What it feels like to be Homesick

I don't talk about it as often as I think it. I've learned to hide it best I can.

Maybe it's because I'm the youngest mission in the country. Maybe it's because I'm so attached to my family. Maybe it's because my dogs are cute. Maybe it's because I left such wonderful friends. Maybe I'm just too emotional. But sometimes I really feel like no other missionaries are homesick like I am. It's probably because all the missionaries more homesick than I am have already gone home.

Every time we talk on the phone or get an e-mail we ask how are parents are doing. Of course, we are genuinely interested. Sometimes we try and read between the lines to what they are saying knowing that perhaps they are not telling us everything so as not to worry us. I sometimes feel really evil wishing that one of our parents would get sick so we would have to come home. You know, not sick enough to really worry us, just sick enough to merit us coming home. I know, it's an evil thought for me to have and I'm sorry. I'm know I'm just looking for excuses. But at the same time it would feel good to be needed. Babbette's mom has cancer and she hasn't gone home. Isabelle's dad just died leaving her mom all alone and she hasn't gone home. Most missionary parents are in their 80's. Our parents are relatively young. Actually, Jean Paul is the same age as my own father and he's still a missionary. It really seems like everyone here is glued to their assignment. I guess that is a good thing. I never hear anyone talking about leaving or going home for good. It's a taboo subject. But sometimes I think it would help to talk about it. Actually, if a missionary couple actually does leave their assignment without an obvious reason such as a death in the family or a serious health problem, you never have a clue they are going to leave.  

I know after this I'm going to get a ton of e-mails about how good a work we are doing and how we should keep it up. The thing is, I know all that already. Actually, that is why we are here. Five years and counting. Yep, counting every single day and every single hour. A lot longer than some missionaries actually stayed in their assignments. I know this is the most important work being done on earth right now. And I know I could be doing nothing else that could be more satisfying. I know it's worth all the sacrifice. Actually, if it wasn't this hard for me would it really be a sacrifice? I know that a lot of you would like to trade me places right now if we could. I know that not everyone would even be capable of doing what we are doing. I've always said that if I am able to do this work, I should.   Knowing all that doesn't change the fact that I wish I were back home right now. The questions is, how long am I physically and mentally able to do this?

It comes in waves actually. Or maybe I can force myself to forget it for awhile. Basically, I just keep so busy that I don't have a minute to think about it. I think that's why I watch TV shows- it's mindless. But then I read a book about the bond of sisters and I can't stop crying because I miss mine so much. Or I look at the moon and I think how my mom likes to look it at it too or how my brother likes to sing outside at midnight. I know how I feel about them will never never change so I know I will never get “over” being homesick. And if it never gets better how much longer can I take it?

I used to hear stories about missionaries who would go on vacation and just never come back to their assignment and I would think “what a weird thing to do.” But now I think I understand it. There are stories of those who went home after just one day in their assignment. Those after one week. Or those after three years. I want to say that they really didn't give it a chance but really how can I know what they were feeling? Sometimes it's better when we have a vacation planned and in the works because at least then I know of the date when I will be back home again. But can you believe that I'm already agonizing over how hard it will be to leave to come back here again? I guess that's why I need a vacation. I need to spend so much time with family and eat so many Whoppers that I say “okay, that's enough, I'm ready to go back now.” Then again, every time I leave, can I ever truly say I am ready to leave?

I guess that's the question. How do I know when it's time to leave your assignment. How do I know when you've truly had enough? I know I should be setting a good example for all those “baby” missionaries out there. And I know that all those experienced pros with years and years of seniority are all saying right now “What a rookie!” But this is how I feel. Here are my feelings all naked and raw posted on the Internet. My diary is all unlocked and public. Maybe I shouldn't post this and just let everyone believe that I'm super-missionary with a heart of stone. Can I really be the only one feeling this way?

They say when you are tired it's worse. But when is missionary not tired? They say try not to think about the past. But I'm not, I'm thinking of where I want to be today! They say don't wish for what you can't have. Thing is it's like it's dangling out in front of me like a tease because this is the life I actually chose. No one is forcing me to be here. When Jehovah says “Whom shall I send?” I can't actually find it in myself to say “Not me!”

If we do come home in a year or two someone will probably remember this blog and say “See I knew it! I knew she couldn't last much longer. I knew she was having a breakdown.” Thing is it's not a breakdown. It's the way I've felt even before we left for Gilead. When I thought about leaving my family I burst into tears. I still have the same reaction. It's the way I feel every day of every month of every year. To me, this is the hardest part of missionary life. Maybe it's because I love them so much or maybe it's just because I'm a weak person. I'm sure for others it's different. Actually, I'm sure for most it's different. But this is my missionary life, one day at a time, a privilege and a curse all rolled into one. - Linka

Wicked Denise And Other Short Stories

Wicked Denise

We've been hearing rumors from girls who are in the same school class as Denise. They say that Denise, age 14 and one of my studies who is now baptized, is “Wicked”. But what does that mean? A return visit who is in the the same class answers: “When we have a test in school Denise doesn't even let her best friend, who sits right beside her, cheat off of her page. She won't even give her one answer!” This isn't the first time we've heard about Denise acting “Wicked” in school. “Every time we try to talk to her about boys or silly things she tells us she's not interested and walks away. She's not like us.” Even the teacher knows that Denise is not like the other youths in his class. Turns out that in a class of over forty students, only Denise and one other Witness student are virgins. Although she was embarrassed at first to talk about the subject, she has given a fine witness saying that it may be difficult but it's definitely possible to follow Bible standards and that is what she has chosen to do. The teacher, not knowing whether to praise or criticize her stand says “You're still young, wait until you are older. You'll give in.” But Denise is determined to stay faithful to Jehovah and she knows it's worth the effort. Every night before she goes to bed she reads in one of her Young People Ask books. She even takes it to school and reads during breaks. When I asked her what she thinks when the girls call her wicked for not cheating for talking about boys with them she says “I'm proud to be different. Even if the clothes they wear are modest I wont buy the same thing because I don't want to be seen as part of their group. It might be hard to follow bible standards but it's definitely possible.” Denise's mom tells me “If only I knew the truth when I was her age, I could have avoided so many problems!” We commend Denise for her determination. Her goal is to auxiliary pioneer all summer. No doubt Jehovah will bless her for all her efforts.

