Du­ring my re­cent mis­si­on trip to Gui­nea we vi­si­ted many ho­mes in Nze­re­ko­re and Co­nak­ry, kee­ping ser­vi­ces in vil­la­ge hal­ls and gar­dens. I was tra­ve­ling with the To­go­le­se spe­a­ker Nic­ho­las Deh and Gui­ne­an Alp­hon­se Haba, who li­ves in Gam­bia. Alp­hon­se al­so trans­la­ted our speec­hes and ser­ved as our gui­de.

In one vil­la­ge in the Nze­re­ko­re area we star­ted by vi­si­ting a fa­mi­ly. Part of the fa­mi­ly mem­bers came to our ser­vi­ces, and many wan­ted to be­lie­ve their sins for­gi­ven. The mot­her of the fa­mi­ly did not come. We re­tur­ned to that home for a meal. Nic­ho­las spoke to the mot­her, sa­ying that many good things had hap­pe­ned that day, but one was still mis­sing. Wouldn’t she al­so want to be­lie­ve? She said it was not the time for it yet.

Her hus­band tried to per­su­a­de her and said qui­te emp­ha­ti­cal­ly that it would be good for her to be­lie­ve her sins for­gi­ven. Alp­hon­se as­ked him to calm down, poin­ting out that we can­not for­ce faith on any­bo­dy. I was deep­ly touc­hed to see their ten-ye­ar-old child, who had been to our ser­vi­ces, try to lift her mot­her’s hand. She had no­ti­ced that those who wan­ted to be­lie­ve did so. But the mot­her on­ly swept asi­de her child’s hand.

We me­ant to drive from Nze­re­ko­re in sout­hern Gui­nea di­rect­ly to Co­nak­ry, the ca­pi­tal city, where we would keep the last ser­vi­ces. The drive took us lon­ger than we had an­ti­ci­pa­ted, and we de­ci­ded to stop for the night on the way. Alp­hon­se cal­led the man whose hou­se we had vi­si­ted and told him we would stop for the night. That man sug­ges­ted that Alp­hon­se call his re­la­ti­ve, who li­ved close to where we were sta­ying. When we ar­ri­ved in the town in the eve­ning, that re­la­ti­ve was wai­ting for us and sho­wed us the way to a ho­tel. We as­ked him to share a meal with us.

Af­ter the meal we as­ked him if we could tell him why we were there. He was hap­py to hear about it. Nic­ho­las said that if there were even one per­son who wan­ted to be­lie­ve their sins for­gi­ven, we would pre­ach them for­gi­ven. The man said he felt him­self a sin­ner. When we as­ked, he ag­reed to hear ab­so­lu­ti­on, and we pre­ac­hed him his sins for­gi­ven.

That five-mi­nu­te dis­cus­si­on sho­wed us that we do not need to build up faith. God pre­pa­res the per­son’s he­art and simp­ly gi­ves him or her the gift of faith. When we of­fe­red this man mo­ney for the taxi drive to the ho­tel, he did not want to take it. He said it was not­hing com­pa­red to what he had re­cei­ved him­self. Be­fo­re we left in the mor­ning, he came to the ho­tel again to wish us a safe jour­ney and God’s pe­a­ce.

From that trip I es­pe­ci­al­ly re­mem­ber one fa­mi­ly whose home we vi­si­ted many ti­mes. They had such a warm fa­mi­ly at­mosp­he­re and were so kind to eve­ry­bo­dy that I had ne­ver seen anyt­hing like it be­fo­re. Fee­ling my­self so lac­king in my own skill of re­a­ring my child­ren, I as­ked him what we should do to ex­pe­rien­ce in our own home the kind of warmth and ca­ring that I had seen in their home. I was ho­ping for a coup­le of prac­ti­cal hints. But I was overw­hel­med by the simp­li­ci­ty and pro­found­ness of his ans­wer.

– I think that God is hel­ping us.

Text: Mik­ko Ju­vo­nen

Trans­la­ti­on: Sirk­ka-Lii­sa Lei­no­nen

You will find the ori­gi­nal fin­nish blog post here.