Remembering Africa: Potholes and Prayer Groups

I manuevered our car around the potholes of one of the paved streets in our area of town. All the streets branching off of this one were dirt roads with bits of pavement peaking out of the dust, remnants of tarmac from a previous existence.  There was no drainage along the streets and roads of the city, so when the rains came, this road would be flooded with muddy water, making it impossible to miss the potholes.  But it was dry season and the city was as bone dry as the desert that surrounded it.  There were more than just potholes to dodge when it was dry season.  I passed the intersection where Legless Louie used to sit.  For years that intersection was his place of work.  I suppose a relative would set him there each morning because, even when I drove by in the mornings, Legless Louie would already be there.  He was an elderly gentleman in a jallabeeya and a brown tageeya, a skullcap-looking hat worn by many Muslim men.  I never knew his real name, but we called him Legless Louie because he had no legs.  He would sit at a T-intersection, but just a bit out in the road so that you had to be careful not to hit him as you drove by.  He would hold Muslim prayer beads in one hand and beg from passersby with his other.  Legless Louie always seemed to be in good spirits, and people walking by never seemed scared of him.  He was there for many of the years that we lived there, but he was getting old, and I wondered how long it would be before he died.  One year we went on vacation and when we came back, Legless Louie was gone.  The intersection seemed so empty without him.  My heart hurt when I thought about Legless Louie and where he was for eternity.

About half a kilometer past Legless Louie's intersection was my destination.  I made a U-turn and parked under a tree on the side of the road.  I grabbed my container of brownies and my Bible.  It was Tuesday morning.  Every fortnight a group of ladies gathered in a home for fellowship, Bible study and prayer.  Sometimes this group of ladies felt like my very life-line.  We were two Germans, a Dutch and three Americans.  In the beginning it felt a bit awkward to me, like we were all “checking each other out” so to speak.  After a few months of meeting, however, I really began to look forward to the time and I enjoyed praying for my sisters in Christ in-between times.  We prayed over each other through the loss of a dear friend, after the miscarriage of one of the ladies, after a horrible accident where one of our children was badly burned, and through the successes and struggles of our husbands in their work.  I loved the fellowship of a group of ladies who were not all American.  Though, I have to say, I was very thankful we worshiped in English.  Those poor European ladies still had to fellowship and worship in a second language!  When we were all together, I would try my very best to not be the “obnoxious American” that I often felt like Americans become when a group of them (us) get together.  For me that was difficult because I was already an extrovert and quite talkative.  But, as we grew closer, we were knit together and appreciated each other's differences and all we had to offer to the group.

Usually one of us played the guitar and we would sing a few songs.  Of course we didn’t sound great, but our voices blended and the accents just made the melodies even sweeter:  women from different backgrounds all called to live here in the Sahara for this moment in time.  All of us struggling to be devoted wives, caring mothers and dedicated followers of Jesus in a poor, hot, dusty Muslim land. Our differences melted away so that thoughts of denomination, culture and language were replaced by our unified desire to worship Jesus together.

Jesus had summoned, we had answered, then He gave us precious sisters to walk with.  Even now the melody of this beautiful song plays in my mind and the message tugs at my heart.  Whether I am in the desert of Africa or the Jungle of Asia, will I follow Jesus for this one reason only:  that He called my name?

Will you come and follow me if I but call your name?
Will you go where you don't know and never be the same?
Will you let my love be shown? Will you let my name be known,
will you let my life be grown in you and you in me?

Will you leave yourself behind if I but call your name?
Will you care for cruel and kind and never be the same?
Will you risk the hostile stare should your life attract or scare?
Will you let me answer prayer in you and you in me?

Will you let the blinded see if I but call your name?
Will you set the prisoners free and never be the same?
Will you kiss the leper clean and do such as this unseen,
and admit to what I mean in you and you in me?

Will you love the "you" you hide if I but call your name?
Will you quell the fear inside and never be the same?
Will you use the faith you've found to reshape the world around,
through my sight and touch and sound in you and you in me?

Lord your summons echoes true when you but call my name.
Let me turn and follow you and never be the same.
In Your company I'll go where Your love and footsteps show.
Thus I'll move and live and grow in you and you in me.

(The Summons, http://www.godtouches.org/cathhymns.html#summons)