Limel.

There's a lot.  You know.  A half inch of water has my laptop (tests, class audio, EBS videos, photos, student testimonies, etc) dead.  The nearest Apple store continues to be not on the entire island.  Greg and Cathie have come and gone (Monday), Brent and Julie have come and gone (Wednesday) and my dad and his wife are coming tomorrow (Thursday!)  Sofie's new uniform for her new school is almost done, the kittens are growing like weeds, Lily is throwing Fiddler on the Roof quotes into all areas of life and it is month end in the finance office...which happens to be MY office.  Yikes.

Forgetting all that, I am REALLY excited about something today, so I'm going to talk about that instead.

You know Ezechiel.  Every since the first time I (barely) hiked his mountain and spent the day with the people he spends his life with, I have been inspired and encouraged in my walk with Christ.  It is not enough to give a little.  It is not enough to go a little.  It is not enough to love a little or to serve a little.

All, is what He asks. It's easy to point to lots of people and churches and places, and think, "Aw, nobody's doing ALL.  Something is something.  More than such-and-such is enough.  Better than nothing is enough.

It's not.

And Ezechiel humbly and unintentionally reminds me of that every week when he comes, worn shoed, broken biked, busted backpack, to tell me.  Tell me about the school with almost 200 kids, tell me about the church he's working so hard to disciple away from lifetimes of dark worldview, tell me about the awe-inspiring road project he continues to motivate and pick-ax every Saturday.  (speaking of which, I have the most AWESOME video of this...on my laptop.)

He tells me when he is discouraged, which isn't nearly as often as I think it should be.  He tells me about the little things he hangs on to as hope.  He tells me what's hard and what's a joy.  He tells me if it weren't for Jesus, he'd be as lost as the many he's given EVERYTHING to shepherd TO Jesus.

There are a lot of people doing a lot of things in Haiti...some good, some not so good, some true, some not so true.  But I've never met anyone who lives a more abandoned, selfless, sacrificial life to God in Haiti (or anywhere else, for that matter) than Ezechiel.

And he's told me before about Limel.  We've stood on the very tip top of the world in Baron and looked out together, and as I have marveled about what God's done through him in Baron all around us, Ezechiel's looked out further still and pointed out to me all the places the Gospel still hasn't been.  All the mountains that have never experienced feet bringing Good News.  All the places he's heard stories about but has never been.

I always try to encourage him for what he's already done, but it wasn't me who put those places on heart.

A few weeks ago, he came to the house excited, but not about the road project, the church or the busting-at-the-seams school.

"I'm going," he said, "I've got it all planned.  I've told you about Limel ten times before, and I'm going.  November 1st and 2nd.  They've never heard the Gospel, they have NO church, no school, the people continue to live in utter darkness, they are killing each other when they disagree, and the zones all around the mountain are afraid of them, because they are so sovage."

"God's been giving me a heart to get there since I first returned to the mountain after I led my parents to Christ, and I've been working to build up believers in our church to go with me."

"But they are afraid, they are still not ready.  Everyone is afraid of Limel."  Ezechiel always speaks cool as a cucumber...there is no drama in this man.  Nor is there any fear.

"So," he concludes resolutely, "I am going.  Pray for me!"

"By yourself?" I ask.

"I guess so," he says.  "They cannot wait any longer for the Gospel, and no one is ready to go."

"I AM READY TO GO," I shout at him (I never said there was no drama in me) without thinking.  If you'd been there, you would have shouted it, too.

He smiles at my enthusiasm, and I start thinking what he's thinking, but is not rude enough to tell me.
A female foreigner may actually not be what Limel needs upon their first exposure to the Gospel. The Gospel may not need to be distracted by Limel's first exposure to a foreigner.  I may actually NOT be the solution to every problem.  Gasp.

"That...may not be best, huh" I admit, wishing for the gabillionth time I could be or NOT be a foreigner whenever I wished.

Immediately, Junior's face came to mind.  I know a LOT OF PEOPLE way way better than myself.  I'm surrounded by the PERFECT PEOPLE to go.  I could send them with Ezechiel.

I sent him off promising to pray, and pray and think I have.

Identifying who to ask, and then asking them, has been of the greatest joy this past week.

I figured I'd try to send 5.  So I figured I'd need to ask about 15 to get 5 who were willing.

I really should stop trying to figure stuff and let God.

The person I picked out to go, Junior (of course), was the only one who said no.  He's got a lot going on, he's really busy right now, it's not a great weekend, I get it.

