Tag: Africa

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Family Ties

 

There is no surprise more magical than the surprise of being loved. It is God’s finger on man’s shoulder.

The reflection attributed to Playwright Charles Morgan, brings a soul-warming smile this day.

I was not smiling those several weeks back at Christmastime upon learning my twenty-seven-year-old grandson was being wheeled off to surgery. T.J. would soon be left without a colon. The culprit – advanced Crohn’s Disease.

The procedure complete, T.J.’s body then faced a string of bewildering, daunting and very worrisome hurdles. The hospital’s I.C.U., his new address. Seven weeks into the journey, T.J. and his (rock star companion) wife Ashley are breathing a bit more easily. This week’s physician report thankfully signals a turn for the better.*

The expressions of love directed toward T.J. and to our whole family certainly did not come as a full surprise. Many readers of this column can relate.

A number of those praying and caring supporters cheering us on are people already near and dear in our lives. Still, the parade of well-wishers, friends and acquaintances, shoring up our feeble faith through their voices and their unrelenting praying seemed at times super-human. Indeed , the Divine element is irrefutable – his strong presence.

Our brother-in-Christ and past co-laborer Pastor Wangombe in Africa – adds his voice to many of our international student friends, past and present, “It is war; and in all these things we are more than conquerors through Christ our Lord”.

South Asia friend, Raj, chimes in, “Amen, rock on TJ and team. PTL”!

Smiles, indeed.

*further update: T.J. is out of hospital. With family, gaining strength

©2025 Jerry Lout

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Primed and Ready

Scene ONE:  “I’m sorry, Ann, can I please ask a favor of you?”

The South Asian scholar, Bao, had become a brand new father and his wife and baby boy were set to be released from hospital. They needed help. “My academic advisor is just now assigning me extra duties and this is keeping me from getting my family back home to our apartment.”

“Sure”, Ann replied, “just give me the information and I will be there.”

Scene TWO:  A year or two passes. Our phone rings.

“Hi Ann, are you very busy this afternoon. . . my wife and baby; they are at the hospital. .” (Déjà vu was in the air).

Such calls can readily spring out of the blue for campus workers in service to international students. My wife adjusted some things and, in each instance, headed to the medical facility. A mother herself – (now grandmother) – a smile visited her face as she navigated city traffic.

Her professional training – first as LPN, afterward as Registered Nurse – had simply reinforced Ann’s natural bent. Wired for responding to people (friend or stranger) in time of need, my wife was once the focus of a family chat around our family dining table, I posed a question to our children,

“So kids, which of these five qualities would you say most hits the mark as your mother’s ‘primary love language’. . Physical touch – Quality time – Gift giving – Acts of service – Words of affirmation.

“Their response was immediate and unanimous – each of them chiming, “Acts of Service!”

In an earlier season a couple decades prior when our home rested atop a remote hill at an Africa mission station, Ann launched into action one night to speedily fashion a makeshift bandage from a set of bedsheets. A young man brought to our screened back door had been laid open at the hand of an angry, inebriated fellow tribesman. The downward swing of the attacker’s machete left a grotesque open gash. Ann’s stop-gap measure (bad pun) met with success.

“To the servant of God, every place is the right place, and every time is the right time”*

©2025 Jerry Lout                                                                  *St. Catherine of Siena

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Fresh Lens

“Take Perspectives – it will ruin you for the ordinary!”

By the time Floyd McClung, author of ‘The Father Heart of God’, heralded the Perspectives challenge he and his wife Sally had for years lived an ‘Indiana Jones’ kind of existence. Their ground-breaking disciple-making ventures in Youth With A Mission in Kabul, Afghanistan and in the heart of Amsterdam’s red-light district yielded abundant fruit in radically changed lives.

My first learning of the fifteen-week ‘Perspectives on the World Christian Movement’ course came at the corner of our city’s Third and Zunis avenues. Outreach Pastor John McVay of Tulsa Christian Fellowship – a flagship church for missions in Tulsa – “accosted me” outside my office door.

“Hey Jerry, you might be interested in doing this course – three hours on Monday nights for the Spring months. You and fellow students will take in top-notch presentations on insights featuring cross-cultural outreach. And, you’re likely to get a deeper-than-ever picture of Biblical, historical, cultural and strategic Perspectives on reaching out to the world and making disciples.”