Seny

Sunday I stand off to the side of the front doors of our Kingdom Hall. Since there is no air conditioning, the coolest spot in the Hall is next to the front door where some times the breeze will blow in. There I stand as I see a young girl, about 16 years old, walking up the gravel path through the big red metal gates. Our Kingdom Hall has been packed the last few Sundays and it's hard to know everyone who attends but I don't think I've seen this girl before. She is petite but walks with confidence. She is dressed in a smart looking outfit and I am immediately envious of her style. African material in the pattern of a short sleeve suit with buttons down the front and a skirt with just perfect pleats at the bottom edge. She doesn't say hello to people as she walks in but I don't take it as rudeness. Some of the brothers finally stop her and reach out with a friendly handshake. Turns out it's her first time coming to the Kingdom Hall. Ah, just as I suspected. She didn't say hello to anyone because she isn't used to people being nice to her for no reason. I wait to greet her after the brothers welcome her. I introduce myself and I tell her that I heard that this is her first time here and I ask her where she lives. She lives in Boma about an hour walk away. “Who invited you?” Someone asks. “No one, I came on my own.” Turns out that Seny's older sister lives in a nearby town which has a nice little Kingdom Hall and a tiny congregation. Seny's sister told her that Jehovah's Witnesses were good people. So Seny decided to come and see for herself. I take Seny and introduce her to Jeanette a young sister about Seny's age and ask if Seny can sit beside her for the meeting. During the meeting I keep a close eye on the two and see that Jeanette is sharing her bible and Watchtower with Seny and she is closely following along. After the meeting Seny tells Jeanette that her live-in boyfriend is not happy that she wants to come to the Kingdom Hall and she asks what she should do. Jeanette says that she should work hard at home and make sure that all her housework is done before she comes to the meeting. She should show respect and by her good conduct she can show him that learning about the Bible is a good thing. And then in the end, if he does not want her to study the Bible then she should think seriously whether or not he is the right guy for her. The good conduct of Jehovah's Witnesses in another city helped to motivate Seny to visit the Kingdom Hall and the good conduct and good advice from our young sisters encourages Seny to take the Bible seriously. Seny is determined to continue attending meetings.

Bob Marley Lives!

Being a missionary in Guinea you learn to watch people closely. Sometimes you get a “vibe” and you know that something is up. Sometimes even a dangerous riot can “seen” in advance just by judging the mood of the people. May 11^th we got one of those feelings that somethings was up. People were well dressed and there were many children on the streets. I asked Denise (also known as “Wicked Denise”) if she knew why there were so many people walking around today. She says “Oh yeah, it's the anniversary of the death of Bob Marley. It's not official, it's even illegal, but almost everyone took the day off of school to commemorate it. If you look around you will see that almost everyone is wearing his 'colors'.” She is right, even as we are walking out in service I see a bunch of kids wearing multicolor hats. “But Bob Marley died so long ago? And he wasn't even that special!” I say in protest to this made-up illegal holiday. Denise says “I know and today in class that very argument was brought up. The teacher asked why do we celebrate Bob Marley? A student stood up and said because he was a good musician. 'But there are lots of good musicians why him?' The teacher asked. No one was able to respond. Then one kid said 'because he was a drug addict?'” The teacher ended the discussion by saying “Why should we celebrate the life of a known drug addict just because he played good music when there are so many other people who are a good example and live good lives?” I guess the memory of Bob Marley is alive and well in Guinea. I can't help but think of all those who made excuses about not being able to come to the memorial of Jesus' death. I wonder if those same ones took off of school and work today? It sure shows how the way people think today can be easily influences by the wrong people.

Peter Almost Dies

It happened one afternoon after Peter dropped me off to work out in service with another sister. He headed off to one of his studies by himself. There are no street names in Guinea but Peter and I have named this particular stretch “The Hill of Death”. The name goes back to before we had our motorcycle. This particularly steep hill seemed impossible to climb after four hours of walking out in service. Even when we would take our bicycles when we we would reach the top of this hill we were always out of breath. But this day Peter was on our motorcycle, as always he was wearing his helmet. As he approached the bottom of The Hill of Death he saw that there was a car being towed near the top. Just as he was looking at it he saw the tow rope break! The car apparently had no breaks because it was rolling back down the hill at full speed! There was someone in the car trying to steer but because he was rolling backward he was having a hard time going in the direction he wanted to. The car swerves way to the right and nearly misses some people walking. The car swerves to the left and people are screaming and running to get away. Back and forth it goes as the driver tries to gain some kind of control. As the car gets closer Peter decides to take a chance and pulls his motorcycle all the way to the right side of the road until he can get no farther because there is a bridge and a river on the other side. Fortunately, just then the runaway car swerves to the opposite side of the road to where Peter is. Finally at the bottom the hill, the car comes to a stop just inches away from a lot filled with motorcycles being washed by young boys. Everyone in the neighborhood starts yelling at the driver of the vehicle and Peter drives away unharmed. Later, when Peter picks me back up he casually mentions “Oh yeah, I almost died today...” Fortunately, no one was injured but it does remind us that life in a foreign country can be dangerous in many different ways.  And that a missionaries' life is always full of adventure!

