also been happening. In the tunnel of conflicted voices and questionings, I sensed a quiet invitation. To the Psalms – the ancient song book at the Bible’s very center. The readings became my home, my refuge. I blubbered its lyrics, reviewed its whimperings and its railings, poured over it from my soul. And comfort came out of hiding to find me.
We drew from the psalms together, Ann and me. Even now, with seas and continents between.
I entered the room where the Kenyan leaders awaited. Senior overseers offered handshakes. Courtesy marked their faces – a measure of warmth it seemed to me, blended with a measure of awkwardness. Are these men feeling “left out” of something like I do?
The meeting commenced.
Two hours later the visit was over and I left almost as puzzled as before. But, in an odd way, I was comforted now. And greatly relieved. A question had surfaced among the men. Some voiced it several times.
“Why is our brother here? Why the cost, the long flights?”
Closing comments wrapped up the time.
“Brother Jerry,” the senior spokesman’s words came quiet, sincere. “Whatever difficulties there may have been in your service with us, there is nothing we see that should call for you to make this big and costly trip. We really do not understand, actually. Please give our greetings to your wife. We look forward to receiving you back to the work when your time in America is done.”
Before I reached the airport for my return flight home, a signed letter from the Council was passed to me. Offering well-wishes and words of “sorry” for undue pain brought our way. The message kindly addressed Ann by name – affirming again the African leadership’s readiness that we carry continue forward in the work.
The big aircraft started its lumbered movement toward an outbound runway. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are preparing for take-off. Please see that your carry-on items are secured safely. . .”
Drawing my seat belt about me I took in a slow breath. Lord, you surely have things for us to learn. Don’t let your counsel be lost to us.
Soon a treasured piece of literature lay open before me, precious phrases strung together I could easily recite from young childhood.
“He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.” From the Psalms.
©2018 Jerry Lout