I showed up for my first class, and was soon “ruined for the ordinary”.

Perspectives struck such a chord that I afterward offered a confession to my friend, John. “Although I served in Africa missions for twenty years, a part of me feels like I have never been a missionary!” While the stark comment wasn’t far from the truth, rather than it leaving me bummed, the course fired me up more than ever for the ‘Great Commission’ enterprise.

Over time the Perspective’s series – compelling in both spirit and substance – has stretched its boundaries to regions across the world. A number of our ministry staff and volunteer teams gave themselves to the rigorous and rewarding task of plowing through those fifteen weeks.

Indeed, one of our busy student leaders ended up facilitating the full program himself in the heart of our campus. He and his wife afterward relocated their young family, at no small expense, to the heart of a major American metropolis far from their neighborhood roots. Immersing themselves in the language and culture of this “foreign ethnicity” has since been yielding spiritual and relational dividends. This young family, “ruined” by the seeking-and-saving nature of God’s lovingkindness, go about their daily lives fueled by a substance referenced by a writer long ago.

The love of Christ compels us.*

©2025 Jerry Lout                                                                         *2 Corinthians 5:14, Paul

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Curious Coincidence

 

Home from the whirlwind prayer journey and recovered from a jet lag episode worthy of a Guinness Book entry, I answered our kitchen phone.

“Hi Jerry, and welcome back to the States!”  The party on the line with warm Pennsylvania voice was primed to offer intriguing news.

She and her husband had committed to pray for our team in far-off China throughout our just-completed two-week prayer-walking venture. During that fortnite, they received a surprise phone call from the adult son of a Chinese friend from long ago. The father was a former international student befriended by the American family those years before.

“I am serving in government and am now in your state leading a delegation of other officials from my province”, began the caller.

“I have a request, please. May I bring our group of twenty to learn something of your American religion?  May we gather somewhere so that somebody of your choosing* may share with our delegation on the topic of Christianity?”

“Certainly, of course”, came the reply.

My PA friend’s mind raced. She and her husband had been praying intently for the precious people of this young man’s homeland – and specifically for the very province he and his accompanying cadre represented.

The visit was made and a culturally-clear presentation on the story of creation, redemption and of life lived in Jesus given. Printed resources in their language, including a Bible for each of the twenty, were presented to an enthusiastic, grateful company of visitors.

It happened that the presenter was son to missionary neighbors of ours in outback Africa of the early 1970s.*

“God, this deep, deep wisdom? It’s way over our heads. We’ll never figure it out.”        Romans 11:33 Msg Bible

©2024 Jerry Lout

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Street Beat

One of the most astonishing episodes of my life happened in 1995, stemming from a phone call from New York’s Lake Ontario region.

“Hi there Jerry, this is David Spencer. Would you like to go to China?”

David’s  grandfather had long ago pioneered the mission agency through which we had served in Africa through our younger years. David was in pursuit of friends to pull together a low-profile short-term prayer team.

From the early 1970s a phenomenon (tagged later on as ‘Prayer Walking’) had been evolving, expanding its reach year after year. No single group or organization or church had a corner on this partnering-with=God practice. Prayer-walkers – hundreds, then later on thousands of small bands of intercessors donning all manner of footwear –  had been taking to the streets all across broad sectors of the globe. Missiologists, evangelists and church planters took note, sensing that a burgeoning prayer movement was clearly afoot. The work of a sovereign, compassionate, pursuing God.

By the 1990s bands of such purposeful intercessors (Jesus-followers directing their praying outward toward the needs of others) had lined up at airline ticket counters. It was as though the world’s nations, many of them hosts to entire people groups still uninformed of the existence of Jesus, had seized the hearts of these travelling travailers.

Our prayer-journeying team (of Canadian and American heritage) numbered twenty and rangwd in age from 19 years to 81.

From our Hong Kong Port of Entry where orientation sessions were taken in through the fog of jet lag, we navigated thousands of miles by train, plane and automobile, by country bus and the occasional rickshaw. Add to this the mile on mile prayer-walking stints along strategic venues of five ‘gateway cities’, the occupants of one such urban center numbering sixteen million strong. Indeed, no town whose sidewalks welcomed the touch of our collective shoe leather boasted populations of less than three million.