So if not Junior, who?  Junior said, "Ask Aldy. He'll go in a heartbeat."

Aldy's gone with me every time I've gone, and spent a big part of his summer up there.  But, it would mean missing two days of school entirely for hiking so that he could do the crusade all day Saturday and Sunday.

So I called Aldy in (second year class), explained the situation (he'd already heard of Limel from Ezechiel), told him the people there have been known to be violent (my version of a risk waiver) and asked if he'd pray about going.

"Why yes," Aldy smiled, always shyly looking down when talking to me.

"Yes?  You'll go?  Do you need to think about it?"

"I'll go.  No, I'm good.  God always wants us to go share the Gospel, doesn't He?"

A few days later, I went into the main office only to see Luddie sitting there!

Graduate of 2014, she also spent part of the summer in Baron, and is as responsible, sensible, compassionate and sacrificial as they come.

As soon as I saw her, there to pick up a paper, I said, "Luddie, come talk to me when you're done!"

I explained the whole situation to her, and asked her to consider it prayerfully.

"Ok," she said happily.  "I'll go!  When should I be here?"

Can I tell you what joy has filled my heart as Aldy, Luddie, Brave, Napo and Phida quietly listened to the story of Limel and Ezechiel over these past two weeks, and joyfully, sweetly and immediately accepted to go?  One, even upon learning about it this morning?  Four days? In a tent?  On top of a mountain they have to hike themselves, in the middle of exams and work and lives and jobs, to share the Gospel with people they've never met, who live in utter darkness, and kill each other?

Quick note here:  The Emmaus side of Stacey is SO stinkin' proud.  THIS is what it's all about.  Not the big churches and the prestige, not the degree or the education, but discipling and equipping hearts that are READY to go, READY to serve, READY to preach and READY to die.  

SO, that was a long story to where we are at today.  Tomorrow night, everyone is meeting here on campus, and Friday morning, Ezechiel (class of 2009), Napo, Brave and Luddie (class of 2014) and Aldy and Phida (class of 2017) are heading out together to Limel.  Together with our prayers.

How beautiful on the mountains

are the feet of those

who bring Good News

who proclaim peace

who bring good tidings

who proclaim salvation

and who say, "Our God Reigns."

Isaiah 52:7

pride

I've had these videos for a few weeks and have been wanting to share them.  They won't seem all that impressive...some men and women, digging in the dirt, pumping out some water.

But they are OUR men and women, and they are seminary students.  They are pastors.

That may not seem like such a big deal, still.

Let me explain.

One of the first things I noticed about our students when we first moved to Haiti in 2007 was that many of them had extremely long pinky nails.

What does that MEAN? I kept asking, realizing that most things in most cultures mean SOMETHING.

I came to learn that it meant simply that they were pastors.  Do NOT work with their hands.  Are of status.  Don't get dirty, don't dig, don't go in the sun.  Big wigs.  Important.  Educated.  Set apart.  Of status.

I came to be discouraged.

Pride, such a temptation and pitfall for us all.  How do you you teach humility?  How do you teach servanthood?  How do you give poured out hearts?  How do you prepare men and women ready to serve, ready to pour out, ready to die?

How do you follow the scarred hands of Jesus with prestigious nails?

How do you GIVE people a heart to take up their cross and follow Him?  WHEN did that start meaning to people that the road should be easy and pompous and prestigious and full of blessing and riches?  How do you teach that "take up your cross" is SHAMEFUL and bloody, hot and HARD work.

As we asked ourselves all these questions, all we knew to do was to model servant leadership and to teach the Bible.  God's Word...ready to address and transform the human heart, ready to attack the sin nature.  His Spirit, capable of changing the human heart.

We have picked up trash and hiked mountains, sweated and cleaned and dug for years.  We've hired sun-scorched staff members with hearts like Jesus.  The head of our work-study program pulls weeds and moves rocks alongside the students.  Hard work is built into each day.  We've taken any student who ever wants to go on every missions trip we can plan.  We've prayed.  We search for professors near and far who are godly and humble men and women.  We've tried to reject the wisdom of the world for His.  And Emmaus continues, every day, to give and give and give His transforming Word.

We dug all the bills out of pockets and drawers (then went and dug them out of the Heckman's pockets and drawers) and sent 10 students to Baron to help Ezechiel for a month over the summer...to live among the people, to sweat, to darken, to bleed, to cook, to be hungry...to share the Gospel and to work alongside the people.

