In regards to Phil Robertson


If you didn’t already know, A&E has suspended Phil Robertson from the show Duck Dynasty indefinitely due to his comments in a GQ interview.

He spoke about his own beliefs and his own opinions saying that the Bible was against homosexuality and he himself did not understand why people would be drawn to someone of the same sex.

Well, I have nothing to say about homosexuality.

This post isn’t about what I believe, or contradicting what you believe.

To be completely honest, I know what I believe and I could care less what you believe. You have the right to believe what you believe and I have the right to believe what I believe.

This post is about the fact that America is so sensitive.

America is like the playground in fourth grade, where children get offended by the smallest stuff.  Me, I didn’t grow up in America in the fourth grade. I lived in Mali, West Africa.  I was the only white kid in the neighborhood and I loved soccer, so I would go out and play with all my buddies on the street.  We’d have to jump over the sewer that ran freely in the middle of the street every once in a while.  They all played barefoot. My feet were too sensitive, and the one time I tried to play barefoot, I got cut up on a rock.  From then on, I left the the barefoot to those whose feet were used to it and not sensitive.

America today is like my feet in the fourth grade. So damn sensitive.

My point is this: It does not matter, and why does anyone care that a Louisianan with a beard believes that homosexuality is wrong.

So what?

Are we seriously so childish that we care? Why does it offend you that he said he believes homosexuality is wrong?  This post should be more offensive, because I’m calling anyone who got offended a sensitive fourth grader’s foot.

A&E should not have suspended him because he never said that his views were shared by the network. The LGBT movement should not be offended because his views about what the Bible said were true, and he believes those views, and anyone saying he cannot express that is against religious freedom.  Also, anyone who believes he shouldn’t say what he said is just way too sensitive.

Come on America, when the founding fathers decided to revolt against Britain, those that were sensitive decided to stay loyal with Britain.

It should not matter what he says or believes. If what Robertson said offends you, maybe there is a reason that you are insecure in your beliefs.

The New Beginning


This week started a new semester, a new chance at learning new material.  New and old faces pass us in the hallways, and this is a new beginning for The Cross-Between.  This summer, I worked almost every day.  I didn’t go on vacation, just worked and worked, I didn’t even leave town, except for some training I underwent.

You would think it would be a great time to write, to get a lot out of my head, but it wasn’t. I was always tired from work, I was always stressed over finances, and when I wasn’t tired or stress, I’d go outside with a lighter, and make a bonfire in the fire pit, or go hiking on the AT (Appalachian Trail).

This summer I failed as a writer.

But the summer is over, and now in school, I feel that the rhythm of school and the focus of learning gives me ideas to write about. The rush makes me want to write, and when I write for class, I find ideas within that I could write about here.  I will be writing a lot this year. I have two communication writing classes, one on news writing, the other on editorial. I’ll be writing in the opinion section for the Liberty Champion (the school newspaper), and here, The Cross-Between.  I take The Cross-Between seriously, and even though my summer didn’t show it, this semester is going to be a great time to regurgitate the things I learned this summer.  One thing I learned, make sure when you create a hootch out in the woods during Army training, use a mosquito net along with the ponchos.  Stupid mistake!  I could have enjoyed many more hours of sleep with a mosquito net.

This new beginning to the school year is also part of my long journey to becoming a successful and published writer/journalist.  The next step, is my journalism degree, and after that finding a humanitarian type organization or magazine somewhere around the world that needs a journalist. On this journey, I will have The Cross-Between, and keep writing. This summer was a three month break, but I’m back and will keep this adventure going.

The Coup – And a Salvation


Red dirt littered the outside of the Land Cruiser as we rolled down the unpaved road. Smoke billowed from beyond some of the buildings, and we knew exactly what it was from.

“Do these skinnies really think it’ll help ‘em?” Jonah asked from the passenger seat. “How’ll this change anything?”

I kept my gaze on the road and my left hand firmly on the wheel. The coup had started, and we were in charge of the ambassador’s escort. The embassy was still another five-minute drive, and since the mob blocked the roads by lighting tires on fire, we would probably have to change our course once or twice.

“I don’t agree with the tactics,” I said, “but I can empathize with them. They want an opportunity. Just a chance at a life where they don’t have to wake up hungry.”

Jonah rolled his eyes. “What does that mean? You’re only saying that cause you grew up here! What a sympathizer! You’re emotionally attached t’these… these… people. That’s what’ll get you killed, bro.”

“I’m not attached. It’s more of a respect. I know many of them personally. They’re good people.”

“Yea good people.”

Black smoke poured from a group of locals. I slowed down as I neared them and searched for an avenue of escape. Just as I noticed a hole, the group hurried to throw a few tires and douse them in gasoline. I brought the vehicle to a stop and put it in reverse. A few of the men from the mob ran at us. They slammed their machetes against the metal hood of the Land Cruiser. One man threw a rock barely missing the driver’s mirror.

“Find me another route,” I exclaimed as the vehicle’s engine revved and threw us backwards.

“Ay turn right here. Don’t see any smoke this way, hope they haven’ hit the alleys yet,” Jonah said as he messed with the GPS.

I whizzed down the side road as quickly as the SUV could, hitting bumps and unintentionally testing the suspension system. My view to the rear was a barrage of red dust, and if we were being followed, I couldn’t tell.