An eye-opening, soul-stirring adventure of a lifetime.

Soon, I would take in a piece of news from a Pennsylvania farming community set to catapult my mind to jaw-dropping wonder. Leaving me happily puzzling in the general direction of the heavens,

What manner of God are you?

©2024 Jerry Lout

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In Other Words

For the college student suddenly thrust into the streams of an unfamiliar location and culture, it can feel like a whitewater rafter battling turbulence along a Category Five canyon. Sympathetic voices of those who have traversed such currents ahead of them can prove priceless. In the language of Clinical Psychologist Wilson Van Dusen, “Perhaps the most important skill that should be taught to all persons is the capacity to really see, hear, and understand others.”

Such nerve-calming figures might arrive on the scene as volunteers who had previously served in missions service or other cross-cultural vocations. Indeed, lessons gleaned from such informal coaches can sometimes translate to things of life and death! How lucky was I as a twenties-something arrival to Africa, having locals on the ground orient me to new ways of thinking and acting within a different context. Navigating a car along a bustling corridor on the ‘wrong side’ of the road while, poised at a steering wheel affixed to the wrong side of the vehicle carries the potential of posing a risk! Contrasting roadway differences of the American and the British landscape give rise to humorous – and terrifying – tales.

The task of orienting our new international students did not just fall to American welcomers. To our real pleasure, a student or two from abroad – who had by now stacked up some cultural mileage in adapting to Tulsa life – sometimes showed up to lend aid.

“Remember this point. . .” The university upperclassman from Hong Kong paused a moment for emphasis as she served up nuggets of wisdom to a handful of new arrivals. . . “Keep it in mind, that words displayed on a sign along a sidewalk do not always mean what you might think”.

“When you see a sign along a city street announcing SUBWAY, please do not look for stairways leading you underground. No” (here she raised both arms toward an imaginary placard), “it is only a sandwich shop”.

© 2024 Jerry Lout

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Reptile Routine

Extending circles of friendships for newly arrived foreign students proves priceless, over time.  Stewarded well, the practice can translate into treasured relationships. It’s been noted that a Houston professor researching the matter arrived at a remarkable finding.

When a local resident extends kindness to an international student in a meaningful way within the first 72 hours of the newcomer’s arrival, a lifelong friendship can well have been launched.

My wife and I resonate with stats like these, having drunk deep from the wells of hospitality at the hands of local residents upon our maiden arrival to Africa.

In mere moments of our friends Carl and Annette swinging open their door in welcome to my friend Constant, the space in their cozy residence was ringing with hospitable cheer. Is it any wonder, given the needs and the makeup of we human creatures, how soon authentic friendships among us can bud, then flourish?

Lingering a moment at the apartment door, I took in the surroundings and wondered how many stories lay past the many other student housing doors. My good-humored, keen-minded, bespectacled friend from the Far East greeted me in what had by now become a predictable norm. A cheery grin seemed to mark his countenance at every turn.

Waiting outside his door, I had already begun scanning my brain for a specific kind of word or phrase for this fun-loving Chemistry major.

In the experiment of figuring out ways to help students get a better handle on the English language, I had recognized a robust interest among some scholars over our common American slangs or idioms. My student friend was, I discovered, not merely interested in the world of slang. Constant grew such an appetite for new expressions he inaugurated a kind of game. We were not to part company following any of our sessions without my having left behind a fresh new idiom to take its place inside his ever-expanding slang storehouse.

This Tuesday afternoon, having wrapped up our regular conversational time in the New Testament, Constant hit me with the reminder, “So Jerry, what slang do you have for me today?”

“How about this, Constant. . .”

I coached him then on a common back-and-forth dialogue featuring reptiles as the theme. From that day onward, no conversational session was complete without a shared parting refrain,

“See you later, Alligator. . .”

“After while, Crocodile!”

©2023 Jerry Lout

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Behind The Scenes

“Coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous”. Einstein’s quip leaves me wondering whether the renowned Physicist had some family of returning missionaries in mind.

With us no longer living and serving overseas, Ann and I found the Twilight Zone our new address. We talked, we dreamed some rather feeble dreams, we pondered. . . And prayed.  “Guidance”, Loren Cunningham wisely noted, “is first of all a relationship with the Guide”.

