I was privileged to be part of the Sturgis (SD) Bike Giveaway during the annual Rally Week.
Evangelist Ronnie Hill (shown by bike below) birthed this project as a way to share Jesus at large group events like the Rally. (Over 500,000 bikers come to the Black Hills for this event. It doubles the state's population.)

Sponsored by the Dakota Baptist Convention, it is a neat ministry. I plan on returning in August 2009. If you're interested, contact me at curtiles@aol.com.

Over 5000 bikers heard Christians volunteers give their "three minute story" of how Jesus changed their life. This entitled the listener to sign up to win the new Harley. Best of all, over 1000 bikers prayed to receive Christ under the ministry.

A follower of Jesus shares his story with a biker.

The giveaway tent was a maternity ward for new birth as well as a place of prayer.

The folks in yellow are members of a great group called F.A.I.T.H. Riders.

Zululand South Africa stories

A Zulu Princess named "Precious"

I loved the names of the Zulu people: I met a waiter named 'Lovemore', several women named 'Pretty' and a child named 'ByeBye.' Then there was 'Welcome,' 'Bunny,' and of course some American style names such as 'Doris' and her son, 'Eugene.'

There were countless more with bright smiles and unpronounceable names that twisted my English tongue. Many had names that included strange clicks within the name.

When I’ve forgotten many of their names I’ll always remember an eight-year-old girl named Precious.

I met her in Johannesburg at an orphanage on our last day in Africa. She was riding her bicycle in the play area sporting a crown.


She smiled as she told me, “My name is Precious and I’m eight.”
She had a glow to her face that captured my heart. She became Princess Precious to me.

I don’t know her story—the story of how she came to be at the orphanage. There are thousands like her throughout South Africa, especially in the AIDS-ravaged areas of the country. Each one is more than a number, statistic, or a face.

They are each precious.

As I’ve thought about her smile and name, I’ve been reminded of these words I’ve sung all of my life.

“Jesus loves the little children
All the children of the world
Red and yellow, black and white
They are precious in the sight.
Jesus loves the little children of the world.”

Princess Precious.
A girl very precious and special to Jesus.
A reason to care
A reason to give
A reason to go.



















A beautiful girl named "ByeBye."


























Fresh graves KwaZuluNatal province South Africa



Gail Trollip, director of Tabitha Ministries said it best, "We are living in a killing field of AIDS."


Everyone you look in the area you see the horror of AIDS. It is estimated that over 40 % of the local population is HIV positive.


DeDe and I were so impressed with what Tabitha Ministries is doing to minister to families, orphans, and the community.


You can learn more about their work at http://www.tabithaministries.co.za/ or by contacting missionaries Charles and Robin Taylor at crtaylor5@mweb.co.za



















A boy with a Dry Creek Camp camo cap.

Tabitha Ministries
Pietermaritzburg, South Africa

“Baba, what happened?”

“Baba” It’s the Zulu term for father.
I cannot describe how it affected me to be called this by the children at the orphanages where we worked.

These children with no earthly father or mother. On their own until they came under the care of a loving family.

They longed for touch and interaction.
Most of the young boys hadn’t felt the touch of a man.
It didn’t matter that my skin was white and theirs was black.
I became “Baba” to them.
Father

And it moved me
And changed me.

The boys, ages three to six, loved running their hands through my hair and beard.
As they rubbed the top of my bald head, they’d inquire,
“Baba, what happened to your ‘other hair?’”

This was invariably followed by, “Baba, who cut your hair?”

I’d smile and answer, “Cathy Deshotels in Dry Creek, Louisiana.”

One boy seemed to seek me out.
I’d watched him on an earlier visit. He’d stood aloof from the others and seemed reserved. We learned he had been found wandering the streets at age 2. No one knew who he was or where he came from.

From there he came to Tabitha Ministries. At first he seemed unmanageable—behaving like a wild animal. Time and love had brought him far, but he was still smaller than the rest and stood apart.

On our second visit, he adopted me. As we walked the boys to bed, he grabbed my hand. His small black hand fit neatly inside mine. I tucked him in and he quietly said,
“Baba, I want a kiss.”

What a privilege it was to kiss that little man’s face.

A mission trip’s details run together and the faces and stories and places become a blur.
You ask me, “What did you do in Africa?”
I could tell you lots of stories, but I’ll tell you just this one:
I kissed a small boy goodnight who called me “Baba.”

That’s what I did.
And it was worth the trip, time, and money.
It’s what a Baba is supposed to do.














Bald-headed "Baba Curt" with a new friend.

(Left to right) Charles Taylor, Caroline, and Syvion Myeni

“Last night we slept hungry”

Caroline met us at the door with a smile. She’d seen the bags of food being brought by the volunteers from nearby Hilton Baptist Church’s Itemba (“Hope”) Ministry to her South African home.

Her words were simple but direct, “We slept hungry last night. I prayed to Jesus to send food and here you are.”

