Patience: A Missionary Virtue Missionary to America Lang Yang
“But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience…”
“What is the biggest lesson you’ve learned as a Hmong missionary to America?” That is the question I asked Rev. Lang Yang near the end of his video interview. His answer came from his heart: “patience.” Patience is one, maybe the one most important virtue of a missionary. Lang’s history bears this out.
Rev. Yang was born in Laos during the Vietnam War. His family was Hmong, and his father a guerilla fighter for the United States. After the defeat of the Americans, three year old Lang and his family escaped by boat, headed for a refugee camp in Thailand. He does not remember much about that time, but he does have haunting images of bullets breaking the water around the boat, and palpable fear, as people bled, and died. That was preparation for his for time in the refugee camp.
Not long after arriving at the camp in Thailand, Lang’s father and mother had the chance to go to America. They could not take the children. Lang’s fourteen year old sister became mother to Lang and his two brothers. They learned patience. The children spent four more years in the camp. Food was scarce. At night Lang trapped rats, and during the day caught crickets, so they would have protein. Prayer and Patience.
There was one great blessing in the camp. The Hmong are traditionally animists, but here was a Christian worship service in the camp, and a friend in the camp invited young Lang Yang to worship. He came to know Jesus, as a child, in a refugee camp in a foreign country.
A sponsor was found for his older sister but there was no way for the other children to go with her; patience and prayer were needed. Lang’s sister was brought to America by a church in North Carolina. Not long after, she convinced the church to send for her siblings. At eleven years old, in school for the first time, he entered fourth grade, and knew no English. Patience. He learned quickly, so quickly he became an interpreter for the church’s pastor in the church’s ministry to Hmong refugees.
Lang skipped sixth grade, then ninth grade. At eighteen, he graduated high school and for the first time heard in his heart the Lord’s call to full time church work. His heart said yes, his head said no. Instead, he entered training to become a policeman, and was hired as a deputy sheriff in North Carolina. That is when he turned down the call to full time ministry a second time. “No God, not now. I have a young family, I have to support them.”
There is a large Hmong presence in the Midwest. Many churches in Minnesota, Wisconsin and Michigan sponsored refugees in the tumultuous 1970s. A rigid system of clans determines much of life for Hmong people. Those ties brought the young Yang family to Michigan. Lang took leadership in a family restaurant. They say the third time is the charm – and, with the restaurant established, the call to ministry came again to Lang Yang. It was not Lang whose patience brought him into mission work. St. Peter tells us, “The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you,not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance.” ( 2 Peter 3:9).
Lang entered the Ethnic Immigrant Institute of Theology, and spent four years as a bi-vocational worker, earning a living, being a father and a husband and studying theology. He knew he would not receive an advanced degree at the end of the program, but his deep desire was to become qualified to publicly preach and teach the good news of God’s love. He has done that – as a Christian missionary he visits all the Hmong cultural festivals, demonstrating God’s love to the majority of Hmong who are still animists. He has done this as a chaplain for the Tuscola County Sheriff’s Department, as a Chaplain for Denmark Township, and as Chaplain for the Civil Air patrol. As the current president of the Hmong Mission Society he gives support to twenty three pastors and eighteen missions across America bringing the good news of a God who loves all people, all families, all clans.
In the interview, Rev. Yang described sharing Jesus with one older Hmong woman.
For a lifetime she had turned her back on all attempts to bring her to Christ. Spiritual “bullets” from her animist beliefs frightened her, keeping her out of the water of baptism. But God was patient. Then, when she was ninety years old, the Word of God broke through her fears and brought her to Jesus; she entered the safety of God’s love through the holy water of baptism. One of Rev. Lang Yang’s greatest joys was in this woman’s ninety ninth year, when he led the celebration of her entrance into the resting place of all us refugees, God’s eternal kingdom.
The Lord will find and refines those He wants to serve Him. Patience is required, patience can be taught, but finally, it is a gift of the Spirit. The good news is, God’s patience is eternal.
– October 23, 2018
“But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience…”
“What is the biggest lesson you’ve learned as a Hmong missionary to America?” That is the question I asked Rev. Lang Yang near the end of his video interview. His answer came from his heart: “patience.” Patience is one, maybe the one most important virtue of a missionary. Lang’s history bears this out.
Rev. Yang was born in Laos during the Vietnam War. His family was Hmong, and his father a guerilla fighter for the United States. After the defeat of the Americans, three year old Lang and his family escaped by boat, headed for a refugee camp in Thailand. He does not remember much about that time, but he does have haunting images of bullets breaking the water around the boat, and palpable fear, as people bled, and died. That was preparation for his for time in the refugee camp.
Not long after arriving at the camp in Thailand, Lang’s father and mother had the chance to go to America. They could not take the children. Lang’s fourteen year old sister became mother to Lang and his two brothers. They learned patience. The children spent four more years in the camp. Food was scarce. At night Lang trapped rats, and during the day caught crickets, so they would have protein. Prayer and Patience.
There was one great blessing in the camp. The Hmong are traditionally animists, but here was a Christian worship service in the camp, and a friend in the camp invited young Lang Yang to worship. He came to know Jesus, as a child, in a refugee camp in a foreign country.
A sponsor was found for his older sister but there was no way for the other children to go with her; patience and prayer were needed. Lang’s sister was brought to America by a church in North Carolina. Not long after, she convinced the church to send for her siblings. At eleven years old, in school for the first time, he entered fourth grade, and knew no English. Patience. He learned quickly, so quickly he became an interpreter for the church’s pastor in the church’s ministry to Hmong refugees.
Lang skipped sixth grade, then ninth grade. At eighteen, he graduated high school and for the first time heard in his heart the Lord’s call to full time church work. His heart said yes, his head said no. Instead, he entered training to become a policeman, and was hired as a deputy sheriff in North Carolina. That is when he turned down the call to full time ministry a second time. “No God, not now. I have a young family, I have to support them.”
There is a large Hmong presence in the Midwest. Many churches in Minnesota, Wisconsin and Michigan sponsored refugees in the tumultuous 1970s. A rigid system of clans determines much of life for Hmong people. Those ties brought the young Yang family to Michigan. Lang took leadership in a family restaurant. They say the third time is the charm – and, with the restaurant established, the call to ministry came again to Lang Yang. It was not Lang whose patience brought him into mission work. St. Peter tells us, “The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you,not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance.” ( 2 Peter 3:9).
Lang entered the Ethnic Immigrant Institute of Theology, and spent four years as a bi-vocational worker, earning a living, being a father and a husband and studying theology. He knew he would not receive an advanced degree at the end of the program, but his deep desire was to become qualified to publicly preach and teach the good news of God’s love. He has done that – as a Christian missionary he visits all the Hmong cultural festivals, demonstrating God’s love to the majority of Hmong who are still animists. He has done this as a chaplain for the Tuscola County Sheriff’s Department, as a Chaplain for Denmark Township, and as Chaplain for the Civil Air patrol. As the current president of the Hmong Mission Society he gives support to twenty three pastors and eighteen missions across America bringing the good news of a God who loves all people, all families, all clans.
In the interview, Rev. Yang described sharing Jesus with one older Hmong woman.
For a lifetime she had turned her back on all attempts to bring her to Christ. Spiritual “bullets” from her animist beliefs frightened her, keeping her out of the water of baptism. But God was patient. Then, when she was ninety years old, the Word of God broke through her fears and brought her to Jesus; she entered the safety of God’s love through the holy water of baptism. One of Rev. Lang Yang’s greatest joys was in this woman’s ninety ninth year, when he led the celebration of her entrance into the resting place of all us refugees, God’s eternal kingdom.
The Lord will find and refines those He wants to serve Him. Patience is required, patience can be taught, but finally, it is a gift of the Spirit. The good news is, God’s patience is eternal.
– October 23, 2018
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Full Blog post can be found at the links, provided below
To see a short introduction to the video interview with Rev. Yang, click here. To see the full nineteen minute video interview, click here. To order a biography of a missionary to America, click here. |
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Where's Wally?
He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God (Micah 6:8).
Do you remember “Where's Waldo?” This is a series of children's books created by English illustrator Martin Handford. The books were originally called “Where’s Wally?” in England. The books consist of a series of detailed double-page spread illustrations depicting dozens or more people doing a variety of things at a given location. Readers are challenged to find a character named Wally hidden in the group.
You can find a real-live Wally at the end of the world. His name is Wally Wiley. He lives in Papua, Indonesia.
Repeatedly, people ask, “Where’s Wally?” He is the “go to man” for many people of all backgrounds to get advice and help in the Province of Papua and beyond. Even the government of Papua has asked him to be a consultant in ways too numerous to mention.
“Where’s Wally?” “What would Wally say?” “What would Wally do?” When a problem arises, people say; “Let’s call Wally.” To Wally, interruptions are okay.
Over the years Wally found out Indonesia was in desperate need of quality education and health clinics, and decided to do something about it. He has formed a vision for Papua Harapan Schools (Papua Schools of Hope). Health clinics are included. Christian character development is an essential part of education as well as training in attitudes, skills and life-long habits. His future vision extends to the interior of Papua to include at least 40 schools and clinics. Two of these schools are now functioning. Wally can be compared to James Hudson Taylor, a mid- 1800s missionary to China whose huge vision for spreading Christianity in China became a reality. Wally fits this descriptions for the Province of Papua.
Humility is recognizing that God and others are actually responsible for achievement. Wally fits this description. He understands that God has and will work through him.
What may humility look like? This may be a person who quietly serves without being noticed or asks to serve regardless of his or her office or position. Wally fits this description.
What may humility sound like? This may be a person who praises God and others when praise is given to him. Wally fits this description.
What may humility feel like? This is a person who feels an inner brokenness because of imperfections, while also experiencing inner peace and stillness because of God’s presence. Wally fits this description.
Wally, does not call himself humble. However other people recognize his humility.
St. Paul describes Jesus living out humility in Philippians chapter 2:3-8. Paul tells us to have the same attitude of humility. The way to teach values is to talk about them and to demonstrate them through action. This is exactly what Jesus did. Wally Wiley is a model and inspiration for anyone who crosses his path.
To God be the glory!
I wonder; where is Wally today?
He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God (Micah 6:8).
Do you remember “Where's Waldo?” This is a series of children's books created by English illustrator Martin Handford. The books were originally called “Where’s Wally?” in England. The books consist of a series of detailed double-page spread illustrations depicting dozens or more people doing a variety of things at a given location. Readers are challenged to find a character named Wally hidden in the group.
You can find a real-live Wally at the end of the world. His name is Wally Wiley. He lives in Papua, Indonesia.
Repeatedly, people ask, “Where’s Wally?” He is the “go to man” for many people of all backgrounds to get advice and help in the Province of Papua and beyond. Even the government of Papua has asked him to be a consultant in ways too numerous to mention.
“Where’s Wally?” “What would Wally say?” “What would Wally do?” When a problem arises, people say; “Let’s call Wally.” To Wally, interruptions are okay.
- He comes to the rescue when the refrigerator stops working.
- He comes to the rescue when a car has a problem.
- He comes to the rescue when a person breaks her arm.
- He comes to the rescue when a flight ticket and a ride to the airport is needed.
- He comes to the rescue to establish school rooms and teachers for children who live in remote areas.
- He comes to the rescue with food and medical services.
- The list could go on.
Over the years Wally found out Indonesia was in desperate need of quality education and health clinics, and decided to do something about it. He has formed a vision for Papua Harapan Schools (Papua Schools of Hope). Health clinics are included. Christian character development is an essential part of education as well as training in attitudes, skills and life-long habits. His future vision extends to the interior of Papua to include at least 40 schools and clinics. Two of these schools are now functioning. Wally can be compared to James Hudson Taylor, a mid- 1800s missionary to China whose huge vision for spreading Christianity in China became a reality. Wally fits this descriptions for the Province of Papua.
Humility is recognizing that God and others are actually responsible for achievement. Wally fits this description. He understands that God has and will work through him.
What may humility look like? This may be a person who quietly serves without being noticed or asks to serve regardless of his or her office or position. Wally fits this description.
What may humility sound like? This may be a person who praises God and others when praise is given to him. Wally fits this description.
What may humility feel like? This is a person who feels an inner brokenness because of imperfections, while also experiencing inner peace and stillness because of God’s presence. Wally fits this description.
Wally, does not call himself humble. However other people recognize his humility.
St. Paul describes Jesus living out humility in Philippians chapter 2:3-8. Paul tells us to have the same attitude of humility. The way to teach values is to talk about them and to demonstrate them through action. This is exactly what Jesus did. Wally Wiley is a model and inspiration for anyone who crosses his path.
To God be the glory!
I wonder; where is Wally today?
Mamit
One of the highlights during my stay in the Province of Papua in Indonesia was a visit to the interior village of Mamit. Two high school students accompanied me. Most of this province (state) is mountainous. We flew in on a Friday morning and returned to Sentani on Monday with Mission Aviation Fellowship. Mamit is located on the top and side of a mountain with a population of about 1,500 people. The primitive highland villages that exist have had very little formal education for their children. The government has built some buildings for schools but the teachers have not consistently shown up to teach the village children. Education is basically non-existent or of sub-standard quality.
Wally Wiley, the founder of Sekolah Papua Harapan, the Christian school where we were assisting in Sentani, has the vision of starting over 40 schools and health clinics in the interior. Mamit is the first village to have a school and a clinic as a result of this vision. Mr. Wiley collaborates with Universitas Pelita Harapan, a Christian university on the island of Java, to help supply the teachers and doctors.
Shortly after our arrival in Mamit three more airplanes landed on the mountain-side runway. These planes held a contingent of government officials. The arrival of this group was a complete surprise to the Mamit people and to us. Within the group was the governor of Papua. He grew up in this village. This was a God-designed encounter for me because I was originally scheduled to spend time there two weeks earlier. I was given personal time to witness and pray with this government leader of 2-3 million people.
The people in Mamit claim to be Christian but have very little knowledge of Scripture and how to apply their faith in Jesus Christ to practice the presence of God in their lives. Since the establishment of the Sekolah Lentura Harapan (School of Light and Hope) in Mamit in 2013, a positive change is happening in the community. One aspect has to do with the Christian academic education of the children. Another is with the doctor and nurse who are providing health care. While there, I observed wonderful Christian character being displayed by the young Christian teachers (Anderias, Beta, Reimon, Nachi, Angelia, Frida, Jeklin, Regina), along with Doctor Winda and Nurse Yuli. A superb Christian unity in this group shines through brightly to the whole community. Students along with parents are learning how God’s love can be shown through each of them, as well.
Modern living conveniences are certainly lacking in the highland villages. I did not like taking the cold bucket showers and using the squatty potties. However, to hold a prayer seminar on Saturday and preaching on Sunday was well worth these inconveniences. It was another of the amazing opportunities that God has granted me in my lifetime. The people must have appreciated it. A leader of the church stood up after the Sunday service and said; “Would you please come back in December.” My heart went out to him when I had to say; “I can’t, we are returning to the United States.”
Now, I ask you, my readers, Is there someone among you who could go there and take my place?
Pray ye therefore to the Lord of the harvest, that He will send forth laborers into His harvest (Matt. 9:38).
Please watch this short video of the Mamit trip:
One of the highlights during my stay in the Province of Papua in Indonesia was a visit to the interior village of Mamit. Two high school students accompanied me. Most of this province (state) is mountainous. We flew in on a Friday morning and returned to Sentani on Monday with Mission Aviation Fellowship. Mamit is located on the top and side of a mountain with a population of about 1,500 people. The primitive highland villages that exist have had very little formal education for their children. The government has built some buildings for schools but the teachers have not consistently shown up to teach the village children. Education is basically non-existent or of sub-standard quality.
Wally Wiley, the founder of Sekolah Papua Harapan, the Christian school where we were assisting in Sentani, has the vision of starting over 40 schools and health clinics in the interior. Mamit is the first village to have a school and a clinic as a result of this vision. Mr. Wiley collaborates with Universitas Pelita Harapan, a Christian university on the island of Java, to help supply the teachers and doctors.
Shortly after our arrival in Mamit three more airplanes landed on the mountain-side runway. These planes held a contingent of government officials. The arrival of this group was a complete surprise to the Mamit people and to us. Within the group was the governor of Papua. He grew up in this village. This was a God-designed encounter for me because I was originally scheduled to spend time there two weeks earlier. I was given personal time to witness and pray with this government leader of 2-3 million people.