A question surfaced in my thoughts over and over as I again strolled the lovely Tulsa campus, What if I requested and was given approval by the University to register as an international student volunteer organization? What then about a ministry ‘covering’?

Elim Fellowship of Lima, NY had through all our Africa years served as our sponsoring organization. Deep friendships and spiritual camaraderie had been forged between us and fellow Elim team members through our many ups and downs of Christian service.

I am not a brilliant man, but I’ve been given the sense to suspect it is almost always a bad idea to strike out in the Lord’s work as a lone ranger.

Enter an Einstein coincidence.

To my utter surprise word came that our mission agency (Elim) had just elected to create a new department. Its central focus being to extend Christian friendship and service to college students – but not just any college students. Elim Fellowship was right now poised to launch its first-ever international-student-ministry department. Christening the arm as All Nations USA. A seasoned servant-leader, David Spencer, would be tending the helm at the NY office.

The timely development of such an unlikely script indicated, it seemed, the handwriting of divine providence. Signed, Anonymous.

©2023 Jerry Lout

 

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Sliver of Light

My sister, visiting the Okmulgee Cemetery prior to our father’s passing, had spied a lone leafy tree standing poised like a sentry keeping watch over her modest collection of ‘final resting places’ nearby.

“We want a spot near a shady tree”. Betty’s voice was resolute. Decades have passed at this writing. The same sentry remains faithful at her post, casting summertime shade over the added headstone marked, Clyde and Thelma Lout.

Oklahoma towns are known for their distinctive names. Ann and I selected a home in Broken Arrow, a community sitting a stone’s throw from Tulsa. Several colleges dotted the nearby urban landscape. We still had no specific ministry roadmap in place yet were drawn to locate at a spot in easy reach of international students.

Amy, our Africa-born, fish-out-of-water nine-year-old, assumed her stateside academic career in a virtually foreign environment – a region called the Sooner State.

We linked up with a church pastored by a brother of our missionary friend, Jon Stern. It was here, in a nondescript office adjacent to a hallway water fountain, I would take my first halting steps beyond emotional trauma traced back to early childhood. The layers of crippling secrecy would start getting peeled away.

My unhappy experience stretching back to pre-adolescent childhood days had featured a much older boy. The dark-of-night violation carried memories too distressing for a kid’s mind to process – much less to manage. Thus, the matter had been left undisclosed, its attending confusion and trauma kept under wraps. No one knew.

The secret would one day, through my own telling and to my immeasurable relief, come to light. Waves of hope would follow. But not just yet. It seems that God – his understanding and compassion, deep beyond measure – chooses to postpone bringing some things out of the shadows until a preferred time. The right time.

“Hi”. The gentleman’s smile was kind, disarming. He stood poised but relaxed at the entrance of the room whose doorway stood open, “I’m Steve”.

Until that day I had never drawn on the professional skills of a clinical Counsellor.  Steve Blahut was the right pick.

©2023 Jerry Lout

 

 

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Home

They come to most people who’ve lived life awhile. Periods we label roller-coaster seasons.With jet lag and the landscapes of Africa behind us Ann and I pondered how life might look going forward. Her mother’s passing from this world was surely nearing as leukemia would bring its final assault. My father’s homegoing, too, drew closer in by the day.
Meanwhile, the peal of wedding bells lay immediately ahead.

My wife, smiling broadly, yielded a sigh of happy relief. The wedding gown project for her firstborn had come together well. How beautiful Julie was as she took my arm at the head of the church’s center aisle.
“Who gives this woman to be married to this man?” Darrell Stinnett – the groom’s father and officiating minister – smiled my direction. The two weeks since landing at Will Rogers International had raced by. In mere minutes I would enter a long-established fraternity – father of a bride.

Returning to Okmulgee, the land of my upbringing, I resumed my vigil at Dad’s bedside. His breathing grew more labored. One late morning I stepped outdoors and took in the surroundings of the old home place. My son’s voice came from the front porch, “Dad, can you come?”
Slipping in to pay a visit at his grandfather’s bedside, Scott was quick to witness the change. It was September 1, 1992, exactly a month short of his 80th birthday. Grandpa was gone.

Crossing life’s final divide – the temporal to the hereafter – Dad had run his course. And finished well.
“To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord”.*
© 2023 Jerry Lout                                                       *2 Corinthians 5:8