In our heart of hearts, we all long for simplicity. No one goes, “Oh, I wish my life were more complicated.” We look at lifestyles such as the Amish and even though we don’t choose it for ourselves, we know, deep down, there is something right about it. We are drawn to the wholesome, uncluttered, freedom we sense it brings. Our hearts yearn for the garden we were meant for all along.

Parenthood seems to bring it out even more. We want something better for our children than what our fast-paced, throw-away, media-centered culture offers. So we try, as much as we can, to get “back to the basics.” 

While I had no idea what I was doing, I began growing a small garden along the side of our house when my kids were little. When my friends all got bread makers, so did I. Another mom and I even tried our hand at making our own cleaning products (If you cut a whole roll of paper towels in half and put it in a Tupperware of the same size, along with an inch or two of diluted Pine-Sol, it becomes homemade disinfectant wipes). Having a “Diaper Service” came into vogue as moms began using cloth diapers again. And suddenly, clean, fresh sheets began flapping in the breeze where they never had before–in my backyard. Moving toward more natural, organic living felt good. It felt right.

But now, with the glaring screens of technology stealing our real, flesh and blood life and replacing it with a complicated, time-consuming virtual one, many of us desperately crave the honest-to-goodness simplicity of life once again. But how? How do we keep this huge monster we call “modern civilization” from taking over our lives? How do we live simply in the midst of such confusing chaos?

Well, God answered my heartfelt plea to those questions this morning. But it wasn’t at all what I was expecting. Clearing away the cobwebs of our crazy, complicated culture, doesn’t have anything to do with organic living. It’s actually even more organic than that.

Simplicity starts with the spiritual.

Ezra 7:9-10 says, “The good hand of his God was upon him. For Ezra had set his heart to study the law of the Lord and to practice it and to teach His statutes and ordinances to Israel.”

Ezra’s heart and mind were not cluttered up with external, physical circumstances. Israel was coming out of their 70 year captivity and he had led another group back home. The temple had been rebuilt by then but the wall lay in ruins. There was still a huge, complex job left to do. But that wasn’t what made Ezra weep, pull out his beard and tear his clothes. It was the spiritual rubble he stumbled over. And he knew what the plain-on-your-face answer was. God’s Word.

Ezra didn’t live in the physical. He lived in the spiritual. He lived smack, dab in the middle of what truly organic is. You can’t get more organic than God. For Ezra, it was that simple. And it can be that simple for us too.

The chaos of our modern lives, both inside and out, will never be solved by planting gardens, making bread and hanging sheets on the line. Focusing on the physical won’t change anything–at least not anything of true, lasting value. However, focusing on the spiritual can take our massively involved 21st century lives and infuse them with the simple sense and order we hunger for. As with Ezra, it means setting our hearts on God’s Word, committing to practice it ourselves and teaching it to others. Everything else will follow.

We can get back to the garden after all.

If you yearn for true simplicity, the kind that will change your life and the lives of those around you, wake up while it’s still dark, grab your Bible and a cup of coffee (or tea in my case!) and go organic.

“Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I’ll lift up my soul.” Psalm 143:8

“Honey? I know you said that one of the kids probably left them there. But since they’ve all gone to college now and I’m not in the habit of wearing men’s shoes and socks …”

That’s one of the problems with having an “empty nest.” There’s no one left to blame! We’re about to find out who really leaves the lights and air-conditioning on, doesn’t replace the toilet paper and gets peanut butter in the jelly. Rand has already made one new discovery. For years, he’s gotten into the car, turned the key and then jumped two feet as the radio started blaring music at him. He just assumed it was one of the kids!

“I thought for sure there were two dozen Christmas cookies here when I left for the grocery store … Do you know anything about this, Sweetheart? … Well, that’s interesting but we haven’t had a dog in years!”

But that may be changing soon. Since NTM will be selling this building in the next one to three years (Yes, that does make it very hard to plan) and about 26 of us missionary families will need to find somewhere else to live (Yikes!) perhaps we’ll be able to get that dog after all! I always prefer to look on the bright side. Lose a home – gain a dog. So while Rand is trying to crunch numbers and figure out how we’re going to get a loan, I’m busy looking up breeds on the internet! What do you think about cocker spaniels?

