We Moved!

Written Lives has a new, online home!

I packed up most of the old articles and brought them along. Plus, there's some great new content.  So, come on over and check it out for yourself!

Visit writtenlives.ca

Things Too Heavy – Casting Cares On The One Who Cares For Us

Part two in a series of advice Casper ten Boom gave his little girl.

It was like flipping through the pages of a book. People, animals, and buildings were in sight for just a moment and then disappeared again. Passed by the train, as it hurried along.

Corrie starred out the window. Her arm rested upon its sill; her head upon her hand. Her bare legs swung back and forth, her black shoes tapping the wooden bench in front of her. Her mind wandered far from the farmland her eyes were watching.

“Papa.” She turned to look at her father who was sitting beside her.

Casper ten Boom wore his best suit -- a brown tweed -- and a matching hat. “Yes, Corrie.”

“What is sex sin?” Her blue eyes were filled with curiosity. She’d heard the word in a poem they’d read at school. She was fairly sure “sex” meant whether you were a boy or a girl and she knew “sin” made her Aunty Jans angry, but she had no idea what the two meant together.

Casper said nothing. He had looked at her, then down at his watch. Now, he began to wind it. Why didn’t he answer?

With a furrowed brow, Corrie’s eyes returned to the window and she wondered, harder than ever, what the word meant.

Finally, the train pulled into the station. They were home. Casper rose from his seat and lifted his briefcase down from the rack overhead. He set the leather bag on the floor. “Will you carry that for me, Corrie?”

Corrie looked at him in surprise. Casper was a watch maker; his case, full of clock parts, was much too heavy for her! Nevertheless, she obeyed. She took hold of the handle and tried with all her might to lift the bag, but she couldn’t even get it off the ground.

“Papa, it’s too heavy for me.”

Casper smiled. “Yes.” He reached down and lifted the briefcase himself. “And it would be a pretty poor father who would ask his little girl to carry such a load. It's the same way, Corrie, with knowledge. Some knowledge is too heavy for children. When you are older and stronger you can bear it. For now, you must trust me to carry it for you.”

Corrie knew he was talking about her question -- he had answered it. At least, he had explained why he didn’t answer it. 

A Father’s Wisdom

Casper was a good father.

He knew his little girl well. He knew what she was and wasn’t ready to understand. He knew it was his role to protect her and carry the things she was not ready to bear.

Corrie’s question didn’t force his hand. He knew she didn’t need an explanation – she wasn’t ready to receive the knowledge she was asking for. So, as a good father, he said nothing. Nothing except “trust me.”

Corrie did.

In her own telling of the story, Corrie recollected: “I was satisfied. More than satisfied – wonderfully at peace. There were answers to this and all my hard questions – for now I was content to leave them in my father’s keeping.”

The One Who Bears Our Burdens

 Corrie later learned she could trust her Heavenly Father in the same way.

When Corrie was in her fifties, she and several members of her family were arrested by the Nazi’s for hiding Jews. She and her sister, Betsie were sent to Ravensbruck, an infamous extermination camp in Germany. Here, they were daily surrounded by terrible cruelty and seemingly needless suffering. In the face of these things, Corrie constantly recalled the lesson her father had taught her that day on the train.

“I seized Betsie’s arm as the command came to march again, more to steady myself than her. It was Father’s traincase once again. Such cruelty was too much to grasp, too much to bear. Heavenly Father, carry it for me!”

That prayer was often on Corrie’s lips.

She didn’t dwell on the evil. She didn’t allow it to fill her thoughts. She didn’t try to understand it. Instead she entrusted it to her Father again and again.

In Conclusion

“It would be a pretty poor father who would ask his little girl to carry such a load.” Casper had said.

In the midst of a world full of impurity and sin, Corrie’s father was there to shelter her. In the midst of a world full of cruelty and suffering, her Heavenly Father did the same.

The terrible circumstances of Ravensbruck were not Corrie’s to carry. They would have been too heavy for her. She cast these cares on the One who cared for her and found peace.

If you’re carrying a load that is too heavy for you, know that you don’t have to. You too have a good Father, will you trust the heavy things to His keeping?

