LIGHT SIDE: Rats & Pits!!!

“The Pit” is unlike anything you have likely experienced. It is totally different than a camp porta-potty and has absolutely no resemblance to a typical American bathroom . . .

Mission Maker Magazine

Ann’s article, “The Lighter Side of Missions,” published in Mission Maker Magazine, featured funny mission stories about rats, pit toilets, and eating grasshoppers. It’s a highlight from her book, The Mission-Minded Child – Raising a New Generation to Fulfill God’s Purpose.

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Of Rats & Pits:

Never Shine a Flashlight Down THE PIT!

A Dunagan Family Mission Story

(from Ann’s perspective)

“The Pit” is unlike anything you have likely experienced. It is totally different than a camp porta-potty and has absolutely no resemblance to a typical American bathroom. Not one home decorating magazine is displayed in a basket to read at your leisure, not one pretty towel hands on a shiny silver bar, and fluffy coordinating bathmats are nowhere to be seen.

The Pit it a cement or mud cubicle with a weathered wooden door, a six-inch square hold in the ground, and an unforgetable “aroma” –all above a very, very deep pit.

One night we were in a remote African village dominated by demonic witchcraft. It was late . . . and dark; and a while after the evening ministry time was over our outreach team got rolling in one of those funny, middle-of-the-night conversations. The topic turned to some very practical missionary advice: “Be sure to never shine your flashlight down the Pit!” (Have you ever watched that scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark when Indiana Jones throws a torch down into the forbidden tomb and sees what he dreaded most–the floor alive with snakes?! I think you get the picture. The Pit is often swarming above with flies; and in the unknown depths below, it’s alive . . . with no ones now what!)

We were all laughing hysterically, including me . . . until I realized I had to “go,” and it just couldn’t wait until morning.

I got out my flashlight and went out into the darkness, through the rain–all by myself to the Pit. By this time, nothing seemed funny anymore. I was very tired and wouldn’t have minded those fluffy coordinating bathmats As I neared the “aroma,” I tried to decide my strategy. How could I go about using the Pit without shining the flashlight down?

When I arrived, I quickly threw open the rickety door–and barged in upon the biggest rat I had ever seen in my life! (With its tail it must have been nearly two feet long!) I wish I could say I was your strong unflinching woman; but I screamed and just stood there, soaking wet, crying in the dark.

My precious husband, Jon, came to my rescue, got rid of the creature, made sure the coast was clear, then stood guard to make sure I was protected.

I bravely reentered the Pit with my flashlight, while my husband reentered his comical, slightly mischievous mood. He told our team to come watch something funny as he rolled a rock toward me under the Pit’s door. My reaction did not let them down. I thought the rat was attacking me and I totally freaked out.

Everyone (except me!) thought it was the funniest joke of the evening!

MEATY SIDE: A Timeless Passion for SOULS

It was over one hundred years ago, when a man earnestly poured out his heart to the Lord, in a prayer and a song, asking for more of God’s perspective and passion for the lost.

It’s really quite remarkable. Through one man, Herbert G. Tovey, and his prayers way-back in 1888, a fervency for the lost can actually penetrate into our thoughts and prayers TODAY (right now in 2010), to impact our focus.

Do you know how this can happen?
It’s because God’s perspective is timeless; and His passion is eternal.

Don’t you long for more of God’s eternal perspective about the Lord, and LIFE, and the lost . . . for more of God’s heart for people, and for more of His view of those who need His salvation? We need that eternal-God-perspective-for-souls to reach beyond our self-centerdness. We need God’s love to penetrate deeply into the hearts of others (both to people who need Jesus, and to Christians who need to share). The Lord wants people to know that He loves them and that He’s already provided for their salvation through His ultimate passion on the cross. The Lord cares so much. And we care too; but we we need to care more.

Hudson Taylor once said, “I feel I cannot go on living unless I do something for China.” Taylor knew that his life-purpose on earth reached far beyond his own desires. He was focused on eternity with God’s passion.

And that’s what we want.

A PASSION FOR SOULS

A missions poem and hymn – By Herbert G. Tovey, 1888

Give me a passion for souls, dear Lord,

A passion to save the lost;

O that Thy love were by all adored,

And welcomed at any cost.

Jesus I long, I long to be winning

Men who are lost, and constantly sinning;

O may this hour become of beginning

The story of pardon to tell . . .

How shall this passion for souls be mine?

Lord, make Thou the answer clear;

Help me to throw out the old life line

To those who are struggling near.

MEATY: A Vision for Souls – by Amy Carmichael

Give me the Love that leads the way
The Faith that nothing can dismay
The Hope no disappointments tire
The Passion that will burn like fire . . .

-Amy Carmichael

Ezekiel 3:18-19 says, “When I say to the wicked, ‘You shall surely die,’ and you give him no warning, nor speak to warn the wicked from his wicked way to save his life, that same wicked man shall die in his iniquity; but his blood I will require at your hand. Yet, if you warn the wicked, and he does not turn from his wickedness, nor from his wicked way, he shall die in his iniquity but you have delivered your soul.”