“What tattoos? Oh, the kids definitely left those there … No, I do not secretly want a tattoo … No, I don’t care if they are just temporary… Rand Elbert Burgett! Don’t you dare take another step …!”

That’s the other problem with this stage of life. Your otherwise mature, responsible, dedicated missionary husband is suddenly chasing you around the kitchen table with temporary tattoos! And you can’t use the tried and true, “But, Honey! The children!”

And speaking of children, I’ll give you a quick rundown on ours.

Ryan (26) and Hannah are doing great in their little apartment in Pennsylvania with our two adorable grandgirls, Riley (4) and Amity (2) and “newby” on the way. Ryan has discovered that he loves to bake after work in the evenings and since Hannah had to go “gluten free,” he has become quite an expert on GF baking for the whole family. He has also discovered an ingenious way to save money. Keep your heat off and let the downstairs apartment heat yours!

Shane (23) is the technical/media coordinator for a church in York, Pennsylvania and loves it. He keeps all the staff’s computers up and running, is webmaster of the website, produces videos of all the services and makes the DVDs for distribution, etc. He’s currently working on improving the online sound quality of the recorded sermons and re-vamping the website.

Karis (21), Tyler (19) and Jenna (18) are all up at New Tribes Bible Institute in Wisconsin. As some of you know, the week before Thanksgiving, Karis broke her back during an “Open House” at a gymnastics center. She is now the proud owner of a rod and eight screws in her back and has to wear a brace for three months. 21-year-olds are remarkable healers. She was back in class nine days later. She has no paralysis whatsoever and most of the pain should be subsiding over the next six months. Considering it could have been so much worse, we have MUCH to be thankful for!

Tyler is still making friends wherever he goes and is a blessing to all he meets. He graduates in May and is tentatively thinking of continuing his education possibly back home in Florida. Jenna is loving college immensely and has quite a ministry with girls both inside and outside her dorm. When we went to care for Karis and heard from the staff how much they appreciated having our children there, it brought tears to my eyes. Every parent longs to hear those words.

“Dinner? We’re having fish … Yes, I have been making it more since the kids aren’t here to complain about it … Well, your complaining doesn’t count … Because I don’t want to be a widow just yet!”

I guess I’ll wait till later to tell him we’re also having salad again. That might push him over the edge. And imagine my very real surprise when this “anti-health” husband of mine decided to grow a garden! No, I’m not making it up. The man who would eat “Hamburger Helper” five times a week and hotdogs the other two, is growing a garden. It turns out that his “pro-saving” ideals took precedence over his “anti-health” ones. He realized with all the vegetables I like to eat, it was cheaper to grow them!

“Where on earth could it be? … Let me call the receptionist … Hi, this is Debbie Burgett … Yes, could you tell me where the dumpster is? … Well, the kids used to take the trash out and now Rand and I are wandering around out here with our garbage …”

In our house, an “empty nest” has translated to VERY full sinks and garbage cans. Who knew the kids contributed so much? At first we thought we could wait it out till their Christmas break, but soon discovered that wasn’t practical. So once we found the dumpster and the kids sent me a drawing of how to load the dishwasher, we were good to go. They’re slated to explain the vacuum cleaner over the summer. It’s good to take these things in small steps.

And little steps over time can create big changes. As you went about your life in 2011, somewhere else deep in the remotest parts of the world, eight people groups finally heard the Good News of the Gospel for the very first time and were able to celebrate Christmas with us this year. That’s huge.

And thank you to each and every one of you who make it possible for Rand to continue developing tribal software for our missionaries to take to the jungle with them and for me to continue being able to write about it. I was actually put in charge of NTM@work magazine for the coming year. I’m so excited! February will be my “debut” issue and unlike any other issue before it, I have either written and/or edited the whole thing from cover to cover.

