03.06.06
Posted in Uncategorized on March 6th, 2006 at 10:23 am by Anthony Parker
by Anthony Parker
Our family plans to leave Africa in a couple of months. I returned a few days ago from a visit to Benin, where I previously worked for eight years. I hope to get back one day, but this was my last visit for a while. The trip was made more special because I was accompanied by a former teammate, Tod, as well as his mother and his daughter. Tod’s ministry in Benin was cut short when his wife (Hannah’s mom), was killed in an roadside accident. Hannah was eight months old at the time; she is now eleven. I think the trip, though hard in some ways, was healthy for all of us as Hannah connected with that part of her story, and it gave me a sense of closure to have her back with her dad after our lives being so dramatically torn apart.
After spending a couple of days among the Fon people where we had ministered, we traveled down to Benin’s capital city of Cotonou for a night before returning to Togo. As we prepared to leave Cotonou, I backed out of my parking space, and then had trouble getting my vehicle into gear—but eventually it went and we took off. Before getting out of town, I had another, similar problem, but decided to continue on. It was just after noon on Friday. Everything, including garages, would be closed until 3:00 p.m. With Benin elections coming up on Sunday, and the borders likely closing, I didn’t think we could afford to spend a night in Benin waiting for the car to be repaired, especially since the Vogts were scheduled to fly out of Togo Sunday night. So we went on.
Less than an hour down the road, my clutch started to feel “spongy†(if you felt it, you would know exactly what I mean), and soon went straight to the floorboard of the car without any resistance. I could not change gears, and I was in neutral, so I could not drive at all. We coasted to a stop at the edge of the main road leading across the southern coast of West Africa—a two-lane highway with a narrow shoulder on each side, with a steep bank.
At the bottom of the bank we saw some junked cars with a shabbily painted sign advertising “Garage Auto Soudeur (welder)â€. Ah, so we had a mechanic. Well, not quite. He wasn’t around, and he wasn’t a mechanic; he just did body work. Also down the bank, just behind us, was a small mosque, painted in the familiar green and white colors that, for some reason, often adorn mosques here. We got the attention of some people from the village, and they called on a taxi driver who lived nearby. He came and started looking at the car. He and the three or other four guys who had gathered shared their opinions about what could be going on.
I was growing increasingly nervous. There was no phone nearby and I wasn’t sure who to call if I had one. We had missionary friends in the country, but would they be able to come and help us out? Would we be able to get back to Togo in time for the Vogts’ flight? What was going on in Tod and Hannah’s mind, as they found themselves stranded on the roadside in Africa, in a situation similar to the one that had led to Nancy’s death over ten years ago? Were these guys really trying to help, or were they looking for a chance to rob us? (Remember my pick-pocket incident?)
The driver discovered that we had a leak in the line that carries the clutch fluid. I “just happened†to be carrying an extra can of brake fluid which, I learned that day, is also used for the clutch.
The driver/mechanic sent some on-looking children down the road to borrow some tools, took the clutch line apart, isolated the leak, and then tore a string from an old rag. He wound the string around the fluid line, and sealed it. He then put everything back together. It worked. The guys who had helped us gratefully accepted a “thank you†gift, which amounted to less than $4.00. Tod talked to them a little bit and learned that they were all from that village—a Muslim village. We continued all the way home to Tabligbo, and a “real†mechanic was able to make a more permanent repair the following day.
It’s so easy, and sometimes wise, to be suspicious. But it is good to be reminded that not every African is a thief, and not every Muslim is a terrorist. There are some real notes of grace out there, and I am thankful that, on that day, God led me to some of them.
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02.16.06
Posted in Uncategorized on February 16th, 2006 at 4:34 pm by Dee O'Neil Andrews
by Dee Andrews
In my first post of this year over at "Finding Direction" in Words, Pictures, Passages & Prayers, I said that my one word for this year would be "OPTIMISTIC." I’ve done pretty well with that word so far (I think), although (and I don’t know if any of you noticed it or not) back on Tuesday morning of this week I was pretty down in the dumps and totally glum after my latest doctor’s appointment on Monday afternoon about my broken foot.
But thanks to some wonderful, thoughtful, secret Valentine’s ladies of Tammany Oaks, whoever they are, my spirits picked up tremendously and were revived.
The Valentine ladies left a gift bag full of Valentine’s Day goodies on my front door step Tuesday. I have no idea who they are and our minister, Tod, won’t tell me, either, even though I tried my best Wednesday morning on the phone with him to sneak certain tidbits of information out of him about who they are, etc.
