Well, we had that dinner of filet mignon last night, Sunday night.  Actually Tom had the sirloin tips and Janet had the charbroiled tenderloin.  Luana had the single filet, and I had the double-stack (2 filets) order I’d enjoyed two years ago.  The beef was delicious, as good as any we’ve had Stateside.

We arrived at The Only Place at 6 only to be told that they didn’t open until 7.  With an hour to kill we went…you guessed it, shopping.  At the same store Mark Carlton and I visited two years ago Luana and I purchased a top for her, a kurta for me (shirt), a set of pearl earrings for daughter Amy, and a gift for each of our granddaughters, all for the equivalent of about $65.

Then we returned to the steakhouse.

While our meals were being prepared, we asked for the history of The Place.  The owner came to our table, sat down, and explained how his father had begun to provide housing for westerners visiting this city back in the 1950s.  While they were in his house, he cooked western food for them, taking lessons from different ones of them on how to do it.

In the course of time, our host’s father decided to open a restaurant that catered to western appetites.  On the menu we found steaks, burgers, pastas, fish, and lamb.  No pork – our host’s family is Muslim.

The Only Place has been in operation since 1965, and our host’s father worked there until four days ago.  He quit working because he died, and the memorial had been held in the restaurant just before it opened to let us in.

We consoled the businessman on his loss, and told him we’d pray that he’d find comfort.  We trust he saw Jesus in us as we visited for about 20 minutes.

We had a leisurely morning today.  Tom and I breakfasted in the utilitarian restaurant atop this hotel where we visited with two interesting fellows.

The older was of the origin of the people of this country, but had been born in Africa and had spent the last 35 years of his life in the UK.  He was here for a family wedding.

The younger man had two Master’s Degrees, one from this country and one from Ireland.  He’d been born in the northern part of this nation, but had most recently lived in Virginia and Georgia, as well as Minneapolis.  He is here heading up some aspect of Target’s expansion into this area.

It made for interesting conversation.

After breakfast, and after the last of the ladies had arisen, we enjoyed a worship service of sharing, singing, and prayer.

This afternoon we all took a walk down the same pathway I’d utilized two years ago when I was here with Mark Carlton to teach.  This time as we stepped across that cement drainage ditch, however, it was not a pile of human excrement or a dead rat that caught my attention in the bottom of the gutter.  It was a live rat the size of a tomcat.  It scurried quickly among the refuse and exited the ditch through a hole half its size in the concrete sidewall.  It had only about a fourth of its tail.

Of course I had to call the attention of the ladies to my sighting, but they gamely crossed the ditch anyway.

We walked and shopped for a couple of hours, taking in interesting sights that included a cow coming down the sidewalk and four men trying to open a clogged sewer.

I stopped to talk with them a bit.  Plugged up?  I said.  Ya ya, a jam, one of them said.  I got an interesting couple of photos out of that encounter.

And then, on the return trip, perhaps the saddest thing we saw on the whole excursion.  There in the middle of the sidewalk were the remains of perhaps a distant cousin of the rodent I saw in the drainage ditch.

All shopping trips should be so interesting.   But, of course, I am being facetious.

All in all a very restful and relaxing Lord’s Day here.  As I write this it is 5:47 Sunday morning for you all, while we are preparing to go to The Only Place for an early dinner (5 pm or so) of filet mignon.

Tomorrow the pace will be considerably more frenetic.

Before we left the seaside resort I was finally able to retrieve a few emails.  One was from my sister Mary.  She informed me that our mother has sunk very rapidly, physically, since Sunday night.  She is unable to communicate and has been refusing to take her meds or food.

We’ve been praying for release for mom for a while, so this seems to be an answer to prayer.  But it is a difficult thing to be separated from her and my siblings by half a world at this time.  It is entirely possible that she will go Home before I return.

We appreciate your prayers.