From humorous missionary blunders to heartfelt tribal stories, it will make you laugh and cry. But most of all, it will help you better understand what a powerful book the Bible is and its incredible capacity to change people’s lives. But don’t take my word for it! Check it out yourself! For a free subscription, click subscribe, email ntm@ntm.org or call 407-323-3430.

“Um, Rand? Could you help me eat these Oreos? … Well, with the kids gone, I got a craving, but now I’m stuck with this whole package … No, that’s okay. I just thought you liked the fact that I’m still the same size I was in college … Whoa! Slow down, Honey! You’ll choke!”

And may you also slowdown in 2012 – way, way down – and take the time to remember why it is that we’ve been left here. He didn’t leave us here to endure life the best we can. This isn’t some test or punishment to get through. He left us here on purpose to bring Him glory every single glorious, mind-blowing second of our hill and valley lives – and to thoroughly enjoy the journey and whichever scenery He provides.

And that’s much more exciting and a higher purpose than just getting by. I can live with that. I want to live with that. How about you? Empty nest or not, these really are the glory days. His glory days. And now we have 2012, for as long as He allows, to rack up more and more glory for Him. And that’s something to look forward to! Happy New Year!

“We’ve got to get rid of this fictitious dog you made up, Honey. He just knocked over my cup of tea!”

Love, Rand and Debbie

Caked with a mixture of sweat and grime and nearing exhaustion, Wasi stumbled into the neighboring Hewa village, dragging his 16-year-old daughter, Tino, behind him. They collapsed in a heap as villagers and missionaries came running. Muddy rivers of tears streaked down Wasi’s face as he looked up and implored those standing above him,

“Please save my daughter! Please save her! They want to chop her up with an axe!”

Wasi’s fears were not unfounded. Six others from his village had already met the same brutal end. Why? Because of the tragic beliefs and traditions handed down by his Hewa ancestors.

For centuries, the Hewa people of Papua New Guinea have believed that sickness and death are caused by evil spirits. But the deadliest of all these spirits are the ones that inhabit women or children, making them a witch. So when someone dies, the tribal men sit around the fire and quiz each other to find “evidence” of the witch’s identity that caused the death. The two biggest “proofs” of guilt are if someone dreams about you or if you are mentioned in someone’s dying words. Since a Hewa man had recently died and in his final breaths had whispered Tino’s name, she had been declared a witch and marked for death.

Now it was only a matter of time before a raiding party of young men came to hunt her down.

But Wasi had come to the right place. Running through the jungle earlier, blind with fear, clutching his daughter’s arm, all he could think of was, “Go to the village that is different now. The Big Message has changed them. They will care. They will help.”

And they did.

Word went out quickly that another Hewa girl was in danger and needed safe haven. It had to be somewhere far enough away so that no Hewa people had ever hiked there before and never would – out of fear of the unknown evil spirits at that distance.

Then began the long waiting – and praying. And word came back. A believing family in another tribe on the other side of the mountains would adopt Tino as their own daughter. She would be safe there. The missionaries could take her immediately.

Once again, tears covered Wasi’s face, but this time, out of joy. No angry, misguided axes, which had swung in their Hewa mountains for centuries, would swing against his daughter today. Instead, he had witnessed something new. The strangling cord of tradition had been chopped – by people believing a different message. A message of life.

Wasi waved until the helicopter and its precious cargo was just a speck in the distance and then turned for his own long journey home. But this time as he traveled, all he could think of was, “The Big Message is powerful. When will it come to my village?” Lifesaving faith is cutting a path there now.

The tribal believers that helped save Tino are steadily wielding the truth of the Gospel throughout their Hewa mountains – axing fear and falsehood wherever it is found. And it’s leaving a trail strewn with the life-giving blood of Jesus Christ. Wasi’s village is next on the chopping block.

What are you wielding today?

Arrows came flying with chilling accuracy. Sabien was a man of his word. It was either “his way or the highway” – both at home and in the village. And he was always more than willing to “help” someone make the “right” choice.

He fit another arrow in his bow …

Then one day – hope arrived.

Missionaries came to his Siawi village and needed help learning his culture and language. Sabien was one of the volunteers. Eventually, the missionaries became fluent and were ready to accurately explain God’s Word to his people. Sabien had helped translate the very Bible lessons they would use to do it.