He laughed and refused to answer even any of my itsy bitsy questions about the whole deal saying that I forgot he knows all about us attorney types since he is married to an attorney (Candice, who is terrific).
Thus he wouldn’t divulge a thing, figuring I’d soon have enough information to piece the whole thing together.
Which is true, but still . . ..
I discovered the bag when I opened the front door about 2:30 p.m. to scoot out to get the mail. Here was this big gift bag sitting at the top of the temporary ramp Tom has put out there for me just inviting me to peek inside to see what on earth it was and to try to figure out who on earth it came from. I was totally and completely puzzled.
As I opened gift after gift after gift (most were wrapped up inside the bigger bag), I found more and more great treasures, including a bright red leather photo album to carry around in a purse, perhaps, a little tin of red and pink tacks for a bulletin board, a red votive candle, pair of Valentine socks (and I’m wearing socks most days now with my foot), a CD of love songs, two small Valentine ornaments, a pink puppy - on and on.
I was amazed and confused. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out who this was from or how it got on my front porch. It didn’t quite seem like the thing Tom would do.
I kept digging until I had everything out on my lap, but still saw no card or anything.
Then I checked the little tag on the bag. Nope.
I twirled the bag around and then saw a small envelope taped to the side addressed to "Dee," but I didn’t recognize the handwriting.
Inside was a big heart. On the back it read "You are loved by Tammany Oaks Church of Christ Valentines ladies! Happy Valentine’s Day."
I was stunned. Someone went to all this trouble to go pick out and buy all the wonderful gifts, to wrap them all, to put them all in the gift bag and then to drive over to my house from Mandeville - some 25 miles, 30 minutes away - to drop it off on my doorstep. Secretly. For my Valentine’s Day. Because I’ve been "home alone" and shut in for so long.
It had to have been someone who knew I was diabetic, too, because they didn’t include any candy in it, which was very thoughtful, indeed.
Before I opened the front door, I admit it. I was sad and depressed.
Now I was so overcome by these expressions of love and caring that I had tears in my eyes. These ladies, who all remain a secret to me, cared enough to do all of those things for me on Valentine’s Day, and they are my Grace Notes for this week. Big time.
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02.14.06
Posted in Uncategorized on February 14th, 2006 at 2:41 pm by Anthony Parker
by Anthony Parker
This morning we discovered that the front tire on my older son’s bicycle tire was flat, so my four-year old son Jonathan rode with me as I drove Jeremy to school. On the way to school, Jonathan asked one of those out-of-the-blue questions that four-year olds are prone to ask. “Dad,†he said, “what does ‘just in case’ mean?â€
I explained, as best I could, that “just in case†refers about something one does because something else might happen. “I’m taking the umbrella today just in case it rains.†I don’t know what will happen, but I will be prepared just in case.
Because of some events that occurred later in the day, it occurred to me that I am a “just in case†kind of guy. I like to be prepared for whatever might happen– just in case. I guess this applies particularly to money matters. I’m a bit of a cheap skate, but I always like to have some extra on hand just in case of an emergency.
Today, Maureen and I went to the capital city of Lomé to have some work done on the car, and we thought we’d take advantage of the occasion to run a few errands around town and have a nice Valentine ’s Day lunch together.
Well, the day didn’t turn out exactly as planned. You can read the details on Maureen’s post “
An Unforgettable Valentine.†To make a long story short, I was pick-pocketed and came up a wallet, credit cards, driver’s license, and a pretty significant wad of cash short. I had taken along more cash than I needed just in case of an emergency. It turned out, that my preparations led to a greater loss than I would have otherwise suffered.
Even so, I’d like to nominate the thieves that took my money as today’s Grace Note. As upsetting as the whole event was, I am thankful. It could have been much worse. We escaped from a potentially dangerous situation with our lives, health, and family intact. I couldn’t wait to get home to see my boys, to be together with my family, to have the things that are really important near to me.
Yesterday, a dear friend and mentor of mine lost his adult son, coincidentally named Jonathan, in a tragic accident. Each time I’ve looked at my boys today, I’ve been reminded that they could easily be taken from me, or I from them.
I’m thankful to the thieves for reminding me that, though I may have lost quite a bit of money, I have the loves of my life here with me, and that has made for a very happy Valentine’s Day. Jonathan’s question also reminded me that, though I cannot anticipate every just in case, I can prepare for them by keeping first things first.
