Cowed by Fear

All of us know fear and there is a lot of it out there in the world today. Actually, it has always been there. It is a part of an ever-present battle between love and fear. Which will win? Which will determine the course of human events?

Will we react to those that use terror in one way or another to manipulate us to do or believe what they want? Will we live in a state of servitude to those fears, doing whatever we think we must to avoid the inevitable doom?  Worse still, will some of us be the ones who either wittingly or unwittingly uses such intimidation and power to get others to do what we want them to.

I was reminded of that recently when I read about a Mexican immigration activist in the United States, Elias Bermudez. Recently, he and a few other supporters and friends publicly fasted to inspire a solution to illegal Mexican immigration in America.

Elias, however, initially intended to protest in a very different way. Originally he intended to wage a full fledged hunger strike with an army of supporters starving themselves until all Mexicans stopped working in Arizona - one of the front line battle states in the immigration conflict facing the United States. As millions of Mexicans flood across the southern border of USA in search of economic relief from dire poverty, those fearing the loss of the American’s national identity, their way of life and terrorism are up in arms. And some are ready to do just about anything to keep them out, regardless of how draconian or inhumane.

Elias figured he could fight fire with fire, figuring Americans would then see how important Mexicans were to the US economy if they all stopped working. But a local catholic priest convinced Elias otherwise.

“I decided to stop trying to use my power, but instead asking God for His wisdom for a solution,” said Elias. “”The priest told me. “You are going to make people a lot angrier, and a lot of people are going to get hurt. Why don’t you do a spiritual fast instead? So now I am searching for God’s answer instead of mine.”

Instead of throngs of angry protesters, crosses lined the compound where he staged his peaceful prayerfully protest. He sat contemplatively talking and discussing with reporters and followers his ideas. And many came not to sensationalize him, but to listen and to share ideas about how to resolve a human issue.

In Nigeria, the same is true with the #BBOG (Bring Back Our Girls) movement whose activists are seeking and calling for the safe return of the 219 Chibok girls captured from their hostels by the dreaded Boko Haram insurgents in April 14^th last year. One of the lead convener of this movement and a former minister of education Obiageli Ezekwesili have repeatedly called on its supporters to eschew violent protestation or conduct, but should peacefully and continuously call for the girl’s safe return, even though they (the #BBOG activists) have been harassed and ridiculed by “government paid anti-activists,” the police and the government itself. In her numerous conversations with her twitter followers Ezekwesili admonished people to continue praying for the wisdom to be bestowed upon the security agents, so that the girls can return safely, instead of disparaging their efforts. Her stand and wisdom in stringing the movement’s objective under God’s direction, even though opposition parties had wanted to hijack the movement, has earned her the admiration of many and attracted a host of others towards the movement’s goal.

The two scenarios clearly paint a recurring phenomenon, but what of all the other human issues, however? Will we be afraid to talk to our neighbours or those on the street because when we turn on the news we hear stories of murder and mayhem? Or will we be comforted and inspired by the realization that we are the ones that determine how much mayhem or mercy fills the world and stand up for the latter?

Will we sit quietly by our jobs while injustice or incompetence hurts others? Or will we work and shine with faith, fortitude and ideas that God has inspired within us to be a lightning rod for positive change and growth?

Will we resort to fear and antagonism to enlist the support of others for our own motives? Or will we open our hearts to understanding and communicate with others in mutually beneficial ways that will allow us to convince and enlist the support and camaraderie of others to do God’s work?

Fear, or love? You decide. The latter has a great deal more to offer.

Everything, But a Kind Heart

My neck hairs were up as we made our way past Mama Bola’s old derelict house. I could hear Sonia Madumelu talking and laughing in front of the straight double line as the student made their way back to school from the outdoor environmental sanitation organized by the school every Thursday, as a way of giving back to the community (our own Corporate Service Responsibility – CSR) and whimsically instilling societal values into pre-teenage kids.

“That old witch comes to the grinding mill near my mum’s supermarket,” Sonia was saying, “to collect maize chaffs. She can’t even feed corn to her chickens.”

I shouted an order that the pace be quickened, but she was so busy being the centre of attraction that she didn’t even hear me.

“I bet she has all sort of charms in that filthy house…..”

Emmanuella Ayodele nudged her from behind, alerting her on my approach and she turned to see my eyes brimming with anger. She quickly put a hand over her mouth and laughed mirthlessly, not a bit remorseful. Sonia was not and had never being my ideal kind of student.