In Christ

Quiana

*Facts and quotes were taken from Corrie ten Boom’s book, The Hiding Place.

When Taking the Train – Living in the Present, Trusting in God’s Provision

Part one in a series of advice Casper ten Boom gave his little girl.

Corrie pulled the covers right up to her chin. She tossed and turned trying to get comfortable. Beside her, Nollie lay quietly.

With a tired sigh, she shut her eyes. She could see the Hoog’s baby as clearly as if she were looking into its cradle again. It was so still – as if it were sleeping, but it wasn’t sleeping. She remembered how cold the little fingers had felt and…

She screamed.

In a moment, the door of the little room swung open. “Corrie?”

Casper ten Boom had been making his way up the stairs to tuck his daughters in, as he did every night.

Usually, Corrie lay still waiting for him to fix her covers, put his hand on her head, and pray over her. Tonight, she jumped up and flung her arms around his neck as soon as he sat down on the bed. Tears were streaming down her face. “I need you!” She cried. “You can’t die! You can’t!”

 Nollie rubbed her eyes as she sat up, “Mama took us to see Mrs. Hoog today.” She explained. “The baby was still in its cradle. The baby who died.”

Casper lifted his youngest daughter’s chin. “Tell me, Corrie,” he whispered, “when we take the train to Amsterdam, when do I give you your ticket?”

The answer came through stifled sobs, “Just before we get on.”

He nodded. “Exactly, and our wise Father in heaven knows when we are going to need things too. Don’t run out ahead of Him, Corrie. When the time comes that some of us will have to die, you will look into your heart and find the strength you need just in time.”

To Everything There Is A Season

“…A time for every purpose under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to gain, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to throw away; a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.” (Ecclesiastes iii.1-8)

As Casper ten Boom reminded his little girl of this truth, he added a comforting reminder. As you walk through each season God will give you what you need to face it.

Like Corrie, we often feel afraid. We feel weak and unequipped. But we shouldn’t.

In Matthew vi.8, Jesus said “your Father knows what you need before you ask him.” If we were left on our own to face these things — life, death, planting, harvest, killing, healing etc. —  we would be right to be afraid.

We are weak. We are unequipped. But we are not alone and that changes everything!

Today’s Load

In Matthew vi.34 Jesus said, “Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.”

We are told to take each day at a time and take thought only for that day. Do you do that? Do you live in the present season? In today?

If you’re like me, you probably add tomorrow’s worry on as well. Not only tomorrow’s but also worry for the day after and the one after that. We think, plan, and worry weeks, months, and even years ahead.

In Casper ten Boom’s words, we’ve run out ahead of God. Is it any wonder that the load feels too heavy for us?

“Worrying is carrying tomorrow’s load with today’s strength — carrying two days at once. It is moving into tomorrow ahead of time. Worrying doesn’t empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength.” – Corrie ten Boom

Today’s Provision

“When the time comes,” Casper said to Corrie, “you will look into your heart and find the strength you need just in time.”

Is that true? Will God meet our needs? Will He provide?

In Genesis xxii, God asked Abraham to take his son, Isaac up to Mount Moriah and offer him up as a sacrifice. As they were walking up the mountain, wood and fire in hand, Isaac asked his father a question. He said, “Look, the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?”

Abraham answered, “My son, God will provide for Himself the lamb for a burnt offering.”

Abraham was confident God had what was needed. Confident God would provide. However, they reached the summit without seeing that provision. They built the altar, arranged the wood, and bound Isaac – still no provision. It wasn’t until Abraham raised the knife to kill his son — the son on whom all God’s promises rested — that the Angel of the Lord called out to stop him. 

Only in the moment provision was needed was provision supplied. Then, just as Abraham said, God provided the lamb for the burnt offering – the ram caught in the thicket.

God’s provision for Abraham came just in time – it wasn’t early and it wasn’t late.

Let’s follow Abraham’s example and trust God will provide. Let’s take Casper ten Boom’s advice and not run ahead of God. Let’s live in today, carrying today’s load with today’s provision.