(Maureen made up for the lunch we missed today with delicious grilled barracuda and shrimp for dinner tonight. What a note of grace she is, too!)
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02.08.06
Posted in Uncategorized on February 8th, 2006 at 1:28 pm by TCS
by Tommy Stewart
This past weekend I got to meet (to quote Nancy French) THE Dee Andrews.
I told Dee that she was better than her blog persona. That persona is one that we all love but it is in her words, “professionalâ€. So in her home with her and Tom (who is extremely likeable) I had the privilege to see Dee without the layers of cyberspace. To be fair we have e-mailed and talked on the phone, so many of those layers were already removed. But it is always good to be present with someone.
She was smiling and waving out the kitchen window as we arrived and as funny and perky and lively as you would expect. She drives her scooter as dangerously as you have heard. And yes I have seen THE Windvane. I forgot to take a picture. UHHHH.
Dee is more than deserving of a post here. I know for me she has always been a source of encouragement. I see her encouraging others around the world with her comments. She’s our Barnabas.
This past weekend Dee blessed me more than she could know. It’s a funny thing, every time you go to try and be a blessing, you get blessed.
It’s a weekend I won’t forget.
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02.07.06
Posted in Uncategorized on February 7th, 2006 at 10:38 am by Danny Sims
By Danny Sims
After The University of Texas upset USC in The Rose Bowl last month and won the national championship, Head Coach Mack Brown spoke to the team. He congratulated them and complimented the opponent, who had won 34 consecutive games. He spoke about hard work and the payoff now that the team had won it all. And then he said:
“Finally, this is the most important thing I want you to hear tonight. Remember that we love you. Be proud of what you have accomplished, and enjoy this moment. Let this be a great thing in life, but don’t let it be the best thing that ever happens in your life. Go on from here, be great husbands and great dads, and make a difference.â€
I’m not a Longhorn. But that kind of focus, on those kind of values, makes me wish I were.
Life is not about winning all the time. UT was undefeated this past season, but they will lose again someday. No win streak lasts forever. Just ask USC. But a life lived with the most important things at heart… That’s something that makes a difference for a very long time.
Thanks Coach.
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01.22.06
Posted in Uncategorized on January 22nd, 2006 at 5:56 am by Danny Sims
by Danny Sims
The Sunday my son wore his new eyeglasses I saw the sacraments more clearly.
He sat there beside me, not knowing I surveyed his every move. I looked down upon his face during the Worship Assembly, just as the communion tray passed by. I enjoyed his innocent, slightly freckled complexion and marveled how a recent trip to the barber was already giving way to the ever determined increase of new hair. His cheeks gently moved as his tongue manipulated a loose front tooth from side to side.
As I took of the bread that is to believers the body of Christ, the small hands of my son passed the emblem on to his mother and I wondered about the incarnation. Any Bible Dictionary sets forth how God reveals Himself as human in Jesus. He is the embodiment of the Word, becoming flesh. As the God-Man, He mediates God to humans. As the Man-God, He represents humans to God.
Manifestation, personification, and representation: Incarnation.
A more practical theology fueled my imagination that Sunday. I could not quit admiring the shiny gold rims of my son’s spectacles. Nor could I escape boyish questions that led me to a deeper communion experience.
Did Jesus wear glasses?
Did He have freckles? Did he look under his bed roll the morning after He lost His first tooth for a coin or two? What chores did his small hands perform for his mother?
Who cut his hair? Was it auburn, almost red in the sunshine but brown at first glance? Did He have wavy locks, or did it come straight down like the Jesus of Hollywood so he could easily wear it long in the later years of His ministry?
Sitting in that pew, though the bread of communion passed me by, the Spirit of God did not. A fresh sense of the body of Christ came over me. Jesus really did become flesh and dwell among us. He really was a man, tempted in every way, just as we are, yet was without sin.
The wafer in my mouth and the young boy at my side reminded me of the body of Christ and my place in it.
His body … given for me.
He enjoyed childhood, endured adolescence, and embraced the cross as a real flesh and blood man. He did this for me and for all little kids everywhere.
And now I live and give my life, my son and family for Him. We’re His body today.
I suppose Jesus never wore eyeglasses since the Chinese invented them years after He walked the streets of Jerusalem. But seeing my son there beside me with his tiny new glasses made me realize somehow that Jesus was both fully man and fully divine.