We've done everything we know to do and given each heart to Him.

So to get these videos, of Pastor Ezechiel, graduate of 2011...head of the church on the mountain, head of the school, down in a hole of muddy water in the sun?  To see our women, in nasty clothes, pulling mud from Brave and Junior?  To see our brothers and sisters, going entirely against the grains of culture to dig and build a well of clearest spring water for the poorest of the poor on the highest of mountains?  To get dirty?  To be shamed?  To be the least of these?

 

A different kind of pride burns.

It's a big deal.

To God be the Glory.

If anyone wishes to come after Me,

he must deny himself,

take up his cross daily, and

follow Me.

--Luke 9:23

three: power

I don't talk about Voodoo much on our blog for two reasons.

One: it freaks people out, and talking about it makes people think you are crazy.  er.

Two: I don't like dwelling on satan, demons, or demonic activity.  I don't want to talk about darkness.  I want to talk about God and what HE'S doing.

However, if I'm going to share the POWER part of this past Sunday in Baron, I've got to take a second to fill you in on it, meaning I'll answer the first question everyone always has:

Do you really believe in Voodoo?

Short answer is yes.

Longer answer is that I have seen many a woman and man devote their lives to it, live in its grip, honor it in every situation, fear it, live under that fear, and be greatly affected by it.  To address and understand and live in Haitian culture is to have an awareness that most everyone believes that satan and demonic forces are real and active in every element of life.

No matter what I believe, if Haiti believes it, then it is real in Haiti.

Voodoo is very syncretistic, involving Roman Catholic ritual elements, animism, magic (probably coming from African heritage), ancestors, saints, demons--and permeates all elements of life, from how you paint your vehicle, how you roof your house, how you treat your illnesses, how you cook your food, how you walk on a path to even how you pee.

Socially, there is what Matt and I call Party Voodoo, and there is what we call Deep Voodoo.  Party voodoo usually involves lots of youth, lots of alcohol, lots of drumming, lots of immorality and lots of noise.  Deep Voodoo involves curses, trances, zombies, demonic possession, sacrifices, etc.  While most people who practice voodoo openly seem to hang out in the Party Voodoo realm, it is hard to find a person who doesn't have a great fear of and respect for Deep Voodoo.

It runs deep, and you would be hard pressed to find a person who didn't say that to BE Haitian is to BE Voodoo.

...Not totally unlike Scripture saying that to be in Christ is to BE not of this world.  Being of His realm means we're NOT Americans, Haitians, slaves nor free, Greek nor Jew.  It means we're of Him.

In America, perhaps, we can be in Christ and be American...though it seems that the split there is growing wider.

ANYWAY, sorry.  Story commencing.

As we got closer and closer to Baron, the "heat" on the road grew.  For some political reason I still have no understanding of, remains of rioting and the road being "cut" were everywhere as we got closer to the base of the mountain.  Every 100 feet we were having to drive around smoldering logs, pushed aside piles of large stones, and around piles of burnt tires.  At one point I wasn't sure we could continue because the road had been cut so deeply we had to stop and fill 2 spaces with stones for our tires to cross over.

Ezechiel is an incredibly responsible and aware young man, and I could tell he was growing increasingly uneasy by each roadblock...not for himself--Ezechiel cares nothing for himself--but as the one in watch-care over these students, and worse, for a foreign woman.  Can't hide her if need be.

Talking to a few locals, we continued, and suddenly ahead of us there was a large group of men, mostly all the same young age as the men I had in the car with me....20's/30's.  However, instead of being in ties and dress shirts like the men I had, they were in red skirts, red shirts, and each caring long sticks.  Bouncing up and down continuously, they were chanting and singing, bouncing in a large circle covering the whole road.  Dozens of interested bystanders watched, and I grew uneasy approaching them.

Rah-Rah, as it is called, is when a group of devout Voodoo worshipers, usually accompanied by a witch-doctor, display their support publicly of some specific spirit, involving exactly what I was witnessing here.

They were.  And chose this morning.  And chose our road, the only road.  Probably something to do with being past Mardi-Gras, pre-Easter, and during a particularly politically charged time for this area.  I don't know.

Foreigners tend to excite extra Rah-Rah attention, and I wished I could sink beneath my seat.  Wished someone else of the 9 people in the car could drive.  They obviously weren't moving, so finally I could come no closer and stopped the car.  They surrounded the car, chanting and dancing.

