Tell Your Story
You can send your story (2 pages typewritten) in the message of an email to
bonnietexas at hotmail.com
or
mail it to Bonnie Meadows, 6800 Westgate Blvd. #132-105. All stories submitted
become the property of Christ Covenant International Ministries.
When enough stories are
collected, we will publish one or more books and use the proceeds to establish a
foundation to help prepare and provide pastors for Christian Immigrant Fellowships. We
hope to fund training and support for Christian leaders through the funds
raised with these books of stories. Donate your story today and share it with
your friends and church soon.
A Story
of Conflict from Southern Sudan
This story is told by one of the Lost Boys of Sudan who lives in the western
part of the US. We are calling him Stephen.
Learning and Loyalty
Learn
the language of your enemy. (my
father told me this)
From Stephen (a Bible penname for this grown-up child)
I was a child in a Christian family in Southern Sudan, which was an area governed by Islamic Arabs of Northern Sudan. The regime in
Northern Sudan was very strong at that time—when I was a child of six—so
they were able to force their ideas on the people of
Southern Sudan. I have some vivid memories of my early schooling during those days.
Although we grew up speaking the language of our village,
we were forced to learn Arabic and use only this language in our school. Our
parents had learned English, for the English had ruled our land until 1956. When
the northern government forced Arabic as the official language, the our
officials in
Southern Sudan
tried to keep English in the school and include its study in the curriculum,
but they were unsuccessful.
When I complained that I didn’t want to learn Arabic
because it was the language of our oppressors, my father told me, “Learn the
language of your enemy.” As I grew up I found that he meant more than just
learning the Arabic language.
It was the government policy for all children to study
Islam during the school day in the classroom because the country was about 85%
Muslim, and all of the village authorities and members of the government were
Muslim. The school officials, however, allowed those of us who were not Islamic
to study under our priest, who would come to our school every morning to teach
us Christianity. He would bring a large picture of Jesus, and we would gather
under a tree in the school yard to learn our lessons about Christian beliefs.
There were a small number of us, but it was always interesting. I
often looked out the window during the classroom Islamic training to see the
picture of Jesus which the priest held aloft for us.
However, although we were permitted to study Christianity
while the Islamic children were studying their religion, we were frequently
punished for not knowing what they had been taught. We were responsible for all
the memory verses from the Koran and religious information that the master was
teaching the children about Islam while we were outside studying Christian
beliefs and learning the Bible. If we did not know the answers, we were given
lashes. Even though we did not attend the teaching of Islam, we were held
responsible for all that was taught about it—and even though I was only
six-years-old I was punished often for not knowing what I had not heard.
As I grew older, I felt that I must discontinue studying
Islam, so I informed the school officials that I would study only Christianity
from then on. The school officials told me firmly that if I discontinued my
study of Islam, I would be thrown out of school and sent home immediately. I
begged them, and at last they said that if my father would write a letter
informing them that I was a Christian, I would be allowed to stay in school and
not be required to continue my study of Islam.
My school at this time was far from my home, and I was
concerned about the amount of time it would take for a letter to reach my
parents and be returned with the message I needed to stay in school. At last it
arrived, three weeks later, and I was allowed to continue my studies at that
school—without studying Islam.
The letter keeping me in school without having to study
Islam may have targeted my father for punishment. About that time there was a
lot of pressure from the governing authorities on my father. He owned a large
store with food and clothing. The local authorities accused him of supporting
the rebel movement because he was a Christian. Shouting false accusations, they
confiscated all of the food and clothing in his store—all of his merchandise.
They left him with nothing. They used his religion as a weapon to punish him as
a political threat. They told him that they would be glad to return the food
they had stolen from his store—all he had to do was accept Islam. He refused,
so they gave him no food. He could no longer be a business man, and he was not
able to find work again because of his beliefs and these accusations.
I looked for pity, but there was none;
for comforters, but I found none…
Pour out your indignation upon them,
let your burning anger overtake them…
but I am lowly and in pain; let your salvation, O God, protect me.
I will praise the name of God with song;
I will magnify him with thanksgiving…
Let heaven and earth praise him,
the seas and everything that moves in them.
For God will save
Zion
and rebuild the cities of
Judah;
And his servants shall live there and possess it;
The children of his servants shall inherit it,
And those who love his name shall live in it.
Psalm 69: 20, 24, 29-30, 34-6
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A Story from the Plains of North Louisiana
Before Her Time
“My times are in
your hand.” Psalm 31:15
From Hepzibah (a Bible penname for the contributor)
The time of giving birth to a child is one of the most dangerous events
faced by the mother and the infant—especially on the prairie over a hundred
years ago.