These verses stress the vital importance of our Christian and biblical command to share the Gospel with the “heathen” (this term is outdated and unpopular, yet it is vital for mission-minded focus. “Heathen” refers to precious unsaved people who have never yet heard the Gospel message of God’s salvation through Jesus Christ). So often, we are distracted by good and busy activities, even in the church. The following vision, received by Amy Carmichael, compares these activities to making “daisy chains.” As you read this, may you allow the Lord to challenge your heart. May we “see” the waterfall of souls who so desperately need Him, and may we be more aware of God’s passionate love for these people, and allow His love to flow through us . . . through our prayers, our giving, and our obedience.

Amy Carmichael
Missionary to India (1867-1951)

Amy Carmichael was born in Northern Ireland to a wealthy family. When she was eighteen, her father died, and as the eldest of seven children, Amy received much of the family responsibility. In 1892, at the age of twenty-four, Amy Carmichael received a “call to missions,” and soon left for Japan, and later, Ceylon. After returning home for a brief time, she finally set sail for the country that would become her long-term home: INDIA!

Within twelve years, Miss Carmichael had 130 children in her care and had rescued many hundreds more. For fifty-five years, she sacrificially lived and ministered in India…without even a furlough. Many others were inspired to join with her, and together with these co-workers, she established an Indian mission work called “The Dohnaver Fellowship”.

Amy Carmichael is best remembered for her life work of saving precious Indian children (especially rescuing many young girls from Hindu temple prostitution). Even today, through her books and writings, the impact of her life and testimony continues to challenge many to a deeper walk with the Lord, and a deeper commitment to His service.

Thy Brother’s Blood – A Vision for Souls

The tom-toms thumped straight on all night, and the darkness shuddered ‘round me like a living, feeling thing. I could not go to sleep, so I lay awake and looked; and I saw, as it seemed, this:

That I stood on a grassy precipice, and at my feet at crevice broke down into infinite space. I looked, but saw no bottom; only cloud shapes, black and furiously coiled, and great shadow-shrouded hollows, and unfathomable depths. Back I drew, dizzy at the depth.

Then I saw forms of people moving in single file along the grass. They were making for the edge. There was a woman with a baby in her arms and another little child holding onto her dress. She was on the very verge. Then I saw that she was blind. She lifted her foot for the next step…it trod air. She was over, and the children over with her. Oh, they cry as they went over! Then I saw more streams of people flowing from all quarters. All were blind, stone blind; and all made straight for the crevice’s edge. They were shrieks as they suddenly knew in themselves that they were falling, and a tossing up of helpless arms, catching, clutching at empty air. But some went over quietly and fell without a sound.

Then I wondered with a wonder that was simple agony, why no one stopped them at the edge. I could not, I was glued to the ground. And I could not call; though I strained and tried, only a whisper would come.

Then I saw that along the edge there were guards set at intervals. But the intervals were too great; there were wide, unguarded gaps between. And over these gaps the people fell in their blindness, quite unwarned; and the green grass seemed blood-red to me, and gulf yawned like the mouth of hell.

Then I saw, like a little picture of peace, a group of people under some trees with their backs turned towards the gulf. They were making daisy chains. Sometimes when a piercing shriek cut the quiet air and reached them, it disturbed them and they thought it a rather vulgar noise. And if one of their number started up and wanted to go and do something to help, then all the others would pull that one down. “Why should you get all excited about it? You must wait for a definite call to go! You haven’t finished your daisy chain yet. It would be really selfish,” they said, “to leave us to finish the work alone.”

There was another group. It was made up of people whose great desire was to get more guards out; but they found that very few wanted to go, and sometimes there were no guards set for miles and miles of the edge.

One girl stood alone in her place, waving the people back; but her mother and other relations called, and reminded her that her furlough was due; she must not break the rules. And being tired and needing a change, she had to go and rest for a while; but no one was sent to guard her gap, and over and over the people fell, like a waterfall of souls.

Once a child caught at a tuft of grass that grew at the very brink of the gulf; it clung convulsively, and it called — but nobody seemed to hear. Then the roots of the grass gave way, and with a cry the child went over, the two little hands still holding right to the torn-off bunch of grass. And the girl who longed to be back in her gap thought she heard the little one cry, and she sprang up and wanted to go; at which they reproved her, reminding her that no one is necessary anywhere; they gap would be well taken care of, they knew. And then they sang a hymn.

Then through the hymn came another sound like the pain of a million broken hearts wrung out in one full drop, one sob. And a horror of great darkness was upon me, for I knew what it was; the cry of the blood.

Then thundered a voice, the voice of the Lord. And he said, “What hast though done? The voice of thy brother’s blood crieth unto Me from the ground.”

The ton-toms still beat heavily, and darkness still shuddered and shivered about me. I heard the yells of the devil-dancers and weird, wild shrieks of the devil-possessed just outside the gate.