Twice each day here we’ve walked down the drive from our hotel by the sea to the Lutheran conference center across the coastal highway.  It’s a 15 minute walk, and generally Tom and I are more than a little heated at the end of it.  The daytime temps reach 37 to 39 degrees Centigrade, about 100 degrees in Nebraska.  And the humidity – think Lincoln or Omaha at their worst.

But the meeting room in the facility is air conditioned, when the electricity stays on.  Actually it stays on most of the time.  It’s been quite pleasant – inside.

We had a wonderful time this last day here.  I preached once more from the life of Elijah, the big idea being that of God’s provision for his needs, even when he was discouraged and whining.

After tea the men and women separated.  We men shared stories of how God had provided for us in our lives and ministries.  These guys have really opened up to us.  Story after story poured out, from one about the 33 orphans he and his wife have taken in and how God gave them food for two meals from the untouched food at a local business reception, from another one about God providing the money he and his wife needed to make the trip to the retreat (the men have to front the funds for this, but they are reimbursed), and from another one about how God have given him the funds to pay for his children’s schooling from a man who’d prevailed upon him to come to his village to pray for him in the midst of the rainy season.

Pastor after pastor shared, and we all rejoiced together.

The communal meal was tasty – especially those two or three small pieces of chicken hidden in my big pile of rice.  And the veggies were hot – very hot.  When I gasped after ingesting a pepper, the indigenous lady at my table told me, “Banana, uncle, eat banana,” indicating that it would take the heat out of my mouth.  Dutifully, uncle ate the banana, and it worked!

Tom was informed that this rice was a much more expensive variety than what these folks usually have at home.  In fact, the whole setup here, sleeping quarters and meals, is very nice – much nicer than most of our brothers and sisters have back at their homes.

After lunch it was time for us to take our leave.  Our friends, too, had to pack up.  Some of them had only 160 miles to go…by bus for 8 hours.  Others took the train for a 12-13 hour ride.  We walked the 15 minutes back to our hotel and talked about how hot we were.  Brother!

Saying good-bye is hard, even though Luana and I had only met these folks a couple of days ago.  They treat us as though we’re something special.  They are special.  One brother took my hand and asked me to pray from him.  I did, and when his hand left mine there was a folded bill in mine.  I almost wept.  I’d been sitting in the circle with him and others hearing about their needs, and I’d wanted to give them all something.  And then he gave me that.

I’m writing this from our quarters in the capital city of another state here.  We flew for 50 minutes this Saturday afternoon.  We have tomorrow, Sunday, to ourselves before engaging with a whole new group of people from Monday through Thursday.  And that will be another last day.

We had a great time with approximately 22 pastors and their families this morning.  I preached, using the account of Elijah in 1 Kings 16-19 as the basis to encourage these guys to keep on doing what God had called them to do until He takes them home to heaven.  I was able to weave in my own story along the way.  God really seemed to bless that effort.

At teatime I concentrated on taking photos of individual families and learning their names.  The second session was spent with the men and women divided into separate groups.  Luana and Janet spent time with the ladies, and Tom led the men in discussing what they were doing to encourage their wives and children.  We had an interesting time trying to convince the guys that being the head of one’s home did not necessitate striking one’s spouse.  Some of them trotted out the “It’s our culture” card, to which we replied that God’s Word is cross-cultural, and that Jesus does not beat the Church that is his bride.

We then ate with our brides – all of us.  Tom, Luana, and I all used our hands and fingers as utensils, just as the folks here do.  It worked quite well too.  The rice dish was delicious, with some green chile heat, and the small bits of chicken in whatever flavor of sauce that was were quite tasty.  (I should tell you that one chicken is made to go a long ways here.  It’s whacked into unidentifiable pieces, bones included; and the pieces are not large.)

But the biggest blessing of the day came in the hour from 2 to 3 when the men and women gathered again in separate groups for prayer.  Tom had the men sit in a large circle with one chair in the middle.  Then he encouraged us to bear one another’s burdens, in the Galatians 6 mode.