In Christ

Quiana

*Scripture references in NKJV unless otherwise noted.

*The story above is written in a historical fiction format but is entirely based off of Corrie ten Boom’s own account as she recorded in her book, The Hiding Place.

Watch His Face – Where the Christian Looks in Troubled Times

The bus was just four yards away. They were so close!

But between them and the vehicle stood a chain link fence topped with a coil of barbed wire. A Nazi soldier guarded the only gate. So close and yet still so far away!

Havilah bit her lip until it bled. When she didn’t it quivered. Her hands trembled too, so she tucked one into her pocket and Martha squeezed the other tightly.

“Take a deep breath, Havi.” Luke whispered into her ear. “He won’t even suspect us, unless you look scared.”

Havilah gulped a big breath of air and tried to breath out slowly, but it was of little use. Her body was afraid even though her mind told it not to be.  

Luke leaned close to her again. “Just watch his face.”

Havilah’s eyes moved from the grey clad soldier onto a man who had just reached the front of the line. Carrying a small child in one arm, he fished through his pocket for their ID cards with his other hand. Finally, he found them.

He smiled at the soldier as he handed him the documents. How did he do it? Wasn’t he afraid?

With a nod and a wave, the guard motioned them on. Just like that they were through.

 The line moved ahead and the children moved one spot closer to the Nazi soldier. Havilah’s heart was pounding so hard she felt certain the guard would hear it.

“Look at his face.” Martha whispered.

Havilah’s eyes moved off the guard once again and this time, all the way up to one of the windows of the bus. He was looking out through the pane of glass – right at her.

As soon as their eyes met, his face fell into an expression of fear that exactly matched her own. He was impersonating her – a fearful little girl, looking up at a stern guard.

He turned away from the window, then looked out again. Now he was imitating the guard, his brow furrowed, his mouth in a frown. He pretended to scrutinize an ID card. Then using just his hands and face, he transformed the guard into a little ant, who thought himself great and strong. 

Finally, he returned to her and acted out her expression changing from fear into confidence.

Havilah couldn’t help but smile. She nearly laughed.

Suddenly, the guard, his grey uniform, and the red, Swastika armband didn’t seem so scary.

Introducing “The Father of Mime”

Those who are familiar with mime, will recognize the name Marcel Marceau. For those who aren’t, this man is best known as “the Father of Mime”. He was an actor who specialized in this silent art.

Whether or not you have heard of Marceau previously, it may surprise you to learn that his first audiences were made up entirely of children. 

Working with the French Resistance, Marcel Marceau smuggled Jewish children out of occupied France. He performed this task armed with a special skill – mime.

On multiple occasions, Marceau used his talent to entertain the children in his care. By doing so, he set them at ease in danger and kept them quiet at times when silence and safety went hand in hand.

At least seventy children passed through extremely difficult and dangerous situations by watching his face.

Christian, Will You Do the Same?

The story of Marcel Marceau and the children he rescued is an intriguing tale. It is also a timely reminder.

In the midst of trouble and turmoil, in times when fear seems natural, the Christian needs the same admonition as little Havilah did: “Watch his face.”

Like Havilah, we often stare at trouble and tremble in fear of what is to come. However, we too have a rescuer – a Saviour – and our attention needs to be turned from the trouble onto His face.  

God’s Expression

Nothing catches God by surprise. Our Lord is never worried, fretful, or afraid.

At the moment, it seems like the entire world is looking at COVID-19, its spread and possible outcomes. Consequences to health, freedom, and economy loom over our heads. These things affect our lives now and, in one way or another, are likely to continue doing so in the days, months, and even years to come.  

However, as hard as this may sound, we need to turn our eyes away from these things. As Christians, we are not supposed to focus on this world, or our circumstances and troubles. We focus on Christ and let Him direct our words, actions, and even our feelings.

An Admonition in Troubled Times (of any kind)

I’ve been thinking a lot about Psalm 2:1-4, “Why do the nations rage and the peoples plot in vain? The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together, against the Lord and against his Anointed, saying, “Let us burst their bonds apart and cast away their cords from us.” He who sits in the heavens laughs; the Lord holds them in derision.” 

