It's a Small, Small, Small, Small World (After All)

The world is strangely small at times.  Four plus hours to fly from Seattle to New York, roughly eleven hours to fly from New York to Accra—because of the ease of flight, the world seems smaller.  (Although if you had ridden a horse for a few hours one day, ridden a bicycle for 5 miles the next, and then sat for the length of the flights and the layovers in between on the very next day after a long period of little exercise, you may not share the same opinion, I’ll have to ask my traveling partner.)

When we first arrived at the camp, we had just gotten off of the airplane, stopped by the hotel to refresh ourselves, and headed straight for the camp manager’s office.  His name is Gavivi (spelled wrong, I’m sure). I had the pleasure of meeting him in December on our last visit; he is a Ghanaian official with a love for God and a wise and compassionate heart, who is also faced with a huge job.   As we sat down to talk with him, Delilah noticed the music he was playing (of course!) and asked him if it wasn’t Jim Reeves.  He said that it was and that when he got overburdened and worn down that listening to this music relaxed him.  Delilah explained that her dad had played in a county band and that Jim Reeves was often played at her house as she grew up.  The next song also caught my attention.  “I’ll Fly Away” is one of my dad’s favorite songs and I recognized it immediately. Three men: different cultures, different ages, different world somehow made smaller.

Just a couple of days ago I was sitting with Chris, having another of our very late lunches/early dinners, when I heard a tune that sounded familiar. Chris started singing along and I joined in, “O Lord, You know, I have no friend but You.  If Heaven’s not my home, then Lord, what will I do?  The angels beckon me from Heaven’s open door and I can’t feel at home in this world anymore.”  Chris mentioned that he really liked this singer, but couldn’t remember his name.  “Jim Reeves?” I suggested.  “Yes, yes, that is him! I really like him.”  Another Jim Reeves fan?  Small world.  The fact that Chris and I would both know the same song, coming from different places, different faith backgrounds, yet could still share the joy of the words and the music?  Small world.

The next day I was walking through the camp.  I had just left the Nutrition Center and the malnourished children’s feeding program.  The children are all looking so much better, although not all to their needed weight, and I was thinking how grateful I am that different groups (like the Humanitarian Health Aid Foundation [HHAF] and Feed My Starving Children [FMSC]) had partnered with us to make food available for Point Hope and the National Catholic Secretariat [NCS] to cook and provide to the children.  Then I heard the strains of a song and had to stop to listen and sing along.  “Crucified. Laid behind a stone. He lived to die, rejected and alone.  Like a rose, trampled on the ground, He took the fall and thought of me, above all.”  The children I had just seen, the people I was passing on the paths of the settlement, me…He thought of us and took the fall for all of us.  Very small world.

Early each morning and in the evening I can hear the Islamic call to prayer being broadcast through the warm air just outside my hotel window.  I think back to a conversation I had with a Muslim man when I was working on the FBI’s JTTF in Portland.   We had been holding a lengthy discussion. “The difference between my God and your Allah”, I concluded, “is that in your religion, you are a slave, uncertain of your future, while in my faith, I am God’s child, adopted into His family and certain of my future.  I would rather be a child than a slave.”  He said, “Yes, I know.”  That was it, no other response.  To this day I don’t understand it, it doesn’t seem logical.  Hearing the Arabic words here that I heard calling out to this man in America, small world.

Today is Sunday.  I was relaxing in my hotel room (I’d already heard the call to prayer) when what sounded like three or four men started shouting in the hallway, the sound was reverberating off the walls.  I couldn’t tell if it was an argument or what!  And then, the shouting turned to the rhythm of a chant-like sound and slowly faded away.  Suddenly, one voice began again, loud and echoing throughout the halls.  I went to the door and looked out the peephole, but could see no one. Frankly, I was glad my door was secured with the only key hanging in the lock on my side of the door. The other voices joined in loudly with the first man, still speaking in a sing-song rhythm.  Not knowing the language, I wasn’t really paying attention, but I thought I heard the name, “Jesus”.  I listened more intently and heard it again.  And then I heard the words, “blood of Jesus”.  I realized there was a mini-praise service of some sort going on and I started chuckling to myself.  Sounds that had seemed ominous turned to words of praise, yet our Father had known all along!  I thought of an old song from long ago, “In the name of Jesus, in the name of Jesus, we have the victory.  In the name of Jesus, in the name of Jesus, Satan will have to flee.” 

The Creator of the universe made the world and for Him, it has never been any larger than it is now—for me, it’s smaller every day!

 

 

Comments

[Dora]

A good praise song can always cheer me up no matter what. It either makes me smile or it brings me to my knees in praise (and a good cry) God is good and he can do wonders through music. Reading your stories is like reading the exciting pages of a good book. We miss you.