At first the men were hesitant, but then the dam broke.  One by one, I think everyone made into that chair at least once.  A burden was shared with the group, and then all surged forward to lay hands on the individual and pray.

We heard what real life in the trenches here was like.  Guys asked for prayer because they’d been threatened – told not to have services any longer.  Others were needing the equivalent of about $500-$700 to put up a shed on some property for use as a church building.  Others had physical problems that doctors hadn’t been able to fix.   Bachelor pastors asked prayer to obtain wives.  And so on and so forth.

As one person sat in the chair, all the rest gathered around, audibly praying in low tones.  Then one fellow would speak more loudly, praying in a most impassioned manner, with audible support from the others.  Both Tom and I took our places in the chair.  It was a very special time, and I don’t know when, if ever, I’ve experienced anything like it.

This evening one of the pastors will preach, and I suspect it will be a wonderful conclusion to a most special day.

The hotel here is hard by the ocean, actually by the bay that is named after a type of tiger.  The grounds are beautiful, and the foliage, along with the temperature and setting, are reminiscent of parts of Maui or Penang.  It’s almost surreal after the sights we saw on the way from the airport through the city of 6-10 million souls.  The aforementioned (last post) refuse lay in heaps along the sides of the streets, but this place is immaculate.

It’s 3 p.m. on Thursday, and we have a break for about 3 hours.  Tom and I plan to go swimming in the pool, since the beach and ocean are off limits for some reason.

Staying in this place isn’t exactly what the phrase “suffering for Jesus” implies.  What do you think?

When the meeting began last evening, a woman reluctantly came to the front to interpret.  Jeff introduced the team and the purpose of the retreat.  As he did, the poor lady had difficulty putting his words into their words.  But when she struggled for a concept, several of the listeners would help her with the right word.  This was amusing, because obviously many of them can understand English.  Made me wonder about the need for a translator.

However, the poor lady’s problem continued, and when Jeff prayed, a man in the front row got up and took the mic from her in mid-prayer.  For those who had their eyes shut it was a bit of a surprise to hear, all of a sudden, a masculine voice.

The new interpreter, a man named after the third king of Israel, would gaze intently at Tom’s face while he spoke and then turn to us with the translation.  And, as it had been with the woman who’d preceded him, if he paused to search for the right word, he received help from the audience.  Again I thought, Do we really need an interpreter?  “Group interpreting” is what Jeff called it; but no one could help when Tom, who was using as his text Philippians 3 (Paul’s attitude toward the things he’d formerly considered important in his life), used the word “garbage.”

The translator silently looked at Tom with questioning eyes.  No one in the audience said anything.  Tom tried “rubbish, refuse, trash” to no avail.  He finally said, The stuff you have lying all around along the roads in piles.  (I’ve mentioned in the past how much trash and rubbish and garbage there is here.  We saw cows and dogs rooting around in it for sustenance during our ride down through the city to this site.)  Still no word was forthcoming.  It took quite an effort from everyone, dark and light-skinned alike, to come up with a meaningful word or phrase, and who knows if we succeeded.

It was perhaps the most amusing thing that’s happened to this point:  helpful words every time the interpreter stumbled, but absolute silence about the one thing that is most pervasive here.

At least we team members all thought it was funny.

We wrapped up our time in this south-central state at teatime (11) this morning, Wednesday, the 5^th.  It was a difficult thing to say goodbye and head for the hotel to load our bags for the 7^th of our 15 flights.  A plane change and more than 7 hours later, we dumped our suitcases in a facility located right on the huge bay that lies east of this country.

We hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, it was now 6:30 pm, and we were under orders to hustle to the site of this retreat for the folks in the very southern part of the country.

It had been very hot at our last temporary residence – about 38 to 40 degrees Centigrade (100 or so Fahrenheit).  But up there the humidity was not too bad.  It is the rainy season, but it has not rained for a considerable length of time, and the sun is merciless.

