Explore The Bible

From: "Eamon Anderson" eamon@elsig.ro
Date: Wed, 5 Feb 2003 22:02:23 -0500

Subject: from eamon after ethiopia

Hey everybody,

What's more exciting than bouncing like a piece of popcorn on a DHC6 Twin
Otter plane, flying through the Rift Valley of Ethiopia while the pilot
reads a magazine?  Well, there can't be a whole lot, but at least he was
reading a magazine and not a flight manual.  God is faithful!  I have to
say, I was unable to drink the half-can of Sprite they gave me to calm my
stomach, but arrived on schedule to the town of Jinka, landing on a grass
'landing strip' where I stood among the cows until the plane had taken off
again (a security measure), feeling pretty cool that my African skirt didn't
blow off in the wake of a very first 'plane with propellers' experience.
Next thing I know, I am getting into the truck with my hosts and feel a tug
on my arm:  voila, I turn to meet two Mursi people, the ones you have seen
in National Geographic with huge wooden discs in their lower lips, bodies
painted, and dressed in very little, except beads, spears, and automatic
weapons on their backs.  They wanted to give me one of their gold bracelets,
which would have been ok if I had known for sure that I wasn't being bought
as a third wife.  Alas, I just jumped into the truck and left my new friends
conferring with each other, banging their spears on the ground, me wondering
how many cows I'm worth.

Day 1.
I praise God for three and a half weeks in South Omo province of Ethiopia,
working to put together some literacy materials for the Bunna people.  The
Bunna are a striking people who live in a remote place, and who desperately
need the Lord.  Though some have come to the Lord,  many others still live
in bondage to darkness, worshipping and sacrificing to Satan in fear for
thier lives.

The first Sunday I went to church, I was sitting in the back feeling alien
when I noticed that the men in my bench are under armed guard (uniformed
guys at the back with guns and knives.)  Yee-haw, the excitement never
stops.  I was cringing with every sudden movement, and later found out that
my row-mates were murderers on the way to jail.   The jailer was a Christian
and wanted to stop at church on the way so they could hear the Gospel.
Cool, huh?  Apparently the Bunna people have a right of passage for men that
they must kill someone from another tribe and run across some cows' backs.
Anyone  who has not done this is not considered a complete human being.
But these 'real men' were real-ly on their way to prison, as they had
murdered 6 people in the preceding months, including a game park manager who
wouldn't let them hunt the animals.

One highlight experience was visiting an even remote-er (if that's possible)
village for church one Sunday and being greeted by a singing and dancing
congregation who ran a mile down the hill on the un-road to meet us.  After
the service, I was accosted by some children wanting to feel my hair, a
stangely soft and straight and light brown novelty.  Ultimately, even the
elders of this little church succumbed to curiosity and came over to touch
my hair!  Though I have no idea what they were saying about it in between
the gasps, I saw one old lady explaining in frantic hand signals the
difference between my hair and theirs (flat against the head versus growing
outward or some such riotous account.)

This same church had seven windows, three on each side and one at the back.
It was very dim, and even though I couldn't see alot of the people's faces,
it was packed and there were even people outside listening.  Perhaps the
most challenging moment of the trip:  when it was time to take the offering,
I fumbled around to find some Ethiopian birr, and when I looked up what I
saw was a tangled mess of outstretched hands twisting like tentacles through
each of those seven windows, fighting through from the outside to give their
offering.  Even those people who couldn't come in the church wrestled to
give to God.  Even the people whose faces couldn't be seen, dropped their
anonymous coins in that basket.  Even the short ones scrambled up the
outside wall and pushed their fists through the crowd of others, refusing to
be excluded.  Even the ones who were ashamed and hid their faces when I
smiled at them, stretched out their hands.  Even the ones who would have had
an excuse for not giving, gave.

What rose up in me looking at all those hands coming through the church
windows was this:  I want my life to be poured out like that.  Whether in
the limelight or in the shadows,  from a distance or close to the Master,
whether given easily or given with a fight,  I want my life to be spent like
that, to give Him what He owns anyway, to stretch out that offering to Him
even when it would be acceptable not to.

I thank the Lord Jesus for who He is to me.  In Soard or in Alduba, 'He
knows the way I take.'

I thank you for all your prayers and I pray for His continued grace in your
lives.

One more thing:  Isn't it great that we don't have to run over cows' backs
to be whole???

praise Jesus

love you,
Eamon