As team leader Syvion Myeni and International Mission Board (IMB) missionary Charles Taylor loaded her down with a month’s worth of provisions, Caroline said repeatedly, “Thank you, Jesus.” Joyfully we sat a bag of beans on her head and returned to the house, ready to cook and feed her family.

A widow raising five children and grandchildren with no government support, Caroline is dependent on the monthly support of Itemba’s “Bread of Life” ministry. Itemba, meaning “Hope” in the Zulu language, employs eight employees and operates as a ministry arm of Hilton Baptist.

With funds provided through Baptist Global Response (BGR), Itemba Ministries is able to help families in the Sweetwaters area of South Africa’s KwaZuluNatal province. BGR, a partner with the International Mission Board, has allocated $20,000 from the World Hunger Fund on this two-year project.

According to Baptist Global Response’s website (www.baptistglobalresponse.com), approximately 420 people from 75 families in Sweetwaters are benefiting from these monthly food parcels.

Much of their ministry is to the orphans and child-led households in this unincorporated township of over 100,000. Upon visiting Sweetwaters, one is struck by the obvious poverty and hopelessness of the population. Unemployment is high and the specter of rampant AIDS is evident everywhere in the hundreds of fresh graves seen in the yards of homes.


Taylor, a North Carolina native, shares, “We believe there are over one thousand child-led households in Sweetwaters. This is due to the devastation of the AIDS crisis. It is estimated that over 40 percent of the population is HIV positive.”

During the week this article was written, 88 residents of Sweetwaters died of AIDS-related complications. Funerals are held on the weekends and these days show the pervasiveness of the disease.

Itemba’s ministry is to the hurting families of this area and it begins with food. Team member Myeni, a native of Swaziland, says, “It’s hard to communicate the gospel to a hungry person. Get food for them and then you can talk about Jesus.”

In addition to the food ministry, he leads weekly Bible clubs throughout the neighborhoods. Children may come for the refreshments and games but always receive the gospel message from Myeni who speaks four languages.


In addition to the obvious benefits of the food, these parcels allow the children to remain in school instead of being out begging for handouts or money. The food also allows family members to take in orphaned children. Many of the needy families are led by grandmothers, or “GoGos” as they are known in the Zulu language.

During the drive to Sweetwaters for the food distribution, Taylor describes how this is all possible through the giving of Southern Baptists. “This vehicle, a Toyota Condor, takes us into the difficult terrain of this area. It was purchased through Lottie Moon funds and allows us to minister in inaccessible places.

“Funds provided through Baptist Global Resources are key to meeting the needs of the Zulu. This allows us access into the homes and hearts of the people.”

Taylor continues as to the long-term goals of his ministry. “We won’t always be here, but through mentoring Syvion Myeni and others like him, the gospel and the good deeds that go with it, will continue.


Missionary Robin Taylor, wife of Charles, handles the coordination of the project to ensure that proper accountability is in place.

Charles and Robin Taylor are assigned to the Zulu people group of this South African province. The Zulu tribal groups, numbering 13 million, are known for their fierce military background and proud heritage. Through building relationships and earning the trust of the citizens of Sweetwaters, the Taylors are seeing fruit in this area.

The smile and warmth of a woman named Caroline is ample proof that needs are being met and the gospel shared.

























Newlyweds Syvion and Zandele Myeni

I saw the future of Africa

Many folks are pessimistic on the future of South Africa. To be honest, numerous residents are emigrating to others countries such as New Zealand or Australia.

However, I saw hope for the future of Africa and it was reflected in the dark warm eyes of my new friend Syvion.


The first thing you notice on meeting Syvion Myeni is his smile. It is a smile that is connecting with hearts in the Sweetwaters township area as he represents Itemba Ministries and Hilton Baptist Church.

A newlywed, Syvion and his wife Zandele are committed to the people of this area. A Swaziland native, he came to this province to attend Bible College and found both a home and a wife. Myeni is committed to meeting the needs of the area.

Just as he has been mentored by others, Syvion is pouring his life and talents into the lives of young people and children.

His wife, Zandele, is a native of the Sweetwaters area. One of thirty-three children (her father, who has five wives, lives nearby), her Christian marriage is a strong witness to her community and family.

As they craft a uniquely Christian marriage in their neighborhood, this young couple will be used by God to touch lives around them.

Yes, the future of any country, including South Africa, is in young people.

The words of an older man named John R. Mott ring true, "If I could live my life over again, I'd invest it in young people."

With God's help and the hearts, smiles, and hands of thousands of folks like Syvion and Zandele, the future is not be feared.








The Southern Cross

There were two things on my list to see for myself in South Africa. It was my first trip south of the equator.

First, I wanted to see if water drains clockwise in a tub or sink. In the northern hemisphere, water drains (and tornadoes and hurricanes spin) counterclockwise. During my years as a science teacher, I’d explained how it occurs in the opposite direction south of the equator.

I can attest that it does drain the opposite down there. It drains clockwise. I personally observed this over and over in the tubs, sinks, (and commodes) of South Africa.