Now he showed up at the teaching with his two wives.

But something wasn’t quite right.

As the teaching progressed, Sabien became increasingly frustrated. Things weren’t turning out as he expected. He thought that helping the missionaries and being part of this big, new happening in the village would somehow increase his own personal standing and prestige among his people. Instead, everyone just seemed consumed with this promised Redeemer. Worst of all, hearing the same lessons he had helped translate just made him feel uncomfortable.

This was not what he had signed up for. He wanted power and control – not a Redeemer.

“We will not be going to the Bible teaching anymore!” Sabien announced one evening to his devastated family.

He knew of another way to reach his goals …

Sabien would begin taking on more wives – one from every family. If anyone refused, he would burn their house down. He would be recognized as the most powerful in the village – or else.

And the warpath for wives began.

Then suddenly – hope came once again.

After a long absence, Sabien surprised everyone by showing up at the teaching with his seven wives. He listened intently to James 1 being taught. Then he dropped by the missionary’s office with some questions.

“What does it mean that they forget what they looked like after they see themselves in the mirror?” he asked the missionary. “Does that mean their lives are not changed after they have heard the word? That talk has been troubling me,” he admitted.

“And the other talk you shared really hit my stomach hard. The talk about some people’s belief being a dead belief. They are only mouthing their belief. Their belief doesn’t come from the heart. That talk keeps coming back to me over and over.”

He looked earnestly at the missionary and then continued.

“I know what God thinks of me. I know I have done so many terrible things. Things that I should not have done. I have said that I believe with only my mouth. But inside, deep in my heart, where change is supposed to happen, there hasn’t been any change.”

Sabien was searching his soul – and coming up empty. The missionary offered the only remedy.

“Please don’t miss the road of salvation that God is offering you,” he entreated the tribal man. “Repent from your own sinful ways and trust Christ today. The Holy Spirit is convicting you. Don’t give Him your backside.”

But Sabien did just that. The Siawi man looked once again straight into the mirror of God’s Word – then turned around and never came back. Now he’s threatening to take an eighth wife to prove his power. His goal is ten.

Sabien is still consumed with Sabien.

What is consuming you?

Fall. Even if you don’t live where the leaves change and the air gets crisp and you have the sudden, overwhelming urge to make applesauce, you still notice it by the relative calm that settles over your neighborhood as moms wave good-bye to big yellow school buses.

Not so in the Uriay tribe of Papua New Guinea. When literacy classes start, it’s a loud, raucous ride that you basically have to fight your way through — especially if you’re a mom.

Komnawe tried to nurse her fidgety baby and focus on the syllable cards the teacher was holding up.

Think! What sound does that make again? Oh, I can’t remember …

A piercing shriek from behind her interrupted the class. But that was one sound Komnawe did know. Daken, her mischievous 4-year-old, had bitten his little sister again.

Now the startled baby pulled away and began to cry as well. As Komnawe tried to tend and shush her two little daughters, Daken ran off with her primer — again.

The tribal man who was reading aloud picked up where he left off — only reading louder now to accommodate the unhappy children.

In the Uriay culture of Papua New Guinea, women are in charge of the kids. So if Komnawe, a quiet, hardworking mother of six, wants to learn to read, the children have to go with her. But to make the task even harder, child discipline of any kind is highly frowned upon.

One mom had lightly smacked her daughter’s legs to let her know to stop hitting her — and the whole class got upset about it. So the Uriay children only need to cry long and loud enough to get whatever they want.

Patient Komnawe now tried to write from dictation while her toddler climbed all over her back and the baby grabbed at her pencil, ate her eraser, and pulled on the paper.

Daken returned with her limp, dirty primer and began to entertain himself by throwing erasers. The baby started howling again as one meant for his older brother thumped her on the head instead.

Above the din, Komnawe heard her name being called.

“Komnawe! It’s your turn to read!” the teacher shouted over the commotion.

The distracted mother stood up and then noticed a “gift” her diaper-less toddler had left earlier on the classroom floor. She excused herself to shovel it into the nearby bushes.