To remember anew how God sees me through the lenses of His love is a priceless gift. I was reminded in communion that Sunday, looking at my son, seeing God’s son.
Pray this prayer with me today: Give me more vision to see you Lord. Thank you for Jesus and His servant, saving heart. Make me more like Him and make the church more and more like His body, broken as a gift to the world.
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12.29.05
Posted in Uncategorized on December 29th, 2005 at 5:00 pm by PatrickMead
by Patrick Mead
I was nineteen years old and sick. They admitted me to hospital where I was poked and prodded for a few days. I was thousands of miles from home (and when you’re Scottish, Alabama is SO not home!) and had no family to even call or check on me during that time. When I finally got out I wasn’t much better but that isn’t what I want to talk about…
The problem was the bill. It was a few thousand dollars and I had no insurance and about a hundred dollars a week income. That had to feed me, pay for school, and take care of a car payment ($97.63 a month. I remember it well). The calls demanding payment got more and more aggressive. Things looked bad. I finally went in to the business office of the hospital, hat in hand, hoping to get a payment plan I could live with.
But… when I tried to hand them a small check as a start on paying my balance they informed me that the account had been paid. In full. I was stunned and certain that they made a mistake. A lot of checking and double checking later — it wasn’t a mistake. Someone paid. To this day I don’t know who. They wouldn’t or couldn’t tell me.
It wasn’t a friend. I had none. It wasn’t a church brother or sister. I wasn’t the kind of person people from a church would run to help. But whoever it was — thanks.
I know a ton of people pray for me, by name, daily. I don’t know who you are or why you have been so faithful in prayer. Thank you.
I could go on, but it isn’t about me. It’s about those people who go about doing good and never appearing on radar long enough to get credit. It’s about people taking the role of prayer warriors, good Samaritans, invisible angels… all for the love of God, all for the sake of doing good and nothing more.
Thank you.
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12.14.05
Posted in Uncategorized on December 14th, 2005 at 5:20 am by Anthony Parker
by Anthony Parker
About thirty years ago, a seven-month old baby was beginning to learn to walk, pulling himself up from the dirt courtyard, using the wooden benches low tables of his West African home for support. When the baby began to run a high fever, his concerned parents took him to a local clinic, where he was treated for malaria by receiving a quinine injection in his hip. The baby recovered and returned home.
But something had changed. He was no longer able to pull himself up, and his legs stopped developing normally. He learned to crawl around on the dirt floor, but was unable to walk under his own strength. What had happened, which was sadly common at the time, was that the quinine injection had not been administered correctly, and the child, like thousands of others who received the same treatment, had been crippled.
The child, who like other Thursday-born boys was called Yao, came from a family who eventually found the means to pay for an operation on his legs, where the mal-formed bones were broken and straightened, and he was fitted with leg braces. He applied himself to his school work and eventually went to university, but was unable to finish because of lack of funding.
He returned to his hometown of Tabligbo,Togo—which is now and for a few more months my hometown—and found work as a school teacher. Because teachers in public schools are paid only sporadically, he also opened an after-school tutoring center, housed in a grass-covered shelter near his home.
Because of his own handicap, Yao also developed sensitivity toward others in a similar plight, whose families are not able to help them. Last year, he came to me with a photo of a young boy who needed the same operation that he had received. We had just returned from furlough and someone had given us a generous gift, asking that we use it “for the children.†We were able to help pay for this boy’s operation and leg braces. Yao handled all of the logistics and did so responsibly.
It’s just part of our life here that we often receive requests for financial assistance. Yao continues to come to us, but I believe that he is our only regular visitor who has never asked for help for himself. He has gone to different schools in the area and identified the most needy students, and helped them with school fees and supplies. Recently, he was able to take some funds that were given to us to another aid organization to secure “tricycles†(see below), which will allow two handicapped students, Theodore and Gentille, to continue their schooling.
In addition to his school teaching, Yao has started a non-profit organization that he has registered with the government. He is trying to get an office set up. He has managed to install electricity and a telephone line. Right now, he needs a very basic computer so that he can have access to the internet and provide office services to help support himself and his little organization. I’m sure that the more needs he is able to meet, the more new opportunities will arise.
Yao does not attend the church that we work with here in town. As far as I know, he doesn’t attend regularly anywhere. I’ve asked him about his faith and why he does what he does. He just says “It’s all about God.†Indeed, it is.