Then there was another sight on my personal “bucket list”—my list of things to see before I die.
And I saw it in the African sky.
It’s called the Southern Cross.
The southern hemisphere’s most famous constellation.


I’ve walked under the night sky for all of my life. It is one of the benefits of living a rural life. The stars, moving planets, changing moon all have been friends.

I had read about the Southern Cross and couldn’t wait to see it.
I wanted to compare it to my old friends the Big Dipper, the Hunter, and Big Dog.

The first night I was amazed at the clear winter sky of South Africa. (Yes, it’s winter in June south of the equator.) We were at a high elevation and the sky was breathtaking, but I recognized nothing. It was as if the familiar northern sky of my life had been shuffled and stirred until no star or constellation was in its right place.

It reminded me of how far from home I was.

There high in the black sky was what I knew was the Southern Cross. First of all, I was surprised at how small it was. I had expected something similar in size to our Big Dipper.

However, by locating the nearby two “pointing stars” that direct the viewer to the Cross, I knew the four stars were the constellation I had longed to see.

The stars are actually kite-shaped, but it was easy to see how it got its name. It resembled a cross, high in the sky for all to see.

People ask me why my wife and I went to Africa. I guess a good analogy would be that we’re like those two pointing stars directing viewers to the Southern Cross.

Jesus Christ, who we serve as Lord of our lives and worship as the unique Son of God, used a cross to demonstrate his love for all mankind.

We’re just pointer stars trying to direct folks toward that cross.
That’s what we try to do everyday. Here at home in Dry Creek and wherever we may travel.


Back Home

The sun goes down in the pines.
I sit at my outside office, surrounded by three loving dogs.
A woodpecker works nearby pecking away.
Purple martins whirl and sing overhead.
A crested flycatcher whistles unseen welcoming me home.

I’m home,
And that is good.

“The farther I must go,
The nearer I must stay.”
-Van Morrison “Song of Home”

Open Hands Newsletter

Click on newsletter for larger image.

If you'd like to receive updates during our trip, e-mail us at curtiles@aol.com with "send missions update" in subject line.

Click on newsletter for larger image view.

Most of all, pray for us!

Curt and DeDe Iles

China and Cambodia stories

The following stories are found in the book, Wind in the Pines, by Curt Iles.
Visit www.creekbank.net to learn more.


A Wade in the River

These next two stories are compiled from recent trips I made to Asia. In 2002 I visited Vietnam and Cambodia. Then last year I went to China. To see another part of the world so different from ours has been both an eye-opening and life-changing experience.

One of the Southeast Asian guidebooks related, “That Asia means people - everywhere you go there are vast crowds of people.” It is as if a huge river of people flows everywhere - especially in the large cities such as Saigon, Hong Kong, and Phnom Penh. But this river of souls is also swift and deep in the rural areas.

These stories are about what I saw and experienced during my “wade in the river.”



Suzie Q

Somewhere in China October 2003

I’ll never see her again on this earth - however I’m certain we will meet in Heaven. I also believe that I’ll recognize her when we meet again. I’ll know her because of her unforgettable eyes.
We only met her twice and I never even got her name. We really didn’t get to visit because she knew no English and I don’t speak Chinese. In addition, our meeting was brief because she was in great danger due to the bags she brought to our four man team.

Our only instructions were that she would meet us at the local train station that next morning at 7:45. Because we didn’t know her, she would have to find us. There was no way we would ever find her in this river of Chinese faces passing by us. We knew we shouldn’t be too difficult to find: four tall and pale Americans with backpacks stand out pretty good in China.

The morning of our meeting was October 1, which is the national holiday for China. For the entire week all businesses and offices close down. Because of this, October 1 is the biggest travel day of the year. The train station was unbelievably crowded. We stood outside in a sea of people - all trying to get through the two doors into the staging area.

We kept looking around. Over and over we would see a young Chinese woman laden with bags and whisper, “Do you think that’s her?”

… Finally we saw her coming - her nervousness was a dead giveaway. Following behind her were two porters each shouldering a long bamboo pole with bags on each end. Approaching us, her eyes darted back and forth nervously. This might seem like a game to the four Americans, but to her this meeting was deadly serious. She handed our leader Randy a cell phone programmed for our emergency use. Then she handed him train tickets for our five-hour ride south. Finally, she pointed to the bags and then directed us toward the crowded station entrance.

But before leaving, she looked deeply into our eyes. Her earlier look of nervousness was replaced by eyes showing grim determination and commitment. Those eyes seemed to say, “OK, I’ve done my part. It’s time for you to do yours. It’s worth the risk I’m taking to tell others about the difference Jesus Christ has made in my life.”

The bags she had brought contained Ziploc bags with DVD’s of The Jesus Film, plus other tapes and tracts. What made it so special was that the film had been recorded in the heart language of her people. This minority tribe spoke a different dialect from the main Chinese language groups. For the first time they would see and hear the story of Jesus and it would be in their native tongue.

In the coming days as our team hid these packets in woodpiles, under rocks, in the corn and cane fields, and every other place imaginable, I thought often of this brave girl with the bright eyes. She had put herself in great danger to deliver these packages to us.