This scripture depicts a pretty world-shaking situation – the kings of the earth plotting against God Himself, planning to rebel against Him. In the midst of this, we see the Lord’s response – the expression of His face, as it were.  

“He who sits in the heavens laughs; the Lord holds them in derision.”

Our Savior is not afraid of the Coronavirus. He doesn’t worry about an economic crisis. He isn’t stumped by any of the problems you or I will face. We don’t have to be either. 

Instead of looking at the problem, let’s look at His face. His expression will show us how to respond in any crisis.

 “For the Lord spoke thus to me with his strong hand upon me, and warned me not to walk in the way of this people, saying: “Do not call conspiracy all that this people calls conspiracy, and do not fear what they fear, nor be in dread. But the Lord of hosts, him you shall honour as holy. Let him be your fear, and let him be your dread.” (Isaiah 8:11-13)

In Christ

Quiana

*All Scripture references in ESV unless otherwise noted.

One Doctor - Putting Others First, Even at a Cost

They lived on one of the poorer streets of town and the row houses stood in a sad state of disrepair. The young man opened a door and led the doctor up a rickety staircase. At the end of the hall, stacks of newspapers were piled up - saved to stuff the building’s cracks and holes. A rough barricade against the cold drafts of the approaching winter.  

Another door and they entered a small apartment. The dishes were piled up in the sink, dirty laundry was overflowing its basket and food had been left out on the counter – all attesting to the fact that the woman of the house was not well.  

"In here." Jonah reached for the nob of the door which hid the apartment's other room. "I've been keeping the lights off, Doc, they hurt her head.”

"I can manage with a lamp, if you have one."

Jonah nodded. "I’ll get it."

Turning the handle, Dr. Krzyżanowska let himself into the dark room. It was a small space - just enough to fit the bed, with a small walkway round it. Under the covers, lay a young woman sleeping fitfully. Every few moments, her head tossed on the pillow.

He picked up her hand and felt for a pulse. “Hetta, I’m Dr. Krzyżanowska. I've come to help." Her hand was hot and when he felt her forehead, he found this warmer still.

Then Jonah entered with a lighted lamp revealing her face, which was flushed and wet with sweat. As the light fell on her closed eyes, she moaned and turned away. The doctor gently turned her face back toward him.

There it was - the telltale, dull red rash.  


A Spreading Disease

The first world war raged in Europe, claiming thousands of lives. But the warfare was not the only threat. Another enemy, an invisible one, flourished in the cold and dirty conditions. Carried from house to house and street to street by rodents and fleas, the Typhus epidemic quickly took hold in the slums of Poland.

A throbbing headache, a high fever, a red rash. The dreaded symptoms of the seemingly unstoppable disease.

Everyone who could avoid the affected districts did, leaving the sick to care for themselves and in many cases to perish alone. In Warsaw, Poland even the doctors stayed clear. Afraid of contracting the disease themselves, they refused to care for the infected population.

Treat the sick, they could lose their lives. For what? To care for people who would likely die anyways?

It wasn’t worth the risk.  


Only One Man Was Willing to Help

None of the doctors in Warsaw would take Typhus patients. None, except Dr. Stanislaw Krzyżanowska.

When his collogues announced their resolve, Dr. Krzyzanowska was horrified. He pleaded with them to reconsider. They were doctors – they had vowed to care for the sick at any time, any cost, any risk. Hadn’t they?

The other doctors disagreed. It wasn’t worth it. They’d be putting the rest of the population in danger, not to mention themselves and their families.

Stanislaw Krzyzanowska saw not the risk, he saw people who needed his help. So he went alone into the lines of contaminated row houses, knelt by the beds of feverish patients, and worked day and night to stop the rising tide of casualties.


It Cost Him Much

His fellow doctors thought him foolish. His regular patients ceased to call for him. His wife questioned his priorities – if he died who would care for his family? Didn’t he care about them?

Dr. Krzyzanowska once told his daughter, Irena, “If you see someone drowning, you jump in to save them whether you know how to swim or not.” It was on this principal, that he went. Putting his all on the line to help those who needed him.

