The Black silence (minus the rhythmic hum of the generator)
was pierced by the “cock-a-doodle” of a roster. I grabbed for my watch in the
pitch black and when the small light showed the numbers 3:52, I rolled over
with a sigh and a prayer. “Please God, let me get more sleep.” After a few more
“cock-a-doodles” the darkness became silent again and I drifted off to
dreamland. Still laying in the darkness, I was awoken again, this time by a
chorus of ducks, cows, chickens, dogs, a pig and of course, the roster. Now my
watch read 4:47. Sigh!
This month’s living conditions have made me feel like a“real” missionary. I sleep in a traditional wooden, barn-like house on stilts
that is found on every rice farm in the village of Touch (pronounced “Toy-t”).
I’ve longed for the challenge of no running water or consistent electricity and
have both here. We are blessed with a “squatty potty” and a generator for
electricity from around 7:00pm until some time in the darkness of night. We
travel to a market each day for fruit to eat for breakfast and ice for the
small cooler that is the closest we have to a fridge. Our water is either
filtered through a clay pot or boiled before drinking. I do my laundry by hand
with “tadpole water”, which is what I also use for bucket showers. The heat is
so draining that we break from ministry from 1:00 to 3:00pm, but we are unable
to nap in the puddles of sweat our bodies create. The “classroom” where we
teach English twice a day consists of some benches and tables under the shade
of the house and a whiteboard. All of these conditions contribute to my feeling
like I am living the perceived “missionary lifestyle”, but there is one thing
that tops them all. The
thing that reinforces that I am on the frontlines is that when we visited a
neighbor with the intent of building a relationship for later evangelism, she
confessed that she had never heard of Jesus. When we arrived in Touch, there
were only three Christians. With only two and a half weeks, we certainly have
our work cutout for us.