Thick black hair, fair and beautiful, tall and athletic….and privileged. She had everything going for her, except a kind heart. She belonged to that crowd where anything that’s not within her ‘class’ is beneath her……and didn’t hesitate to show the arrogance of her parents wealth. With such attitude I found it surprising that she had a tidy sum of friends….or teens who really worshipped her, or seek her approval and acceptance.

Mrs Madumelu supermarket was the largest in town and Sonia’s dad owned a very lucrative trucking business made up of several large haulage trucks. At sixteen she wore very expensive clothes, knew how to drive and anyone who wasn’t up to her ‘standard’ she looked down upon. It beats every reasoning nerve in me why many girls fawned over her, as I found it very difficult to acknowledge her good mornings.

However, her derision that late morning gave me a brilliant idea. So when we got settled in class I picked up a chalk and walked to the community service column on the far right side of the blackboard and wrote down next week venue of the class CSR as was the norm.

The next morning the kids were still talking about it. Not really talking….complaining is an apt word to describe their discussion. “Can’t believe our form master would make us do such degrading job, and at Mama Bola’s house of all places,” one the girls grouched. Many other girls were moaning and whining, while the boys were in their prank-activated-mode usual self as I walked into the class to perform the roll call.

I could sense the fury in Sonia’s voice as her knotted tongue spluttered out “Present” when her name was called. Another day I would have repeated her name to make her answer more aptly, but on this day I displayed a smirk from a well of happiness in my stomach.

In no time the summer days sailed past, as another Thursday was ushered in. It was supposed to be a day of outdoor cleaning, and I watched as kids set about picking up trash and debris in the compound. Sonia stood with arms folded across her chest as some sort of prison warder supervising her contingent of convicts. I was having none of that, and with growing frustration I went over to her and addressed her formally with every nerve stressed to control an outburst.

“Madumelu, what seems to be the problem?,” I mustered. “Why aren’t you helping your friends out?”

Her face reddened. “I can’t do that kind of things,” she said gesticulating to the other students. “I don’t have my work gloves and these dirty pools of water will ruin my socks and scandals.”

Although, the look in my eyes would have strangled her I managed to force a smile. “Well, I have an idea.” I muttered. “Go inside the house and see what simple tasks Mama Bola needs done, while the rest of us slug it out here.”

Sonia hesitated, but I had trapped her with the word “simple.” I could see the maths in her eyes, as she evaluated and deduced her options. As I hoped for, she swaggered around and kicked the sturdy dirt as she trudged into the house. I see Mama Bola’s face lit up with a smile, her wrinkled face forming ridges of flesh. She diffidently opened the rusting screen door and stared joyfully as the tall girl walked past.

Happily I rubbed my forehead in triumph of getting rid of a throbbing headache diplomatically without a whiff of Panadol. “Teenagers,” I thought.

We spent the morning picking up clutter, and after just about noon the whole compound was looking more humane and decent.

“Good job!” I told the kids, who were now forming parallel lines, as we prepare to march back to school. “Next Thursday,” I continued, “we would get tools to weed this path way.” As usual there were whimpers and groans, but many were good natured. A handful of them were glad to be outside inside of being hutched up all day in a classroom.

I looked around all the kids faces and in my eyes they were all friendly, appeasing happy faces, but something still remained amiss. “Where’s that annoying, appalling face?” I asked myself. “Where’s Madumelu?” I finally shouted out.

A slamming screen door answered, as Sonia ran across the compound, her face pale and placid, and without a word she joined the line.

Against her usual self she remained quiet all through the marched back school. One of the girls tried chatting her up when we got into the classroom, but all she received was a faint faked smile. It was a very strange look and against my better judgement, I walked over to her desk and asked, “Well, how did it go?”

She stared blankly at me for a moment, and couldn’t believe what I saw. Tears were springing up Sonia’s eyes. Then in a soft voice which fitted her appearance that which I have never heard before, Sonia whispered, “She eats maize chaffs.”

The class became very silent. “What?!” I reflexively spluttered out.

“The maize chaffs she collects at the grinding mill, isn’t for her chickens, she re-sieves it and cooks that. That’s what she eats.” She took a deep breath and looked up, no impudence in her face now, “I will ask my mummy to give some provisions. Can we take it to her tomorrow?” she said with begging eyes.