The people in Mamit claim to be Christian but have very little knowledge of Scripture and how to apply their faith in Jesus Christ to practice the presence of God in their lives. Since the establishment of the Sekolah Lentura Harapan (School of Light and Hope) in Mamit in 2013, a positive change is happening in the community. One aspect has to do with the Christian academic education of the children. Another is with the doctor and nurse who are providing health care. While there, I observed wonderful Christian character being displayed by the young Christian teachers (Anderias, Beta, Reimon, Nachi, Angelia, Frida, Jeklin, Regina), along with Doctor Winda and Nurse Yuli. A superb Christian unity in this group shines through brightly to the whole community. Students along with parents are learning how God’s love can be shown through each of them, as well.
Modern living conveniences are certainly lacking in the highland villages. I did not like taking the cold bucket showers and using the squatty potties. However, to hold a prayer seminar on Saturday and preaching on Sunday was well worth these inconveniences. It was another of the amazing opportunities that God has granted me in my lifetime. The people must have appreciated it. A leader of the church stood up after the Sunday service and said; “Would you please come back in December.” My heart went out to him when I had to say; “I can’t, we are returning to the United States.”
Now, I ask you, my readers, Is there someone among you who could go there and take my place?
Pray ye therefore to the Lord of the harvest, that He will send forth laborers into His harvest (Matt. 9:38).
Please watch this short video of the Mamit trip:
With special thanks to my surgeon, Dr. Lee Soon Tai
A Great Fall
As I stared at the ceiling from my hospital bed, it became clear to me that I was looking at examples of God’s perfect designs. The decorative molding around the ceiling was composed of layers of wood which met at perfect right angles in the corners of the room. I counted more than twenty-eight right angles in the cover to the air conditioning duct on the ceiling. Perfect circles – hundreds of them were used as metal rings to hold the hooks which held up the curtain that surrounded my corner of the room. The clock case was formed from another perfect circle. Other perfect circles formed the covers to the canister lights in the ceiling. There were probably more examples throughout the room, but because of my immobility, only these were within view from my electronically adjustable bed. I thanked God for all of his perfect and intelligent designs in creation and for the ways engineers have discovered uses for them.
Why did I have the time to contemplate these details? It was because of a great fall I took in the hallway at the school where my husband and I are assisting as teacher mentors and educational consultants in Sintani, Papua; Indonesia. Stepping on a ridge of uneven flooring caused me to twist my ankle and lose my balance. I smacked to the floor, landing directly on the edge of the ridge.
I say it was a great fall because it resulted in the dislocation of my elbow and the break of another bone in my arm. The repair was complex and needed to be accomplished by traveling a great distance out of Indonesia to a great modern hospital in Singapore. It was also a great fall because of all the great opportunities it presented for our God to be glorified.
Immediately following my fall, Wally Wiley, (the school’s founder and on- going problem-solver) was called to the scene. He examined the situation and decided to fetch materials to construct a splint. He created a splendid one from PVC pipe and duct tape. A pillow and bed sheet from the school dormitory for a sling served well for the trip to Dr. Di’s office. She created a temporary cast and then sent us off for x-rays at a hospital in a different town.
Already prayers were ascending to the throne of the Almighty Physician and Healer. In retrospect, I know that it took only a matter of minutes before prayers were shared around the globe via cell-phone, SMS, Facebook messages and other forms of technology. I thank and praise God for these means of communication. After my x-rays were viewed locally, copies were sent through cyberspace from the island of Papua to the island of Java. There, in Jakarta, it was determined that I should be transported to Singapore for the surgeries. From Jakarta, my x-rays were beamed through the skies and into the hands of the skilled surgeon, Dr. Soon Tai Lee. He used the results of modern technology to perform two great and successful surgeries on my arm. That was one month ago. Today, thanks be to God, my arm is healing and regaining strength each new day.
Imagine! Only because of our Creator’s perfect and intelligent designs could we be using such modern tools of technology. The possibilities for their eventual appearance on the world’s stage were there from the beginning of time. What mysteries of God’s miracles the future holds! It is only the Lord who knows the secrets of his kingdom! We have a GREAT and MIGHTY God!
In the days and weeks following my great fall, additional acts of compassion, kindness, and hospitality connected a number of individuals and groups to bring glory to God. We have been humbled and blessed by the prayers of those here in Sintani, as well as the medical team in Singapore and friends in Jakarta. To know that we are being uplifted in prayer by friends and relatives on various continents, nations, and islands has kept up our spirits and carried us through unfamiliar paths and experiences for these past several weeks. Thank you…and thanks be to our GREAT GOD!
As I stared at the ceiling from my hospital bed, it became clear to me that I was looking at examples of God’s perfect designs. The decorative molding around the ceiling was composed of layers of wood which met at perfect right angles in the corners of the room. I counted more than twenty-eight right angles in the cover to the air conditioning duct on the ceiling. Perfect circles – hundreds of them were used as metal rings to hold the hooks which held up the curtain that surrounded my corner of the room. The clock case was formed from another perfect circle. Other perfect circles formed the covers to the canister lights in the ceiling. There were probably more examples throughout the room, but because of my immobility, only these were within view from my electronically adjustable bed. I thanked God for all of his perfect and intelligent designs in creation and for the ways engineers have discovered uses for them.
Why did I have the time to contemplate these details? It was because of a great fall I took in the hallway at the school where my husband and I are assisting as teacher mentors and educational consultants in Sintani, Papua; Indonesia. Stepping on a ridge of uneven flooring caused me to twist my ankle and lose my balance. I smacked to the floor, landing directly on the edge of the ridge.
I say it was a great fall because it resulted in the dislocation of my elbow and the break of another bone in my arm. The repair was complex and needed to be accomplished by traveling a great distance out of Indonesia to a great modern hospital in Singapore. It was also a great fall because of all the great opportunities it presented for our God to be glorified.
Immediately following my fall, Wally Wiley, (the school’s founder and on- going problem-solver) was called to the scene. He examined the situation and decided to fetch materials to construct a splint. He created a splendid one from PVC pipe and duct tape. A pillow and bed sheet from the school dormitory for a sling served well for the trip to Dr. Di’s office. She created a temporary cast and then sent us off for x-rays at a hospital in a different town.
Already prayers were ascending to the throne of the Almighty Physician and Healer. In retrospect, I know that it took only a matter of minutes before prayers were shared around the globe via cell-phone, SMS, Facebook messages and other forms of technology. I thank and praise God for these means of communication. After my x-rays were viewed locally, copies were sent through cyberspace from the island of Papua to the island of Java. There, in Jakarta, it was determined that I should be transported to Singapore for the surgeries. From Jakarta, my x-rays were beamed through the skies and into the hands of the skilled surgeon, Dr. Soon Tai Lee. He used the results of modern technology to perform two great and successful surgeries on my arm. That was one month ago. Today, thanks be to God, my arm is healing and regaining strength each new day.
Imagine! Only because of our Creator’s perfect and intelligent designs could we be using such modern tools of technology. The possibilities for their eventual appearance on the world’s stage were there from the beginning of time. What mysteries of God’s miracles the future holds! It is only the Lord who knows the secrets of his kingdom! We have a GREAT and MIGHTY God!
In the days and weeks following my great fall, additional acts of compassion, kindness, and hospitality connected a number of individuals and groups to bring glory to God. We have been humbled and blessed by the prayers of those here in Sintani, as well as the medical team in Singapore and friends in Jakarta. To know that we are being uplifted in prayer by friends and relatives on various continents, nations, and islands has kept up our spirits and carried us through unfamiliar paths and experiences for these past several weeks. Thank you…and thanks be to our GREAT GOD!
Teaching
Young enthusiastic teachers, mostly first year instructors, have gathered for the past three weeks for training by Sue and Darrell Van Luchene, Alice, and myself in preparation for the coming school year at Sekolah Papua Harapan. First day of school is scheduled for August 18. We are impressed with the dedication of these young Christian educators, their personal character, and passion in their calling. Permit us to introduce you to three of the 31 teachers. The group was given the assignments: to tell who they are and some of their hobbies or dreams. (Remember English is their second or third language.) Here are three examples of some highlights from their personal essays:
These are just three of the young teachers we have been serving. What a blessing they have been to us. Please include all of teachers and their students in your prayers.
Young enthusiastic teachers, mostly first year instructors, have gathered for the past three weeks for training by Sue and Darrell Van Luchene, Alice, and myself in preparation for the coming school year at Sekolah Papua Harapan. First day of school is scheduled for August 18. We are impressed with the dedication of these young Christian educators, their personal character, and passion in their calling. Permit us to introduce you to three of the 31 teachers. The group was given the assignments: to tell who they are and some of their hobbies or dreams. (Remember English is their second or third language.) Here are three examples of some highlights from their personal essays:
- “My name Leonora Angela Maria Patty, which can be abbreviated LAMP. As bright as a lamp, I want my life to impact others through my personality, jobs and my life in three places. Besides that Leonora Angela meaning “To be messenger of God”. That is why I love my name.
“… But I believe my God is with me. He will uphold me with the right hand of His righteousness. Halleluja!!! Now I am a teacher in Papua. …” - “My name is Reimon Philips Ikari. Usually some people call me “Rei”. … The name “Rei” something like as a rainbow and is always colorful as a face.”
“… I join the Sunday Service. I serve as the worship leader. I am so very happy. I like singing and I enjoy this job, like singing in a choir. Another job is going to be a teacher in Mamit. I hope I can help children to pray, praise, and get education. It will be as an exciting as a journey.” - “My name is Yaneta Aiboy, people usually call me Yane. I am a person who is very confident, humorous and kind. …”
“As a person who is confident, I believe that I am special and my confidence has an impact on my life. I have become a hardworking person and usually want to try new things because I believe I can do it. …”
“When I was in elementary school, I usually followed singing competitions and I got three trophies. As well as singing competitions, I usually followed drawing and painting competition too. My memorable thing for painting competition was when I won the National Competition in Jakarta in 1998. …”
“… Secondly, I want to visit Israel because I want to learn more about Christianity, about the history and their culture, and also to see Jesus’ tomb, and touch olive fruit.”
“… If you ask me who is the luckiest girl in the world, I would like to raise my hand. I am feel lucky.”
These are just three of the young teachers we have been serving. What a blessing they have been to us. Please include all of teachers and their students in your prayers.
Sekolah Papua Harapan - By Jacinda Basinger
Jacinda Basinger is the daughter of Wally and Joan Wiley, the founders of Sekolah Papua Harapan. She assists with administration at the school. Presently, Alice and I are in Papua to provide professional support for the school. Jacinda has permitted us to give an excerpt from her last newsletter.)
“Last month we celebrated a milestone in the life of Sekolah Papua Harapan. Our first 6th grade class graduated!“
“Ester was a spokesperson for her class during the ceremony. She expressed sincere words of thanks to her community, parents, and teachers – and then she paused as the name and faces of so many beloved, dedicated, loving mentors come into her mind. As she began to cry, so did we all. Teachers. Students. Staff. Parents. Dorm Parents. Tears streamed down our faces as we stood in awe of God’s faithfulness to us all throughout the past six years.“
“We are very proud of our pioneer students and we look forward to opening our first middle school class as we grow with them in the coming school year. Pray with me this summer as I work with the SPH team to recruit teachers (we need 5 more by mid-July!) and prepare a new facility. We thank the Lord that two seasoned couples with vast educational experience are coming from the US to spend several months here to provide teacher training and support to help us get started on the right foot.“
Jacinda Basinger
Jacinda Basinger is the daughter of Wally and Joan Wiley, the founders of Sekolah Papua Harapan. She assists with administration at the school. Presently, Alice and I are in Papua to provide professional support for the school. Jacinda has permitted us to give an excerpt from her last newsletter.)
“Last month we celebrated a milestone in the life of Sekolah Papua Harapan. Our first 6th grade class graduated!“
“Ester was a spokesperson for her class during the ceremony. She expressed sincere words of thanks to her community, parents, and teachers – and then she paused as the name and faces of so many beloved, dedicated, loving mentors come into her mind. As she began to cry, so did we all. Teachers. Students. Staff. Parents. Dorm Parents. Tears streamed down our faces as we stood in awe of God’s faithfulness to us all throughout the past six years.“
“We are very proud of our pioneer students and we look forward to opening our first middle school class as we grow with them in the coming school year. Pray with me this summer as I work with the SPH team to recruit teachers (we need 5 more by mid-July!) and prepare a new facility. We thank the Lord that two seasoned couples with vast educational experience are coming from the US to spend several months here to provide teacher training and support to help us get started on the right foot.“
Jacinda Basinger
Sekolah Papua Harapan (Papua School of Hope)
Papua is on the furthest east island in the Indonesian archipelago. It is the most remote and resource-rich island in Indonesia and has remained largely undeveloped due to lack of infrastructure and extremely rigorous terrain. People living in the mountainous interior region have very little, if any, opportunity to pursue education. With the outside world rushing in at an alarming pace, many interior peoples are marginalized and unequipped to step in to leadership positions to guide their own village, people group, province, or nation. Sekolah Papua Harapan exists to empower the people of Papua, particularly those in the most remote contexts, to become leaders in their own communities, country, and world.
The only way to access remote interior villages is through missionary airplanes that can land on dirt and grass airstrips carved out of the side of limestone mountain peaks.
Families in many interior villages are desperate to find opportunities for their children to have access to education and are pleading for opportunities to send their children to Sekolah Papua Harapan. One of the greatest challenges for Sekolah Papua Harapan is determining which students it is possible to serve.
Most families living in the interior are subsistence farmers living in grass-roof homes. Sending their children to the coast for schooling is a dramatic change for the family, requiring significant sacrifices. Although parents cannot afford tuition, they are asked to commit to visiting the coast once each year for one month to invest in the life of the school. In addition, they contribute toward the transportation costs of their children visiting their village during school breaks. The most significant sacrifice, however, is the separation that comes with sending their kids away to school. Papua Harapan is committed to working with families to help them stay connected and to provide excellent care to students as they are away from their loved ones.
The trip from the village to the coastal campus of Papua Harapan brings many new experiences for these children: riding in cars for the first time, living with electricity, tasting ice cubes, learning of the concept of restaurants, seeing paved roads, two-story buildings, owning multiple pairs of clothes, sleeping on mattresses, tasting a diversity of food options (instead of the staple sweet potatoes and sweet potato greens).
When these children transition to life at Papua Harapan, they join other children who have come from similar remote village contexts as well as “day-school children” who live with their families in the coastal town of Sentani and commute each day.
It is a great responsibility and privilege for the staff at Sekolah Papua Harapan to care for each of these children and families.
My wife and I (Rev. Bob and Alice Smith) will be bringing you more inspirational stories from this location. We will be living in Sentani, Papua, Indonesia from July through November.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Meeting Ananias
Rev. Jim Tino
* I was given permission to reprint this story by Rev. Jim Tino. Other inspirational stories are found in his book with the same name. (Published by Tri-Pillar Publishing Anaheim Hills, California.)
Part I
Caracas, Venezuela has one of the best subway systems in the world. “The Metro” (as it is called) is clean, modern, efficient, and inexpensive – everything that a developing nation is not. When I lived in Venezuela, whenever I was in Caracas, I rode the metro. I usually took the connector bus to the Sabana Grande entrance, where there was a blind woman who sat on a small stool, selling candy and cigarettes from a tray on her lap. You could hardly miss her, really. When she sensed that people were nearby, her nasal “hawker’s cry” could be heard for blocks.
I often wondered how that blind woman managed to make change for her customers. At that time, coins were not in circulation in Venezuela. All of the money was paper money – same size, same shape – and the only difference I could see between the bills was the color, and the number printed on the front. How does a blind woman make change? I had to know. One day, on my way to the metro, I bought a sucker from the woman. She told me that it cost five bolívares, so I gave her a 20, just to see what she would do. She carefully ran her fingers over the bill, and gave me 15 bolívares in change!
I was amazed, but in a way, the whole situation also kind of made me sad. In the United States, blindness is definitely a physical challenge, but many blind people are able to go to school, get a job, and lead relatively normal lives. In Venezuela, blindness is a debilitating handicap. Even gifted and enterprising people, like the woman at the metro station, are relegated to begging for food at the margins of society.
Physical blindness is bad, but spiritual blindness is worse. The physically blind know that they are blind, but the spiritually blind do not. The physically blind know that they cannot do everything on their own. They are aware that they need help from time to time. The spiritually blind, on the other hand, do not even know that they need help, particularly from the One who came to rescue them from their blindness. They are unaware of their sin and of their desperate need for a Savior.