Hope you enjoyed these few short stories of life in Guinea. Please be patient as I we continue to work on our house and I don't get to write very often. But don't worry, I'm saving up lots of little stories to tell you all about.  - Linka

Just another day...

I haven't tapped the keys of my keyboard in quite awhile. Though in some ways the life of a missionary in Guinea is calm and boring with the lack of movie theaters and restaurants, parks and shopping malls, we are never at a loss for something to do. Especially this past month we've been extra busy. With the return of our fellow missionaries from elder school in the capital we started dividing up our large missionary home and transforming it into two apartments. Half the furniture from upstairs had to be brought down. Fortunately, because we have such a large missionary home we have two of most things. One refrigerator stays upstairs and one comes down. One stove stays and one goes. One microwave beeps away on the top floor and one on the bottom. Not only moving has to be done but dividing between the two couples and then an extensive inventory. For some reason we are required to report exactly what is in our house. How many mattresses, chairs and tables? But not only that, we also need to count up every fork, spoon and knife. Every dish and random appliance needs to be accounted for and written down. Through it all we are trying to organize our house, cope with repairs such as water leaks and that is without even mentioning a full schedule out in service and congregation obligations. These past couple of weeks have been jam packed to the brim and we go to bed exhausted.  You can see why I haven't had much time to sit at the computer and write to you all.  

A fine example of our busy schedule is what we did today. At 8 am there is a knock at the front door. A brother who is a mason from the other congregation came to fill some holes in our walls and repairs some windows that have been letting rain water pour into the house and ruining the walls. The brother starts work as Peter and I head off to the meeting for field service. Peter only stays to do the meeting and I head off on foot. Peter heads back home to survey the work being done. By the time he arrives a second brother is already hard at work. He is working on our drainage ditch and front yard.  

A young brother accompanies me for three out of my five studies that I usually have on Wednesday morning. I decided not to go to the other two because to walk there it would take over an hour in separate directions. Peter will take me to those studies tomorrow with our motorcycle. Kakora is the only person at the meeting for field service this morning and I am glad that he can come with me. Happily a few minutes later we find my first study at home. She is sitting on a little rug of goat skin and she smiles as she sees us walking up. She is a young girl who is a refugee from Cote d'Ivoire named Vanessa. She says she has work to do but that we can study for a little while. I take advantage of the opportunity and invite her neighbor to sit in. The neighbor girl is also from Cote d'Ivoire and her name is Alan and her baby girl is named Tequila (Funny huh?). Since we are studying in the Friend of God brochure our study only takes about 15 minutes. I have to give her a new brochure though because the last one was stolen by one of her brothers and he refuses to give it back. I tell her to hide the new one. We have a good study and she thanks us again and again for coming.  

We head to another one of my studies. As we walk up to the house a young boy greets us. I ask if Angel is there. He says yes she is and then runs inside the tiny house. I can hear Angel's voice but she sounds like she is sleeping or sick. After much discussion the boy come out and unconvincingly says “My sister has gone out.” We know that this is a lie but we try not to be discouraged. Every single baptized brother or sister in our hall has at one time or another hid from the person who came to study with them. I could tell that today was not a good day for Angel but I'll be back next week. At my third study no one is home.

I tell you about these couple of return visits that didn't quite work out to show that even though missionaries often have great experiences and many Bible studies, we also have people who hide from us and even the occasional not-at-home. But that doesn't mean that we give up.

After, I head straight home to help out with the work being done there.  I set down my backpack then grab a couple of trash bags and start picking up papers in front of our house. We have a nice enclosed courtyard with a tall fence and gate that is kept immaculately clean but I noticed that once you step outside our gate from our door to the street is exceptionally dirty. I also noticed that because of top soil run off, our cement draining ditch is nearly filled with all mud.  And since the weeds have over grown where it meets the dirt , water pools and has become a melting pot of slime and mosquitoes. Not a good thing to have a few feet from where you sleep in a country where malaria runs rampant. I've asked a brother to come and help me clean up. So there I go picking up papers as the brother cleans out the ditch with a shovel and cuts grass with a machete. But before I know it we are surrounded. Children from the whole neighborhood have seen what we are doing and they come to help. About 20 children under the age of 6 years old come and help me pull weeds and pick up papers. It's a game, I see a paper and I point to it, then 5 kids run towards it and fight over who gets to pick it up. In the mean time I've seen another paper and I've picked up myself. The children watching me raise their hands yelling and jumping up and down “Me! Me!” they want me to chose them to hand the paper to so they can throw it away. After one little girl helps me clean for about an hour she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a banana and gives it to me as a gift. She just paid me for letting her clean my yard! After the trash bags are filled the children lift them up, balance them on their heads and run off to the dumping spot. Once there they don't throw the whole bag away, they empty it and bring it back to be refilled. From our tiny front yard we fill 5 bags full of trash including several hundred plastic bags, glass, syringes, condoms, shoes, corn cobs, mango seeds and containers of various shapes and sizes. While we are cleaning up one of the neighbor ladies walks by and smiles at me and she shakes her head. “Why are you cleaning up?” She asks. “Because it was dirty and we want it to look nice,” I reply. “But you have your nice courtyard, this is outside your yard.” “Yes but every time we go in and out we see the trash. Besides, every day our neighbors look at our house and I don't want them to see trash.” True to the Guinea culture, it is hard for her to understand that someone would clean the road just so it will look nice. After we are finished a cleansing rain falls and it seems like Jehovah has added the final touch to our now clean front yard and road.  I can't wait until the day when we will clean the road up and it will stay clean.  What exciting work it will be when we get to help expand the paradise to include the whole earth!

