Runaway Rainmaker

So, get this: The Rainmaker ran away.
Crazy, eh?
It’s funny, the things that have happened here since we moved in, but I think this one takes the cake.
I’m not even sure why he left—or, as some would argue, was run off—but I know he’s gone, which makes the animistic culture here a little thinner (and our nights a little quieter). I guess he slept with some guy’s wife or something. And this isn’t the first village he’s been shooed out of.
God is just opening all sorts of doors for us, though we often feel limited because we’re still basic in the language and are three months away from beginning any formal ministry. (Our battle cry: Language learning is ministry.) But the Lord is at work, doing incredible things.
The AIC church, planted in the 50s, I think, is seeing a bit of a revival. People are coming, for one thing. Old people who are coming back to the church, new people who are following us there. This guy Moses gave his life to Christ years ago, but fell defeated to the culture in the villages and had fallen away. Steve put the Aussie with him for home stay when we first got here—when we stayed with families for a week—and, pole pole, Moses has come back to the church and is now just on fire for the Lord. He stood up Sunday in church and spurred on the people to walk in Christ and to share His good news. That’s nuts.
Deborah, this woman who became a Christian when she was 11 and was discipled by the Barbara and Martha—some of the original missionaries here, back in the 50s—has been a huge help to our girls in Sohot, just as he’s found encouragement and comfort in them. Christians just don’t live in the villages without backsliding it seems, but she has. Praise God.
To see how the Lopit pastors at AIC have caught the vision is also cool. No longer are they just focusing on Amerikan—the tiny village where the church and mission station are, where all the Christians flock when they’re persecuted in the hills—but they’ve got on their minds and hearts the village in the hills. They see what our living up there has done and how great a witness it is. Pastor G organized a list of past members of the church or those who had been baptized and divided it up by villages. He’s charged us (and even the congregation) to find these people, meet these people and be something to these people. Everyone is realizing it’s not impossible to live as a Christian in the villages—we are, and we’re there to stand with those who will take a stand.
We don’t go unnoticed here—not just because of our white skin, but because of how we live our lives.
God is building up opportunities for us as we build up our Lopit vocabulary. This field is ripe for the harvest. Even just last night, a group of teens we know well invited us to play—to go from house to house and eat a big of sorghum and giagi (YUCK) at each place. At the last house, under this bright, remarkable moon, they crowded around us and asked us to tell them the “story of the history of America .” (Their concept—or lack thereof—of the USA is hilarious. They know nothing of its size or culture. They figure it to be much like what they know, just a cluster of huts on a mountainside. My favorite was when they asked us if we knew Rachel—a short-termer here in June who I’ve talked about before—or someone named Ellen. They seemed so confused that we would not know them, even though we both lived in the States.) I cannot wait until we can tell them the creation story, the story of Jesus Christ.
The audience is here, at rapt attention.
Now we just need the words.

Hi Jen’s Dad
Dear Roger (Jen said I could call you Roger), I’m just saying hello on behalf of Jen. I’ll try to get more pictures of Jen up here. God bless you!