The apostle Paul experienced both kinds of blindness. Before his conversion, when he was known as Saul, he was spiritually blind. In his blindness, Saul was opposed to all who followed Jesus. In fact, it was his life’s mission to get rid of the Jesus-followers. But then... he met Jesus! At a moment when he least expected it – walking along the road to Damascus – he met Jesus. Saul’s spiritual blindness was removed in an instant, and in its place, God made him physically blind by putting something like scales over his eyes. Saul remained blind for three days, fasting and praying. Did he ask God to remove his blindness? I know I would have. Although God could have relieved Saul of his blindness directly, He chose to send an unlikely healer – Ananias. Ananias had his own “blind spot” – he did not see any possible way that Saul could be used by God. The blind healing the blind!
It seems to me that we are in the midst of a blindness epidemic. The spiritually blind are all around us, increasing in number day by day. At the same time, scales seem to be descending over the eyes of Christians, blinding us to the urgent need to share Jesus with others. Do we see the blind? Who will go to them? Who will pray for them? Who will be their Ananias? Or do we need God to send Ananias to us?
Part II
I met Ananias. It was during my time in language school in Antigua, Guatemala. Since I spoke very little Spanish, the profusion of beggars and hustlers crowding the narrow cobblestone streets was overwhelming to me. I felt threatened, alone, and insecure; moving quickly through the streets, I tried to avoid the panhandlers. So many needs! I could not possibly give money to everyone, so I gave money to no one.
One day, while walking down a relatively quiet street in Antigua, I heard the voice of a young boy singing. It sounded like the soloist of a boy’s choir - pure, sweet soprano tones, echoing off the stucco walls lining the streets. It was beautiful, and drew me like a siren’s song. I could not see where the sound was coming from, but as I walked, I suddenly came upon the boy. He was blind, perhaps 12 years old, standing in the recessed doorway of one of the buildings, and holding in his hand the proverbial tin cup. As I passed, he rattled the cup gently. I did not put anything in it.
I continued on my way, the bell-like tones fading away until they finally stopped. At that moment the scales started to fall from my eyes. What was I thinking?, I berated myself. Why am I so selfish with my money? That boy was no charlatan, no hustler, no con artist. He was just a poor, blind boy, in need of money to buy food and clothes, in need of the love of Jesus.
I turned around and hurried back to the place where I remembered seeing the boy, but I could not find him. The song had ended. I watched and listened for him for the next several weeks, but did not see him again. I never talked to the boy, never learned his name. But for me, his name is Ananias.
What will it take for us to see – really see – with Jesus’ eyes? As He looks on our world, God isn’t seeingthe things that we focus on. He’s not watching our bank accounts or our fashion selections. He’s not keeping track of the things people have done to take advantage of us, hurt our feelings, or do us wrong. He sees the hurting, the lonely, the lost, the blind. He sees people who need help. He sees people waiting for Ananias.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Commissioned Living
By Rev. Russell Anderson | Missionary to Nigeria
Rev. Anderson was leaving Nigeria after serving there as a Christian missionary for about ten years. He and his family were staying at the guest house on the compound in Jos, Nigeria where we lived. These were the last few days before they were to travel to the airport and leave his work permanently to go back to the USA. They had been living theie vision of the Great Commission.
One evening while we were reminiscing I asked him the question; “What is the one experience you are going to tell other people when you talk about your serving God here in Nigeria?” Russ responded; “You know, I think it just happened about a year ago.
I was praying for an opportunity to bring Christ to a small Nigerian village. God answered that prayer and gave me an open door that I needed.
One day when I came to this group of people the villagers told me about an old man dying in one of the huts. I was given permission to visit him. On my arrival I found he had a huge growth on his neck. This was preventing him eating and therefore he was starving to death. I was permitted to put him in my car and take him to our nearest Christian hospital. After about three weeks spent in the hospital the man lived and recovered enough to return to his family and friends.
Through our time spent together he eventually asked what motivated me to serve him. This gave me the opportunity to share the Gospel story of God’s love and compassion for him. The Holy Spirit worked in His heart to where his whole life was transformed. This man was baptized. Since he was one of the elder leaders of the village this opened the door for the Gospel to be shared with the entire village.”
You might think the story would be finished. Not true! The following Sunday I was sharing this story in the final sermon I was to preach in Nigeria. The service was at Hillcrest School Chapel service. My family and I were also leaving Nigeria permanently and going back to USA. Many of the parents from all over Nigeria were in attendance since this was at the end of the school year.
After the service ended I stood at the door to shake hands with those who were there. One gentleman was purposely waiting to the very end so he could have a conversation with me. I had only met him once before and did not know him well. Finally when we were alone, he said with tears in his eyes; “You don’t know how much that story has meant to me. I came to serve God and the people here two years ago with my talents. I wanted to spend heaven with someone I served. I was wondering how much influence I really had helping to spread the Gospel. You see I’m the doctor who operated on that man. Thank you for sharing that story.”
Wow! Did that touch my heart too!
Now you would think the story would be finished. Not true!
Twenty-five years later in 2011 I returned to Nigeria and led a prayer seminar at the Lutheran Church of Nigeria Seminary. During my Chapel message that day I had that story told again. This time I asked Seminary Professor Dr. Michael Adoga to fill in the details as he knew the story. He knew Rev. Russell Anderson personally and lived in the village at that time. Then I told “the rest of the story.”
Catch the vision – Keep the vision – Live the vision of the Great Commission! God works through ordinary men such as Rev. Russell Anderson, the doctor and the seminary professor. He can work through wherever and whatever you are, or do, too. TO GOD BE THE GLORY!
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Papua is on the furthest east island in the Indonesian archipelago. It is the most remote and resource-rich island in Indonesia and has remained largely undeveloped due to lack of infrastructure and extremely rigorous terrain. People living in the mountainous interior region have very little, if any, opportunity to pursue education. With the outside world rushing in at an alarming pace, many interior peoples are marginalized and unequipped to step in to leadership positions to guide their own village, people group, province, or nation. Sekolah Papua Harapan exists to empower the people of Papua, particularly those in the most remote contexts, to become leaders in their own communities, country, and world.
The only way to access remote interior villages is through missionary airplanes that can land on dirt and grass airstrips carved out of the side of limestone mountain peaks.
Families in many interior villages are desperate to find opportunities for their children to have access to education and are pleading for opportunities to send their children to Sekolah Papua Harapan. One of the greatest challenges for Sekolah Papua Harapan is determining which students it is possible to serve.
Most families living in the interior are subsistence farmers living in grass-roof homes. Sending their children to the coast for schooling is a dramatic change for the family, requiring significant sacrifices. Although parents cannot afford tuition, they are asked to commit to visiting the coast once each year for one month to invest in the life of the school. In addition, they contribute toward the transportation costs of their children visiting their village during school breaks. The most significant sacrifice, however, is the separation that comes with sending their kids away to school. Papua Harapan is committed to working with families to help them stay connected and to provide excellent care to students as they are away from their loved ones.
The trip from the village to the coastal campus of Papua Harapan brings many new experiences for these children: riding in cars for the first time, living with electricity, tasting ice cubes, learning of the concept of restaurants, seeing paved roads, two-story buildings, owning multiple pairs of clothes, sleeping on mattresses, tasting a diversity of food options (instead of the staple sweet potatoes and sweet potato greens).
When these children transition to life at Papua Harapan, they join other children who have come from similar remote village contexts as well as “day-school children” who live with their families in the coastal town of Sentani and commute each day.
It is a great responsibility and privilege for the staff at Sekolah Papua Harapan to care for each of these children and families.
My wife and I (Rev. Bob and Alice Smith) will be bringing you more inspirational stories from this location. We will be living in Sentani, Papua, Indonesia from July through November.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Meeting Ananias
Rev. Jim Tino
* I was given permission to reprint this story by Rev. Jim Tino. Other inspirational stories are found in his book with the same name. (Published by Tri-Pillar Publishing Anaheim Hills, California.)
Part I
Caracas, Venezuela has one of the best subway systems in the world. “The Metro” (as it is called) is clean, modern, efficient, and inexpensive – everything that a developing nation is not. When I lived in Venezuela, whenever I was in Caracas, I rode the metro. I usually took the connector bus to the Sabana Grande entrance, where there was a blind woman who sat on a small stool, selling candy and cigarettes from a tray on her lap. You could hardly miss her, really. When she sensed that people were nearby, her nasal “hawker’s cry” could be heard for blocks.
I often wondered how that blind woman managed to make change for her customers. At that time, coins were not in circulation in Venezuela. All of the money was paper money – same size, same shape – and the only difference I could see between the bills was the color, and the number printed on the front. How does a blind woman make change? I had to know. One day, on my way to the metro, I bought a sucker from the woman. She told me that it cost five bolívares, so I gave her a 20, just to see what she would do. She carefully ran her fingers over the bill, and gave me 15 bolívares in change!
I was amazed, but in a way, the whole situation also kind of made me sad. In the United States, blindness is definitely a physical challenge, but many blind people are able to go to school, get a job, and lead relatively normal lives. In Venezuela, blindness is a debilitating handicap. Even gifted and enterprising people, like the woman at the metro station, are relegated to begging for food at the margins of society.
Physical blindness is bad, but spiritual blindness is worse. The physically blind know that they are blind, but the spiritually blind do not. The physically blind know that they cannot do everything on their own. They are aware that they need help from time to time. The spiritually blind, on the other hand, do not even know that they need help, particularly from the One who came to rescue them from their blindness. They are unaware of their sin and of their desperate need for a Savior.
The apostle Paul experienced both kinds of blindness. Before his conversion, when he was known as Saul, he was spiritually blind. In his blindness, Saul was opposed to all who followed Jesus. In fact, it was his life’s mission to get rid of the Jesus-followers. But then... he met Jesus! At a moment when he least expected it – walking along the road to Damascus – he met Jesus. Saul’s spiritual blindness was removed in an instant, and in its place, God made him physically blind by putting something like scales over his eyes. Saul remained blind for three days, fasting and praying. Did he ask God to remove his blindness? I know I would have. Although God could have relieved Saul of his blindness directly, He chose to send an unlikely healer – Ananias. Ananias had his own “blind spot” – he did not see any possible way that Saul could be used by God. The blind healing the blind!
It seems to me that we are in the midst of a blindness epidemic. The spiritually blind are all around us, increasing in number day by day. At the same time, scales seem to be descending over the eyes of Christians, blinding us to the urgent need to share Jesus with others. Do we see the blind? Who will go to them? Who will pray for them? Who will be their Ananias? Or do we need God to send Ananias to us?
Part II
I met Ananias. It was during my time in language school in Antigua, Guatemala. Since I spoke very little Spanish, the profusion of beggars and hustlers crowding the narrow cobblestone streets was overwhelming to me. I felt threatened, alone, and insecure; moving quickly through the streets, I tried to avoid the panhandlers. So many needs! I could not possibly give money to everyone, so I gave money to no one.
One day, while walking down a relatively quiet street in Antigua, I heard the voice of a young boy singing. It sounded like the soloist of a boy’s choir - pure, sweet soprano tones, echoing off the stucco walls lining the streets. It was beautiful, and drew me like a siren’s song. I could not see where the sound was coming from, but as I walked, I suddenly came upon the boy. He was blind, perhaps 12 years old, standing in the recessed doorway of one of the buildings, and holding in his hand the proverbial tin cup. As I passed, he rattled the cup gently. I did not put anything in it.
I continued on my way, the bell-like tones fading away until they finally stopped. At that moment the scales started to fall from my eyes. What was I thinking?, I berated myself. Why am I so selfish with my money? That boy was no charlatan, no hustler, no con artist. He was just a poor, blind boy, in need of money to buy food and clothes, in need of the love of Jesus.
I turned around and hurried back to the place where I remembered seeing the boy, but I could not find him. The song had ended. I watched and listened for him for the next several weeks, but did not see him again. I never talked to the boy, never learned his name. But for me, his name is Ananias.
What will it take for us to see – really see – with Jesus’ eyes? As He looks on our world, God isn’t seeingthe things that we focus on. He’s not watching our bank accounts or our fashion selections. He’s not keeping track of the things people have done to take advantage of us, hurt our feelings, or do us wrong. He sees the hurting, the lonely, the lost, the blind. He sees people who need help. He sees people waiting for Ananias.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Commissioned Living
By Rev. Russell Anderson | Missionary to Nigeria
Rev. Anderson was leaving Nigeria after serving there as a Christian missionary for about ten years. He and his family were staying at the guest house on the compound in Jos, Nigeria where we lived. These were the last few days before they were to travel to the airport and leave his work permanently to go back to the USA. They had been living theie vision of the Great Commission.
One evening while we were reminiscing I asked him the question; “What is the one experience you are going to tell other people when you talk about your serving God here in Nigeria?” Russ responded; “You know, I think it just happened about a year ago.
I was praying for an opportunity to bring Christ to a small Nigerian village. God answered that prayer and gave me an open door that I needed.
One day when I came to this group of people the villagers told me about an old man dying in one of the huts. I was given permission to visit him. On my arrival I found he had a huge growth on his neck. This was preventing him eating and therefore he was starving to death. I was permitted to put him in my car and take him to our nearest Christian hospital. After about three weeks spent in the hospital the man lived and recovered enough to return to his family and friends.
Through our time spent together he eventually asked what motivated me to serve him. This gave me the opportunity to share the Gospel story of God’s love and compassion for him. The Holy Spirit worked in His heart to where his whole life was transformed. This man was baptized. Since he was one of the elder leaders of the village this opened the door for the Gospel to be shared with the entire village.”
You might think the story would be finished. Not true! The following Sunday I was sharing this story in the final sermon I was to preach in Nigeria. The service was at Hillcrest School Chapel service. My family and I were also leaving Nigeria permanently and going back to USA. Many of the parents from all over Nigeria were in attendance since this was at the end of the school year.
After the service ended I stood at the door to shake hands with those who were there. One gentleman was purposely waiting to the very end so he could have a conversation with me. I had only met him once before and did not know him well. Finally when we were alone, he said with tears in his eyes; “You don’t know how much that story has meant to me. I came to serve God and the people here two years ago with my talents. I wanted to spend heaven with someone I served. I was wondering how much influence I really had helping to spread the Gospel. You see I’m the doctor who operated on that man. Thank you for sharing that story.”
Wow! Did that touch my heart too!
Now you would think the story would be finished. Not true!
Twenty-five years later in 2011 I returned to Nigeria and led a prayer seminar at the Lutheran Church of Nigeria Seminary. During my Chapel message that day I had that story told again. This time I asked Seminary Professor Dr. Michael Adoga to fill in the details as he knew the story. He knew Rev. Russell Anderson personally and lived in the village at that time. Then I told “the rest of the story.”
Catch the vision – Keep the vision – Live the vision of the Great Commission! God works through ordinary men such as Rev. Russell Anderson, the doctor and the seminary professor. He can work through wherever and whatever you are, or do, too. TO GOD BE THE GLORY!
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
SHEEPDOGS
By Al S. Senske
Coach Al Senske was my football coach at Concordia College (University) in River Forest (Chicago) Illinois. His proper title is Dr. Al Senske but I still like to think of him as “Coach.” Coach Senske has traveled to over 90 countries as a church worker. He thinks of himself and other church workers as sheepdogs for the Good Shepherd. What a great way to describe “working for God.” He has given me permission to share some inspirational stories. In volume one of our newsletter we had shared two of his stories. Here is another.
The location is Cajamarca, a mountain village in northern Peru. I had the privilege to observe a “graduation day” sponsored by the Association of Mothers and Friends. A group of about two dozen women and girls had completed their last in a series of health education classes. They had also been learning how to be effective and efficient mothers and wives, how to share joy in their homes in spite of trying circumstances. The graduation ceremony included various games, including one they call “the hot potato with dancing.” It was important over the weeks and months as they met, that birthdays and anniversaries of the women in the group would be remembered and observed. I was privileged to witness an observance of one lady’s birthday as part of the graduation program. A small table with a candle was placed before her. The candle was lit and they sang a “happy birthday” son in Spanish. Tears streamed down her face throughout the entire son. After a few minutes she was able to express her thanks and apologized for crying. Then she explained, “I am ashamed. But today I am 45 years old. This is the first time in my life that anyone has wished me a happy birthday.” These sheepdogs, (church workers) from that same culture, had learned the importance of celebrating people, their significant benchmarks and their years of life!
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
By Al S. Senske
Coach Al Senske was my football coach at Concordia College (University) in River Forest (Chicago) Illinois. His proper title is Dr. Al Senske but I still like to think of him as “Coach.” Coach Senske has traveled to over 90 countries as a church worker. He thinks of himself and other church workers as sheepdogs for the Good Shepherd. What a great way to describe “working for God.” He has given me permission to share some inspirational stories. In volume one of our newsletter we had shared two of his stories. Here is another.