Peter and I are inside now but the work is not finished. The other brother continues work inside and though Peter and I sneak away to eat egg sandwiches, Peter has to quickly get back to helping the brother. Happily, and with a little guilt, I take a short, much needed, nap. Then Peter and I head out for our afternoon studies. The rain has kept us home and we start out a little later than usual. The cold wind throws stray rain drops against our faces as we zip through the streets trying to avoid the larger mud puddles with our motorcycle. Our studies are surprised to see us since the sky is dark gray and it's been raining off and on all afternoon. Peter and I decided that it would be worth the effort to go to our studies even if we got a little wet. We are rewarded for our efforts.  Our three studies are home and enthusiastic about studying.  By the time we start home it's getting dark and the air is frigid. As we walk in the door all we can think about is warming up with a hot cup of tea. But our work is not done yet. We have to sweep and mop all the floors and put back furniture that was moved by the workers.  Service is not done either, we have two more studies who are coming to the house in the late evening. By the time we get ready for bed we are exhausted. Tomorrow morning, another day in service and a few more house projects.  Just another day in the life of a missionary.

A Fun Night In

This week Peter and I are home alone. The missionary couple whom we share our home with have left to the capital for elder school. Last summer Peter was very excited to be able to attend elder school in Arizona with his brother and best friend. But when he was invited to go again here in Guinea he thought it would be nice to do it again in French. But then somebody checked the rules or something and he was suddenly uninvited. It would have been nice to attend for the second time but at least this way we don't have to make the long trip to the capital and I don't have to take vacations days in order to go with him. So that also means that this week we have the house to ourselves.

We decided to take advantage and invite a family over for dinner. We decided to invite the Goépogui family over. The father is baptized and I study with the mother and two daughters who are all now publishers. Sunday one of the daughters, Marie, came with me to study with two other young girls who attend meetings. As part of the study we reviewed the last page of the Awake! magazine that just arrived and filled in the blanks of the questions for families. Then I showed them how to cut out the card with the Bible person on it and fold it in half into cards. The girls, including Marie had never done that before and they thought that it was the coolest thing. Later when they all went home they pulled out all their old magazines and cut out all the cards (right now in Guinea we have 16). When Marie's dad got home and saw her cutting up the magazines he got mad! “Why are you cutting them all up!” “Because Ilynca told me too!” She replied. Then she showed him the little scissor symbol on top of the card that shows they are meant to be cut and she explained that we were quizzing each other with them and that I said I knew how to play games with them. So Emanuel pulled out any magazines he had and helped Marie find all the cards. Then they even went and got them laminated. At the next meeting the whole family came up to me and said asked “What do we do with the cards now?” So Peter and I invited them to dinner at our house with the promise of playing some games with the cards.

We told them that we were going to cook “American food”. What's more American than Pizza?! They had never tried it before. A typical meal here is rice with a leafy oily fish sauce on top. Bread with tomato sauce and cheese seemed really strange to them. All four of them have had never even eaten cheese before. But they were good sports even when we told them that you eat it with your hands. That was no problem for them because Guineans eat most meals with their hands. Rice? No problem, just roll it into a little ball and lick your fingers! They said they liked the pizza but it's hard to tell for sure if they were just being polite.

Afterwards we invited them into our room. We showed them a few pictures from Arizona. Where we used to live, what are families look like and of course, our dogs. Then we played games with the Bible cards. First we read the description of the person on the back of the card (being careful to hide the front with the picture). Who ever was the fasted to raise their hand and guess correctly the Bible person won the card (1 point). Later we switched to the front of the card. You get to know the name of the person this time but you have to answer the questions in order to win the card. We all had a blast and it was surprising Bible characters that they knew that we didn't and vice versa.

Afterwards we introduced them to something else very “American”: WII! (A video Game) We played bowling, tennis, golf and baseball. It was a first time for them even to see these sports. All they know here is soccer (which they call football). But they caught on quick. Even the parents joined in. After several hours of fun we ate homemade vanilla cream pie for desert. They asked “What do we do? Do we mix it all up before we eat it?” “You can if you want to. Just eat it.” Sorry, my cream pie doesn't come with instructions.

It was a fun night in. It forced Peter to and I to clean the house and our room so we aren't lazy slobs while are house-mates area away. And we now have left-over pizza for lunch the rest of the week. We also spent a most enjoyable time with a nice family. They say next time we are eating at their house. They are planning on making a Guinean meal: mango fish sauce over rice. Sounds good. At least it's not grasshoppers or termites!-- Linka

Wrong and Wronged

It's six thirty a.m. and I head out for a run. I am careful not to slam the front door since I know Peter is still fast asleep, happily guarding our bed. This is only my second run since my month long hiatus after I burned my leg. The large pink spot where the dead gray skin peeled away is new flesh. The sweat glands haven't exactly figured out how to start working again so after a few minutes the pink spot turns bright red and resembles a bulls eye target. My muscles feel tight and I imagine the trapped toxins being washed away by adrenaline as my feet pound against the dirt and rock of Africa. This is just what I need today, a cleansing of my body and mind.  