If we Americans were caught with these materials, we would be unceremoniously escorted out of the country. If this young Chinese woman was caught, the repercussions would be serious - ranging from jail to persecution and difficulties of all types for her, as well as her family.

As Randy, Thad, Ed, and I walked the countryside in the coming days, we talked about this woman. Our brief encounter had left a lasting impression on us. We finally gave her a name, “Suzie Q.” From then on that was how we referred to her.

We walked the fields and roads of rural China hiding our precious packets. Our goal was this: We want them found, but hopefully not before we clear out. When we had distributed all of the packets over a period of three days, we once again were instructed by phone to meet Suzie Q, this time at a bus station in a large city.

As our taxi pulled us up to the bus station, there stood Suzie Q beside four more bags containing the gospel. We couldn’t help but notice several policemen standing nearby on the sidewalk. The sight of four American strangers picking up four heavy bags after stepping from a taxi had to arouse their curiosity, but no one questioned us. In fact, later one of the friendly policeman inside the terminal directed us to the correct line for our bus.

This time we were going north to another minority people group. These new packets were in a different dialect from our earlier stash. Following us, Suzie walked us into the terminal and ensured we were all right before turning to leave. We never saw her again.

On our way back home we stopped in Hong Kong and met with our contact for this project. We were all curious to find out more about Suzie Q. We were informed that she is a twenty year old Christian. Her livelihood is selling hair combs on the streets of her city. She is very brave and has a deep commitment to follow Jesus, no matter what the cost. She is always ready to perform any service to further the cause of Christ.


Yes, I probably won’t see Suzie Q until eternity. When we meet again, she’ll find out my name and I’ll finally know hers…until then, she’ll be “Suzie Q,” that brave young Christian with the bright unforgettable eyes…




(The funds for producing the Jesus Film in this language were supplied by the Lottie Moon Mission Offering, a yearly mission’s collection among Southern Baptist churches. To learn more about sharing the gospel in China, and how you can be involved, visit http://www.imb.org/.
I highly recommend the ministry of Extreme Missionary Adventures and its leader, Randy Pierce. Their website is http://www.xmaonline.com/. )




Can You Hear Me Now?


A man I encountered in a rural area of Cambodia may have been the defining image of this interesting part of Asia.

I saw him coming before he saw me. He was a rather large man for the Khmer race. What really caught my eye was his attire. All he was wearing was a loose short skirt called a sarong. He was barefooted and bare-chested. Just walking along. I thought to myself, “It’s as if we’re back in the 19th century here.” I quickly wondered if he’d ever seen a television, felt the coolness of air conditioning, or knew how electricity worked.

He did have one modern thing with him. He was smoking a cigarette and blowing the smoke up into the air as he walked along.

He was still a ways from me when I heard a strange noise. It was at the same time familiar as well as unfamiliar. The Cambodian man stopped and reached into his skirt. I quickly saw what it was as he placed it to his ear. He’d just got a call on his cell phone.
He stood there smoking, smiling, and talking as I stared in amazement.

Here was “Mr. 19th century” doing something I can’t even do in my hometown- talking on a cell phone! In Dry Creek, Louisiana you’re lucky to get two bars showing on your phone. I always tell guests at our camp that they’ve arrived in the cell phone dead zone. Others call our community the “Bermuda Triangle” of cell phones.

I’ve told many people of seeing campers at Dry Creek walking the grounds holding their cell phone high in the air, vainly trying to get reception. Once I even saw a man placing his cell phone against our flagpole hoping he’d found a makeshift antenna to connect him to the outside world. (I shouldn’t make too much fun because later I went and tried it myself just to see if it made a difference. I can attest it did not.)

Yet here I am 12,000 miles from home. In the middle of a country, Cambodia, where thirty years of civil war and unrest have left a terrible mark and here is a guy using a cell phone. His traditional dress and his embrace of modern technology is an apt description of Southeast Asia, especially Cambodia. A land where the past, present, and future seem to collide together.
Most of all, in Cambodia I saw the open doors of sharing the gospel. The country is a land of young people. Most of the leaders and professionals age fifty and above were killed by the communist Khmer Rouge or escaped the country. There is a great void of leadership and openness to new ideas. Many of the younger generation are disillusioned with the old ways and the traditional Buddhist religion. They are searching and whether they know it or not, the good news of Jesus Christ is what their heart is yearning for.

This is a nation seeking its future and identity. The harvest is ripening. It is worth whatever it takes to be a part of sharing Jesus.

Then I’m reminded of a young American couple I met in Cambodia. They are probably in their late twenties. Both had great careers back in the states. He was a pilot for Delta Airlines. She flew planes for the Air Force.

Their future looked bright and limitless.

Their journey to Cambodia started when they came there to adopt a child. Due to widespread disease and violence, there are many many orphans. They did something that so many westerners do when they visit this unusual country - they fell in love with its people. They later returned to adopt another child.

