"My eyes have seen it all."

The tree to which we sat under was magnificent. It's roots ascended from the ground and then almost violently pressed their way back down in to the hard earth below. They had a job to do. They stretched their fingers deep into the recesses of the ground for life. They looked for the waters to soothe their parched branches.

Under it's canopy we sat with new friends that we had not known before today.

The first to offer a chair was one of the elders of the village. He wore no shirt and his trousers were torn, but his eyes held the riches of past memories. I was captured by his glance.

"What had he seen in his many years?" I asked myself.

These gentle eyes must have cried both tears of joy and tears of pain. These eyes have been blurred from the sands that blow from the north and cleansed from the rains from heaven. These wonderful yet old eyes have seen it all.

They had seen every emotion that his dear wife had experienced, for example, the birth of the son. The one who drove us to meet him that wonderful day. They have looked to the skies and prayed for the rains in the times of drought. Oh, what have these eyes seen?

How many tears have they cried? How many memories have they captured?

Though appearing cloudy from the outside they held many things on the inside.

In a village far from town there is a tree so magnificent and grand, who's roots reach deep into the earth. Sitting under the protection of this tree is an elder of a village, a man of wisdom, who's eyes have seen it all.

She chose just to look in

It was like most every Sunday.

Temperature sitting proudly at 105 degrees.

The drums were playing in rhythm.

People were dancing and singing praises.

She chose just to look inside.

I caught the sunlight as it danced across her face.

Innocence captured for a moment in time.

Was it the music that called her to the window?

The car that sat is an area that seldom saw cars?

News that a missionary had come that day?

Most assuredly it was the call of the Master.

A kind, loving and calling God.

He had called her to the window that morning.

She chose just to look in.

He chose just to love her.

Little Man on the Bench

He sat on the bench most of the service not moving an inch. I think he was trying not to be noticed. With my camera in hand I slowly approached him. He did not stir as I clicked away trying to capture his innocence. Quiet as a mouse he sat not speaking or giving any facial expressions. What a picture of the wonder of a child. Thank you Little Man

Siberi's Heart

Ouagadougou June 10,2010

Siberiʼs Heart

It was a day like most days in Burkina Faso, the temperature had reached itʼs peak.

Quite possibly 103 degrees. In our room I had just gotten cleaned up, that is washing the sweat from my brow, when a knock at the door.

“Pastor Siberi is here sir.” the man said. I walked outside to greet our Assistant

Superintendent. He is an elderly man for Africa, most likely in his late 50ʼs. Thin around the belt with specks of grey in his hair. He greeted me in typical African style, first a

hand shake and then an embrace.

It was not clear why he had come to visit. I believe it was just to see where we were

staying. We talked about my vision for Burkina Faso and how the North American

churches had prayed on a map of Burkina Faso as we deputized. We talked about

beginning Bible school classes and I showed him pictures of our children and grandson

in the states.

It was a time of connecting our hearts together for one purpose. To see Burkina Faso,

West Africa bring in a great harvest of souls.

He carried a worn leather sack with him. At the time the contents were unknown. Maybe

it was full of important documents, possibly official church papers. In my case my bag

contains my laptop, a calculator, money, pass ports and such.

His worn hands reached down for the bag as I awaited to see the secrets it contained.

Within the worn leather sack contained several stacks of paper. More important than a

laptop, more important than official church papers, more important than pictures of

family and friends. Contained within the sack were invitations and teaching on salvation.

Some written in French and some written in Moore (more-ray) language. The bag must

have contained over 60 or so tracks that he had been given out.

This great pastor had one objective that day; to evangelize his city.

After an hour or so of us communicating in my broken French, he exclaimed that it was

time to go.

We finished our drink and I began to walk him to the gate. “Where was his moto

(motor- cycle)? Did he take a taxi here? I know he lives at least 4 miles from here.” I

asked myself. He walked to a bicycle that was most likely 20 years old. This pastor had

spent his day traveling to greet me and evangelizing his city along the way.

Emotions filled my thoughts; “Would I be able to evangelize my city with just a few

tracks in hand riding a bicycle, or would I find yet another excuse to live another day not

making a difference?”

This day I found the heart of a man, a man who is serving Christ while living the Great

Commission. Matt 28:19 He rode off on a bicycle. I was changed.