Yesterday I felt especially stressed, even my dreams were tormented. It was the culmination of a month long disagreement between myself and another sister. It always happens like this- I just happen to say we've never attended a funeral in Guinea and bamm! A few days later a brother unexpectedly dies. A little while back we had the Watchtower on pursuing peace in the congregation and I remark that happily, I've never had any serious disputes with another brother or sister and I wonder how I would react in that situation. Bamm! The next thing I know I am standing there while a sister wags her finger accusingly in my face. Why didn't I just say I never find $10 on the floor or I never find a chocolate bar on my pillow? No, instead I have to wonder if I have the Christian qualities to survive a heated dispute.

Peter and I talked about it at length in the way that men do, it took all of five minutes. But the woman that I am I know my feelings are hovering at the surface bruised and battered by this injustice. So I do what comes naturally to clear my mind, I run and I write. It all started about a month ago while working out in service with a sister. While doing one of my studies she was especially quiet so I asked if she wanted to add anything to the discussion. Oh how I wish now that I had never asked her to add anything! A couple of minutes later I can't believe what I am hearing. She is blatantly misapplying a key scripture on a serious matter. I quickly take back the conversation and say almost the exact opposite of what she just said. And now because my poor student is confused, I am obliged to give further explanation and examples until the point is clear. The sister chimes in with her own examples that seem appropriate and I think she was listening and got the point also.  

You may say that I was hypersensitive to this particular subject. Recently, while this sister and her husband were traveling, this exact same scripture was misapplied by someone in our congregation and it lead to serious sin. Peter gave a very direct local needs part at the hall about it and it stuck with me. But before I go to this sister about the scripture I have to make sure I have all my points and scriptures correct. So I go home and tell Peter what happen. He and I are one flesh and I tell him everything, apparently this will be an issue later as well. But for the moment we do research together and verify that because of context, the scripture was wrongly used in this situation. He says, “don't worry, it's a clear case of misapplication. I'll just mention it to her husband when I see him next and he'll explain it to her.” For me, I thought it was over then and that would be the last I would hear about it. But it was not.

If I could pull out two overall themes from six months of Gilead school the first would be “Context”, this was a clear case of taking into consideration context of verse and it's application. The second point ingrained in us day after day in Gilead was “Get Along With Others”. Though in Gilead they were primarily talking about those whom we live with in the missionary home, I could already see my Gilead training coming into play in this situation. I made my own excuses for the sister. Maybe she didn't understand the French. Maybe she meant to say something else. Maybe I heard her wrong.

There comes a point in every dispute where a reasonable person has to stop and take an honest look at himself. Is there ANY possibility that I could be wrong? Am I letting my pride get in the way of accepting the truth of the matter? Do I have the very latest references in Watchtower Library? Did I misunderstand the French? I asked myself these questions over and over. I wanted to be wrong! At least then I could correct the problem, let her know that I had misunderstood and then forget about it. But what happens when you are right? What do you do if by agreeing with another person it would mean conceding to a non scriptural view? My conscience would not let me accept an erroneous answer as correct. I had to stand my ground out of faithfulness to the truth in God's word.

So that's what I did for the next three conversations. Once at the Kingdom Hall, once in service and once in the living room of our home. Printed Watchtower reference littered the table with highlighted and underlined portions in multicolor. Our Bibles in hand, all we could do in the end was listen. Before they came to our house I spent quiet time praying and meditating, asking Jehovah for his help. I had decided that my theme scripture for this conversation would be James 1:19 “Be swift about hearing, slow about speaking, slow about wrath.” I know that the more you talk the easier it becomes to say something you wish you could take back. So I decided to listen. On that last visit we listened for over an hour. Peter and I didn't say more than a few sentences. At this point we felt that whatever we said was going to be quickly dismissed. After each of these visits I came away with a headache. My body felt tense, my heart was beating fast and even my hands were shaking. It's stressful to feel as if you are being attacked personally. As I sat there listening I recited christian qualities and fruitage of the spirit in my head and asked myself if I was showing each quality in this case (Galatians 5:24). Love, mildness, long-suffering, patience, peace, kindness, goodness, faith etc... Then I heard the words of 1 Corinthians 6:7. Funny how even though they are the words of the apostle Paul, in my mind I hear them in the voice of one of our Gilead instructors. “Why not let yourself be wronged?”


Every ounce of me wanted to stand up and refute the false accusations of what felt like a personal attack but I knew that it would do no good. Instead this was a time were I had to exercise self control, be quiet and mild and just let myself be wronged and try and preserve the peace. I did my best and here is were faith comes in, faith that Jehovah will take care of the rest.   All I can do now is to learn from the experience. And that's why I write about it today. I want to tell every person that I meet the silliness of what was said and how crazy it made me but that wouldn't be right. Part of me wants to tell you every little detail and inferred insult and even search for your approval. But that is not the point of me writing this down. The point is that I want to learn from this experience. This is part of not only the missionary life but also the Christian life. I can see how easy it is once you say something to stick to it even though you may later find out it was not correct. We are all flawed and because of our pesky imperfection, we all have a grain of pride in us. But whether that grain of pride grows into a giant tree that blocks our view is up to us. I know that I've been guilty in the past of saying something, then coming to the conclusion that it wasn't right yet still hesitate to take it back. So I ask myself, if someone corrected me so clearly how would I react? Would I stubbornly stick to my opinion? Or would I humbly accept it even if it was completely opposite of what I expected? This time I was right but next time the table can be turned. Will I react as she did?  