Then they left their secure careers and came to Cambodia. The day I met them, this ex-Delta pilot was helping dig a water well at a village school. He looked happy - just serving the Lord and being part of the harvest.

Over and over I saw examples of talented young people who’d left behind what we call success to serve where the work is hard and the problems are numerous. Working next to them were retired couples who’d refused to buy in to the great American dream of retiring to a condo in South Florida. Instead here they were, signed up for a three year term of serving God half a world away from their children and grandchildren.

I was once again reminded of why missionaries have always been my heroes. Ordinary men and women, with normal problems and faults, who are used by God in an extraordinary way. They’ve decided to seek the best, while forsaking earthly rewards, while laying up treasures in heaven. It’s just a matter of doing whatever it takes to make a difference.

Jim Elliott served as a missionary in Ecuador during the 1950’s. His heart was to minister to the unreached Indians of a jungle tribe. After making contact with this tribe and seeming to be making progress, he and his fellow workers were killed by the very people they came to help.
Before his death, Elliott made a statement that continues to touch lives today:
“No man is a fool who gives up what he cannot keep, to gain what he cannot lose.”

The Cambodian encounter with the cell phone reminds me that technology is a way to reach these seemingly “unreachable” areas. While many types of electronic items have been misused, the spread of the gospel through the Internet, DVD’s, satellite phones, and computers has been useful in reaching the entire world.

In Acts 1:8, Jesus told His followers, “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth."

Going to the “ends of the earth” means getting the gospel out to places that are difficult to reach. Doing whatever it takes, and taking full advantage of every area of modern technology should be part of our strategy to reaching the world.

The following two stories come from my March 2005 trip to tsunami-ravaged Indonesia. It was a life-changing trips for our entire team.

Both of these stories are in the book by Curt Iles, Hearts across the Water.


The Silent City

Our medical team, working in Sumatra for two weeks, made daily visits to at least two clinics. These were displaced centers for those who had survived the tsunami and were just trying to survive before deciding to rebuild.

Our team leaders who had been in the country for years would tell us before we left for that day's clinic, "Today you'll be up on the mountainside in an older village." Or, "This one is the farthest out. You'll see monkeys in the trees there."
But as they talked of our upcoming visit to Lampuuk they said, "It's the one where there aren't any children. It is the silent city."

As we arrived at most clinic locations we were met by a huge rush of children. They had figured out we would have crayons, coloring books, candy, and even toys from America. We quickly learned not to hand any of this out until we were ready to leave. Even then it was a chore to hold them back. Mothers would be in our face gesturing and speaking fast in Achenese saying that their children had gotten left out on the candy allotment.

But no laughing children or arguing mothers greeted us in Lampuuk. There was an eerie silence there that said more than any words could have ever spoken. The children were gone. Most of the sad-faced men present there had lost everything, including their precious families.
Out of a thriving village of 10,000, only 600 people survived the tsunami. Saddest of all, only six children survived. This included the two children of the Simeulue lady who ran through the streets trying to warn others. When no one would listen, she loaded her children in a car and rushed them to safety ahead of the first wave.

Our clinic at Lampuuk left a deep impression on all of our team. We became silent ourselves and talked in lowered voices as if in a cemetery. Looking around at the hundreds of white foundation slabs in every direction, we knew we were in the presence of a great flood of death had occurred.
I remembered the words of an old country preacher at our cemetery in Dry Creek: "We've come today to the city of the dead. This is as far as we can go before we lower this body into the ground." Looking around at the white grave markers and tombstones it did resemble a city.

A city of the dead.
A silent city.
That is exactly how Lampuuk looked and felt.
A silent city.
Once alive, but now empty.


Later the following weekend our team had Sunday off, so we each had time to do what we pleased. For some reason I wanted to return to Lampuuk. I felt this strange need to be at this village once more. The motorcycle taxi driver looked strangely at me as I requested a ride to Lampuuk.

There are few people living there now. That sunny day there were only a handful of men.
Most are gone, lost. I'm sure others have left never to return… too many bitter memories.
I spent the afternoon walking the empty streets and along the beach. I stopped where a golf course had been on the outskirts of town. I remembered one of the aid workers who lost a friend playing golf on that fateful morning. I couldn't help but wonder how it would feel to be standing here, golf club in hand, seeing the great wave approaching.

I found a shady spot under one of the few surviving trees and spent the afternoon just sketching, painting, and thinking. I painted a simple watercolor picture of what I felt like Lampuuk would look in the future:
With houses,
and gardens,
and bright colors again.

And best of all with children running and playing and laughing. The painting was not
really great but it came from my heart. In pencil I wrote on it:
To the village of Lampuuk. May the ocean once again be your friend.
May your streets be filled again with laughing children.

Before leaving Lampuuk I took it to a group of young men sitting on the porch of a makeshift store. They shared a bottle of water with me and I shared my painting with them as we attempted to visit. They knew no English and my phrasebook was inadequate for what I wanted to say. In fact, any language was inadequate for what I wished to say to them. I had no words anyway.