The predictions were right. The doctor contracted Typhus from his patients and died in February of 1917. Leaving behind him a widow and a fatherless little girl.

But his efforts were not in vain. Many had been saved through the doctor’s selfless work. A large percentage of these were Jews and the Jewish community came together to provide for the needs of the doctor’s family. They never went without.

When Irena grew old enough to go to college, the tuition was payed for by those her father had given his life to save.


The Same Was Done For You

Another man risked entering contaminated quarters. Another physician subjected himself to a deadly disease. He did so for you and I.

Jesus came down from heaven and gave His life to battle sin - to heal us. He looked not at the cost, but at those who needed His help. Let us never forget what He sacrificed on our account!

“For scarcely for a righteous man will one die; yet perhaps for a good man someone would even dare to die. But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:7-8, NKJV)

In Christ

Quiana

By Pen or Pulpit – Fulfill the Ministry Given You in the Lord

The key turned over in the lock, the cell door groaned as it opened, and the old floorboards creaked under his feet. To John all these sounds were happy sounds. For, like the sound of the earthquake that shook the prison in which Paul and Silas were kept so long ago, these were the sounds of freedom. 

John was free of the Bedford Jail. Free of its bars and benches. Free to breathe the fresh air. Free to see his family.

“I don’t think I need to remind you of the rules, Bunyan, just be back in the morning.”

The jailer’s voice was gruff, but John thought he saw the man smile as he turned back towards the building.

Standing alone, the prisoner took in a deep breath of the cool, clean air. 

What a fine Sunday morning it was! The birds were singing in the trees, a little stream trickled by and his mind was filled with the sermon he would soon preach.

The Preaching Prisoner

John Bunyan was a tinker by trade. A lay preacher by calling. A prisoner by decision of the court.

In the England of the mid-1600s, it was illegal for anyone except ordained ministers to preach. John Bunyan, however, believed that permission to share the gospel was something given by God, not by the government.

 John had a calling to preach. He believed it was a God-given commission and a God-given right. So, he preached despite the law which said he couldn’t, and was arrested because of it.

After three months in prison, John appeared at trial. He knew he could be banished, even executed, for his “crimes” but he would not relent. He boldly told the magistrate and the onlooking court, "If I was out of prison today, I would preach the gospel again tomorrow by the help of God."

He was true to his word. In the following months, he used every pass to see his family as an opportunity to preach to the secret gatherings of believers.

The Things He Held Dear

He tapped gently on the door of a little cottage decorated with wildflowers. He heard excited voices and the patter of little feet inside. In a moment, the door swung open. 

“Daddy!”

“Daddy!”

Sarah grabbed his hand and pulled him in. John tugged at his pant leg, trying to show him a missing tooth. One-year-old Thomas, in his high chair, enthusiastically pounded the table with his spoon.

John closed the door behind himself, then knelt and pulled his children near to him. He hugged them for a long time, listening to their chatter and thanking God that he was free to hear it.

When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he rose and kissed his wife.

“It’s good to see you!” He said to the young, dark- haired woman. 

Still holding her hand, he made his way across the room to where his eldest daughter, Mary, sat with knitting on her lap. He greeted her with a kiss as well.

“It is good to see you all!”   

Elizabeth smiled. “The others are already gathered in the Elrett’s barn, John.”

John Bunyan looked over his family once more. Mary’s golden hair and Sarah’s brown were braided, Elizabeth’s was neatly tied up and all of them, including the little boys, were dressed in their Sunday best.

 He nodded. “Give me a moment to clean up and we’ll be off.”

“Shall I send the girls ahead, or should we all go together?”

“We’ll go together. I don’t see how a family going out for a walk could in any way be suspect.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Don’t you know, everything we do is suspect!”

Resilience

John Bunyan wasn’t a man to be silenced. He preached the gospel though he was told not to, though it would cost him the little freedom he had left and everything he held dear.

Eventually, the authorities caught on to the fact that John was preaching while on pass from prison and this small liberty too was taken away.

But John Bunyan could not be stopped. Prevented from preaching in the usual way, he traded his pulpit for a pen and turned to the written word.