Here the heat and humidity practically choked us when we climbed out of the taxi.

I was tired, hot, sweaty, and growing increasingly hungrier.  The last thing I wanted to do was to meet folks I’d never seen before and listen to Tom preach a sermon I had heard before – two days ago.

But God…  That’s the way the Bible puts it – at least in Ephesians 2, and no doubt in a bunch of other places.  But God intervened.

Sure I had to meet a bunch of new people and try to learn a lot of new names.  Sure it was hot and sticky; plus, there were mosquitoes.  I was still hungry.  And, the lights went out twice while Tom preached that same sermon.

But our Heavenly Daddy blessed me beyond anything I’d experienced to this point on this trip.  The joy these folks expressed on seeing Tom and Janet again warmed my heart.  Their obvious desire to make the acquaintance of Luana and me took away any reluctance I had about meeting new people and learning new names.  But it was the interaction between Tom and his interpreter, a man he’d taught 6 years ago that really blessed me.  Even though the lights played hide and seek, and the air conditioner conked out, Tom’s message was better than the first time I’d heard it.

I am eager to return this morning.

Let me expand a bit on my previous post, the one titled “Alive and Well.”

The other night after the first meeting a young man named Rajaratnam (a common enough name, because there are at least two of them at this retreat, so I won’t endanger him by using it here) introduced himself to me.  He graduated from the ILA here last year, and remembered that I was at that commencement exercise.

This guy has not only gone back to his area to plant churches, he has established his own ILA and has 15 students currently studying under him.  Those men will eventually duplicate their experience.  What a fantastic demonstration of what Jesus meant when he commissioned his disciples to make disciples!

Raj wanted to send us photos of those 15 trainees so that they could be included with the photos we have of the other 300 who’ve been trained already.

As I said in the earlier post, the Berean Fellowship is alive and well in this country!

A visit with another man also supports this.  D (he is the only one with his actual name, and I can’t give it away for his own security) came to the retreat from 500 kilometers away.  That’s about 310 miles.  The trip took all night by train.  But, like most all of the other married pastors, D also brought his wife.

We Stateside Berean visitors wanted the pastors and their families to come so that all might be encouraged in their ministries.  Their trips are funded by the gifts you folks back home send to the India 300in3 Project each month.  And, this sort of a retreat is the closest thing that any of them will ever have to a vacation.

Well D’s wife had endured a very difficult pregnancy, delivering their baby boy just 4 months ago.  The delivery must have been a tough one, perhaps even requiring a C-section.  At any rate, the doc wanted the new mom (it is their first child) to recuperate 5 months before doing anything very strenuous.

Janet Walker and Luana and I are trying to take photos of every family,  This has proved to be quite a chore, because we had to first acquire their names (a hard enough task with the language barrier), spell these names correctly, and take the photos in order of the names listed.

D’s wife attended some of the meetings, but this morning when I arrived at the site of the retreat D met me and asked if I could come to his room and there photograph his family.  His wife, he said, was not feeling well and would not be attending the service.

I readily complied.

When we were returning to the meeting, D explained to me the circumstances of his child’s birth and his wife’s condition.  He also told how the word came to all the pastors in this state, some 85 of them, to gather for the retreat.  Bring your families, the forceful overseer of the group told them.

So here he was, with his wife and 4 month-old son, ministering to me, the American big-shot, by his example of commitment and loyalty.

See what I mean?  God is going to continue to bless these guys as they continue in faithful commitment to him, his call on their lives, and each other.

The Berean Fellowship of Churches in this country seems to be alive and well.  At least, it seems thus in this particular state.  The leadership is strong, and these 85 men and their families, spread out in 9 districts, are fairly tightly bound together.

They all thing we Americans are special, but I am convinced it is the other way around.

We are trying to take photos of each family so as to keep their memories more sharply alive.