I tried to act uninterested, and waited patiently for them to move.  The ring-leader, talismans tied all around his neck, was holding a large staff with a huge rock tied to the top and flags down the side...the witchdoctor.

His eyes were clear.

This may not make sense if you're not at all accustomed to Voodoo, but...they were clear.  Open, sensible, conscious.  He met my eyes and there was understanding and acknowledgement of each other.

The younger men, all of them, were entirely dark-eyed.  Every bouncing face I looked into stared back blankly, entirely unaware of what was happening around them.  Caught up in their trance, the drums and the dancing, even when I started to pull the car forward, lightly bumping one of them, he didn't even react.  Didn't seem to feel it.

Ezechiel signaled that we were coming through, I saw a part in the crowd, and we went for it.  Done.  Over.  Sigh.

After a fantastic day on the mountain, I never thought of them again....until it was growing late, we were returning, and the road ahead was now full of almost 100 people, watching.

The same group of Rah-Rah.  STILL.  HOURS hours later, still doing the exact same thing.  Chanting, dancing, circling.  Empowered by the now huge crowds around them and literally 8 hours of unending dancing in their trance...they were far more aggressive.

Again, the witchdoctor looked at me with understanding, again, the young men were almost in an animalistic state...unaware, dark eyed...empty.  I felt suddenly enraged, because while he led his group in darkness and blindness...he KNEW.  He hadn't entered in himself.  He controlled them without being controlled, misled them while standing by.  Held them in darkness.  Remind you of anyone?

Ezechiel told me to stop.  Junior told me to go.  The students and Noel were deathly silent, nervous.  Praying.

I waited a long time.  They were NOT going to move.  We were NOT going to pass.

I tried going, and after tapping several of the men with front grill, realized that they were SO entranced that I could have run them down without them even realizing it.  They didn't even FEEL the car, nor react whatsoever.

I didn't know what to do.  Ezechiel, ever concerned for the party he had brought, was beside himself for our sakes, and I saw him out of the corner of my eye beside me reaching into his pocket.

"NO." I said firmly.  I didn't know what we were going to do.  But I knew one thing: we were NOT giving them ONE PENNY.

"Look," he said, "This could get bad.  I have to take care of you.  I will just give them a few gourdes, let's get out of here.  Please roll down my window."

Now, I always listen to Ezechiel.  He knows, it's his zone, he's so wise and godly.

But I knew he wouldn't give them money if I wasn't there, and as I prayed and watched, bristling, I knew we couldn't give them money.  Couldn't support.  Couldn't have anything to do with enslaving and entertaining and making money off of people for darkness.

"NO, Zeke.  NO."

I didn't know what to do, but I was NOT rolling down that window.

The chanting and drumming continued, amused men, women and children watching intently, the entranced dancers bouncing, bouncing up and down around our car, tapping it on all sides, all following the bouncing of the witchdoctor's staff and the pounding drum.

"June," I said towards the backseat.  "What do we do?  They are not moving, and we cannot give them money."

"No, no money," said Junior.  "Um.  Well.   Roll down my window."

As soon as his window was down, me praying and looking for a way through, the witchdoctor jetted to the side of the car, so observant, so alert.

The difference between the young men huddled wordlessly around me and the young men circling the car was astounding.  Day and night.

But outside the car there was no fear.  No light, no fear, no nothing.  Inside the car, calm, but uncertainty was fading into fear.

Expecting Junior to start convincing our way through, he only said one thing to the witchdoctor, softly, sweetly and boldly, as June always does.

"We are people of God and our money is of God.  It will do you NO good whatsoever.  

Make a way.  Now, sir."

Before he had even finished, the witchdoctor darted at his men, and starting thumping them, thumping their backs with the large rock tied to the end of his staff...herding them out of the way like sheep.  Like animals.  They didn't even flinch or react.

Thump, thump, thump he made the way, the men's expressions never changing...their hops shifting slightly, a path was cleared, and we went...the circle quickly closing back in in my rear-view mirror.

Inside, the car was silent.

Ezechiel breathed a long sigh of relief and looked at his hands.  "I'm sorry."

Suddenly, conversation exploded, and I realized I hadn't been the only one holding my breath.

Everyone was talking at once, patting Junior and alive with His power.

Even while that witchdoctor was holding so many in darkness, when Junior spoke the Truth, he knew it was.

Didn't argue.  Didn't think.  He KNEW it.  He knew it was true that he could do NOTHING with what was God's.  Knew it was TRUE that he could do nothing against God's people.  Knew it was truth he could nothing with God's money.