As I walk through the front gate of our courtyard after my run I wipe the sweat from my forehead. It pools on my index finger for just a second before I shake it away. If only I could so easily wipe away certain memories of traumatic experiences and conversations. If only it were that easy to wipe the slate clean in human relationships. But those hurtful words are not easily forgotten, they are like those drops that dry up leaving a salty residue behind. You may longer see them but things have changed just the same. I can see now how easy it would be to keep a grudge. I understand that seeking peace takes a lot of work. While in Gilead I gave a 10 minute talk on pursuing peace (1 Peter 3:11), I've used my training once again and am thankful to Jehovah for preparing me for all the trials in my missionary assignment. My morning run has done me good too. And now as I finish writing this note I can already tell my that my wound up spirit is starting to calm down as well. “I just hope we call all forget about it now,” I tell Peter. “I'll just let myself be wronged.” - Linka

A Happy Widow

I sit in the front row as the brother gives the talk. My stomach flutters and my hands are a little shaky. Maybe because it's near lunch time and I'm hungry or maybe it's because I feel nervous, though I don't exactly know why. I feel like the brother giving the talk is looking directly at me as he talks of the seriousness of my vow. Next to me there is a sign taped to the chair that reads in bold black letters “Baptismal Candidates”. All the seats on this row are empty except for one other person. Sitting next to me is a 27 year old girl named Widow. This scene did not take place 17 years ago when I was baptized but rather just this past weekend at our two day circuit assembly.

How did I come to sit in the front row that Saturday morning? Let me first tell you a little bit about Widow. As best I know it her spiritual history starts years ago when her mother married a man named Jean Louie who would later become one of Jehovah's Witnesses. Even though they were not his children, Jean Louie accepted the woman's children as his own in every way. Caring, providing for them and teaching them about Jehovah. Though Widow's brothers later made it clear that they wanted nothing to do with Jehovah and left the family, Widow saw clearly that Jehovah's Witnesses followed the bible. She studied with two sisters in our hall, one while the other was away traveling for work. Widow, because of living in the village, did not go to school, speak French or even know how to read. But despite all that, she faithfully studied the bible, attended all the meetings and eventually learned to read which she put to good use every morning with the daily text.  

Widow and I are in the same Saturday morning service group and because there aren't very many sisters, we work together almost every Saturday including her very first day as a unbaptized publisher. Though Widow is very humble, shy and timid she has also shown herself to be very courageous while preaching. When Widow asked the brothers about getting baptized she was worried about being able to understand the French questions and asked me to help her look over them and find the answers. At first I was surprised that she did not ask one of the sisters who study with her. Then I thought about it. One sister is a missionary from France, the other a university graduate, each extremely articulate and intelligent. Where as I, having learned French by repeated mistakes and halfhearted mimicking, speak simply and often mutilate the language in order to get my meaning across. Widow wanted me to help her because I speak French bad. I chose to take that as a compliment. For several weeks after service Widow and I read the baptism questions and simplified them until she understood them and could come up with a answer in French. Each time she sees me she asked “Have you heard of anyone else getting baptized?” Her biggest fear is being the only one. We name off people who are making progress in our hall but I also remind her that our next assembly is in July and maybe some are waiting until then. “What about from the other halls? Anyone else?” She desperately adds. “No news yet, but try not to think about it,” I tell her.

As the session starts the first day of our assembly with music flows through the open side windows into the neighborhood as I find my seat next to Peter. I'm getting comfortable and actually excited that at least for the morning session Peter and I will get to sit together for a little while before he has to rush off to perform his assembly duties. Then I look up and see Widow in the front row all by herself. I can see that she is visibly fidgeting and I can tell she is very nervous. I decide to break the “rules” of staying seated during the music and go up and give her a few encouraging words. When I get there I can see that her hands are shaking and I ask how she is feeling. She looks up at me with wide eyes: “Nervous, but okay.” Seeing that it looks almost physically painful for her to be up there all by herself I ask if she would like if I would come and sit next to her. Even before I can finish my sentence she responds in a grateful “YES!” I check with the brothers first and knowing how nervous she is they say it's okay. I grab my books and take my place next to her. We say a few things about the flowers and a few other little comments but mostly I think she is just happy to have someone next to her.

Sitting in the front row with Widow makes me think of my own baptism day. I was 15 years old and we were at the Phoenix Colosseum at the Arizona State Fair grounds. I looked around saw all the brothers and sisters filling up the stadium and I remember thinking to myself “this is exactly where I want to be right now.” Even though at one point my father had told me he forbid it, I was determined to be baptized. I remember it very clearly. I even remember the white dress I wore, I liked it because it had long lacy sleeves and following the wish of every 15 year old girl, I felt it made me look more grown up. I was loitering around the stage before the session started when brothers from my hall asked if I wanted to meet the brother giving the baptismal talk. Though I could tell they were all very busy, I quickly met a brother in a brown suit. I don't remember exactly what he said but I have this vague impression that he was happy to meet me and that he told me some kind of a joke. Then the music started and it was time to sit down. I was sitting in the front row and center of over a hundred candidates. Sitting next to me was literally the girl next door. Rebeca, whose back yard touched our back yard, was also getting baptized that day. I didn't know it then but we would later become pioneer partners and for years she would come through our back gate so that we could walk to the Kingdom Hall together. I remember that day I was happy to have a friend sitting next to me.