So I just left them the picture. They passed it around with many comments and gestures. One of them tacked it up on the wall of the little store. My own gesturing and pointing probably couldn't convey my prayers and good wishes for them.
But I'm sure someone came along later and explained the English writing. I hope they understand it and the heart it came from.
I hope it is still tacked up somewhere years later when the streets of the silent city of Lampuuk
are once again filled with the sounds of laughing children.




Henry


I met Henry among the ruins of Lampuuk on our first visit there. It had been over eleven weeks since the tsunami. Henry lived in a tent not far from the only remaining building in Lampuuk: the local Mosque. A handsome twenty-year-old with an infectious smile and wonderful personality, Henry quickly became the favorite among all of our medical team. He had excellent command of English as well as the widely spoken Basra Indonesian and the rarer Achenese dialect.

As we began to set up our medical clinic at Lampuuk, Henry came out of his tent to greet us. He seemed to be the official goodwill ambassador of the village. Henry had a cheerful, contagious smile that said, “I’ve been through a lot but I’m still standing. He also possessed a great pride that led him to question every American visitor with the same inquiry:

"Hey, have you ever met a president of your United States of America?"

Most of our replies were an honest, "No."

Our new Indonesian friend would then break out into a wide grin and proudly say,
"Well, I've shook hands with two of your presidents right here where we are standing. I visited with your presidents Bush senior and Clinton three weeks ago. We talked for over thirty minutes.” I could easily envision Henry schmoozing with our two leaders as they visited the Banda Aceh area earlier in February. I have no doubt he held his own in conversation with both of them.

Our team had earlier been told to meet Henry by a Los Angeles medical team that had befriended him and actually stayed overnight at his tent as guests.

As we visited, I asked Henry to show me where his house had been. We walked through the rubble and debris of what had once been a thriving village. He pointed to a nearby road and warned me not to cross past it. "That is rebel-controlled territory and the government cannot assure your safety past there." He shrugged as if it was no big deal. I was once again reminded that we were not only in a disaster zone, but a war zone where the Free Aceh movement had battled with governmental troops for over a decade. Due to this ongoing revolution, martial law was in force.

In every direction the only reminders of human habitation were the cement foundation slabs swept clean by the waves. We finally came to the slab that had been Henry's home. Then he began his story.

"On the morning of the earthquake everyone ran outside to look around. My dad and younger brother were with me. The shaking continued and was accompanied by a great deal of shouting and running around. When the message was passed around about the receding ocean and fish, many folks ran toward the ocean. For some reason, my father, brother, and I did not run. We simply stood there wondering what was next.

It was probably 10-15 minutes after the quake when we first heard it. You could hear the roar of the wave before you could see it. When we saw it coming everyone ran. My father and brother were behind me as we fled for our lives toward higher ground."

As Henry spoke, he pointed off to a grove of tall coconut trees about one-half mile away. "That is where I was headed. The wave, it was actually three waves traveling together, was moving about 30 kilometers per hour- slow enough to outrun for a short distance. Looking back I saw my father and brother trailing farther behind me. When the wave washed over the Mosque it was about to there on its side." Henry pointed to a spot about thirty feet high on the Mosque wall. Although it had stood, the entire Mosque was gutted and the stairwells had been torn away.

Henry continued as he pointed back toward the grove of trees, "The last I saw of my father and brother was when they were overtaken by the water. Eventually the water reached me and I frantically tried to run in it, and then swim. The debris being pushed along hindered free movement. I passed out and later awoke on higher ground near the trees. I have no idea how I escaped."

Henry's story and the way he so dispassionately told it touched me. It was as if he was describing a normal event or the happenings on another planet. I wondered how many times he had related his tale. Just because he told it without much emotion did not mean it was not burned deep into his soul. Here was a young man, the age of my sons, who had lost everything.
In the coming days we spent a great deal of time with Henry as he traveled with us to many of the clinics. He was great help with the older patients who spoke mainly Achenese. He would "interpret for the interpreters" as he translated the patient's Achenese symptoms to the interpreter who translated it into English for our doctors.

I think back to the difficulty of starting the renovation of an area so utterly devastated. Then I think of Henry. He had an optimism that the storm had not washed away. A deep inner resolve that was evident and indicative of the Achenese people we met and grew to love.

The task of rebuilding northern Sumatra, just like our task now in New Orleans and throughout our part of Louisiana, is completely overwhelming. In Lampuuk that day very little rebuilding had been done, even after three months. I thought to myself, "How would you even know where to start?"

Then I think about the young people I met there- Henry and his wonderful smile and "can do" personality. I see the faces of Raihail and her student nurses. I think of Saeed our driver each day.

And Dedek, a young Indonesian who worked with us. Then there is Jenni, a vibrant young Indonesian from another part of the country, casting her lot with these Achenese to rebuild their lives and cities. Plus there will be countless others who will be called upon to rebuild their cities.
The new Lampuuk will be different. Just as the new New Orleans will be also different. And as always, it will be young minds, and young hearts, and innovative minds that lead the way.