Suddenly, with over 100 people at his disposal, he knew that we. were. not.

And he could not have responded to the undebatable presence and power of God any faster.

We knew God was with us, but I'm not sure any of us (but Junior, it always seems) knew what that would LOOK like surrounded, literally, by Voodoo.

What it LOOKED like, before 100 villagers and through a witchdoctor, nonetheless, was ALL POWERFUL vs. foolish.  God of the Universe vs. NO ONE.

Whether you believe Voodoo is real or not doesn't really matter.

What matters is that what we believe IN, WHO we have put our trust in, leaves NO room for it.

It is not a competition.  It is not a battle undetermined.  IT IS VICTORY.

Three: Whatever the darkness in your life...whether it be Voodoo or past baggage, family brokenness or quiet battles, sins or injustices, disappointments, betrayals, hypocrisies, horrors or devestations alike....WHATEVER it is, listen.

IT IS NOT DARKNESS TO HIM.  And if it is not darkness to Him, then He is ready to overcome it.  Miraculously.

It's not just that His LIGHT is stronger than the darkness.  It's not just that His light can overcome that darkness.

It is that even the DARKNESS is NOT DARK TO YOU, O God
Even the night is as bright as the day.  
Darkness and light are alike to You.

Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence.
You have enclosed me behind and before,
and laid Your hand upon me.
You. Are. There.

Psalm 139

two: overwhelmed

Each time I have gone to Baron, it has been with Ezechiel, Junior and Noel.

This time, Junior asked if we should take a few students, and though I doubted we would have any takers, we asked around.  After assuring them they could do the hike (which in the end, became slightly untrue for the youngest), we found four first year students ready to go.

We'll never go without students again, because I've never shared with them a lesson so rich.

I guess I always assume Haitians know Haiti.  Just as people here assume Americans know America...like, "Are you friends with my friend Bob?  From Wyoming?"  Uh...no.  Never been to Wyoming.  "But I thought you were American?"

But I realized Sunday that I have gone many places that most nationals have never gone.  Just as it would be bizarre for you one Sunday to hike out your door 4 hours to find a church, our students from town have mostly spent their lives in town.

The further we hiked, the more they began to complain.  

This was no drive, these roads were terrible!

This was no hill, it was a mountain!

This was no hike, it was a climb!

Surely there are no people who live up this far!  

Were we there yet?

No, seriously.  Are we there yet????

Without turning around I knew Ezechiel's response before I heard it...Just about five more minutes!

always.

Finally, unable to take any more complaints from these whippersnappers and knowing there were still many hills ahead, I casually shared with them Ezechiel's story.

"Know why Ezechiel built a school at this church?  Because his entire life as a boy, from six until he was 18 years old, he hiked down this mountain in the morning for school in the village and hiked back up in in the afternoon.  Every single day.  When he was six.

"Then, he moved to Port-au-Prince, and became a city kid, and never wanted to go to Baron again.  And then, God showed Him new life, forgiveness, freedom.  Gave Him Himself and a great burden for his family on the mountain.  For YEARS he hiked this mountain to tell his family and friends about God and not ONE PERSON converted.  Years.

 "Then finally, one day, after years, by God's grace he led his mom and dad to the Lord.  And when he hiked these very rocks, the next week, they had led a whole group to the Lord and begged him to give them more of Him.

"And that's the day he became a pastor, and now he's been giving them more EVERY week EVER since!  Can you believe that?  Isn't this path a holy path!?"

We clomped along silently for a while, thinking over the beaten path, picturing ti-Ezechiel climbing the path with his schoolbooks on his head, picturing him a man, returning without discouragement over and over, suddenly a pastor.

There was never another complaint.   Not the whole day.  The road became lovely, the burden, easy.

When we finally arrived and ducked into the newly finished school for a rest, no one could speak.  Uncomfortable, I watched these young brothers battle with their emotions.

"I didn't know," Romual finally said.  "I didn't know anybody lived like this.  I didn't know there were places like this.  I didn't know there were mountains without education.  Villages without water."

Aldy quickly agreed.  "What if a woman is having a baby, and something goes wrong, even something minor?  She would DIE.  People would just DIE from minor sickness.  I didn't know there were places with no medical care at all."

Jean, never silent, sat thinking, and finally said, "I didn't know so many people lived like this.  They have NOTHING.  Nothing."

Of course, I have felt this way over and over in Haiti.  In its mountains AND its cities.  But it had never occurred to me that fellow Haitians would feel the same way.