As the brother gave the talk I remember appreciating that this talk was especially for me. He was looking right at me and what he said felt personal. He told us that we would never forget this day and to help us remember the importance he asked us to open our Bibles to Revelation 7:15. There he read “That is why they are before the throne of God; and they are rendering him sacred service day and night in his temple; and the One seated on the throne will spread his tent over them.” He said that our baptism was a symbol of our offering ourselves as if before the throne of God to give him sacred service day and night for the rest of our lives and that this scripture was also a guarantee that Jehovah would be watching over us. Gives me goose bumps just thinking about it now. Then he said that we should never forget this scripture Revelation 7:15 and we should think of it often because we were there getting baptized in the 7^th month (July) on the 15^th day just like the numbers of the chapter and verse.

Years later when I told the story of my baptism to a cute young brother that I was interested in, he couldn't believe his ears. He said “Wait a minute, my dad gave that talk!” He added “I remember when he was preparing it because all us kids sat around looking for verses with that date in it.” The brother wearing, what would later be described by him as “the ugliest brown suit ever”, was actually my father-in-law to be. Sure enough, after a careful search we found him in the pictures of our family photo album. Funny how sitting there in the front row of an African assembly years later my thoughts return to that brown suit.

After the first talk I lean over and tell Widow that I'll be gone for a little bit but I'll be back. I have my very first assembly part in Guinea. I'm going to be the householder during the theocratic ministry school. I'm nervous because I want to do well. But at the same time I don't want to do too good so that the brothers think to use me in future parts. It's a delicate balance. Unfortunately, once on stage the ham in me sneaks out once again. I play the part of an irate pacing catholic woman who loves the virgin Mary and doesn't want to speak with Jehovah's Witness because she wrongly thinks they don't believe in her. The sister patiently explains that we do believe in the virgin Mary though we don't worship her and helps me to see a few of the many lessons we can take from Mary's faithful example. After the session one sister tells me that I wore the perfect dress with wavy sleeves because they could really see my arms flying around as I pretended to be mad. The district overseer tells me “You were just telling me how you don't feel comfortable speaking French but seems to me you speak even better French when you are angry!” The circuit overseer says “I've always known you to be calm and quiet, I didn't know you could be that mean!” Another sister tells me dutifully “Thank you for your drama!” Proving once again what most of you already know, I am indeed a drama queen. But I think the best compliment came whispered from Widow when I sat down once again beside her and took a deep breath of relief. She said “That thing you did,” pointing at the stage and searching for the right French words “it was good.” I smile appreciatively back at her. It's her turn next.

As the brother gives the baptismal talk Widow is so nervous she can't find all the scriptures in her bible (though normally she has no problem) so I lean over and share mine. He is staring right at her and talking straight to her. Since I'm right beside her sometimes I think he is looking at me and I can understand her nerves. When he asks her to stand for the questions everyone is looking at us. My instinct is to stand with her and hold her hand but I know that this is something she has to do herself. In a loud clear voice, so everyone in attendance can hear without a microphone, she courageously verifies her love for Jehovah and that she wants to be one of his Witnesses. After the session we make a mad dash to the Kingdom Hall where the brothers have filled our little baptismal pool with bucket after bucket from a well. Since the Hall is far from the assembly site, we were a little worried that no one would come to see her get baptized. We are happy to see a nice little group trickle in of those who made the effort to show their support. Peter and I even take note of a couple of young single brothers who seem to be happy that Widow is being baptized. After the baptism Peter and I rush home to print out the pictures so that Widow can have them right away and show others at the assembly hall. We rush back and arrive just in time to stuff down some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches before Peter has to run up on stage and get the session started again.

As usual, the assembly was excellent. We had a peak attendance of 285 with 1 baptized. Arriving at noon on Saturday is a study of Babette's. You may recall that last week they went searching for this girl in a small village to invite her especially to the assembly. (You may also recall that I was pouting because I didn't get to go along.) Well it turns out that their efforts paid off, Vergeni and her husband and two year old son left the village at 5 am that morning. They walked for over an hour to get to a larger road where they waited for transportation to come so they could hitch a ride. It was market day, there were fewer vehicles on the road and those that passed them were full to the brim with passengers. They were determined to come so they just had to endure the wait by the side of the road. Several hours later, they arrived at the assembly and attended both days even taking notes and looking up all the verses.

As for Widow, well she walked around the rest of the assembly with a big smile on her face. When you hear the word "widow" you may think of a saddened person who has lost a marriage mate because of a tragic death. I don't know it's origin but here the girl's name Widow is very common. And now every time I hear it I think of a happy person. Someone who is very shy and timid but someone who makes all effort to serve Jehovah. And I am glad that I was here in Guinea so that I could share this day with her - Linka

Your Day To Stay Home

Today, I stay home. Every week a missionary has a “cook day”. It's a day you set aside to cook and clean and just generally get things done at the house. If you are fortunate you'll finish in time and not be too tired to actually tackle an extra project or two in the evening. Today is Monday and it's our cook day. Although it is generally a day packed with chores, we usually look forward to it because it's a little break from our regular busy service schedule.