I was stunned. “Yes, of course. We can, it will be wonderful,” I replied more kindly.

As I reached the front of the class to perform a second roll call, I glance and marvelled as the expression on Sonia’s face. Confusion, wonder, hurt……..I prayed she’d someday get it all sorted in her heart. I thought there’s yet a hope for her, and for everyone else. 

In His likeness He created us, sent His beloved son to die on the cross for all, thus no matter how we feign meanness we have a piece of His heart impressed on ours, which reveals at the appointed degree.

Minding Our Own Business

Sometime last year, my colleague at the office who had been married for over 16 years came to speak with me. She was really desperate because one of her next door neighbours had, to all extents and purposes ruined her life. According to her, her neighbour, an elderly man, had spread the rumour that he had seen a young man enter her house while her husband was away, and that he had even seen the two of them in her matrimonial room, which overlooks his kitchen window. When the lady’s husband got wind of this, he became furious, and was now threatening to divorce her.

Now the whole incident was merely a figment of the neighbour’s imagination! The lady in fact found out that the “young man” who had repeatedly come into her home was her son’s 15 year old friend, and that the “sighting in the room” was none other than a spicy prefabricated addition to make the whole story sound more real.

Why is it that we feel inclined to pry into other people’s business? Why do we feel the urge to express judgment on other people, which are often without any real basis? Why do we indulge in the guilty pleasure of gossiping?

According to social psychologists, the reason we do it is that, during our evolutionary development, learning a much as we can about the members of our immediate social group increased our chances of survival. Knowing who might betray you, who could be counted on to provide help, or who was available as a mate, gave you an edge over your contemporaries at a time when people lived within smaller and more immediately connected social groups. But what about now, when survival isn’t such a dicey proposition for most of us? Is it perhaps a remnant of genetic heritage for which we are not to blame?

In the book of Proverbs, the Bible clearly indicates the sinful nature of ‘gossip’, and gives us some interesting advice: “A gossip tells secrets, so don’t hang around with someone who talks too much” (Proverbs 20:19); “It is foolish to belittle a neighbour; a person with good sense remains silent. A gossip goes around revealing secrets, but those who are trustworthy can keep confidence” (Proverbs, 11:12 – 13); “A troublemaker plants seeds of strife; gossip separates the best of friends” (Proverbs 16:28).

Over the years I’ve heard several messages concerning the subject of gossip, slander and judgmentalism. Some teachers have described it as so rotten. Affirming that at the beginning, it seems to be something enjoyable and fun, like a piece of candy. But at the end it fills the heart with bitterness, and it also poisons us.

Still on the subject of understanding the pernicious nature of gossip, I am reminded of the following story I had read concerning a preacher. A woman acknowledged that she spreads gossips and would like to know how she could atone for her sins.

He said the only way she could atone for her sins was to take a feather pillow to the top of the highest building in the land, rip it open, and scatter the feathers to the four winds. This probably was not the kind of atonement this woman, or any of us, would have been used to. But his instruction didn’t end there. He gave her a second, and more, difficult task. He told her to come down from the building and collect all the feathers that had been dispersed throughout the town. The poor woman, of course, couldn’t do it – and that was the point the preacher was trying to make in order to underscore the destructive nature of gossip.

When we detract from others in our speech, our malicious words are scattered abroad, and cannot be gathered back. They continue to spread dishonour and division in people’s minds days, months, and even years after we have spoken them, as they pass from one tale bearer to the next.

Thus, as believers do not let your words ruin others, their careers or personal relationships; remember that if you are talking about people behind their backs, your words say more about you than about them.

Kilobytes of Love

More and more people are using the internet as a venue for conversation, but are these new encounters entirely risk free?

I am a 30 year old woman living in Lagos. A few months ago I ‘met’ this cute 35 year old guy while surfing the net. Unfortunately we have not yet met personally because he lives in Port Harcourt. However, we’ve exchanged photos, and chat and interact with each other via webcam every evening. He is very kind to me and says that he really loves me, and the feeling is mutual. Writes Miriam (not her real name) to my church’s counseling office.

However, I’m beginning to ask myself if it is the right thing to continue this ‘long distance’ relationship. Am I not letting the chance go by of meeting personally other interesting men closer to home?