Now as she stood and read aloud to the class, the baby chose that opportunity to also leave mom a “gift” of the wet variety — down the front of Komnawe’s dress.

She saw the younger tribal lady sitting next to her smile briefly — with pleasure. She was the new second wife of Komnawe’s husband.

Oh, I can’t let her learn to read before I do! Then our husband will think I am even dumber than he already says I am!

The class for that day was finally over, with everyone sharing either hoarseness or headaches. But they would continue tomorrow — interruptions and all.

Moms like Komnawe would eventually learn to read. Second or more wives would learn to read. Husbands, grandparents, chiefs, witchdoctors and children would all learn to read.

And then God’s Word would be able to make a difference in their hearts and lives — and that would change their literacy classes.

 The evening rain beat steadily against the little Banwaon hut. Inside, what should have been a happy occasion was not. Mahi had delivered her baby hours ago and yet, still no placenta.

The weak, incoherent young mother burned with fever. The tribal ladies looked at each other helplessly. They had done everything they knew to do …

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?” the young tribal father asked anxiously, knowing the lack of usual chatter was not a good sign.

“If Mahi doesn’t deliver the placenta, she will die from infection,” one of the older ladies told him. It had happened recently in other villages.

Mahi’s husband felt like all his life had just been knocked out of him. He couldn’t survive without Mahi! And neither could their new little girl.

“Well, what can we do?” he asked, going to Mahi’s bedside and gently touching her damp brow. “How can we help her?”

“She needs to go to the hospital in the city,” the same older lady said.

“Then let’s go!” he almost shouted. They had to remind him it was 51 miles away and the missionary pilot was gone.

“How about a motorbike?” one of the other ladies offered. But rain had left the roads thick, deep pools of mud. Even if they could get through, the hard, jostling ride would kill the weakened mother for sure.

Mahi’s husband sat down beside his wife’s mat and put his head in his hands. The options were narrowing so quickly he felt he was being crushed. What could they do? What do you do when a sick woman needs to get to the hospital and you don’t have a vehicle?

“We can pray,” one lady said softly, as if she had just read his thoughts.

Mahi’s husband raised his head slowly, hope jumping back into his eyes. Yes! He’d forgotten. God was in their village now! They weren’t alone anymore! Yes! They could pray!

Word spread throughout the village, “Pray for Mahi! She needs to get to the hospital!”

You could almost hear the quiet settle over the jungle as the Banwaon believers began to pray.

But by morning, Mahi was still far from the hospital and even closer to death’s door.

Through his weary and worried fog, her husband thought he heard voices and went to the door. In the pouring down rain, believing men from three different villages were gathering outside his hut.

“We’ll help carry your wife,” they volunteered. They held up a homemade stretcher the men and boys had constructed of rice sacks and saplings.

The shocked husband was speechless. The recent deaths in other villages had occurred because no one had been willing to help or intervene. And not only would the weather complicate the journey, but Banwaons also avoid rain and even bathing, believing that getting wet is bad for your health.

Yet here the sopping men stood – the unexpected answer to their prayers.

Mahi was laid carefully on the rickety stretcher. Three teams of four men each would take turns carrying her 27 miles over muddy, slippery, dangerous trails to a village with a vehicle.

With lots of well-wishing and promises to pray, the first team shouldered the stretcher and the group of 12 men set off at a brisk pace through the wet Philippine jungle.

But 10 grueling hours later when they jogged into the intended village, there were no longer 12 men. There were many more.

As word had spread through the jungle “grape vine” ahead of them, believing men in villages along the way had rushed to take over from the group of drenched, exhausted stretcher-bearers. Complete strangers had lent their shoulders and gave another man a rest.

Now the vehicle took Mahi on to the hospital and she survived.

But it’s the unbelievers along the trail who were left shaking their heads. “What made all these men care so much – and about a woman even?” they wondered.

What indeed.

As you finish out your summer and perhaps take a trip yourself, pray that more Banwaons will find the answer to their question – before it’s their turn to take the final trip of all.