The location is Cajamarca, a mountain village in northern Peru. I had the privilege to observe a “graduation day” sponsored by the Association of Mothers and Friends. A group of about two dozen women and girls had completed their last in a series of health education classes. They had also been learning how to be effective and efficient mothers and wives, how to share joy in their homes in spite of trying circumstances. The graduation ceremony included various games, including one they call “the hot potato with dancing.” It was important over the weeks and months as they met, that birthdays and anniversaries of the women in the group would be remembered and observed. I was privileged to witness an observance of one lady’s birthday as part of the graduation program. A small table with a candle was placed before her. The candle was lit and they sang a “happy birthday” son in Spanish. Tears streamed down her face throughout the entire son. After a few minutes she was able to express her thanks and apologized for crying. Then she explained, “I am ashamed. But today I am 45 years old. This is the first time in my life that anyone has wished me a happy birthday.” These sheepdogs, (church workers) from that same culture, had learned the importance of celebrating people, their significant benchmarks and their years of life!
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Hisham Shihab's Testimony: From a Muslim Extremist to a Follower of Jesus
Part I
Early Childhood
Born in 1960, in Lebanon, since my early childhood, I became aware that the country I lived in was divided along sectarian lines, between Christians and Muslims. Also I was aware that my family is one of the biggest in Lebanon, and that we have descended from the tribe of Muhammad, the Prophet of Islam. Historians say that we came as warlords with the Arab conquests to Lebanon, Syria, and Palestine.
Nowadays, the Shihabs numbered in Lebanon around 11000 people. Playing in the few green fields left among the growing "forest of cement" (i.e. Beirut in the early 1960s), I realized that those boys who had different names, like Pierre and Elias, were Christians. And boys like me, with Arabic names, or a name that sounded, or combined words like those that the Muezzins chanted from the minarets (Muhammad and Allah), were Muslims. I also became aware of the words used by the older generations of Muslims to describe Christians (terms we describe today as stereotypes). I heard that "they eat those filthy animals;" pigs, drink those "stinky liquids;" whisky and Arak (Lebanese wine), get drunk and lose their composure, their women were loose, and have neither honor nor chastity (even though I did not know then what chastity meant)." I could see then that their women dressed in revealing clothes, unlike my mother and our female relatives, who covered their heads, and wore skirts or overcoats that went way below their knees.
Those boys, with French or Western names, used to side with each other, in any quarrel that took place, irrespective of what was right or wrong. In those days, a brawl over marbles used to lead to a fight between the Muslim boys, and the Christian boys. Two incidents I remember clearly. The first, was when a cousin of mine chased a Christian boy to beat him up. In his attempt to escape, the "cowardly" Christian scampered across the street and was run down by a car.
We did not see him back then for weeks. No body was sorry for him.
"Allah has punished him", we thought, "He had it coming". The second incident was when Pierre, the youngest brother of the wounded boy, appeared from nowhere and banged me on the head with a piece of wood that had a protruding nail, and ran away. I could not remember why he attacked me then. But I still remember how a teenage cousin of mine dragged me home, weeping with blood trickling down into my eyes and my cheeks. I was six or seven then, and did not understand the reasons behind the animosity between us; Muslims and Christians. But I still have the scar of that attack on my forehead.
In the Ranks of a Muslim Militia I was only thirteen when an extremist Muslim group recruited me, two years before the Lebanese civil war broke out in 1975. I was "able" then, as I thought, in the ranks of that faction, to "comprehend" the big picture of the sectarian community we were living in, in the 1970s.
My late eldest brother (who was then less than 15) and I were first attracted to that Muslim faction by a group of teenagers studying the Qur'an in the mosque in our neighborhood. In addition to hearing its call for prayers five times a day, the mosque was only three minutes walk from home, and was built jointly with our school. So we did not have to go far to get there. Kamal, the young man who was leading the discussions in a corner of that mosque, was around 20. He was bright and educated, and drew our attention to the political privileges that the Christians, the "minority," had in Lebanon, and the grievances of the Muslims; the majority. He asserted how "shameful it was for the descendants of the Caliphs who once ruled the world, to have a Christian president." Before Ta'ef agreement that officially marked the end of the civil war in 1989, the president of Lebanon actually headed the executive authority, but was unaccountable to anybody. The prime minister, who was decreed by tradition to be a Muslim, was a puppet, but took the brunt of all the political and economical crises in the country.
Kemal said that the Christians were put into that superior position (to the Muslims) by the French colonizers in the 1940s.
We understood then that we were second- class citizens in our homeland, and deprived from our full rights. We were denied the top positions in the government and had no clout in any public sector. We felt that our rituals and holidays were not respected. Christmas and Easter were celebrated in the official media, while our holidays went unnoticed. Even we were denied the right to have Fridays off for the weekly Muslim ceremonies in mosques. In addition, we felt that most Arab Christians or Armenians could be naturalized and become Lebanese, because churches and the official authorities helped them in order to tip the demographic balance to their favor, while more than 250, 000 Muslim Palestinian refugees, and 200, 000 Kurds living for decades in
Lebanon were refused naturalization. All the circumstances around us smacked of a "conspiracy" by the West, Israel, and the Lebanese Christians.
Kamal blamed many Muslim politicians for "our miserable situation,"but overall he blamed the late Egyptian president Gamal Abdul Nasser. Kamal said that "Nasser was merely a demagogue who led the Arabs and Muslims astray or to
defeat, and lost Palestine to the Zionists." "Nasser, a double agent for the West and the Soviet Union, crushed the Muslim movements in Egypt and pressured other Muslim groups in the Arab world because they had the solution for our dilemma, and collaborated with foreign powers to keep us backward and defeated, in order to exploit us, and drain our resources," he added. "But Allah has revealed his treachery, and let him suffer that shameful defeat in 1967, because he was following the way of the world, not the path of Prophet Muhammad," Kamal asserted. But he often strongly argued that the solution was in doing what the early Muslims did; re-establish the Caliphate that was abolished by Kamal Ataturk, the founder of modern Turkey. "We tried
Pan-Arabism, Communism, Socialism, and Capitalism, but failed. The answer lies in Islam. It is not impossible. We have a good example in Saladin, and how he defeated the Crusaders," argued Kamal.
After two weeks, Kamal added to the Quranic reading assignment from books written by Sayyed Qutub (Osama bin Laden's master philosopher), and the late founder of Pakistan's Al Gamaa Al Islamiyyah (The Muslim Group) Abu Al Aala Al Mawdoudi. Kamal said that Qutub was able to explain what Allah wanted from us in this age of defeat and shame.
We understood from reading Qutub's works that the world is divided into two realms: The realm of Islam and the realm of unbelief.
International borders are set-up only to keep the Muslims divided.
Muslims, if they were real Muslims, have to work for the foundation of a global Muslim state.
Kamal and other mentors in that faction taught us that the Christians were "unclean infidels, Crusaders, and an appendage of the morally corrupt West in the Middle East; that they were spies among us, and their hostile presence should be taken care of. Kamal confirmed that Muslims groups in Lebanon were part of an international revival movement that would topple the regimes, overturn the tables of history, and reunify the divided Muslim countries.
The situation in Lebanon was aggravated by the presence of the Palestinian refugees and the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), which found in the "wronged" Lebanese Muslims "natural allies." Especially that, after the death of Nasser in 1970, the Lebanese Muslims lost a major ally against the Christian Right.
The PLO started arming, or helping in arming Leftist parties and Muslim movements. Those parties (allied with the PLO), formed a "National Movement" that mobilized the indignant Muslims, organizing nation- wide strikes, rallies, and demonstrations against the Lebanese government which was often accused of being biased to the privileged Christians and extreme Rightist Christian militias. Those Christian factions seized every opportunity to engage with the Palestinians and their allies in street fights or armed skirmishes, and get away with it unscathed, because of their clout with the Lebanese authorities.
Most Muslims believed then that some Christian parties had been training since the late 1940s to mow down the Muslims, with Israel as their main ally.
In 1973, I was invited, together with my brother, to military training camps. We felt that we were following the path of Muhammad, or Saladin. We climbed the distant desolate mountains of North Lebanon in shabby buses. The age groups in those vehicles ranged from 13 to 60, with the majority under 20. But we were all chanting "Islamic songs" written by Sir Muhammad Iqbal (a Pakistani Muslim poet and thinker), Qutub, and others with great zeal:
"China is ours, India is ours.
Islam is our religion.
The world is our homeland"
"Muslims.. Muslims..Muslims.
Wherever there is Justice and Right, you find us.
We prefer death to humiliation.
Sweet is death in the Cause of Allah"
In that training camp in the distant mountains, we learned how to use rocket launchers, mortars, and rifles. We were told: "if you want to shoot straight, imagine that there is a Christian in your sights" (a statement that puts in a nutshell all the hate we had for our Christian compatriots).
Verses from the Qur'an were often invoked to prove that Jihad was an obligation. Preachers often supported their views with fatwas (verdicts) that dated to the Middle Ages, and argued that all Muslims were sinners if they give up the path of Jihad, especially with Muslim lands, like Palestine, the Muslim republics of the former Soviet Union, and Kashmir were under occupation.
Part II
The Lebanese Civil War
In 1975, as soon as the civil war in Lebanon broke out, I participated in most of the aspects of the war, from shelling Christian neighborhoods to laying in ambush for Christian militias.
It was a terrible war. Everyone lost somebody -- from a population of three to 3.5 million, there were 150,000 dead" -- almost five per cent of the populace, and there were over 100,000 injured and 17,000 disappeared.
It was so insecure. There were over 200 militias, with the alliances always shifting and the enemies changing."
Beirut was divided into a Christian part and a Muslim one, with a green line separating between them. Both parties perpetrated atrocities by killing civilians. However, Muslims felt that they were taken by surprise when one of the most extremist Christian militias massacred hundreds of Muslim civilians on their way to work at Beirut's harbor in September 1975.
It was an ugly war. A friend of mine, once a leader in that militia, but now a Peacemaker whom I have worked with for national reconciliation, used to phone bomb threats to Muslim theatres, so that he could mortar the crowds as they fled onto the streets.
In the late 1970s, I was given a long-range rifle with a powerful telescope and sniped at people in the Christian part of Beirut.
It was a moment of truth when, through my telescope, I saw three people running for cover: An old woman and two boys. One of them looked like a cousin of mine. The old woman reminded me of my grandmother. I could even see the wrinkles in her face. I did not shoot. My conscience told me that they were people like us. I refused to follow orders and decided to quit. "No causes are worth the bloodshed," I thought. Later, I decided to focus on Muslim religious studies, and took a course in order to become a Muslim preacher. Just a few days before I was supposed to give my first Friday sermon, I had a car accident and broke my legs. It was a compound fracture. I was hospitalized for 50 days and bed-ridden for a year. However, it gave me time to reconsider what I want to do in life. In order to pass the time, I started reading comics in Arabic and English. It was expensive to devour those
comic books, so I switched to reading novels. After a year in bed, I was able to read unabridged English novels. When I was able to walk on crutches, I went back to high school and kept reading novels. I stumbled over a Western novel written by Louis L' Amour who wrote around a 120 novels. I read them all. I got really better in English and passed the American University of Beirut English Entrance Exam.
Jesus, the Prince of Peace
During my first semester in college, in 1980, my only brother and sibling, by this time a militia captain, was killed by a Christian militia while he was trying to negotiate a truce. My brother and I were very good friends, not only brothers. We used to do everything together. We learned how to swim, how to bike, had the same friends, and went to school together.
Two of my brother's comrades and I vowed to kill all our enemies. I got a silencer and two pistols, and I started stalking my enemies in the streets at night. Some of them were my classmates; I would befriend them so I could learn their movements simply in order to kill them.
I led a double life: assassin at night and student in the classroom in the daytime. It was not an easy life.
Meanwhile, as a student at the American University, I had to take a course in cultural studies, for which I had to read selections from the Bible. The course included the Qur'an and the Bible. Then, I had known the Qur'an by heart, but the Bible was a new thing to me. I read the Sermon on the Mount at the climax of my hate and thirst for vengeance. Christ's exhortation: "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven" (Matthew 5:45) struck me with full force. I felt that I heard the voice of God in stereo. I, who knew what is an enemy, and sought to kill my enemies, felt that Jesus' exhortation was superhuman and cannot emanate from an ordinary human being, but from a divine source.
Even though I was taught by Muslim clerics that the Bible was distorted by Rabbis and bishops, Christ's words "Love God from all your heart, and love your neighbor" sounded authentically divine. Even through the loss of my brother, I thought: "There is another way, a way of forgiveness."
I was touched by Jesus' parables, especially that of the Good Samaritan. I discovered that my countrymen who were fighting us were not good Christians, were not Good Samaritans, and asif they were reading a different Bible. I stopped my night activities, and decided to reconsider things and see if it were possible to follow this Jesus. At the same time, I found it "odd" that Lebanese Christian militias used symbols such as crosses with dagger-points, or crosses dripping with (presumably Muslim) blood -- "it was like they weren't reading the same Bible."
I realized that many Lebanese Christians changed the symbol of Love and Salvation into a symbol of hate and murder. Muslims saw in them what some Western Christians saw in the Ku Klux Klan. I told myself then if I was really seeking truth, I should follow up on my readings of the Bible, irrespective of "my bad neighbors," and walk in the shoes of Christians. So I started to sneak into churches in order to listen to what believers say about Jesus.
It was very difficult to go into Catholic and Greek Orthodox churches because of two things; the figures and icons they had for Jesus that reminded me of idolatry and the liturgical language they used. Hence, I preferred to attend Protestant churches with English services, especially because I read the Bible at college in English, mostly King James Version.
By 1990, when the international community and the Syrians imposed a cease-fire on Lebanon, I vowed to work for peace and reconciliation. Together with the Muslim mayor of a Beirut suburb, I founded an NGO dedicated to Muslim-Christian dialogue and gradually recruited a hundred community leaders.
In addition to my jobs as an educational advisor and a journalist, I took on a lot of work. By the 1998 elections, my group could form a National Unity ticket and elect a Christian mayor to a predominantly Muslim area.
It was not easy to work in a sectarian community against the tide of popular prejudices and bigotries. Even though I kept a low profile, as a Muslim follower of Jesus (even though it sounded as a contradiction in terms), sometimes I paid dearly for my openness, and was labeled as a Christian-lover. Being a human rights activist and a peacemaker, I was suspected of being a CIA agent who worked to promote peace (Arabs usually call it surrender not peace) between Arabs and Israel.
When a Christian Western NGO called the Reconciliation Walk (RW) came to Lebanon, I stepped in and helped its members bring different Lebanese communities together. The R.W's original goal was to apologize for the Crusades, but its members soon discovered that there is a lot to be done in Lebanon, and I did their public relations and arranged their meetings.
Part III
The National Prayer Breakfast
Being an activist in Christian-Islamic dialogue and a Muslim follower of Jesus, I was invited in 1999 to the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington, D.C. It was a memorable trip in many ways.
First, I was threatened by my boss to be fired if I went there. His hostility towards my public work in Lebanon started to surface when I wrote an article in Beirut's leading daily defending Christians in Egypt and their right to build churches. The article was based on first hand information I gleaned at an international conference I attended the previous year. I did not heed his threats, made the trip, and lost my full-time job. Second, it was a big spiritual boost for me. Four thousand people from 160 nations were there praying in the name of Jesus. Third, I stayed for a few days at the house of a good Christian in Virginia, even though a new acquaintance then, he became a friend for life. Preston showed me in actions, not in words, how a Christian could be a Good Samaritan. Fourth, towards the end of that trip, I lost my animosity towards the sign of the cross, a bigotry acquired from the ugly years of the civil war. I met in Washington a young man from Alabama- Richard, a "Promise Keeper." We spent three days together. We prayed and had meals together. At the end of that trip, Richard drove me to the airport. At the terminal, he went out of his car crying, as if he was parting with a close relative or a dear friend, and took out a silver cross from his wallet with the words:
May the angels of God guard thee. It was his personal cross given to me in Love. I cried like a baby, accepted the cross, and hugged Richard good-bye.
I went back home, a father of three without a job. Usually, in Lebanon, if someone loses a good job, it would take years to find another one. I found a better job in two weeks. Later, I found out that some of my Christian friends-members of the Reconciliation Walk and other missionaries sent a prayer request for me by email. It was unbelievable. Later, I met people from different countries and discovered that they prayed for me then.