Ezechiel's mom, whom I'm pretty sure hasn't stopped her eyes from smiling since the day she met Jesus,  ducked in right then with a plate of boiled plantain and goat organs.  Breakfast.  They killed a goat for us, again.  

I watched as the boys struggled the struggle I have struggled many times.  This little joyful woman of the mountains had killed a goat for them.  Strangers.  Brought them water to wash their hands.  We had hiked past the closest water 30 minutes ago.  These families were so poor. 

I watched them slowly eat every last bite...because it was a love gift.  Even as it broke their hearts.

I have eaten many such meals.  But never thought my EBS family would feel the same way.  What a precious thing to share.

 How bizarre.  Bizarre and beautiful and indescribable to sit with my students, with my friends, the only foreigner within hours radius, pondering again His great love, pondering it pouring out of these many impoverished and radiant people.  Puzzling over it and finding myself more experienced with the contradictions and conflicts than the brothers around me.

How beautiful to see their eyes opened, their hearts grow, again, as I saw them grow on the road.  How beautiful and painful to hear their silence, and to fill the space with our God alone, lifting empty hands...and no answers.

When the organs were choked down it was time...someone rang a small bell, men and women and children came hiking up from all directions, and the students quickly threw together an order of worship and assigned out different parts of the service.  Moliere would pray, Noel and Aldy would lead songs, Romual, the service and Jean the pastoral prayer.  

 "Junior, please preach!" they begged.

"Why?" June asked. "That's why you have come!"

"I don't feel that we CAN," Aldy finally said.  "I am so overwhelmed.  Please, June.  I need to hear."

TWO: Overwhelmed is a really good place to be.  Eyes opened to what God sees, never to be as innocent again.  Knowing a tiny bit more of what God knows.  Receiving a bit of overwhelming, uncomfortable love.  Overwhelmed by joy, overwhelmed by pain, overwhelmed by reality. 

Whatever it is, when we are--might we beg for God and more of Him and more....and be overwhelmed by HIM, instead.

one: pastor

I don't mean to always have so much to share after big trips like yesterday, but man.  they are just so full.

I'm sure we already feel hardly on the map down here in Haiti.  Anything outside of each of our worlds rarely draws our attention or focus.  So to leave my world and drive, ford, hike and literally climb to the very dessert top of a distant mountain seemed crazy foreign to me...must seem a world away to you, too.

Until we got there and I saw God.  Hah!  He's been there the whole time!

Suddenly, I swore I could see the horizon curve into the orb this world is, it felt so small in His hand.

 All this time living in my own day-to-day, and then you're kissing weathered cheeks and wiping snotty noses and holding calloused hands and He has suddenly grown...His world suddenly brought together small.  I'm in it, you're in it, she's in it.  And He's there.

We're all just His creation, and I'm not sure there is a place where we are not.  From my place on the plateau, it would seem that there are no people in the mountains, and yet camouflaged in earth-colored homes on EVERY new hill His creation are tucked.

 And my confidence is restored again that there is no place that HE is not.  No place.

Yes, there are many places in this world where there has been no need for or knowledge of writing and reading...where there is NO doctor...where the drinking water looks like this...where belief in demons and spirits intercedes in all functions of life...where sheer existence seems to be a miracle.

 I saw too much beauty yesterday for any of that to prioritize my heart.

But there are many corners of the world that have been plowed and fished and worn smooth by beautiful people who were created in His image...people who work HARD their bodies and love DEEP their little ones and lay up LATE dreaming, and yet whose eyes are dark by the knowledge of nothing more than the fathers who came before them.  

As I sat with a ti-paket moun yesterday, all eyes fixed on Ezechiel as he shared Christ with his people in a small slap-board church, he called us Pastor.

"Pastors, you must live in the light we have found in Christ.  Pastor, you must give counsel to the many around you in His truth.  Pastor, preach the Gospel where you are.  Ten years ago, not a one you walked with God.  Knew God.  Were Free.  Pastor, you must go out today and continue to preach the truth, because there are so many still living in that darkness our fathers knew so well.  Stop calling me Pastor, and join me, instead."

Yesterday challenged me in so many ways.

One: I cannot keep looking to the Pastor...to the seminary...to missionaries...to _____ to do, to share with others what God has shared with me.  We are with Ezechiel, though we may not call this precious people group on a mountain far away our flock.  

Call me pastor.  I'm calling you pastor, too.