When my son Tyler was born (our fourth child) I had wanted another girl – desperately. For some people, it doesn’t make any difference. For me, it did.

My friend Kim (my daughter-in-law’s mom) who helped with Tyler’s birth, said I wouldn’t even look at him. She kept trying to hand him to me, but I wouldn’t take him. 

I thought I had the PERFECT plan – two boys and two girls – but God obviously had a different plan. And I wasn’t exactly thrilled with it.

However, it didn’t take long to fall madly in love with that child. And I’m very thankful for a very wise God who doesn’t give us what WE THINK we want, but what HE KNOWS we need. I had no idea how much I would need that sweet, dear boy in my life and now can’t imagine life without him. But I had better learn quickly because he’s leaving for college tomorrow – and I’m nowhere near ready to say goodbye.

And while he packs and I go about my day, still trying to find the vacuum cleaner that I think got buried under the seven loads of laundry I finally did, and while loading and re-loading the dishwasher several times ((I fell into a “housework hole” while working on a writing assignment) and also making cookies for Tyler and his favorite dinner tonight, I just wish someone would hand me that sweet little bundle all over again. Because I guarantee my reaction would be quite different from the first time!

Moms? Take whatever bundle God hands you – and enjoy every minute. Because while 18 years seems like a long time and it feels like there’s PLENTY of time to do what you want to do with your child, I now only have 18 more hours before my precious 6’3″ bundle walks out this door. And it came WAY too soon.

Note: And if you look at the picture above, you’ll notice Tyler’s sweet sister came along 14 months later. God planned to give me another girl all along. He just knew I needed Tyler first! Thank-you Lord!

Oh, no! I didn’t mean to splash all over you! So sorry! I just wanted to drop in and give you a little family and ministry update. I didn’t realize you’d be by the pool. Hope your book dries out okay. But at least now I can’t say I haven’t been swimming this summer!

Traveling? Yep. Us too. We just got back from our home church in Pennsylvania last week. What a special time of teaching VBS! We got to be in the “Application Room” and had the privilege of giving the Gospel every night and helping kids come to know the Lord. Awesome!

College? Yep. That too. We’ll be saying good-bye to Tyler in another week as he heads up to New Tribes Bible Institute in Waukesha, Wisconsin, where Shane attended. I’ve been saving up all my tears for that day, otherwise, I’ll dehydrate. Jenna and I are wondering how we’re going to survive without him.

Writing? Yep. Absolutely. My two little bits of earthshaking news is that I just got a Facebook AND posted on our blog site. My excitement becomes understandable when you see that the last date we posted anything was September 2009 (I just now posted the other stories I’ve written since then). But those days are gone forever! I love Facebook! It actually provides a place to be funny! But also, a place to link to the more thought-provoking subjects posted on our blog. Best of both worlds. I’m excited for all the new communication possibilities.

Visit me on Facebook! If you knew all your friends were going to meet at Panera Bread, would you sit all by yourself at Starbucks? Probably not. That’s why I got a Facebook. I’ll have a cheese danish please!

Read my latest article on our blog “Would I Never Learn?”  “I stumbled into the living room that morning, groggy and guilty. We had stayed up way too late again – and the messy room proved it …”

Also, enjoy my latest Tribal Beat story “I Want to Be Free!”  “Hours before dawn, the tortured Baniua chief stood at the river’s edge, trembling. The battle for his soul raged on in his heart. He had to make it stop …”

Our next email will be from Rand, catching you up on his important ministry of getting tribal software into the hands of tribal missionaries!

To those of you who support our family and ministry in one awesome way or another, thank-you so much!

We love you dearly!

Love, Rand and Debbie

I stumbled into the living room that morning, groggy and guilty. We had stayed up way too late again – and the messy room proved it. We had all just gotten up last night, left our empty tea cups and dessert plates, and went to bed. Would we never learn? Would we never become the disciplined, well-ordered family I longed for us to be?

Now I had to face a full day of trying to get unpacked from our trip, do laundry, tackle a refrigerator of scary-looking items and sour milk, go to the grocery store, and then have people over for dinner – all on much-less-than-adequate sleep. Would I never learn?