Jesus, the Savior
But the biggest turning point was in August 2000. I was invited to an international conference in Switzerland on conflict resolution and Christian-Islamic dialogue.
I gave a speech on my work in Lebanon and how I was transformed from a sniper (or a terrorist) to a peacemaker to around 500 people from 54 nations. I was presented there as a Muslim working for reconciliation and Christian-Islamic dialogue in Lebanon.
I was given a standing ovation, with tears in the eyes of many. Scores of people lined up to shake my hand.
I went back that night to my room thinking of the glorious moments of the day, and the big promising future in representing Lebanese Muslims in international conferences.
I decided that night that when I go back to Lebanon, I will tell my praying partner, Carl, an American missionary living in Lebanon, that I do not want any part of Jesus or the Bible anymore, and that I am satisfied in the way I am. I had been wrestling to know Jesus then for 19 years with nothing but shame and headaches in my Muslim community. I thought that I would tell him that I had the full respect towards the teachings of Jesus the peacemaker, not the Savior.
I went to bed that night with this determination in mind, and saw Jesus Christ in a vision.
Until today I am not sure if I was awake or asleep when I saw the Lord. Two huge slabs of rock parted and He came out from a huge grave the size of a castle, fit for the King of Kings, in shrouds, and pointed his finger at me and told me to keep on praying. When I denied Him, He came to the rescue. I looked at my roommate, a Norwegian journalist, and found out that he was awake too. I told him about the vision. I did not know that he was a believer too. He pulled out a pocket Bible from his luggage and we read and prayed until sunrise. I decided that morning to give my life to Him.
At seven o'clock that morning, a Lebanese Evangelical Christian and a Briton who lives in Switzerland came to pick me up and drive me to the main conference. I was then still filled with the Holy Spirit and told them about last night's events. The Lebanese Christian's attitude was cynical, like that of a Jew towards a Gentile when Jesus walked the earth. "I have served Jesus all my life and did not have such a dream or vision… You of all people … a Muslim would see Jesus," she snapped. I was on cloud nine for many days. I emailed my praying partner, Carl, and told him to buckle up for a big event. He was then in the States. I went back to Lebanon, picked him up at the airport and started the next day planning for a National Prayer Breakfast in Lebanon.
It was October 2000. We held a prayer event for Lebanon, with the participation of 150 people from all sects. I started the meeting with readings from Isaiah where he prophesied that Lebanon will become a fertile field (Isaiah 29:17). Five speakers spoke and prayed at that event, two of them in the name of Jesus. That year I planned with Carl and other believers to start prayer groups in the Lebanese parliament.
Part IV
The Lutheran Ministry
That year I met a Lutheran pastor who became my best friend in Beirut. Dr. Bernhard Lutz used to come to Lebanon as a missionary. I had stepped in an elevator going up to my credit card company when I saw a friendly face. The gray-haired man shook my hand and gave me his business card. As soon as I arrived home that afternoon I called him, and the evening that day we were visiting together and planning a Bible study.
Bernie and I worked together as if we had known each other for ages. I introduced Bernie to a Palestinian soccer coach and his team, located at the Palestinian refugee camp near Beirut where Bernie visited and made friends with many refugees. Later we were able to help in supporting some of their soccer games, things that kept them off mischief, and away from Palestinian militias.
Bernie and I helped in distributing Lutheran publications in the poor Shiite suburb of Beirut. We had an instrumental Syrian couple. This couple held Bible studies in their house for Muslims and distributed Christian literature to their neighbors. They have a ministry of faith and do not belong to any church.
I took him to meet Beirut's notables, cabinet ministers and MPs. We went to Bedouin communities and shared the Gospel with them in the Bekaa valley, a plain stretching between Mount Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon. I took Bernie to an orphanage run by a Muslim Follower of Jesus, a Bedouin chief who was converted by a Lutheran missionary in the 1950s (we discovered this piece of information later). This Bedouin chief was teaching Muslim Bedouins the Bible in the heart of Hezbollah land (Hezbollah is the Lebanese Shiite extremist militia backed by Syria and Iran). At a point, we met a Hezbollah leader and his group, and shared with them the Gospel. They were scary moments (for Bernie, as I learned later) as we waited for them to finish their prayers.
But our strength was in the Lord. Bernie talked for 90 minutes and answered all their questions over dinner. Later this Hezbollah group invited us to their annual ceremonies. Unfortunately,
I had to go alone because Bernie's time was up in Lebanon, and he had to go back to the US.
Bernie came only four months a year, so I was in charge of the Middle East Lutheran Ministry office in the Muslim part of Beirut the rest of the year.
Also, during my annual vacations, I worked with an editorial board of the Sharif Bible, a version translated and contextualized for Muslims. Earning a living in Beirut with four children (I had a new baby by then) the last two years was not easy. I had to work full time in two newspapers, and work part time as a university professor to put bread on the table. I was working 16 hours a day. Even though I was thirsty for the Word of God, I was not able to read the Bible and lead a study but once a week. I even worked weekends. I prayed to God to provide me with work that puts me at His service, because I felt that my spiritual life is deteriorating.
Trying to start a Lutheran church in Lebanon, Bernie and I discovered that there is a law in Lebanon against planting new Protestant churches. This does not mean that Muslims have clout over the Lebanese government, but Catholic and Greek Orthodox churches were wielding
their clout against Protestants. The latter are attracting young people from other denominations, something old churches are against.
Bernie called me last October (2004) and told me that there is no way the Lutheran church could help me in Lebanon, and that the only way is to join POBLO (People of the Bible Lutheran Outreach). I responded: Even though it means that I have to be uprooted from my homeland, so be it. I told Bernie and POBLO staff that I am ready to serve God, whether it is in America or Afghanistan.
Above all, I am excited about going to Concordia seminary to study the Bible and become an ordained pastor.
God works in mysterious ways. Until now I do not understand all those developments in my life. But I can say that He has carried me from glory to glory, in my walk with Him. He is the Father who has never let me down.
Part V
Addendum
I was baptized after I accepted the Lord as Savior. I finished work at the newspaper early one night, and had an appointment with my praying partner. I headed towards his house at 9:30 pm, feeling that my friend had something important in store for me, because it was not our habit to meet at such a late hour. I arrived at his house that night and saw towels in the living room, and knew what he had in mind. My friend asked: "Do you know the story of Philip and the Eunuch?" I answered: "Sure." "Would you like to go to the seashore for your baptism?" I responded: "It is cold, but if you are willing to take it I am ready." "We've better do it in the shower." I put on his swimming trunks, and was baptized, with him praying for me."
I went back home around 10:30 pm. I was shaken and tired. I had until then told my wife everything about my walk with God, but was like crossing the last red line in my Muslim community.
My wife and I used to have a bite before turning in. So, she asked: "Are not you hungry?" "Yes, but I am tired," I answered, "Let me lie down a few minutes and I will get up for supper."
"I slept for a while, and saw Jesus in the most wonderful dream in my life. Jesus grabbed me from my arm and we flew together over a wide, abundant, and thunderous river. We flew from a drab riverbank to a lush green one, exploding with green foliage and trees. He left me there and disappeared.
I opened my eyes, and was ready to tell my wife about both the baptism and dream.
God the Father
By the time I was baptized, I had only three children. Mona and I thought that three is fine and we did not plan for more children.
A year back then, Mona had some gynecological problems and her doctor told her that she may not have children again unless she got medical help. Being satisfied with what we had, we did not try anything and we neglected contraceptives.
Once, Mona who used to take a few medications for her diet, was taking a new one, when she read on its label that pregnant women should avoid it. So she decided to run a test, and she discovered that she was three month pregnant.
It was a shock, because the doctor told her that she could not have children, and because all those medications could be harmful to a baby.
Mona ran a test in order to see if the baby was normal. The test showed that there was a 50 % possibility that the baby was down syndrome.
We decided to run another test that was more sophisticated and more reliable. It was a test that was supposed to give the exact count of the chromosomes and reveal any congenital deformities. It had to take two weeks for the results to be out, because the blood sample had to go to France for analysis.
They were difficult times of waiting on the Lord and prayers. Mona wept a lot, and wanted to take measures in order to face the worst scenario- abortion. By then, the baby was five months old and even such a procedure would have been very painful, ethically and emotionally.
Praise God, the test showed that the baby was normal.
I told Mona then that I feel that this baby has a different destiny, and one day I might be like Paul who was a Roman citizen, and no borders could stop.
I had a feeling that one day I would have a Western passport that would relieve me from visa applications and their long waits, both in the East and the West. I told her that I did not think that the baby would be born here, but in the West.
Even though Mona is usually very cautious in family matters, she did not argue the inspiration I had.
By then, it was September 2001, and the 9/11 catastrophe occurred.
It was October 2001 when I started planning to come to the United States in order to give birth to Yahya (Arabic for John the Baptist).
Most of my friends said that I was crazy to think about it after 9/11. A childhood friend, a Lebanese American who lives in Colorado hang up after many international phone calls, and had shunned me since. No American friend in my "church" was willing to help, even in information.
I had put together a budget then, borrowed money equal to two salaries from the bank, and had two credit cards. In addition, two friends (one of them is not a believer) offered to help with $ 500 each when they found out that I am determined to go to the States.
In Mid November 2001, I received an email from Preston, my friend in southern Virginia (Chesapeake). Preston offered a house and a car, and said that he will check with his family obstetrician about the cost of a cesarean section in Virginia.
When the other Americans heard about Preston's generous offer, they tried to discourage both, him and I. "What if Mona had complications? You have neither social security nor insurance," Carl said. "Preston may be forced to sell his house to help you out," he added. Mona was not happy with those comments. She said that such talk meant that Carl did not trust God one bit. I am not saying that she was right, but it shed some doubt in her mind about his faith in the principles he taught, the teachings of Jesus. This was a drawback in her walk with Jesus.
Encouraged by Preston's offer, I bought air tickets for Mona, my youngest daughter Nour, and myself to Dulles airport, in Virginia.
The night of the flight out of Beirut, Ed, Preston's son who lives and works in Lebanon, visited me.
Ed said that I should cancel my flight and my whole plan to go to the US, because his mother was sick. He added that she was bedridden, and if I went, she would be forced to take care of us, something that might make her sicker, or might even lead to her death. "If you care about our friendship Hicham, do not go," Ed added.
I told Ed that everything was set, whether Preston is going to host me in his neighbor's empty house or not. I had already bought the tickets and that there is no turning back.
Ed then suggested that I go to Virginia for three days, stay in a motel, and then go anywhere in the States, adding that he did not care where I went with my pregnant wife and little daughter as long as I did it away from his parents.
It was not a nice attitude on Ed's part, but I understood his concern. Ed thought that I am abusing my friendship with his family, even though I was not planning to ask Preston for any financial help.
That night, Preston called and said that he would follow Ed's advice. I respected his decision and told him that I am coming the next day.
We arrived at 6:00 pm to Dulles airport, three tired people. Preston and his wife Bettie were waiting for us there. Bettie had a bad knee, but she was alright.
Preston drove us to Chesapeake, where he had booked for us a room at Holiday Inn motel. It was a very nice room with gifts waiting for Mona and Nour.
Preston and Bettie treated us like kings for a few days, and then we were on our own.
Before coming to the US, I heard that there was a Lebanese American obstetrician in Brooklyn, New York, Dr. Ayman Chahine, who charges half the cost in Virginia. A distant cousin of mine whose wife was treated by that doctor gave me Ayman's phone number.
In addition, I had a very distant cousin, Salim, who lives in Manhattan, and works at the United Nations. After getting his number from a friend, I called him and asked him to look for an apartment for rent in Brooklyn.
It took ten days and so many long distance calls to find an apartment there, in Brooklyn.
The landlord asked for $ 1100 a month. We had been eating for many days out of a microwave in that motel and wasting our little precious amount of money.
On December 5, we took the train to New York Penn Station. It took eight long hours, with five bags that had to be carried on board, with no help.
Arriving at the Penn Station, we did not find Salim. I went and tried to call him from a telephone booth in vain. He had an answering machine. But after an hour of tenseness, he appeared. Being a very distant relative who barely knew me then, he did not recognize me but from my pregnant wife and Nour.
After a short rest at his place and a pizza for the family, we set out to Bayridge, Brooklyn.
We arrived at a dusty and unfurnished two-bedroom apartment at 10 p.m. The landlady refused to lease out the place less than $ 1300 a month. I told her that we could not afford it, because we were supposed to pay the doctor and the hospital.
She was also suspicious and insisted to take our passports to the police station to check on us. She then decided to let us stay till we got another place.
It was one of the most difficult nights in our lives. We had to sleep on the floor and face the unknown the next day. We cried a lot and prayed as Nour slept. Mona suggested that we should back to Lebanon. I told her to trust God and that we had better see the doctor the next day before taking any decision.
Next day, early in the morning, I called the doctor's clinic from a phone booth. His secretary told me to come without an appointment at 12:00 noon and that she would squeeze us between two patients.
The clinic was packed with patients. We waited until 2:30 pm., when we were ushered to his office. I opened his door, and I was surprised with a direct question in Lebanese Arabic: "Hicham, what are you doing in New York?" Unable to understand the situation, I answered: "We took an appointment from your secretary and my wife is in her 8th month." He asked again using my full name: "You.. Hicham Chehab.. What are you doing in New York?"
Then he lunged at me, hugged me and kissed me the Arab way. Which added to my embarrassment. Then he asked: "Do n't you remember how we used to walk together on campus? You used to go to teach English, and I used to go to the medical school."
Then I remembered him and asked for his forgiveness.
I knew him as a medical student at the American University of Beirut n the 1980s. He was a thin young man. Now he is a big fully grown man with a double chin.
Ayman wanted to chat about the old days. I told him that I am in a fix, and need to sort out that problem. Given the expensive rent in New York, I added that the amount of money we had then could take care either of the hospital or the rent. Ayman responded that he won't charge me a penny, and took out a Medicare form, signed, and told me to go to the healthcare authorities, after explaining that New York state policy is to take care of any pregnant woman irrespective of her legal status in the country.
Just imagine that out of 12 million people in New York, I would meet a friend I have not seen in 17 years at the right time and in the right place, to help me out of this dilemma. God is certainly the Father who do not let us down.
We went back to the apartment with a happy face, and told the landlady that we could pay the rent. Then, her husband, Stanley, brought us a table, a few chairs, and a wall clock with the picture of Jesus. Stanley said that Jesus watches over us. "I guess so," I commented.
After a few days, I flew back to Lebanon to work for 20 days, resign from my work at the newspaper, and bring more money. My flight back to New York was scheduled on December 30. At Heathrow airport in London, I checked my email, and discovered that Mona gave birth to my son Yahya three weeks prematurely.
Ayman took care of everything. He even took Nour out for lunch, and kept her company all day until Mona recuperated from her cesarean section operation.
Thank you to Hicham Chehab for permission to print his story. God is GOOD!
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Early Childhood
Born in 1960, in Lebanon, since my early childhood, I became aware that the country I lived in was divided along sectarian lines, between Christians and Muslims. Also I was aware that my family is one of the biggest in Lebanon, and that we have descended from the tribe of Muhammad, the Prophet of Islam. Historians say that we came as warlords with the Arab conquests to Lebanon, Syria, and Palestine.
Nowadays, the Shihabs numbered in Lebanon around 11000 people. Playing in the few green fields left among the growing "forest of cement" (i.e. Beirut in the early 1960s), I realized that those boys who had different names, like Pierre and Elias, were Christians. And boys like me, with Arabic names, or a name that sounded, or combined words like those that the Muezzins chanted from the minarets (Muhammad and Allah), were Muslims. I also became aware of the words used by the older generations of Muslims to describe Christians (terms we describe today as stereotypes). I heard that "they eat those filthy animals;" pigs, drink those "stinky liquids;" whisky and Arak (Lebanese wine), get drunk and lose their composure, their women were loose, and have neither honor nor chastity (even though I did not know then what chastity meant)." I could see then that their women dressed in revealing clothes, unlike my mother and our female relatives, who covered their heads, and wore skirts or overcoats that went way below their knees.
Those boys, with French or Western names, used to side with each other, in any quarrel that took place, irrespective of what was right or wrong. In those days, a brawl over marbles used to lead to a fight between the Muslim boys, and the Christian boys. Two incidents I remember clearly. The first, was when a cousin of mine chased a Christian boy to beat him up. In his attempt to escape, the "cowardly" Christian scampered across the street and was run down by a car.
We did not see him back then for weeks. No body was sorry for him.