For the next twelve years, John wrote in the small cell of the Bedford Jail. There he wrote the gospel message into books which have gone on to be read by thousands! Books, like The Pilgrim’s Progress and Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners, have stayed in publication for more than three hundred years!

In Application

 I once heard a quote that went something like this: “In every country in the world men are free to preach the gospel, it is only the consequences that differ.”

 Try as I might, I can’t find the original quote, nor the name of the author, but the truth behind these words has stuck with me since I first heard it. We all have the ability to obey God, the question is, are we willing to obey at any cost? Despite any obstacle?

In the face of difficulty and daunting odds, John Bunyan held fast to the conviction of his soul. He met increasing difficulty with perseverance and creativity, using whatever means were available to press on in the work God had given him to do.

John Bunyan obeyed God, refusing to view any obstacle as big enough to stand in his way. Are you willing to do the same? 

"And say to Archippus, "See that you fulfill the ministry that you have received in the Lord." " (Colossians iv.17, ESV)

In Christ

Quiana

If you want to learn more about John Bunyan, his family and his writing, I can help!

Visit These Related Posts:

-        John Bunyan’s Second Wife

 Finding the Middle Ground Series

-        Part 1: John Bunyan and the Slough Despond

-        Part 2: John Bunyan and the House of Mr.Legality

-        Part 3: John Bunyan and the Wicket Gate

Greater is He - The Secret to Living and Dying Well

The people who lived in the jungles of Papua New Guinea, under the shadows of towering trees and the power of dark spirits, dreaded death. They had good reason to; people screamed as they died. They thrashed and moaned, tormented by spirits that they had spent their whole lives trying to appease.

That was death as the people of Irian Jaya, Papua New Guinea knew it.

But now, they were hearing stories. Rumours that not all men died this way. There had come to some of the neighbouring tribes, men who served a different spirit, a white spirit. These men were said to die in peace, even with smiles on their faces.

It was this news which caused somewhat of a crisis at the mission stations. It seemed like a week didn’t go by without word of a new tribe who wanted to hear how to die well. Occasionally, natives even came in person, risking their lives to cross enemy territory that they might ask for a missionary.

The mission board couldn’t keep up, there simply weren’t enough missionaries to send!

There weren’t enough foreign missionaries.

The gospel was new to the tribes of Papua New Guinea but not so new that there weren’t converts. One tribe had even begun to train up pastors from among their own people. It was to this tribe that the missionary board turned. Asking for men who were willing to take the gospel they had received and share it with others.

They would be missionaries. Bringing the gospel to a different tribe; who, though living only a few miles away, spoke an entirely different language from their own.

One of these tribal missionaries was a man named Guatono. He was known as “the happiest man” for, in the midst of a land filled with spiritual oppression, Guatono always wore a smile. 

Though sent without missionary training or classes in advanced theology, Guatono had an advantage over foreign missionaries. He could not understand the language any better than they but he understood the tribal culture.

Because he knew how to serve the people it didn’t take long for him to win all their hearts. All, except for one - the witch doctor.

The witch doctor, saw Guatono as a threat. A threat to his livelihood, his influence, his very way of life. A threat that he could not ignore. 

So, in broad daylight, before a whole village of witnesses, Sheerun kicked down Guatono’s fence and took one of his chickens.

Chicken theft, trifle though it may sound, was a serious offence in this poor, tribal community. The people were horrified that the witch doctor would treat Guatono in such a manner. He had openly insulted the missionary they had waited so long for and everyone feared Guatono would leave.

The chief called the people together.

As drums pounded in steady rhythm, the villagers hurried to an open place near the river. Women left their cooking; men their afternoon naps; dripping wet children came up from swimming in the river. When all were present, the drums and the people alike fell silent.

The chief was the first to speak. He began by explaining the reason for the tribunal, though everyone already knew it. Then he apologised to Guatono and stated his hope that the missionary, who had served them so well, would not leave on account of one man’s offence. 

Finally, he turned to the people and called for them to suggest what payment the witch doctor should be required to make.