In keeping with the spirit of this site, I want to acknowledge Yao as a note of God’s grace here in Togo, West Africa.
Yao is interviewed by a local radio station
Theodore’s Old Wheels
Theodore’s New Wheels
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12.10.05
Posted in Uncategorized on December 10th, 2005 at 5:23 pm by Dee O'Neil Andrews
by Dee Andrews
There is a grave in the Quantico National Cemetery, located near the Marine Corps Base at Quantico, Virginia, that has been there five years. It is a truly beautiful, peaceful place. It is a national military cemetery, such as the ones found in Arlington and Gettysburg.
We know these cemeteries well, not needing to give the states they are in or the battles and wars they represent. We know them by heart. In his Gettysburg Address dedicating the grounds of the Gettysburg Cemetery November 19, 1863, President Abraham Lincoln called these "hallowed" grounds, and indeed they are.
The grave I am speaking of at Quantico has a headstone bearing the name "Davidson Christian." It is an uncommon name, perhaps, but as his father later explained to me, the circumstances surrounding his son’s naming were unique. And then, the reason he is buried there is uncommon, as well.
He is buried there because of his father’s, and mother’s, uncommonly strong, deeply felt, love for him. When he died, his father, a military man, was terribly bereaved because while he had two daughters, this was his first son. Further, the son died "before his time," as we measure time on this earth.
How does God consider time and our lives here on earth? What sacred measure does He use?
I don’t know. None of us do.
The father didn’t either, but felt compelled to remember and honor and sanctify his son’s life and death by having him buried in a place of sacrifice and honor and sacredness. So he spared no energy, left no stone unturned in seeking out the means by which he could lovingly have this done.
Unable to go before, when the headstone was placed upon the grave, the father went and left flowers in remembrance of his son. He goes there occasionally still. This resting place for the earthly body of his child.
You may wonder why this is such an unusual story or such uncommon love. In many respects, I suppose it’s not. But there’s more to the story.
You see, the gravestone further reads "Davidson Christian O’Neil, Son of David Patrick O’Neil, Capt. US Marine Corps." He is my grandson. And he did not die in battle or in war. He never even really lived, as many among us would have you believe. But he lived.
He was conceived in love and his life ended only three or so months later in what we call the "miscarriage" by his mother. But he lived long enough for them to know he was their son and for his dad to give him his name. And he lived long enough for his dad to also cherish his life and all it meant. It meant enough that he now lies in a place of honor as lovingly chosen by his dad.
I did not know of his life or death or burial until after it was done. My son David called to tell me how he had had a son, had lost a son and had named this child Davidson, as a tribute to my family name and dad, David’s grandad, Eugene Neil Davidson, whom he loved. He chose Christian because of his deep beliefs and faith and wanted that name on the tomb of his son for all to see.
When he told me of this, I was profoundly moved and wept at the depths of David’s heart to so reverence and memorialize this child in circumstances where some would have done the very opposite without a thought.
This is no child unknown, except to God. His life will be remembered. Maybe not by many, but to those few, and to God, his life and his father’s uncommon love will be remembered for all eternity.
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12.02.05
Posted in Uncategorized on December 2nd, 2005 at 4:42 pm by DJG
John Dobbs.
The story of a man who was thrust into a situation that no one would chose. A situation that many men would have run from and honestly no one would have blamed him if he too had left. I am sure the thought did cross his mind. I am sure he considered moving away from his once lovely town that Katrina had destroyed. Things were not that great before a hurricane came, maybe this was a sign for him to move on…..
But John did not run, rather he jumped in with both feet. He has spearheaded a great relief effort using his home church as a base. He has sacrificed personal comfort. He has given of himself totally. He has used this medium of the World Wide Web to solicit help, prayers and supplies. He works tirelessly (well maybe not tirelessly) taking phone calls, answering e-mails, meeting with people and helping with all of the work. While I was there, scarcely five minutes would go by without his cell phone ringing. (can you tell he is on the phone in this picture?) Yet, John never complains about his personal situation. Rather he humbly acknowledges that he has received much help and his concern centers around helping the others in his community that need help.
John realizes that the Lord has him here for a time such as this. He desperately wants to reach the souls of people while tragedy has their hearts soft. Many times when you meet someone for the first time you are a little “let-down†that they are not like the person they have portrayed themselves to be. Not so with John. I left his town wanting more than ever to be able to help him, to help his town to recover from this tragedy.
God is working through John Dobbs. Grace is working through John Dobbs.
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