But just as I began to kick myself, I saw them. Right alongside all the other teenage debris strewn about, open Bibles lay on the sofa and loveseat as well. As my bleary eyes adjusted, so did my mind. Now I remembered.

We had gotten into another late night discussion. This time it was about the gifts of the Spirit. Are they all still operational? Or not? How do we know? What does Scripture say? Why do some Christians believe one thing and others something else? Which is true?

Pages were turning, honest questions were raised and grappled with. Finally at midnight, I had to leave all the grappling to Rand and the kids. Even the wonders at Pentecost couldn’t keep my eyelids from drooping!

But now as I stood there looking at those open Bibles, suddenly I didn’t feel so tired. While my family could certainly use a little more discipline and better living habits, I realized that my messy living room showed a spiritual habit that was developing just fine. Would I really want it any other way?

Freedom. The desire is so God-given, it literally screams from within our souls to be satisfied. And to taste its peace, most will gladly sacrifice the dearest thing they have to find it. Even life itself.

Hours before dawn, the tortured Baniua chief stood at the river’s edge, trembling. The battle for his soul raged on in his heart. He had to make it stop.

“I want to be free!” he cried out desperately across the water. The empty echo didn’t bring any answers and only increased his agitation. “I have to be free,” he hissed the words frantically to himself – then stepped into the water.

The Baniua chief was a witchdoctor. He had everything he could ever wish or hope for. He had respect, wealth and power. No one ever made a move without consulting him. He had free reign over his village and people.

Yet he wasn’t free. He knew it. He was a slave to all the dead spirits and all the rituals needed to appease all the dead spirits. It was an endless game of manipulation – with the spirits ready to pounce at his first unguarded moment. And the constant, fearful waiting for what the spirits might do, ate around his heart like cancer.

Then a missionary came to his village offering education. He welcomed that. He wanted his people to learn to read and write and strongly encouraged them to listen to her. He even allowed them to listen when she taught about God and the Bible.

But he wouldn’t listen, of course. As chief, he wanted his people to learn what they could, so he could show off his newly literate society. But he was above the learning himself. As witchdoctor, he had the responsibility to protect the old and deeply entrenched way of life – not to mention maintaining his power and control over the spirits and his village.

But something unexpected began to happen.

One by one, the Baniua people were changing. Lights were springing into eyes. Faces were brightened with smiles. People were helping one another. Families were loving each other. But most of all, something old and familiar had suddenly vanished from their lives. Their fear was gone.

His people were … free.

And then the battle ensued in the Baniua witchdoctor’s heart. Should he keep to the old ways or reach for the new? If he let go of his power and control and manipulation of the spirits, would he be free too? Or would the spirits just swallow him up in sickness and death? Were they even trying to trick him now?

Sensing his spiritual turmoil, the missionary approached him many times and asked him to turn to Jesus, but he refused. He was a witchdoctor! He didn’t need anything else! Or did he?

Finally, he couldn’t sleep – at all. Every night became an excruciating inner war. Old or new? And the spirits began calling his name louder and louder.

One night in desperation, he ran to the spot behind his house where he had hidden his witchcraft articles, passed down from his father. He madly clawed up the earth, hoping for answers.

But the little pouch of feathers, crushed bones, teeth from dead ancestors, pieces of dried pig’s heart and poison herbs, just lay there silently in the dust. No answers. He snatched up the pouch and ran for the river. He must end this.

Now torn and weary at the river’s edge, he clutched his father’s pouch to his chest and stepped into the water. He had to be free. He waded out deeper and deeper and then stopped. He hesitated for a moment – then made his decision.

He must throw the articles, entrusted to him by his father, back to the devil. He must throw away generations of witchcraft and life as he knew it.

But as he tried to raise his arm, it wouldn’t move. It seemed tied to his side by an invisible force. So he offered his first prayer to the God of the Bible and asked for help.

Strength and power surged back into his arm and he heaved the little bag far out into the water and watched it splash down and disappear. The Baniua chief stretched his arms to the now rising sun – and placed his trust in Christ. He was finally free.