Meeting people on the internet is becoming much more commonplace. Many have discovered that there is the possibility of forming genuine community or associations that we have experienced up to now. But their difference doesn’t make one less than the other. Today people can find kindred souls who share a passion or interest on almost any subject. People don’t have to feel as alone as they once did. And so applauding the use of technology to reach out to others and find connection, meaning and relationship is in order.

The internet, however, is not without pitfalls. The most important problem is the people who get online and lie about their identity in an effort to harm others. Sometimes they pose as teenagers to enter into friendships that will lead the way to the exploitation of young people. That’s why it is very important for parents to know what their children are doing online.

Another problem that may occur in an online relationship is that the person may not be entirely honest about themselves. In this case I am not talking about the molester or serial killer. Rather this might be people who dislike themselves and feel that they need to pretend to be someone else in order to ‘connect’ online. If it sounds too good to be true online, then it probably is. In order cases people may not be deceptive, but just simply have a difficult time with social situations. The internet is a safer place for them where they might not feel the sting of rejection quite harshly. We can certainly understand and appreciate their apprehension. However, eventually they are probably going to have to meet in person and will have to deal with those issues. Are they just postponing the inevitable?

There are some clear advantages to internet based relationships. Since the relationship does not include physical contact it tends to focus on the content and style of communication. You have to really listen to one another. You have to be attentive to the slightest changes in tone or feeling. It seems that starting a relationship online forces you to become friends at first, to really get to know each other before the relationship becomes more intimate. Some people engage in internet sex with people online (i.e. suggestive emails, chats that lead to masturbation). But for the most part people get to know one another. Eventually though this leads to the other parties wanting to meet. If they have been relatively honest with one another, then it’s not so bad. There’s a chance that the relationship can grow. It also means that if you really develop a good relationship with a person and they don’t exactly look like ‘your type’ well then maybe you might keep an open mind when you remember how good a friendship you have had thus far.

In this particular case photos have been exchanged (which can always be enhanced), but they have also communicated by webcam (a live video across the internet) which gives some degree of assurance that what you see is what you get. But what you are getting is very far from home for you. Can you tolerate a long-distance relationship? I guess if you want it to continue further one of you is going to have to make a move. As far as missing some chances with guys closer home……how many of them have there been? If you found someone you loved and married, how do you know that you wouldn’t miss the chance of meeting an even nicer guy?

Riding the Waves

I sat there watching the extreme sports channel, a long while since I have done so. Over the years I have watched skateboarding, drag racing, bicycles weaving through the labyrinth of forest floors, motor bikes flying high from enclosed muddy hills and whatever the white man’s adrenaline fuelled mind conjures up. Today, however, the surfers owned the screen. “Truly ginormous; I can tell you, the waves are over 20 feet high,” the sports commentator shouted through the billowing storms, “but you really have to see them to understand. It’s awe inspiring.” He concluded with a breath of wow. How could this be inspiring? I asked myself, as I stared at the screen with incandescent glowing eyes. The huge screen teleported me to the action area, and I could feel the charge in the air, a wildness in the roar of the waves – a palpable sense of the ocean’s majesty, its power, right here on my sitting room couch.

Sitting there with lot of expletives melting on my tongue, I was mesmerized, watching giant swells rise and curl over in cascade of white, even more amazing were the little specs of humanity bobbing up and down out there, in the midst of that raging strength. Amid the towering waves they were actually riding those monsters, all in the name of surfing.

If not a suicidal, deranged mind, who sees an ocean heaving with 20 something foot waves and thinks, “Hey, let’s grab that piece of ‘plank’ and jump in?” But that’s how the mind works and propels people. It dreams big. Born surfers, I read, are always eager to test themselves whenever the big breakers are pounding. This thought made me reflect when my nephew was learning to crawl. His persistence, his effort, over and over again, made me think of the surfers. As many times he fell, he just got up and tried again.

This made me think of what all parents wish for their children. An easy way out? No risk, no worry? Or zest, daring a lion’s heart ready for big challenges. The kind of challenges that will demand the very best from their kids. To see their children grown in strength of character and have the appetite that’s eager to take on big challenges. A real life to be felt in the marrow. To dream big and have the energy and courage to pursue them.