What does it matter, after all? It has gone on for years; it will go on for years. Why make such a fuss about it? — God forgive us! God arouse us! Shame us out of our callousness! Shame us out of our sin!

Amy Carmichael, Thy Brother’s Blood Crieth:
(India: The Dohnavur Fellowship).
Obtained from an article from Bethany Fellowship, Inc.
Minneapolis, MN.

MEATY: The Whole Estate: A Classic Missions Challenge

Here is an estate. The master tells his servants that he is leaving, but that he will be returning. And while he is gone, they are to bring the entire estate under cultivation . . .

The Whole Estate

A Classic Missions Challenge
–By Oswald J. Smith, Missionary Evangelist

Here is an estate. The master tells his servants that he is leaving, but that he will be returning. And while he is gone, they are to bring the entire estate under cultivation.

They begin working around the house. They beautify the gardens and flowerbeds. Next year the weeds grow and again they go to work, keeping the lawns in perfect condition.

Presently one of them remembers his master’s orders. “I must go,” he explains. “Our master told us to bring the entire estate under cultivation.” And he prepares to leave. “But,” they cry, “we cannot spare you. See how fast the weeds grow. We need you here.” In spite of their protests, however, he leaves and begins working in a far corner of the estate.

Later on, two others remember their Lord’s orders and in spite of objections they too, go and cultivate another part of the estate.

At last their master returns. He is pleased as he looks at the flowerbeds and gardens and the lawns around his house. But before rewarding his servants, he decides to explore the rest of the estate and as he does so, his heart sinks for he sees nothing but wilderness and marsh, and he realizes that there has not even been an attempt to cultivate.

Finally he comes to the one man working all by himself in a distant part of the estate and he rewards him richly. He discovers the two in still another part and likewise rewards them. Then he returns to headquarters where his servants are waiting and expecting a reward, but his face indicates displeasure.

“Have we not been faithful?” they explain. “Look at these flowerbeds and gardens. Look at these lawns. Are they not beautiful? And have not we worked hard?”

“Yes,” he replies, “you have done your best. You have been faithful. You have labored diligently.”

“Well then,” they cry, “why are you disappointed? Are we not entitled to a reward?”

“There is one thing you have forgotten,” he replied. “You have forsaken my orders. I did not tell you to work the same gardens and lawns again and again, year after year. I told you to bring the entire estate under cultivation, to cultivate it, and when your companions insisted upon going and doing their part, you objected. No, there is no reward.”

Then He said to His disciples, “The harvest truly is plentiful, but the laborers are few. Therefore pray the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into His harvest.”
Matthew 9:37-38 NKJV

SOURCE: Smith, Oswald J., A Passion for Souls, (Toronto, Ontario: People’s Church). Excerpted from an article found in The Harvest Call, by T.L. Osborn, (Tulsa, OK: The Voice of Faith, Inc. 1953), pp. 180-181. Used by permission of People’s Church and the family of Oswald J. Smith. Written email letter of permission for TMMC dated 2004.

ON THE LIGHT SIDE: Grasshoppers for Thanksgiving?

By Joshua Dunagan, at age thirteen

“So, what did you eat for Thanksgiving?”

During the week of Thanksgiving, my dad and I were across the world in Uganda, East Africa, holding evangelistic outreaches in remote cities out in the middle of nowhere. It was my second Thanksgiving holiday outside of America. But this time was really different.

In Africa, most people eat the same foods over and over again; at least we sure did.

Day after day, meal after meal, we had overcooked rice, matoke (mashed steamed bananas), and a few chunks of tough meat and guts. But for Thanksgiving we had a “special” African treat. Along with our standard food, we were given a plate full of greasy fried grasshoppers!! They were about two inches long, with the legs and head still on.

As I stared at these insects, thoughts flashed through my brain. I imagined all the yummy food my brothers and sisters were eating at Grandma’s house: turkey and pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes and gravy. I also remembered a time I had eaten big bugs before (at a kid’s camp when I was bribed with a bunch of candy). It wasn’t so hard to chug down an insect just once or twice on a dare, but this was different. It was Thanksgiving—and I was hungry!

Actually, they didn’t taste that bad. As I took my first bite, they reminded me of a cross between popcorn and shrimp—crunchy on the outside and a little gooey on the inside. Soon I was eating one after the other, even throwing them in the air and catching them in my mouth. I must have eaten about sixty of them by the time I was done!

By the way, the ministry went well that night.

We preached to thousands of people . . . and I felt just like John the Baptist!

(Note: Photo is actually our son, Joshua, at only 10-years-old, preaching the Gospel in Urua, Uganda)

Happy Mission-Minded Thanksgiving!

Related article on The Christian Post’s “Better Parents, Better Families” blog:

Give Ye, Them to Eat: Thanksgiving, Missions, & “Saints” – By Ann Dunagan

A Mission-Minded Thanksgiving article featuring Nate Saint (Ecuador missionary and martyr) and Rachel Saint (missionary with Wycliffe Bible Translators) – two world-renown Christian missionary heroes . . . from the same family!