A Broken Pencil Honduras

"A Broken Pencil"
La Esperanza, Honduras
By Curt Iles
www.creekbank.net

From the book The Old House by Curt Iles (2002)

I stood in muddy water in the middle of what was now a raging stream. Only an hour ago this spot was the middle of a dirt road on the side of a hill in northwestern Honduras. We arrived here at the home of a family to set up our video equipment and screen to show The Jesus Film.
Upon arrival a few hours before dark our team, consisting of missionary Billy Capps, Randy Pierce, my son Clay and I, was met by a group of smiling dark Honduran children. Setting up our screen and tarps, we kept an eye on the sky above the surrounding mountains. It was May and that meant the beginning of the rainy season in Central America. So we worked hard on our tarps to have them ready for a storm, should one come.
While we waited for dusk and a crowd to gather, we showed the children witnessing beads and bracelets that explained the plan of salvation. As I tied a bracelet on a dark eyed boy, I laughed as I recalled last night’s service when we ran out of bracelets before the Honduran pastor’s elderly mother received one. The intense Spanish of the pastor to our interpreter, Alexis, didn’t have to be fully understood for us to realize his momma badly wanted a bracelet, too. We dug in our bag in the truck and found the black, red, white, and yellow beads. I was out of leather strips so I improvised one with a rubber band and the old woman gave a contented toothless smile as I placed it on her wrist.
Tonight, we’ve come with plenty of bracelets and leather strips. We are happily handing out the beads and trying to explain their significance. Alexis, a young seminary student and our interpreter for the week, is using the microphone and amplifiers to invite the surrounding settlements to attend and see the video.
If you aren’t familiar with The Jesus Film, let me briefly tell about it. It is a two-hour production, based on the gospel of Luke, that simply shares and shows who Jesus is- from his birth to his resurrection. Produced in 1978, it is extremely well acted and professionally produced. It is widely used the world over and has been viewed by an estimated four billion people. The Jesus Film is available now in over 273 languages.
Tonight’s language, of course, Spanish. Alexis continues his invitation to attend, and to my English ears it is as if a machine gun is shooting out his staccato Spanish. As Randy Pierce sets up the large screen and adjusts the video projector, DVD player, and generator. To test everything, Randy begins the film. He chooses to use Chinese as the language for this test run. Here we are in the mountains of Honduras, watching Jesus speak Chinese, with the subtitles also in the same language.
As dusk approaches, a small crowd of forty or so has gathered. Most perch on benches in the roadway or sit with us along the ditch bank. Off in the surrounding darkness I can make out the forms of people, mostly men, who will not come closer, but sit at a distance under the trees.
As the film begins, every eye is on the screen. We are miles from any electricity and I wonder if any of these folks have ever seen a movie. The quietly humming generator runs the DVD player as the light of the movie reflects off the rapt faces of the Hondurans.
I shift my seat on the bank and pull out my bag of corn nuts. My new friend, Leonel, who has come with us nightly, grins appreciatively as I fill his hand with the delicious salted nuts. Suddenly, on the other side I feel a body snuggling up to me. I turn to see a precious girl, whom I’d met earlier, holding her hand out for corn nuts too. I recall that her name is Denise and gladly pour corn nuts into her little eight-year-old hand.
She munches contentedly and snuggles closer to me. We’ve each found a new friend, and it doesn’t really matter to me that our friendship is based on my corn nuts.
The movie continues. Just about the time that Jesus stills the storm on the Sea of Galilee, the first raindrops fall. Then a clap of thunder introduces the real rain and the bottom drops out. Everyone runs for cover under the two tarps. Within minutes the road is running inches deep in water. The wind blows rain in on the huddled women, boys, and children. Our tarp, though secure, is holding water in a low spot and we work hard periodically dumping the water out before it collapses on the people.
Finally, after about twenty minutes of raining hard, it slackens. By now Jesus is on His way to Jerusalem. It’s still raining hard but not nearly as hard as it was earlier. I slip to a drier area under the tarp and sit on a log. Settling down I feel someone snuggle next to me on my right side. I’m not really surprised to see the smiling face of my friend Denise. She nods yes as I extricate the corn nut bag from my rain jacket. She crunches contentedly as our gaze returns to the screen.
Then, on my left side I feel the warmth of another human body. A Honduran woman is sitting beside me. It’s very dark but I can make out her smile and tell her hello, as I return my attention to the film. On the crowded log we are tightly packed and I feel the woman’s body against my shoulder. From her side smacking sounds distract me, and with my eyes now adjusted to the darkness, I see that this Honduran mother is nursing her infant child, oblivious to this embarrassed Yankee seated next to her. My only thought is, “I sure am a long way from home here!”
Finally, through an hour of steady rain, the film ends. The Jesus Film features a wonderful invitation at the end giving each viewer the opportunity to invite Jesus into their life. Alexis stands in the rain and issues a call for all who’ve made this decision to come forward. From back in the crowd a young boy steps forward. Soon there is a small group of teenage boys who came forward one by one. They are being soaked as they stand in the pouring rain, but it doesn’t look as if they really care.
As long as I live I will have the picture in my mind of these seven boys gathered around Alexis as he prays with them. They had made a decision to come to Jesus and were going to do whatever it took to receive him, regardless of the rain or what anyone else thought.
Then I recalled the story of the four men in the second chapter of Mark’s gospel who brought their lame friend to see Jesus. Finding Jesus in a crowded room teaching, they went to the roof and after cutting a hole, lowered their friend to the wonderful Savior. They had a “whatever it takes” attitude to bring their friend to Jesus. Isn’t that exactly what we should have concerning the Savior? There is no distance too great, no weather too bad, no obstacle too large, and no wall too high. Whatever it takes, we need to bring others to Jesus.
This night reminds me of how we in America really don’t know what commitment and sacrifice are about. Here are people who’ve walked miles to see this film. Some of them are willing to stand in the pouring rain to show their desire to follow the amazing Son of God, Jesus. After the film, many will make long walks in the dark and up slippery muddy mountain paths as they trudge homeward. It humbles me as to how I take so many things for granted and often do not really show gratitude for my blessings.