But today is different. I don't want to stay home today. You see Jean Paul and Babette (a fellow missionary couple whom we live with) are going on a field trip to the preach in a nearby village. Oh how I wish I could go! Why did they chose a day when we have to stay home? Seems that I'm not the only one that wants to go preach in the village today. N'yedeké, a young regular pioneer has skipped school and showed up at our front door this morning asking to be taken along. He says “School is not important, it's the preaching work that is important.” I look out the window and I see Jean Paul pulling the car out of the garage. His car only seats 5 people and they've already invited 3 others to join him and his wife, so he tells N'yedeké 'sorry, but there is no space for you, you'll have to stay home today'. Sadden by the news, he stays standing by the car watching them load up. He has a pouty face dripping with disappointment just like a little kid when his father tells him he can't got a party that all his friends are going to. Now there is someone I can relate to. Of course, Jean Paul, a zealous missionary himself, has a hard time telling N'yedeké that he can't preach with them today and he finally gives in. They spread out a blanket in the trunk area and N'yedeké jumps in with a huge smile right next to a stack of Require brochures and bottles of water.

I'm not smiling though, I wish I could jump in the car too! Preaching is why we are here thousands of miles away from our family leaving strawberries and Dr. Pepper soda pop far behind. When others go out on such adventures, I have trouble reconciling the idea that being a missionary sometimes means staying at home. Then again, it's not that we stay home and do nothing all day. It was actually exceptionally busy around here today. We even have visitors. The district overseer and his wife are here for our two day circuit assembly this weekend. They've just arrived last night so I'm in charge of feeding them breakfast, lunch and dinner. We also swept and mopped the whole house. We did all our laundry for this week and got things generally cleaned up. Peter received a large shipment of publications from the capital and then divided it up and sent the boxes back out with various brothers to their congregations. All morning there are people knocking on the front door coming and going. Peter even left for a little while. He took an elder to the new home of our circuit overseer to show him the way. On the way back he stopped at a pharmacy to buy some medicine for the district overseer who is suffering from a cold. But even as I cut up scallop potatoes, I am wondering what the others are doing at that very moment. I wonder if this is how the angels felt when they saw Jesus leaving for his earth assignment? No one wants to be left behind when their friends have such a nice assignment! With all of Paul's missionary trips he left a lot of people behind. There were the elders in the ancient city of Ephesus. It's not clear if they wanted to go with him or they wanted him to stay but when Paul was leaving to continue on his missionary journey those grown men broke out with “quite a bit of weeping”! (Acts 20:37) I'm sure those elders had work to do in their own city though, just like Luke did when he was left (again by Paul - going to Thessolonica). Luke stayed behind to take care of the new congregation. I wonder if he was wishing to be on the road with Paul? (Acts 16:35-40)

I know, I know. I shouldn't complain. I'm sure there are tons of Bethelites, those sick and elderly or mom's with small children who are wishing to be out in the field every day! And I just have to stay home one day. Wednesday is Jean Paul and Babette's cook day and the positions will be reversed. They'll stay home and we'll go out. Though we wont go off to a distant village, the response in the territory is sure to be the same. I imagine myself laughing walking out the door on Wednesday: “Ha ha! It's your day to stay home!” And the answer is yes, some missionaries do have an evil laugh that they bring out every once in a while. :)

While Peter and I are studying our Watchtower together we hear Jean Paul and Babette's car pulling up to our house. We know they are here because we hear the neighborhood kids calling out greetings. We go out to the living room to welcome them and hear about their day preaching in the village. As Babette walks through the door a flowery aroma fills the room. She is carrying a beautiful bouquet of long stem white lilies almost as tall as she is. She said that there were hundreds growing wild by the side of the road. So how did the rest of of their day go?

Their goal was to find one of Babett's return visits who had moved to a village not too far from our city. When they arrived at her village her family said she wasn't there. That she had gone to the village of her husband's family. Of course, the group of six zealous publishers didn't let that stop them from preaching to all the villagers and having many good conversations. At noon they decided to head down the road. Turns out the village of the return visit's husband was only 20 kilometers away, so they decided to try and look for the lady there. When they arrived the husband's family told them that yes she was there but she was working in the fields. Not discouraged, the whole group was lead off into the forest for a long walk to the fields where the family cultivates rice, corn and potatoes. Along the way they talk to others who they cross on the forest path and continue to place magazines and brochures with those who had never heard of Jehovah's Witnesses before. They walk out of a thicket of high grass and there they finally find Babett's return visit hard at work. She is surprised to see them! She is curious how they found her and happy that they did. They have a nice encouraging discussion with her and her husband and impressed by the effort they made to visit them, the couple promises to come to the assembly this weekend. The service group arrive home after 5 in the evening and they are tired and hungry. All they've eaten all day are bananas from along the road. They are happy when I show them the plates of food I've set aside for them, complete with pineapple upside down cake.

Okay, so maybe Peter and I didn't get to go out in service today but I guess we did do some good work as a support team. Jean Paul and Babette came home to a clean house and a hot dinner. All the congregations in the area now have publications for the next month. Our district overseer no longer has a runny nose.  And Peter has clean underwear for the next week. All important tasks that had to be taken care of today. So I guess now I just have to work on not being jealous of others since it is true that we each have privileges and sometimes it's my privilege to stay home.

Maybe as you read about some of our adventures you may find yourself wishing you were preaching in Africa too. But just because you haven't left the country or even your city doesn't mean that your work there is not important. An encouraging word to a young publisher about pioneering might be just the little push needed. A few extra dollars in the contribution box makes a big difference in someone's life when it helps them to receive their very own bible translated into a little known forest language. Those few doors that you preached at before it got too hot and you had to take a break, still helped your congregation to cover it's territory. And that prayer that you said just before you went to bed where you mentioned those two homesick missionaries in Guinea, is surely much appreciated. So try to make the most of it too and remember the lesson that I learned today... Sometimes, it's just your day to stay home. - Linka