 That’s what most parent wish for their children, and even to ourselves, especially to win the odds on Bet9ja or NairaBet or even the lotto. Just kidding (Sort of). But seriously, when thinking about the past, present and future, we all do more of dreading than dreaming. We press the “avoidance mode” button – avoiding fears, problems, failures – instead of working positively towards something good, let alone letting thoughts of greatness touch our souls. Spoiler Alert: That’s no way to dream big.

And when we do get big dream to chase, we occasionally choke and lose sight of them, amid the hundreds of distractions clamouring for attention, burying them deep, even when we know we would have to dig them right back up. Advice: Unearth them and pursue them like your only business in life.

In doing so, you are not doing it for yourself, but for your kids and other people in your life who you want to live with a lion’s heart. You can therefore show them by being a living, breathing lion yourself. And when working on your dream, remember God’s dream for you. A dream bigger than anything you could wish yourself. So big it can’t be imagined (1 Cor. 2:9), “Eye has not seen, and ear has not heard……what God has prepared for those who love him.”

We all know that when we were created by God, “He dreamt that one day we would shine like the sun” (Mt 13: 43; Eph. 2:10; Mt. 18:14). He created us to be “incorruptible and glorious” (1 Cor. 15: 42 – 43). We are called to one day know Him “face to face” (1 Cor. 13:12), and on such a day He will wipe [away] every tear from [our] eyes, and there will be no death or mourning, wailing or pain” (Rev. 21:4). How’s that for a dream?!

This is what God wants for us, and other people in our lives, and the best way we can show them is through chasing our dream for the ultimate dream of all. Continue to ride those waves. Be Strong, Be Brave.

Righteous Indignation

My first serious fight was in Primary Four, serious in the sense that there was a bloody nose and a swollen eye, none of it mine. A boy in my class – the tremendously annoying Hussein – who sat directly behind me develop a knack for “finding my trouble.” He would always harass me by flicking my ear lobe hard with his middle finger teeing off from his thumb, or smacking the back of my head, or pricking my neck with a sharp piece of broom stick until I’d raise my hand to complain to Mrs Obikwelu, our teacher, or targeting me obnoxious schoolyard name calling during break-time, and so forth. It was constant.

The first fight in question went down one sunny afternoon as another classmate and I were walking home. I remember it in canny detail, even after all these years. Jude Onoja (not real name) had come from a rather impoverish background. It was tough enough for the poor lad that he had started school halfway through the term as a transfer student from a local public school, which made him seem distant and without friends. But this was compounded by his shabby, odd, old, torn, and ill fitted school uniform and shoes, which were more of hand me down from the son of his present guardians. And his halting English, interspersed with pidgin was spoken with a weird Midwestern accent. In few words he was a pariah. And as predictable, Hussein zeroed in on Jude, capitalizing on his social awkwardness with relentless mockery. Which was why when Jude and I were traipsing the hot dusty road after school, with Hussein and his cronies towing with giant steps behind us, a fight was preordained. All the days of built up anger and frustration started to boil up inside me as I saw them approach.

Ignoring me, Hussein moved in close and began circling Jude, taunting him, poking his forehead, pushing him around and jeering at his clothes. His buddies spurred him on.

I can’t recall how times I yelled “stop it, you stupid boy,” as Hussein swept him off his feet into the dusty clayey soil, kicking at his stomach as Jude writhed in pain and tears. Then, as I expected Hussein turned to me with a glare.

“Who are you calling stupid boy?” he barked, advancing toward me like a raged bull.

My raged boiled over like lava from an emotional volcano which I didn’t know existed until it suddenly stunned me. With my right leg drawn backward acting as a support and spring, the rage projected my body and my right knuckled fist into the air, and I hit him square in the face as hard as a projectile. Although, I was scrawny for a primary four pupil, I felt a sensation of power that I had never felt before as my fist cracked solidly against his face. In an instant it wiped out the smirk on Hussein face, and a sense of fulfilment eased into me as Hussein staggered backward, then landed hard on his buttocks. I wasn’t done, as I rushed over him, knocking his back to the ground, then I sat on his chest and began pummelling his face with more vicious punches, as he scratched and clawed at my hands. Eventually his cronies pulled me off him, as he laid there looking dazed.

That fight ended my troubles with Hussein and, as I recall, he nor his friends ever bothered Jude either. I must confess I got lucky that day. I won the fight because I caught him unawares, as it could have easily gone the other way. Truth is; I learned a valuable lesson about how to handle bullies. Standing up to them doesn’t always work, but it often does.