For a long time, all was silent. No sound could be heard except the call of a distant parrot and that of the village pigs rummaging through the leaves on the forest floor. Everyone was fond of Guatono, but no one wished to be the one who suggested the witch doctor’s punishment. They were afraid to incur his anger or that of the demons he worshipped.

Finally, the chief saw that it would be up to him. “I say that Sheerun must give two chickens to Guatono to pay for the one he stole!”

The villagers began to nod. Soon they were clapping their hands and shouting. “Two chickens for Guatono! Two chickens for Guatono!”

The chief silenced them by raising his stick. “Guatono, will you accept two chickens as payment?”

The offer was a generous one - double what had been taken. The chief felt sure that Guatono would gladly accept, but the missionary shook his head.

“I don’t want his chickens.”

The chief’s eyebrows rose. The people began to whisper. He doesn’t want chickens? What does he want, if not chickens?

Guatono was staring at the witch doctor, who stood across the circle, dressed in his full ritual garb. “I want the man.” He said.

What did he mean? What was Guatono saying? The people’s whispers turned into a full debate. Some suggested that he didn’t know what he was saying. He was, after all, still learning the language. Perhaps he had chosen the wrong words.

But Guatono wasn't confused. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the witch doctor and now he repeated his request. “I want the man.”

“You want the man?” The chief asked. “O favoured Guatono, we do not know what you mean by this.”

“I want him to bring out his bag of witchcraft. Let him bring it and set it here in the light.”

A gasp rose from the crowd. The people’s eyes grew wide.

Bags of witchcraft were not brought into the light! They were kept in the dark, tucked away in a corner of the witch doctor’s house. Hidden from the eyes of all but him.

No one was allowed to look at the magical contents that had the power to conjure, heal, and kill. But Guatono seemed unmoved by the people’s fear.

Gradually, the people began to nod. Their curiosity overcoming their trepidation.

“Yes! Have him bring out his magic bag!” One man shouted.

Seeing the crowd’s expressions changing, the witch doctor began to scream. He cursed, cried, and threatened that he would summon the demons to kill them all.

The chief looked at a group of young men. “Take Sheerun to his house and make him bring his bag of magic.”  

The young men looked from the chief to the witchdoctor then back to the chief, as if trying to decide who they feared more. Finally, they seized the dancing Sheerun and carried him up towards the village. Those who remained in the clearing could hear his shrieks and wailings the whole way.

After a few minutes, the party returned with a dark, pig-skin pouch that was sown shut. Guatono took it and tore it open. He dumped the contents on the ground.

Bits of bark and rotten berries fell onto the hard-packed dirt. The remains of a bat’s wing, what looked like a rat’s tail and a pig’s ear among them. Guatono knelt by the strange assortment of decaying items. And one by one he picked them up.

He put the bark in his mouth a broke it in two with his teeth.

When he had handled every one of the items, he rose. "I have touched all that you fear and notice that nothing has happened to me. Now I ask that he would hold my book.”

From a pouch slung over his shoulder, Guatono pulled his copy of the new testament. He held it out towards the witch doctor.

“I wont touch it! It is a demon’s book!” The witch doctor screamed.

He pulled away, but the young men who were still gathered around him pushed his hands against the Bible’s cover.

The witch doctor winced and closed his eyes. The people stepped back. The chief watched with growing interest.

Then…nothing.

The witch doctor didn’t fall down dead. He didn’t break out in leprous spots, or go up in smoke and flames. It seemed as though nothing happened.

At least, nothing that they noticed that day.

Early the next morning, the witch doctor went to Guatono’s house, with tools in his hand, and fixed the fence he had broken. From the day he touched Guatono’s book on, he was a changed man. He looked for every opportunity to serve the missionary, he was the first one in the village to understand the gospel and be saved and he spent the rest of his life helping Guatono in his ministry.

Guatono got the man!

He brought the powers of darkness into the light and showed them to be powerless against his God. He gained the man. He won the people.

May this story serve to remind you today that your God is greater than your enemy, greater than any bag of tricks, greater than sickness and disease, greater than all the powers that be.

In Christ

Quiana