"Allah has punished him", we thought, "He had it coming". The second incident was when Pierre, the youngest brother of the wounded boy, appeared from nowhere and banged me on the head with a piece of wood that had a protruding nail, and ran away. I could not remember why he attacked me then. But I still remember how a teenage cousin of mine dragged me home, weeping with blood trickling down into my eyes and my cheeks. I was six or seven then, and did not understand the reasons behind the animosity between us; Muslims and Christians. But I still have the scar of that attack on my forehead.
In the Ranks of a Muslim Militia I was only thirteen when an extremist Muslim group recruited me, two years before the Lebanese civil war broke out in 1975. I was "able" then, as I thought, in the ranks of that faction, to "comprehend" the big picture of the sectarian community we were living in, in the 1970s.
My late eldest brother (who was then less than 15) and I were first attracted to that Muslim faction by a group of teenagers studying the Qur'an in the mosque in our neighborhood. In addition to hearing its call for prayers five times a day, the mosque was only three minutes walk from home, and was built jointly with our school. So we did not have to go far to get there. Kamal, the young man who was leading the discussions in a corner of that mosque, was around 20. He was bright and educated, and drew our attention to the political privileges that the Christians, the "minority," had in Lebanon, and the grievances of the Muslims; the majority. He asserted how "shameful it was for the descendants of the Caliphs who once ruled the world, to have a Christian president." Before Ta'ef agreement that officially marked the end of the civil war in 1989, the president of Lebanon actually headed the executive authority, but was unaccountable to anybody. The prime minister, who was decreed by tradition to be a Muslim, was a puppet, but took the brunt of all the political and economical crises in the country.
Kemal said that the Christians were put into that superior position (to the Muslims) by the French colonizers in the 1940s.
We understood then that we were second- class citizens in our homeland, and deprived from our full rights. We were denied the top positions in the government and had no clout in any public sector. We felt that our rituals and holidays were not respected. Christmas and Easter were celebrated in the official media, while our holidays went unnoticed. Even we were denied the right to have Fridays off for the weekly Muslim ceremonies in mosques. In addition, we felt that most Arab Christians or Armenians could be naturalized and become Lebanese, because churches and the official authorities helped them in order to tip the demographic balance to their favor, while more than 250, 000 Muslim Palestinian refugees, and 200, 000 Kurds living for decades in
Lebanon were refused naturalization. All the circumstances around us smacked of a "conspiracy" by the West, Israel, and the Lebanese Christians.
Kamal blamed many Muslim politicians for "our miserable situation,"but overall he blamed the late Egyptian president Gamal Abdul Nasser. Kamal said that "Nasser was merely a demagogue who led the Arabs and Muslims astray or to
defeat, and lost Palestine to the Zionists." "Nasser, a double agent for the West and the Soviet Union, crushed the Muslim movements in Egypt and pressured other Muslim groups in the Arab world because they had the solution for our dilemma, and collaborated with foreign powers to keep us backward and defeated, in order to exploit us, and drain our resources," he added. "But Allah has revealed his treachery, and let him suffer that shameful defeat in 1967, because he was following the way of the world, not the path of Prophet Muhammad," Kamal asserted. But he often strongly argued that the solution was in doing what the early Muslims did; re-establish the Caliphate that was abolished by Kamal Ataturk, the founder of modern Turkey. "We tried
Pan-Arabism, Communism, Socialism, and Capitalism, but failed. The answer lies in Islam. It is not impossible. We have a good example in Saladin, and how he defeated the Crusaders," argued Kamal.
After two weeks, Kamal added to the Quranic reading assignment from books written by Sayyed Qutub (Osama bin Laden's master philosopher), and the late founder of Pakistan's Al Gamaa Al Islamiyyah (The Muslim Group) Abu Al Aala Al Mawdoudi. Kamal said that Qutub was able to explain what Allah wanted from us in this age of defeat and shame.
We understood from reading Qutub's works that the world is divided into two realms: The realm of Islam and the realm of unbelief.
International borders are set-up only to keep the Muslims divided.
Muslims, if they were real Muslims, have to work for the foundation of a global Muslim state.
Kamal and other mentors in that faction taught us that the Christians were "unclean infidels, Crusaders, and an appendage of the morally corrupt West in the Middle East; that they were spies among us, and their hostile presence should be taken care of. Kamal confirmed that Muslims groups in Lebanon were part of an international revival movement that would topple the regimes, overturn the tables of history, and reunify the divided Muslim countries.
The situation in Lebanon was aggravated by the presence of the Palestinian refugees and the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), which found in the "wronged" Lebanese Muslims "natural allies." Especially that, after the death of Nasser in 1970, the Lebanese Muslims lost a major ally against the Christian Right.
The PLO started arming, or helping in arming Leftist parties and Muslim movements. Those parties (allied with the PLO), formed a "National Movement" that mobilized the indignant Muslims, organizing nation- wide strikes, rallies, and demonstrations against the Lebanese government which was often accused of being biased to the privileged Christians and extreme Rightist Christian militias. Those Christian factions seized every opportunity to engage with the Palestinians and their allies in street fights or armed skirmishes, and get away with it unscathed, because of their clout with the Lebanese authorities.
Most Muslims believed then that some Christian parties had been training since the late 1940s to mow down the Muslims, with Israel as their main ally.
In 1973, I was invited, together with my brother, to military training camps. We felt that we were following the path of Muhammad, or Saladin. We climbed the distant desolate mountains of North Lebanon in shabby buses. The age groups in those vehicles ranged from 13 to 60, with the majority under 20. But we were all chanting "Islamic songs" written by Sir Muhammad Iqbal (a Pakistani Muslim poet and thinker), Qutub, and others with great zeal:
"China is ours, India is ours.
Islam is our religion.
The world is our homeland"
"Muslims.. Muslims..Muslims.
Wherever there is Justice and Right, you find us.
We prefer death to humiliation.
Sweet is death in the Cause of Allah"
In that training camp in the distant mountains, we learned how to use rocket launchers, mortars, and rifles. We were told: "if you want to shoot straight, imagine that there is a Christian in your sights" (a statement that puts in a nutshell all the hate we had for our Christian compatriots).
Verses from the Qur'an were often invoked to prove that Jihad was an obligation. Preachers often supported their views with fatwas (verdicts) that dated to the Middle Ages, and argued that all Muslims were sinners if they give up the path of Jihad, especially with Muslim lands, like Palestine, the Muslim republics of the former Soviet Union, and Kashmir were under occupation.
Part II
The Lebanese Civil War
In 1975, as soon as the civil war in Lebanon broke out, I participated in most of the aspects of the war, from shelling Christian neighborhoods to laying in ambush for Christian militias.
It was a terrible war. Everyone lost somebody -- from a population of three to 3.5 million, there were 150,000 dead" -- almost five per cent of the populace, and there were over 100,000 injured and 17,000 disappeared.
It was so insecure. There were over 200 militias, with the alliances always shifting and the enemies changing."
Beirut was divided into a Christian part and a Muslim one, with a green line separating between them. Both parties perpetrated atrocities by killing civilians. However, Muslims felt that they were taken by surprise when one of the most extremist Christian militias massacred hundreds of Muslim civilians on their way to work at Beirut's harbor in September 1975.
It was an ugly war. A friend of mine, once a leader in that militia, but now a Peacemaker whom I have worked with for national reconciliation, used to phone bomb threats to Muslim theatres, so that he could mortar the crowds as they fled onto the streets.
In the late 1970s, I was given a long-range rifle with a powerful telescope and sniped at people in the Christian part of Beirut.
It was a moment of truth when, through my telescope, I saw three people running for cover: An old woman and two boys. One of them looked like a cousin of mine. The old woman reminded me of my grandmother. I could even see the wrinkles in her face. I did not shoot. My conscience told me that they were people like us. I refused to follow orders and decided to quit. "No causes are worth the bloodshed," I thought. Later, I decided to focus on Muslim religious studies, and took a course in order to become a Muslim preacher. Just a few days before I was supposed to give my first Friday sermon, I had a car accident and broke my legs. It was a compound fracture. I was hospitalized for 50 days and bed-ridden for a year. However, it gave me time to reconsider what I want to do in life. In order to pass the time, I started reading comics in Arabic and English. It was expensive to devour those
comic books, so I switched to reading novels. After a year in bed, I was able to read unabridged English novels. When I was able to walk on crutches, I went back to high school and kept reading novels. I stumbled over a Western novel written by Louis L' Amour who wrote around a 120 novels. I read them all. I got really better in English and passed the American University of Beirut English Entrance Exam.
Jesus, the Prince of Peace
During my first semester in college, in 1980, my only brother and sibling, by this time a militia captain, was killed by a Christian militia while he was trying to negotiate a truce. My brother and I were very good friends, not only brothers. We used to do everything together. We learned how to swim, how to bike, had the same friends, and went to school together.
Two of my brother's comrades and I vowed to kill all our enemies. I got a silencer and two pistols, and I started stalking my enemies in the streets at night. Some of them were my classmates; I would befriend them so I could learn their movements simply in order to kill them.
I led a double life: assassin at night and student in the classroom in the daytime. It was not an easy life.
Meanwhile, as a student at the American University, I had to take a course in cultural studies, for which I had to read selections from the Bible. The course included the Qur'an and the Bible. Then, I had known the Qur'an by heart, but the Bible was a new thing to me. I read the Sermon on the Mount at the climax of my hate and thirst for vengeance. Christ's exhortation: "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven" (Matthew 5:45) struck me with full force. I felt that I heard the voice of God in stereo. I, who knew what is an enemy, and sought to kill my enemies, felt that Jesus' exhortation was superhuman and cannot emanate from an ordinary human being, but from a divine source.
Even though I was taught by Muslim clerics that the Bible was distorted by Rabbis and bishops, Christ's words "Love God from all your heart, and love your neighbor" sounded authentically divine. Even through the loss of my brother, I thought: "There is another way, a way of forgiveness."
I was touched by Jesus' parables, especially that of the Good Samaritan. I discovered that my countrymen who were fighting us were not good Christians, were not Good Samaritans, and asif they were reading a different Bible. I stopped my night activities, and decided to reconsider things and see if it were possible to follow this Jesus. At the same time, I found it "odd" that Lebanese Christian militias used symbols such as crosses with dagger-points, or crosses dripping with (presumably Muslim) blood -- "it was like they weren't reading the same Bible."
I realized that many Lebanese Christians changed the symbol of Love and Salvation into a symbol of hate and murder. Muslims saw in them what some Western Christians saw in the Ku Klux Klan. I told myself then if I was really seeking truth, I should follow up on my readings of the Bible, irrespective of "my bad neighbors," and walk in the shoes of Christians. So I started to sneak into churches in order to listen to what believers say about Jesus.
It was very difficult to go into Catholic and Greek Orthodox churches because of two things; the figures and icons they had for Jesus that reminded me of idolatry and the liturgical language they used. Hence, I preferred to attend Protestant churches with English services, especially because I read the Bible at college in English, mostly King James Version.
By 1990, when the international community and the Syrians imposed a cease-fire on Lebanon, I vowed to work for peace and reconciliation. Together with the Muslim mayor of a Beirut suburb, I founded an NGO dedicated to Muslim-Christian dialogue and gradually recruited a hundred community leaders.
In addition to my jobs as an educational advisor and a journalist, I took on a lot of work. By the 1998 elections, my group could form a National Unity ticket and elect a Christian mayor to a predominantly Muslim area.
It was not easy to work in a sectarian community against the tide of popular prejudices and bigotries. Even though I kept a low profile, as a Muslim follower of Jesus (even though it sounded as a contradiction in terms), sometimes I paid dearly for my openness, and was labeled as a Christian-lover. Being a human rights activist and a peacemaker, I was suspected of being a CIA agent who worked to promote peace (Arabs usually call it surrender not peace) between Arabs and Israel.
When a Christian Western NGO called the Reconciliation Walk (RW) came to Lebanon, I stepped in and helped its members bring different Lebanese communities together. The R.W's original goal was to apologize for the Crusades, but its members soon discovered that there is a lot to be done in Lebanon, and I did their public relations and arranged their meetings.
Part III
The National Prayer Breakfast
Being an activist in Christian-Islamic dialogue and a Muslim follower of Jesus, I was invited in 1999 to the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington, D.C. It was a memorable trip in many ways.
First, I was threatened by my boss to be fired if I went there. His hostility towards my public work in Lebanon started to surface when I wrote an article in Beirut's leading daily defending Christians in Egypt and their right to build churches. The article was based on first hand information I gleaned at an international conference I attended the previous year. I did not heed his threats, made the trip, and lost my full-time job. Second, it was a big spiritual boost for me. Four thousand people from 160 nations were there praying in the name of Jesus. Third, I stayed for a few days at the house of a good Christian in Virginia, even though a new acquaintance then, he became a friend for life. Preston showed me in actions, not in words, how a Christian could be a Good Samaritan. Fourth, towards the end of that trip, I lost my animosity towards the sign of the cross, a bigotry acquired from the ugly years of the civil war. I met in Washington a young man from Alabama- Richard, a "Promise Keeper." We spent three days together. We prayed and had meals together. At the end of that trip, Richard drove me to the airport. At the terminal, he went out of his car crying, as if he was parting with a close relative or a dear friend, and took out a silver cross from his wallet with the words:
May the angels of God guard thee. It was his personal cross given to me in Love. I cried like a baby, accepted the cross, and hugged Richard good-bye.
I went back home, a father of three without a job. Usually, in Lebanon, if someone loses a good job, it would take years to find another one. I found a better job in two weeks. Later, I found out that some of my Christian friends-members of the Reconciliation Walk and other missionaries sent a prayer request for me by email. It was unbelievable. Later, I met people from different countries and discovered that they prayed for me then.
Jesus, the Savior
But the biggest turning point was in August 2000. I was invited to an international conference in Switzerland on conflict resolution and Christian-Islamic dialogue.
I gave a speech on my work in Lebanon and how I was transformed from a sniper (or a terrorist) to a peacemaker to around 500 people from 54 nations. I was presented there as a Muslim working for reconciliation and Christian-Islamic dialogue in Lebanon.
I was given a standing ovation, with tears in the eyes of many. Scores of people lined up to shake my hand.
I went back that night to my room thinking of the glorious moments of the day, and the big promising future in representing Lebanese Muslims in international conferences.
I decided that night that when I go back to Lebanon, I will tell my praying partner, Carl, an American missionary living in Lebanon, that I do not want any part of Jesus or the Bible anymore, and that I am satisfied in the way I am. I had been wrestling to know Jesus then for 19 years with nothing but shame and headaches in my Muslim community. I thought that I would tell him that I had the full respect towards the teachings of Jesus the peacemaker, not the Savior.
I went to bed that night with this determination in mind, and saw Jesus Christ in a vision.
Until today I am not sure if I was awake or asleep when I saw the Lord. Two huge slabs of rock parted and He came out from a huge grave the size of a castle, fit for the King of Kings, in shrouds, and pointed his finger at me and told me to keep on praying. When I denied Him, He came to the rescue. I looked at my roommate, a Norwegian journalist, and found out that he was awake too. I told him about the vision. I did not know that he was a believer too. He pulled out a pocket Bible from his luggage and we read and prayed until sunrise. I decided that morning to give my life to Him.
At seven o'clock that morning, a Lebanese Evangelical Christian and a Briton who lives in Switzerland came to pick me up and drive me to the main conference. I was then still filled with the Holy Spirit and told them about last night's events. The Lebanese Christian's attitude was cynical, like that of a Jew towards a Gentile when Jesus walked the earth. "I have served Jesus all my life and did not have such a dream or vision… You of all people … a Muslim would see Jesus," she snapped. I was on cloud nine for many days. I emailed my praying partner, Carl, and told him to buckle up for a big event. He was then in the States. I went back to Lebanon, picked him up at the airport and started the next day planning for a National Prayer Breakfast in Lebanon.
It was October 2000. We held a prayer event for Lebanon, with the participation of 150 people from all sects. I started the meeting with readings from Isaiah where he prophesied that Lebanon will become a fertile field (Isaiah 29:17). Five speakers spoke and prayed at that event, two of them in the name of Jesus. That year I planned with Carl and other believers to start prayer groups in the Lebanese parliament.
Part IV
The Lutheran Ministry
That year I met a Lutheran pastor who became my best friend in Beirut. Dr. Bernhard Lutz used to come to Lebanon as a missionary. I had stepped in an elevator going up to my credit card company when I saw a friendly face. The gray-haired man shook my hand and gave me his business card. As soon as I arrived home that afternoon I called him, and the evening that day we were visiting together and planning a Bible study.