But that’s not the primary lesson I learnt that day. Yes, it is necessary and even righteous sometimes, to stand up and defend the weak and defenceless, but we have to do so in a righteous manner. Rage and a vengeful heart got the better part of me that day, which was why I won. Hussein, however, was just being his mean self, while I was out for blood and retribution for those times I was belittled. That frightening sensation of being controlled by anger (or out of control with anger) was what scared me. It was right of me to fight that day, but was wrong to seek revenge.

It’s good to protect or defend someone weaker, but bad to go beyond what’s sufficient to settle a squabble. Righteous indignation has its proper place, but revenge and retribution never do. For as long as I live, the memory of that fist fight and how I was engulfed by anger will remain an iconic reminder of the danger of letting base emotions overpower reason. It’s how bad decisions are made, how crimes of passions occur, and how permanent, irrevocable damage can be done to marriages, friendships, careers and one’s immortal soul (Romans 12: 19 – 21).

Plain Brown Box

Some months ago, a visiting Priest from India told us a story about a woman having conflicts with her faith; Hinduism, and had called him to ask if he could answer some questions about Christianity. “It was the first of several long phone conversations about the faith we’d have,” he said.

She had explained that as a Hindu, living in Orissa, she had few opportunities to encounter faithful Christians. Instead she had marinated for several decades in the strongly anti-Christian attitudes of her family, friends and other members of the Hindu temple she attends.

He had told her there’s no problem answering the common questions people ask about Christianity, and will do his best to give her good answers. After several discussions – the Birth of Jesus, Miracles, Death, Resurrection, Ascension, Salvation, Born-again, Life hereafter etc – he offered to send her books and audio tapes to help her study these issues in depth.

“That will be good,” she had replied, but explained earnestly, that they need to be really careful how she goes about ‘investigating’ Christianity, because her husband – who has a strong lineage of Hinduism in his family – is adamantly convinced that Christians are lost. As she had once hinted him about her curiosity, but he had flared up that she was even talking about Christianity in his home and wouldn’t hesitate to divorce her and take their four kids, if this was more than just a passing curiosity.

“That’s why, whatever you do, it’s crucial that we keep our conservations about Christianity absolutely confidential,” she had told him, “and any material you send me, please be sure to send them in a plain, unmarked package because, if my husband finds it, I really think he will make good on his promise to divorce me.”

He had assured her, that he’d use the utmost discretion. But unknown to both of them, God’s providence is a funny thing. Even though, she was a stay home mom, and even though she was expecting to take delivery out in the driveway before her husband knew of it, the delivery man happened to arrive early that day, about five minutes after she had darted out of the house to drop off the kids at school.

Her husband answered the door and signed for the package, a plain, nondescript brown box addressed to his wife. His curiosity lit like a match and, as he closed the door behind him, he shook the box trying to discern its mysterious contents. He opened the box and, to his horror, discovered a passel of Christian books and CDs, and he instantly understood what it meant.

She got back home five minutes later to find her husband in their bedroom enraged. “I can’t believe you’re actually going through with your insane interest in Christianity, even when I asked you not to!” he shouted at her. “It’s a false religion! I’m not going to have a divided house, let alone with a Christian! I’m leaving with my kids,” he rounded off.

The woman was completely distraught by this horrifying turn of events and, locked out of her bedroom. She spent the whole day in the kitchen crying, about the looming breakup with her husband and their kids, and was torn between the love of her family and the growing attraction to Christianity.

At about 3.30 pm that afternoon, her husband, who decided not to go to work, walked into the kitchen, pulled her up from here she lay sobbing and said “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I’ve been thinking about it, and if you want to explore the Christian faith I won’t fight you. I’m sorry. I understand now what you’re going through.”

Incredulous, she rubbed her eyes and asked him what on earth had happened to cause this change in him.

“Well,” he said, with a hint of smile, “When I opened the box I became furious at you because you were secretly thinking of becoming a Christian. But then I realized I had locked myself in the room with that box. After a while I got bored. So I started reading the books in it. I’ve been reading all day and was amazed at everything I discovered. I understand a little better now, and won’t oppose you.”

The happy ending? Yes, the Orissa woman did convert to Christianity not long after that. And so did her husband. And so did their children. Proof that God does indeed work in mysterious (and seemingly unpredicted) ways.