During our time in Honduras an event occurs that leaves a deep impression on me, even to this day. Here is what happened:
At camp in Louisiana we use various objects to communicate the gospel as we share with young people. Mike Paxton, pastor of First Baptist of Kinder, is one of the best at using these objects to illustrate a point.
One of the best illustrations he uses is called “The Sin Trap.” Mike takes a big rat trap and decorates it with glitter and fake jewels. On the bottom of the base he has written “sin trap.” As he is talking to youth, he is holding the baited trap which is also set and ready to snap shut.
A big eight-inch rat trap is powerful and could probably break your finger. Mike deftly handles it. He pulls a pencil out of his pocket and begins to poke the baited area with the pencil. All the while he is telling about how Satan makes sin look so inviting, just like that morsel of cheese looks good to the rat. Mike continues, “Furthermore, Satan will let you play around with sin until you get comfortable and then he’ll get you.” Mike then springs the trap, which loudly snaps the pencil in two.
It is a memorable lesson that gets the attention of youth and communicates the message that there is always a price to pay for sin. As my son Clay and I prepare for our trip to Honduras, I make my own sin trap. I hope that with my limited Spanish, this visual lesson will help them understand. The only difference on my trap is that on the bottom I inscribe: “Pecado trampa,” which means "sin trap" in Spanish. Additionally, I put several pencils in my pack.
While in the mountains of rural Honduras, we stayed in the home of Southern Baptist missionaries Billy and Betty Capps. Each night we would travel to one of the nearby areas to show The Jesus Film. Billy Capps drove a Toyota four-wheel drive truck that could go anywhere. We nicknamed the truck “Lottie Moon,” because the money used to buy this truck came from the annual offering we Baptists take for the needs of our missionaries. The offering, taken at Christmas, is named after one of our earliest and greatest missionaries, Lottie Moon of China.
On our second day in Honduras, I showed Billy Capps my sin trap. At the end, I impressively sprung the trap and the pencil loudly broke in two as one end flew across the room. As Billy nodded at my exhibition, I could tell he wanted to tell me something, but was hesitant. Then he kindly told me, “That is a great lesson. However, if you willingly break a pencil in front of these people, they will be very disturbed. You see, most of them have never had a pencil of their own, and it would really upset them to see something so precious purposely destroyed.”
I was so embarrassed and ashamed… Here I was, having done this little trick over and over with numerous pencils and it never even entered my mind how wasteful I was being. Needless to say, I didn’t use any pencils with my sin trap. It was just as easily done with a small stick. It was very effective as I told them about Satan’s schemes and strategies, the whole time being interpreted by one of the young men with us. The snapping of the trap always elicited an excited response and I believe the lesson was conveyed.
However, the most important lesson was learned by me. Here was something I thought nothing of- a measly pencil, but to these people it was a treasured prize. I thought of how many pencils are probably in my house. I know every time I look under the couch or recliner, there are several. Yet, here I was, so ignorant of these people and their needs.
Since that trip I’ve shown the sin trap many times. Nevertheless, never have I, and never will again, willingly break a pencil.

God, help us in America not tot be so wasteful and thoughtless. We have so much and appreciate it so little. Teach us to have gratitude for all that we have.

“To whom much is given, much is expected.”

I can wholeheartedly recommend Macedonian Missions (now entitled Xtreme Missionary Adventures (XMA) ministries at www.xmaonline.org ) and my friend, Randy Pierce. This ministry serves to link volunteers on work projects and Jesus Film trips with Christian missions throughout the world. If you’d like more information, visit their site.
The yearly Southern Baptist Lottie Moon mission offering takes place each December. All funds given go to directly meet the needs for over 5000 missionaries worldwide. Go to www.imb.org to receive more information on how you can give and pray.
To find out more about The Jesus Film, contact their website at [www.jesusfilm.org.].