It is safest and healthiest time for a child to remain in
the womb for nine months—or a little more. But this tiny infant’s mother was
very weak, and she had been ill for many months. She was faint and everyone
feared for her as she suffered during the last trimester of her first pregnancy.
A doctor was not available in this
little village on the wild prairie, but the relatives who had gathered around
this very weak young mother realized that the baby was not likely to survive
such an early birth, so they prayed fervently for the mother’s life. When they
prayed, “my times are in your hand,” they were asking God to preserve the
life of the mother beyond this birth. They had no confidence in the baby’s
hope for survival and steeled themselves for losing her.
Late at night, after many exhausting hours, the tiny baby
was delivered—a little girl whom no one bothered to name or even look at with
tenderness. She was so very small—more like a doll, really. She was bundled
into an old blanket piece and quickly handed to the 12-year-old cousin who
wanted to help but hadn’t the skills. Those who had delivered the baby turned
immediately back to the suffering mother. She must not lose any more blood! She
must be kept warm! She needed some water and some rest! They hovered and prayed
and advised one another in hushed voices—forgetting the new little one in
their anxiety.
But little Addie could not forget this tiny premature
baby—she was holding the infant in her arms. In fact, the baby was just about
the right size baby doll for the little girl. Addie listened as she heard the
adults talk about the mother’s needs, and she determined to take care of her
little charge just as tenderly. One of the adults saw her holding and caressing
the baby—and she was warned not to become attached to the baby because it
would probably die. “The baby was born before her time,” they said, and then
they quoted Psalm 58: 8—hers might be an “untimely birth that never sees the
sun.”
Addie cuddled the baby and held her until the infant fell
asleep exhausted. Then the child placed the tiny baby among the tinder near the wood
stove. Even though it was July, the nights could get chilly, and the tiny infant
must be kept warm. In spite of the adults’ warnings to her, Addie made her bed
beside the sleeping baby and placed her hand upon her, so she would be aware if
it stirred.
The adults—exhausted themselves with all the trauma and
distress—sat down for a late meal and fed the mother a little weak broth to
keep up her strength. The baby’s uncle sat down in a rocking chair and opened
his Bible. He read Psalm 22 to his sister to comfort her as she fell asleep.
Then the family settled down to sleep through the rest of the night—some ready
to wake whenever the mother called for help.
The night was quiet, only a little murmuring and quiet
care, but when the sun rose and made its way into the kitchen, everyone heard a
sound they never expected.
The baby was crying lustily—wanting to be fed
immediately! She had no intention of dying and was very much alive. From that
time on she was fed and cuddled and loved and praised. And that baby lived to be
93 years old and helped to bring into this world 16 healthy grandchildren,
myself among them. The adults had forgotten that the comforting words of Psalm 22:
9-11 applied to a new, premature baby as well as adults:
“It was you who took me from the womb;
you kept me safe on my mother’s breast.
On you I was cast from my birth,
and since my mother bore me you have been my God.
Do not be far from me, for trouble is near
and there is no one to help.”
Her birth was not—after all—before her time. It was just right. And
incidentally, although she was Addie’s baby for only a day, this infant was
the only baby that Addie ever had, for Addie lived to a ripe old age without ever
having married or borne a child of her own.
Tell us Your Story
Christ Covenant International Ministries will be publishing these stories and
similar short, personal, true stories about people who have had a personal
experience with God's amazing love. Proceeds from the sale and distribution of
these stories will directly benefit the World Immigrants in America Foundation.
Please donate your story and/or make a financial contribution to aid us in creating
the foundation. All of the stories that appear on this web site and in these
books are subject to all the copyright laws in the US and throughout the world.
Do not make any copy of these materials without written permission from this web
site or the publisher.
The World Immigrants in America Foundation will help to furnish
strong pastors for the many Christian fellowships of immigrant peoples from all
over the world. When the books are published, these stories will be available as a free gift to donors or for
purchase by supporters of this ministry. Copies will be available soon through
this web site.
If you would like to contribute a story of your own, something you or someone in
your family has personally experienced, please include your story (about 2 pages
long) in the body of an email to address: bonnietexas at hotmail.com or you can mail it to
the address below. Those contributing a story will receive a deduction on
publications they purchase from this web site if you provide contact
information. All submissions become the
property of Christ Covenant International Ministries.
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