Bernie and I worked together as if we had known each other for ages. I introduced Bernie to a Palestinian soccer coach and his team, located at the Palestinian refugee camp near Beirut where Bernie visited and made friends with many refugees. Later we were able to help in supporting some of their soccer games, things that kept them off mischief, and away from Palestinian militias.
Bernie and I helped in distributing Lutheran publications in the poor Shiite suburb of Beirut. We had an instrumental Syrian couple. This couple held Bible studies in their house for Muslims and distributed Christian literature to their neighbors. They have a ministry of faith and do not belong to any church.
I took him to meet Beirut's notables, cabinet ministers and MPs. We went to Bedouin communities and shared the Gospel with them in the Bekaa valley, a plain stretching between Mount Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon. I took Bernie to an orphanage run by a Muslim Follower of Jesus, a Bedouin chief who was converted by a Lutheran missionary in the 1950s (we discovered this piece of information later). This Bedouin chief was teaching Muslim Bedouins the Bible in the heart of Hezbollah land (Hezbollah is the Lebanese Shiite extremist militia backed by Syria and Iran). At a point, we met a Hezbollah leader and his group, and shared with them the Gospel. They were scary moments (for Bernie, as I learned later) as we waited for them to finish their prayers.
But our strength was in the Lord. Bernie talked for 90 minutes and answered all their questions over dinner. Later this Hezbollah group invited us to their annual ceremonies. Unfortunately,
I had to go alone because Bernie's time was up in Lebanon, and he had to go back to the US.
Bernie came only four months a year, so I was in charge of the Middle East Lutheran Ministry office in the Muslim part of Beirut the rest of the year.
Also, during my annual vacations, I worked with an editorial board of the Sharif Bible, a version translated and contextualized for Muslims. Earning a living in Beirut with four children (I had a new baby by then) the last two years was not easy. I had to work full time in two newspapers, and work part time as a university professor to put bread on the table. I was working 16 hours a day. Even though I was thirsty for the Word of God, I was not able to read the Bible and lead a study but once a week. I even worked weekends. I prayed to God to provide me with work that puts me at His service, because I felt that my spiritual life is deteriorating.
Trying to start a Lutheran church in Lebanon, Bernie and I discovered that there is a law in Lebanon against planting new Protestant churches. This does not mean that Muslims have clout over the Lebanese government, but Catholic and Greek Orthodox churches were wielding
their clout against Protestants. The latter are attracting young people from other denominations, something old churches are against.
Bernie called me last October (2004) and told me that there is no way the Lutheran church could help me in Lebanon, and that the only way is to join POBLO (People of the Bible Lutheran Outreach). I responded: Even though it means that I have to be uprooted from my homeland, so be it. I told Bernie and POBLO staff that I am ready to serve God, whether it is in America or Afghanistan.
Above all, I am excited about going to Concordia seminary to study the Bible and become an ordained pastor.
God works in mysterious ways. Until now I do not understand all those developments in my life. But I can say that He has carried me from glory to glory, in my walk with Him. He is the Father who has never let me down.
Part V
Addendum
I was baptized after I accepted the Lord as Savior. I finished work at the newspaper early one night, and had an appointment with my praying partner. I headed towards his house at 9:30 pm, feeling that my friend had something important in store for me, because it was not our habit to meet at such a late hour. I arrived at his house that night and saw towels in the living room, and knew what he had in mind. My friend asked: "Do you know the story of Philip and the Eunuch?" I answered: "Sure." "Would you like to go to the seashore for your baptism?" I responded: "It is cold, but if you are willing to take it I am ready." "We've better do it in the shower." I put on his swimming trunks, and was baptized, with him praying for me."
I went back home around 10:30 pm. I was shaken and tired. I had until then told my wife everything about my walk with God, but was like crossing the last red line in my Muslim community.
My wife and I used to have a bite before turning in. So, she asked: "Are not you hungry?" "Yes, but I am tired," I answered, "Let me lie down a few minutes and I will get up for supper."
"I slept for a while, and saw Jesus in the most wonderful dream in my life. Jesus grabbed me from my arm and we flew together over a wide, abundant, and thunderous river. We flew from a drab riverbank to a lush green one, exploding with green foliage and trees. He left me there and disappeared.
I opened my eyes, and was ready to tell my wife about both the baptism and dream.
God the Father
By the time I was baptized, I had only three children. Mona and I thought that three is fine and we did not plan for more children.
A year back then, Mona had some gynecological problems and her doctor told her that she may not have children again unless she got medical help. Being satisfied with what we had, we did not try anything and we neglected contraceptives.
Once, Mona who used to take a few medications for her diet, was taking a new one, when she read on its label that pregnant women should avoid it. So she decided to run a test, and she discovered that she was three month pregnant.
It was a shock, because the doctor told her that she could not have children, and because all those medications could be harmful to a baby.
Mona ran a test in order to see if the baby was normal. The test showed that there was a 50 % possibility that the baby was down syndrome.
We decided to run another test that was more sophisticated and more reliable. It was a test that was supposed to give the exact count of the chromosomes and reveal any congenital deformities. It had to take two weeks for the results to be out, because the blood sample had to go to France for analysis.
They were difficult times of waiting on the Lord and prayers. Mona wept a lot, and wanted to take measures in order to face the worst scenario- abortion. By then, the baby was five months old and even such a procedure would have been very painful, ethically and emotionally.
Praise God, the test showed that the baby was normal.
I told Mona then that I feel that this baby has a different destiny, and one day I might be like Paul who was a Roman citizen, and no borders could stop.
I had a feeling that one day I would have a Western passport that would relieve me from visa applications and their long waits, both in the East and the West. I told her that I did not think that the baby would be born here, but in the West.
Even though Mona is usually very cautious in family matters, she did not argue the inspiration I had.
By then, it was September 2001, and the 9/11 catastrophe occurred.
It was October 2001 when I started planning to come to the United States in order to give birth to Yahya (Arabic for John the Baptist).
Most of my friends said that I was crazy to think about it after 9/11. A childhood friend, a Lebanese American who lives in Colorado hang up after many international phone calls, and had shunned me since. No American friend in my "church" was willing to help, even in information.
I had put together a budget then, borrowed money equal to two salaries from the bank, and had two credit cards. In addition, two friends (one of them is not a believer) offered to help with $ 500 each when they found out that I am determined to go to the States.
In Mid November 2001, I received an email from Preston, my friend in southern Virginia (Chesapeake). Preston offered a house and a car, and said that he will check with his family obstetrician about the cost of a cesarean section in Virginia.
When the other Americans heard about Preston's generous offer, they tried to discourage both, him and I. "What if Mona had complications? You have neither social security nor insurance," Carl said. "Preston may be forced to sell his house to help you out," he added. Mona was not happy with those comments. She said that such talk meant that Carl did not trust God one bit. I am not saying that she was right, but it shed some doubt in her mind about his faith in the principles he taught, the teachings of Jesus. This was a drawback in her walk with Jesus.
Encouraged by Preston's offer, I bought air tickets for Mona, my youngest daughter Nour, and myself to Dulles airport, in Virginia.
The night of the flight out of Beirut, Ed, Preston's son who lives and works in Lebanon, visited me.
Ed said that I should cancel my flight and my whole plan to go to the US, because his mother was sick. He added that she was bedridden, and if I went, she would be forced to take care of us, something that might make her sicker, or might even lead to her death. "If you care about our friendship Hicham, do not go," Ed added.
I told Ed that everything was set, whether Preston is going to host me in his neighbor's empty house or not. I had already bought the tickets and that there is no turning back.
Ed then suggested that I go to Virginia for three days, stay in a motel, and then go anywhere in the States, adding that he did not care where I went with my pregnant wife and little daughter as long as I did it away from his parents.
It was not a nice attitude on Ed's part, but I understood his concern. Ed thought that I am abusing my friendship with his family, even though I was not planning to ask Preston for any financial help.
That night, Preston called and said that he would follow Ed's advice. I respected his decision and told him that I am coming the next day.
We arrived at 6:00 pm to Dulles airport, three tired people. Preston and his wife Bettie were waiting for us there. Bettie had a bad knee, but she was alright.
Preston drove us to Chesapeake, where he had booked for us a room at Holiday Inn motel. It was a very nice room with gifts waiting for Mona and Nour.
Preston and Bettie treated us like kings for a few days, and then we were on our own.
Before coming to the US, I heard that there was a Lebanese American obstetrician in Brooklyn, New York, Dr. Ayman Chahine, who charges half the cost in Virginia. A distant cousin of mine whose wife was treated by that doctor gave me Ayman's phone number.
In addition, I had a very distant cousin, Salim, who lives in Manhattan, and works at the United Nations. After getting his number from a friend, I called him and asked him to look for an apartment for rent in Brooklyn.
It took ten days and so many long distance calls to find an apartment there, in Brooklyn.
The landlord asked for $ 1100 a month. We had been eating for many days out of a microwave in that motel and wasting our little precious amount of money.
On December 5, we took the train to New York Penn Station. It took eight long hours, with five bags that had to be carried on board, with no help.
Arriving at the Penn Station, we did not find Salim. I went and tried to call him from a telephone booth in vain. He had an answering machine. But after an hour of tenseness, he appeared. Being a very distant relative who barely knew me then, he did not recognize me but from my pregnant wife and Nour.
After a short rest at his place and a pizza for the family, we set out to Bayridge, Brooklyn.
We arrived at a dusty and unfurnished two-bedroom apartment at 10 p.m. The landlady refused to lease out the place less than $ 1300 a month. I told her that we could not afford it, because we were supposed to pay the doctor and the hospital.
She was also suspicious and insisted to take our passports to the police station to check on us. She then decided to let us stay till we got another place.
It was one of the most difficult nights in our lives. We had to sleep on the floor and face the unknown the next day. We cried a lot and prayed as Nour slept. Mona suggested that we should back to Lebanon. I told her to trust God and that we had better see the doctor the next day before taking any decision.
Next day, early in the morning, I called the doctor's clinic from a phone booth. His secretary told me to come without an appointment at 12:00 noon and that she would squeeze us between two patients.
The clinic was packed with patients. We waited until 2:30 pm., when we were ushered to his office. I opened his door, and I was surprised with a direct question in Lebanese Arabic: "Hicham, what are you doing in New York?" Unable to understand the situation, I answered: "We took an appointment from your secretary and my wife is in her 8th month." He asked again using my full name: "You.. Hicham Chehab.. What are you doing in New York?"
Then he lunged at me, hugged me and kissed me the Arab way. Which added to my embarrassment. Then he asked: "Do n't you remember how we used to walk together on campus? You used to go to teach English, and I used to go to the medical school."
Then I remembered him and asked for his forgiveness.
I knew him as a medical student at the American University of Beirut n the 1980s. He was a thin young man. Now he is a big fully grown man with a double chin.
Ayman wanted to chat about the old days. I told him that I am in a fix, and need to sort out that problem. Given the expensive rent in New York, I added that the amount of money we had then could take care either of the hospital or the rent. Ayman responded that he won't charge me a penny, and took out a Medicare form, signed, and told me to go to the healthcare authorities, after explaining that New York state policy is to take care of any pregnant woman irrespective of her legal status in the country.
Just imagine that out of 12 million people in New York, I would meet a friend I have not seen in 17 years at the right time and in the right place, to help me out of this dilemma. God is certainly the Father who do not let us down.
We went back to the apartment with a happy face, and told the landlady that we could pay the rent. Then, her husband, Stanley, brought us a table, a few chairs, and a wall clock with the picture of Jesus. Stanley said that Jesus watches over us. "I guess so," I commented.
After a few days, I flew back to Lebanon to work for 20 days, resign from my work at the newspaper, and bring more money. My flight back to New York was scheduled on December 30. At Heathrow airport in London, I checked my email, and discovered that Mona gave birth to my son Yahya three weeks prematurely.
Ayman took care of everything. He even took Nour out for lunch, and kept her company all day until Mona recuperated from her cesarean section operation.
Thank you to Hicham Chehab for permission to print his story. God is GOOD!
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Excerpt from Beacons of Light The testimony of John A. Miller
I was born in western Pennsylvania, in the small village of Atlantic. Ours was a typical Amish family. We attended church services every other Sunday; which was normal for most Amish. Some of my earliest memories include hearing my grandfather preach from Romans 8:15, “For ye have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear, but ye have received the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father.” Other scriptures I heard were John 3:7, “Ye must be born again,” and John 14:6, “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life: no man cometh unto the Father but by Me.”
The Amish often preach accountability and the need of repentance. Unfortunately, the concept is to try harder to subdue sin. As a result, I grew up feeling condemned, for I knew I was a sinner. I could not understand why everyone else could be right with God, as a result of what they were doing, and here I was, a hypocrite, just pretending to be good.
When I was sixteen years old, I started what the Amish call, “Rumschpringah.” Usually, this consists of spending time with a group of your peers and being involved in their activities. My friends and I did many things against the church rules and against our parents’ wishes. Living in sin made my life miserable, and many a Monday morning saw a depressed young man wondering why life is so empty.
In the spring of 1986, I made a commitment to God and the church, to give up my sinful life and to live within the ordinances of the church. It is a solemn occasion on the one day of the year when young men and women can join an instruction class that was mandatory for church membership. They are expected to conform to the rules of the church and to shun the ways of the world in dress and manner of life. Most Amish have very strict rules regarding appearance and any deviation from these rules is enough to keep one from being accepted in fellowship.
One of the hardest things for some among the Amish, is to submit themselves to the church and obey the ordinances. Because of the turmoil and conflict involved in doing this, many think that when they are finally baptized, this means they are now born again.
Because the way of salvation is linked to church membership, there is pressure applied in different ways to compel young folks in their late teens to become members. A generally held belief among the Amish is that if you are old enough to be in the church and do not join, there is a good chance that you are going to hell.
After three months of instruction, everyone in our class was baptized by pouring a little water over our heads. We were told that now we are clean and new; ready for heaven. I remember having expectations of being happy and sinless, of being filled with joy. All I felt was emptiness. I understood that nothing had changed and I did not have peace with God. I was sure that it was because I had not put forth enough effort, and God was not about to reward a slacker, like myself, who was still a sinner at heart.
Even after we were church members, my friends and I would do some of the things we had done formerly, like going to bars and attending drinking parties. This brought the added problem of hiding our activities from older church members. Although we seldom got caught, our guilty consciences would move us to confess our sins before the whole congregation. This, supposedly, brought forgiveness and cleansing from God.
At an Amish wedding, I met Mary Delagrange; a nice, quiet young lady, who ended up becoming my wife. We were married on February 4, 1988. A few short years later found me the father of a growing line of boys. Mary and I wanted something better for our children than the drinking, smoking lifestyle of the Amish youth of our area. In the fall of 1999, we moved our family to Potter County in northern Pennsylvania. This was a young Amish community, with only nine other families, at the time we moved in. We were hoping that, because of the slightly different rules and so few other families, our children would not be subjected to the evil influences, so common among the Amish.
The years were swiftly passing by; our boys were growing up, yet one thing had not changed. I still recognized my guilt before God and wondered if there was a way for me to be right with God. If there was, I certainly had not found it. Thinking about hell, eternity, and the lake of fire terrified me. I knew Christ was coming back and, in my mind, would try to devise a way to hide on the Day of Judgment.
Most of our children were born at home, and soon after moving to Ulysses, we started looking for a midwife. Friends of ours introduced us to Barbara Hawley, a kind and gentle lady. However, it was not long before I discovered she liked to talk about spiritual matters, and about the Lord Jesus Christ. This made me uncomfortable for several reasons. I was afraid she would ask me what we believed, and why. I was not sure of either, except if we are good enough, we get to go to Heaven, although I knew I was not good.
Soon after our son Daniel was born, the Hawley’s opened a natural health clinic a short distance from our house. As I got to know the family better, I recognized they had something I did not possess - peace with God. Whether real or imagined, I did not know, but it was more than I could ever claim. They would talk to me about Jesus, and how we needed to be saved. As Amish, we did not believe a person could know they were saved. We could only hope to make it into Heaven. I was very hesitant to talk about this, for we were taught to stay away from people who said they were saved. One day I asked Art, Barb’s husband, whether being born again and being saved were the same. He assured me it was; which was a help to me, for the Amish would preach that we needed to be born again.
Their daughter, Rebekah, would give us rides to town or wherever we needed to go. She had CD’s recorded by Ruth Hanna and would often play them for us. Listening to Ruth Hanna’s songs about the Lord Jesus and salvation through faith in Him, was compelling and thought provoking. Rebekah would take the opportunity to witness to us about Jesus and justification by faith alone. I did not agree with her, but could not be certain she was wrong, for my Amish faith had not brought peace with God.
