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May 07, 2005
It's turned out sunny again (a poem)
It's May, the hottest month in Gorom-Gorom.
The temperature has been up to about 45C (113F) in the shade so far, and will reach close to 50C (122F) before the end of the month. At night, you sleep outside, with only a pair of shorts between you and the stars. But still the temperature leaves you sweating through the night. You wish you could unbutton your skin and climb out of that, too.
There are many challenges to overcome in taking the gospel to the needy and unreached of the 10-40 widow: spiritual opposition, physical hardship, discouragement, our own apathy... The heat is one more draining element in the battle. It saps the strength and wilts good intention. It acts also as a metaphor of both the spiritual need and the spiritual opposition that we, the church face, as we wimp out of the challenge to take the good news of Jesus to the difficult places on earth.
Please pray for my colleague Steve, as he perseveres in the ministry in Burkina, seeking to bring life to the Fulani. And pray for an outpouring of God's Spirit - both upon the Fulani, and upon the church He sends into all the world.
Now, I don't write poetry.
However...
This is a sort of a poem I wrote a couple of years ago during the hot season. I was sitting sweating in the shade of a mat shelter. It was too hot to do anything, and too hot to do nothing. And so I put my feelings down on paper. It's called: It's turned out sunny again...
It's Turned Out Sunny Again
The sun's too hot in the month of May;
The day gets hot and it stays that way.
There's radiation and degrees aplenty
(the midday count was a hundred and twenty).
The night - thank the stars - gets a lot less hotter,
And my mattress acts as a foam "sweat-blotter."
The temperature drops when there is no sun -
the cool of night is a hundred and one!
With the rains drawing near and humidity rising,
Loss of body fluids is not surprising -
To serve the Lord in this sun-stroked nation
Takes guts and prayer and perspiration.
The oasis has turned to burning sand -
The palms are sweaty and the dates are canned;
The vulture's left for where the heat is less,
And the camel's being treated for heatstroke stress.
My strength is sapped and my brain is fried,
My guitar's gone boing, and my cactus died,
My trousers are stuck to my inside leg,
And my chicken's just laid a pre-poached egg!
I long to drink, and then to bring
Cool water for others from the living spring,
But the source of spiritual motivation
Appears to be suffering from dehydration.
The wells are blocked, the streams are dry
And the people faint from thirst, and die.
The land is parched in a time of drought,
But the water-carriers won't come out.
Our life-force withers in the burning rays
Of the hot dry season of these last days.
Oh Lord, have mercy, and send the rain,
'Cos, God, it's turned out sunny...
...Again.
Posted by Keith at May 7, 2005 12:33 PM
Comments
I can't imagine, Keith. I have a friend who worked in Djibouti, and she described the same thing to me. Do you have to get your shoes resoled a lot?
Posted by: Sandra at May 7, 2005 05:46 PM
nice one - I was hoping you'd post this, Keith, and reading it has made me feel suddenly and inexplicably better.
love the 'pre-poached egg' gag.
btw, we had a rain here the other day, and it has cooled down slightly since then.
Posted by: Steve at May 7, 2005 09:33 PM
We in Cambodia empathise, particularly to the trouser syndrome which is all the more effective after sitting on plastic chairs.
Honestly though, our 35 degrees would probably feel like summer in Penzance to you guys.
Those who sow in sweat...
Posted by: Charlie & Vanessa at May 22, 2005 09:26 AM