I started doing some part-time work at the clinic for the Hawley’s, and Barbara would often bring my attention to scripture verses hanging on the walls of the clinic. Ephesians 2:8-9, and Romans 5:1 were two, in particular, that I simply could not understand. Being right with God, on the basis of what someone else [the Lord Jesus] had done, was a concept foreign to my upbringing. Barbara gave me a KJV New Testament; something I had never owned in my life. We were taught to read only German Bibles, as the “English” version did not convey the same meaning.
Reading my new Bible was a real eye opener for me. Art suggested I read in the gospel of John; which I did, but I found Romans fascinating. A light bulb went on when I read Romans 9:31, 32, and 33. It was easy to make the comparison between Israel and the Amish. It was made clear to me why I had no peace with God, by keeping the church rules. My condemnation before a Holy God was made obvious. I read verses like Romans 6:23, “For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.” I knew, without a doubt, what my wages were. The last part of the verse eluded me. I still thought that somehow, I had to pay God for my sins.
Finally, it became evident to me, because of my sins, that I would not be in Heaven and I was going to be in Hell forever. I rebelled against God for creating me just to suffer eternal torment. I remember doing my chores around the farm and thinking, “these dumb animals have it nice, for upon death they will simply cease to exist.” I, on the other hand, would be cast into Hell and suffer for all eternity.
Those were dark, awful days, but I thank my God for them. He was bringing me to true repentance and to the provision of His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ.
One fine September evening, in the year 2005, I was helping Barb put down the finish on a porch floor at the clinic. We were discussing spiritual issues again; which, by now, was not distasteful to me. She was asking me what I thought would get me to Heaven and I answered, as I had always believed: that you have to confess all your sins or God will not let you into Heaven. This prompted her to ask me, “John, if you committed a sin and before you could ask forgiveness, Christ came back, would you go to hell?”
All those months of struggling, of pleading with God, of knowing I was condemned, and those Bible verses; which told of righteousness through faith in Christ Jesus came back to me. Almost without thinking I said, “No! I would go to Heaven!”
Immediately, I knew something had changed. I sat back on my heels for a moment and tried to figure it out. The thought even crossed my mind that, perhaps, I had blasphemed God or the Holy Spirit. Yet, somehow, I knew it could not be true. I felt something different; something new that I had never experienced before. Without analyzing what had happened, I felt a peace with my Creator. I was saved, although it was a long time before I realized it was simply the trust in what Jesus had done that had changed my life forever that night. And though I did not know I was saved, I no longer felt condemned before God.
It was not long before I was telling others among the Amish that we could be sure of being in Heaven, because it is not what we do, but of what Jesus did for us.
Looking back, I marvel, once again, at God’s amazing grace and mercy. I was 37 years old when He reached down into my darkened world and set me free. The peace that I now have with God, through my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, is worth more to me than anything the world or any religion has to offer. To know that I shall be in Heaven, because God so loved the world that He gave His only Son to die on the cross for sinful, undeserving mankind (me!) still moves my eyes to tears.
What love! What boundless grace is given to men! All are sinners, because of Adam, but God has made a way for us to be right with Him. To think that some will never accept justification by faith in Christ alone, but depend on something they have done, is the tragedy of the universe.
Oh sinner, make haste! Confess your helplessness before the Almighty God. Accept the Savior’s finished work on the cross for your sins, while there is yet time. Do not tarry. You do not know if you can repent tomorrow. Your opportunity for salvation has a most uncertain element: time; which is fleeing swiftly, even as we ponder. Make things right with your Creator now. He will give you new life; you will be a son of God. You will have a peace that will pass all understanding. Jesus said, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life: no man comes unto the Father except by Me.” Trust Jesus for your salvation and you too, will be sure of spending eternity in Heaven.
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FATHER'S PERSPECTIVE: RAISING AN AUTISTIC CHILD
Some people say when a family has an autistic child, the whole family will become “autistic” or very much withdrawn and detached from other people. You can probably imagine the struggles and the stress that a family faces when raising an autistic child. Yet the hard work and the tears can also bear fruit. This testimony of a family with an autistic son shows how God turns their struggles into growth and blessings, to the family as well as to the people around them.
We are pleased to introduce you to some wonderful Christian friends. They are a family of four; father, mother, daughter and son. The family’s name is withheld to protect their privacy as they have requested. Each family member has written one of the four parts that will come to you in this and the next three newsletters. Their stories originally were printed in a magazine called “Presence Family.” They are an immigrant family from Hong Kong. The parents have been Christians since childhood and firmly believe that God created each one of us for a reason. Their son is a “blessing in disguise” and they thank God for choosing them to receive His grace through this special channel. We begin with the father’s perspective.
The label “autism” has been with my son since he was about 3 years old. Professionals said his IQ, was about 20% lower than that of kids his same age. His learning skill is low and slow and all the special characteristics that an autistic child would exhibit, he has them all! All these pose enormous challenges to me and my wife. I am an educator by training, I taught in the most prestigious international school in town, I have a master degree in education and have many years of teaching experiences, but when I saw my son’s autistic behavior, I was completely lost.
My son did not start to talk until around 7 years old. He lived in his own world most of the time. He loved to line up all his toy cars. He didn’t talk, he didn’t sing. What could we do? He didn’t know the word “danger” and would cross the road without any caution. When he saw water he would jump right into it, whether it was an ocean or a river. What can we say? He didn’t like to play with others and he didn’t care what was going on in the outside world. He didn’t know how to count and he only liked “M” fish burgers wrapped in blue paper. His communication highway was severely congested. What could we do? Progress in learning was is like a turtle or a snail, a simple everyday task like washing the face and brushing the teeth would take him a total of 29 steps to finish. Sigh!!
I had seen elephants dance and paint, monkeys doing somersaults and tricks, whales and dolphins performing, parrots sing and talk, cats and dogs follow orders; all these results of training and I just could not accept the fact that my son was not trainable or “educatable”. So finally I decided to quit my teaching job, immigrate to America, and posed new challenges to myself. I will apply my educational ambition, give up the traditional way of teaching, try to look at things from different angles, even in 3D, and use practical methods to change my son’s behavior, and pray that some day he will be alright, that he will become a useful person and not a burden to society.
We find that being observant is a very important factor in bringing up children. Amongst all the toys, my son only likes cars and nothing else. So, we used “car” to open up his mind and heart to teach him. If we want to teach him alphabets and numbers, we teach him how to read license plates. If we wanted to teach him colors, shapes, size, we pointed to different parts of cars. I f we wanted to teach him discipline, we used traffic rules. We let him have hands-on experiences in everything so his senses could be stimulated.
Our family is united in handling our son with lots of love and patience, but at the same time we don’t give up our principles and yield to his unreasonable demands. We just need lots of wisdom and creativity in taking care of him.
The principles we live by are based on faith in God and god’s true divine Words. We believe in the power of the Holy Spirit and we look up to God as the Master of our home. Our son’s Chinese name reflects our family’s experience in Christ – based on the faith that we live.
One evening after we had dinner in a restaurant, my wife posed a test to my son. She asked him if she could throw away a toothpick out of the car window since it was dark and we were on a highway, no one would see us. The answer he gave her was simple and straightforward: “But God is watching”. We were so comforted and joyful! After this incident, we now know that his faith is strong and that he knows there is a God who is watching over every step of his life, and he knows to fear this God. What more can we ask for in life than to raise a child who is God-fearing?
I believe God in heaven must be very pleased with my son. One time when we were out of town, he told us he went to meet his professor at 6am to see if he could change his class schedule from 11 am to 7 am because he thinks he will become lazy if he doesn’t have class until 11 am. Even his professor said he is really one of a kind and he has not seen such a student in many years.
Have faith in Jesus, hold on to the Word of God, bring all your burdens of raising kids to God, tell Him your worries and troubles, He will guide you through and bless your family with joy and blessings from above. I once raised my hand when the pastor asked during Sunday service, “Who is 100% a happy person?” I know it is rare to find someone who feels himself a perfectly happy man in this world. Honestly I really feel I am one of the happiest men on earth. I am proud to have a son who is so useful and independent and can now take care of himself. I am proud to have a daughter who is honest and responsible. And I am also proud of having a wife who is smart and capable. Every time when my whole family gets together and enjoys a wonderful meal prepared by me and my son, I would give thanks to the Lord for the great things He has done in our family and I give all the glory to God.
To be continued next newsletter with the mother’s perspective.
MOTHER'S PERSPECTIVE: RAISING AN AUTISTIC CHILD
Having a daughter who could recite poetry at 19 months old, I was faced with a son who couldn’t even utter a word at three years old. I still can’t get over the shock when the bad news came that he was diagnosed as “autistic”. Psychology was my minor in college, so I immediately dug through the books to figure out how “autism” was going to impact my life. Unfortunately, as of now, there is still no single authoritative “clinically confirmed” cause of autism. So I had to do my own analysis of the cause of my son’s autism. Could it be the air pressure when I was on the plane pregnant with him? Or was it the agony and emotional instability of being apart from my husband for a few months? Was it the pregnancy induced diabetes, the C section, the Chinese herbal soup? Guilt overcame me and I was quite tortured for while. I remember studying Dr. Kubler-Ross’ research on death and dying that identified five stages of grief denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I am sure that I went through all those 5 stages, but luckily it was a very short process. I am a Christian and I quickly recovered from the grief knowing that there must be a reason why God allowed this to happen to me. It didn’t take long for me to gather all my grief, put them aside, and get ready to face all the challenges ahead of me. I know that if I prolong acceptance of the situation, the one who suffers most would be my son. He would be deprived of the golden time to learn and acquire life skills. I got this “self help” notion from my numerous plane ride experiences. In an emergency situation, all passengers are asked to put on their own oxygen masks first before helping their children. We may think we are so great to take care of others first, but by the time we finish helping them, we are out of oxygen ourselves. Who then would be able to take care of those we die for? God’s words from the Bible have been my strength throughout this time, verses such as “Your strength will equal your days” (Deuteronomy 33:25), “I can do everything through Christ who gives me strength” (Philippians 4:13), “Rejoice in the Lord always… Do not be anxious about anything…” (Philippians 4:4-6) kept my life going joyfully.
My son is a really lovely boy; he is kind, responsible, considerate, and a peacemaker. From him I understand why God wants us to enter His Kingdom like a child. When he was small he didn’t know how to express himself. Whenever he was very nervous, I would hold him tight to my heart in the hope that my peacefulness can be transferred to him. I felt very close to him and I felt his struggle as his heart would be beating very fast against mine. After a while he would be able to calm down as if he felt the security and love I passed on to him.
I also find touring around the world a big help to my son to learn things faster. When we are on vacation he is more relaxed and is easier to absorb new things. Basically he has limited imaginations and he needs to see feel, touch and smell things for himself before he can recognize that those thing do exist. When his horizon is widened he is more interested in the around him. I recently received an email depicting the 58 places a person must see before he dies; we have been to 38 of them already. I think my son gains more self confidence by getting to know different cultures and all the stimulations associated with those touring experiences.
Everyday living with my son brings new surprises. With all the changes in the environment as he grows, everyday is a new challenge and is also an endless struggle. The anxiety, disappointment and sense of failure are beyond words. But with all the strength from the Lord, I know that I can do anything through His grace and blessings and I believe that my life is more abundant and fulfilling in having a special person like my son as part of my family.
SISTER'S PERSPECTIVE: RAISING AN AUTISTIC CHILD
Several characteristics accentuate my brother’s “uniqueness.” Just to name a few are his bear-size body, checking himself out in the mirror, peeking at his phone constantly, and watching the same TV programs or movies over and over again. Yes, these may sound strange, but there is always a gentle smile that goes along with them – something he likes to do especially when no one is around. People who don’t know him may think that he is anti-social as he always likes to hide himself in the dark and be away from the crowd. He has a special thinking process so intricate that others usually would not understand. It takes time, trial and error, and experience to know what he really wants. In order to explore deeper into his world, one must investigate what his interests are, then pay close attention to his peculiar acts and keep close eye contact with him. The experiences that I’ve gathered all started when we were at a very young age.
As his sister, I’ve never considered him a burden to the family. Even though I lose patience with him sometimes because he reacts too slowly and pays no attention to what I say, I’m still thankful that his relationship with me is different from my friends and their siblings, who often argue and fight with each other. He is indeed a very precious gift to me, and I consider him my best friend.
One scene in my mind I will never forget. When I was seven years old, I did something to my brother that hurt my mom, and that was the first time I saw my mom cry. That day, I pushed him around because I was jealous of him getting too much attention from my parents and I felt neglected. When my mom saw what was happening, she did not scold me. She held on to me and started to tear up. She held me close and said, “My dear daughter, you have to understand that your brother is a special boy. You are his elder sister and you have to help mom and dad take care of him. In the future when mom and dad do not have the ability to take care of him, he will become a very poor person deprived of help and love.” Then she added, “Mom also loves you very much but I’m just using a different way to show it. Therefore, you have to understand and help us take care of him, okay?” I didn’t realize that I had made my parents worry so much. From that day on, I told myself that I would not add more burdens to them because they are already very weary and tired over their daily duties.
I admit that there are times when I can’t live up to my own promise, but I gradually began to appreciate my brother more and to accept him as he is. Sometimes he is actually a more sensible and mature person than me and I’ve learned a lot from him. Not too long ago, I told my mom with confidence that “If I have nothing to eat, I’ll make sure that he gets something to eat; and when I have something to eat I will make sure that he gets the best choice.” Mom said she felt very relieved and proud of having a daughter like me. She can be assured that my brother and I will love and look after each other with God’s blessing and grace.
Now that we’re both grown up, my brother is the main helper of the house. When my parents are not home he is the one who takes care of me and makes sure my stomach is full. He does a lot of household chores such as the laundry, washes the car and fills me in with high tech information like new I-phone applications! We can testify that God is really an amazing God as he can use such a special and unique person, like my brother, to do extraordinary things. We always share with others that in fact my brother is a “blessing in disguise” to our family because he truly is a treasure in our hearts. For myself, I have learned to be more appreciative of things in life and not to take things for granted. I learned how to look at things positively. My brother’s world is very pure and simple when compared to normal kids in this generation who have lost a lot of life’s basic principles and values. He is far more appreciative of what he has. Now and always, I open my arms each day to accept this wonderful gift from God – my brother.
Son'S PERSPECTIVE: RAISING AN AUTISTIC CHILD
During my childhood growing up was kind of the hardest thing I have experienced. I am autistic since I was born and I didn’t talk until I was around 7 years old. Growing up was kind of hard for me like I do not make a lot of friends and sometimes people being very mean to me or yelling at me for no reason at all. I also have learning disability too like I don’t know things while I was going to school so I was placed in Special Ed classes because of my learning disability like I not good at math at all. I always have interest in cars a lot even I have to get a lot of toy cars during my childhood too which my family said “you already have so many toy cars at home already” that how I remember.
Growing up I had a fear that I will never get a driver’s license because of my disability that didn’t stop me from there. When I was in High School I was a freshmen I have seen a lot of like juniors or seniors driving to school at that time and I was determine to work hard for my driver’s license and learn how to drive. Well at that time I was still young only 14 years old of course I have to wait until 16 years old. So after graduating from High School I did not have a license yet so one year later in 2006 I went to the DMV to take the written test of I was nervous at the end I passed the written test for the first time and I was very proud of myself at that time. So I learned to drive through a driving instructor I remember on the first day of my driving lesson the instructor told me to drive on the freeway already so I have no comment on that and it was raining at that time the day I always remember. After 5 driving lessons I went to DMV to take a wheel test of course I was very nervous at that time after the I passed for the first time again and I was very proud of myself that I finally got a drivers license for me.
Now I am still going to college trying to get a certificate in automotive technology. I am trying to pursue a career in the automotive industries of course it’s hard for me now because of the economic recession now. So I am just taking the time now to studying and get my certificate.
(The authors’ names have been withheld to protect their privacy. The parents have been Christian since childhood and firmly believe that God created each one of us for a reason. The challenges that God has allowed in their lives are just a way to bring Him more glory. The family has had confidence that God prepared them and He would guide them through all ups and downs. They have had strong faith in the Lord and believe God has answered their prayers. Their son is a “blessing in disguise” and they thank God for choosing them to receive His grace through this special channel. Alice and I are very impressed and blessed to have this family as friends. Their Christian witness, optimistic attitude and loving influence go far beyond their family. They are a bright light for this dark world.)