A thin man came running into the road and forced me to slam on my breaks. Jonah hit his face on the dash, and cursed a few times with my name in mind.

“Don’ stop. Don’t ever stop!” Jonah yelled.

“I know him,” I exclaimed. “Samuel! Samuel, it’s me!”

The man stopped running and jogged over to the car. “My friend, I am so glad,” Samuel said through a bright white smile. “I did not know if you were not going to get through. Many people out here is very violent right now.”

“Get in!” I said, slapping the outside of the door a couple times.

Samuel jumped into the back seat and pulled the door closed. I heard his seatbelt click, as I pressed down on the accelerator.

Jonah held his brow, “Am I bleeding?”

“No, you’re good,” I proclaimed eyeing him for a half second.

“My friends, it is not good out there. The radio say that the president is dead. General Sanogo is now the man, and he say Americans is why the famine is real bad.” Samuel’s face looked worried. “I do not believe this. But my friends, are you leaving now?”

“Yes thank god, sick’uh this place,” Jonah said still holding his forehead.

“We’re trying, Samuel, but we have to get to the embassy first. We won’t leave without the ambassador,” I said looking Samuel in the eyes through the mirror.

We dodged roadblocks, forcing us to take back roads. We passed soldiers with AK’s, and heard the scream of bullets. No one had shot at us yet, but if they did, all we had were our issued handguns.

“Jus’ five mags,” Jonah Said.

“What?” I asked.

“We only brought five magazines of ammo.” Jonah repeated loudly.

We needed to get to the embassy so we could suit up, and face the challenges head on. I was tasked with radio communications, and I would have had my radio equipment with me, but we had been sent out on short notice earlier in the morning to search for a specific American student living in town. Our task had failed, he wasn’t there, and the two-bedroom loft had been ransacked. We hoped he had found a way out, and hadn’t been grabbed by the mob.

I grabbed my water canteen from the cup holder and held it over my shoulder. “Samuel, drink buddy, you’re still breathing hard!”

“Merci mon ami,” Samuel said as he grabbed the bottle and took a few gulps.

Jonah turned his head towards me.

“He said thank you,” I explained. My right hand pushed the stick into second gear as we turned a sharp corner. “Samuel and I have been friends for many years. Samuel taught me to play soccer, and how to fish using just a line.”

Samuel laughed. “Yes I remember. You got scared one day because a crocodile came near so… so you ran home. You wouldn’t come back for three days,” Samuel chuckled and emphasized the day count with three fingers.

We both laughed.

“Jus’ shut up,” Jonah exclaimed. “This isn’t the time.”

It was true, it wasn’t the time for us to be reminiscing on the past, but for those few seconds, it sure felt good to remember.

“Take this left,” Jonah said. “It’s gonna lead us back t’a main road and I don’ see any smoke. Hope it’s clear.”

I took the turn, and about 500 meters in front of us was a group dancing in the road. They had their machetes up, and a few soldiers waved their AK rifles in the air. I screeched to a stop. As I turned the vehicle around, we must have hit a nail, or a broken beer bottle, because the right front tire blew, throwing the rim onto the rocky ground. The mob had already noticed us. They chanted and sang, and did it while nearing us at an increasing pace. We jumped out of the car, and looked around for an escape. The open road was not an option because we knew farther back the masses would be on their way.

“This way, this way.” Samuel yelled at Jonah and I as we both checked our weapons. He had found an alley between two cement buildings and it seemed to lead to another road.

The mob noticed our pale skin, and was at a full sprint. Their cries were no longer that of freedom, but had turned to hate and anger. I knew that they believed full heartedly in what the radio had said, and that they would have no mercy on us.

“We’re behind you. Go!” Jonah told Samuel as he ran behind the African man.

“Coming,” I yelled out bringing up the rear.

We turned a few corners, sprinting as fast as we could. This labyrinth of cement walls had to lead somewhere. We could hear the mob getting closer and heard bullets being shot off as we ran into the alley. Jonah turned and weaved. We just did our best to stay on his heels. He gained a small lead on Jonah and I, but we still followed.

We turned a corner, and Samuel was stopped. He stood with his hands on his head facing a cement wall blocking our path. It was way too high for one person to reach the top.

“Help each other up! I will calm them, and will tell them you are not to fault!” Samuel exclaimed confidently waving both of us towards the wall. Breathing heavily, he turned back towards the path where the mob would soon be visible.

“No. Samuel, come with us, we can get all three of us up and over this wall. We have time.” I yelled at Samuel who was already facing away from us.

“Samuel, come on. You don’t need to do this,” Jonah yelled.

Samuel ignored his comment.

“We gotta go, if’e won’t come with us, then there’s nothing we can do. We must leave!” Jonah explained.

Samuel looked back one last time. “It will be alright. Goodbye my friends.”

I knew Jonah was right, and thankfully nodded at Samuel. I knelt down to allow Jonah to use my knee as a foothold.

We made it over the wall, and just in time. We heard the cries as they reached the wall. And then everyone went quiet. Samuel was yelling at them and speaking to them in French.

“What’s he saying?” Jonah whispered as we kept up a jog.

“He said ‘they are not at fault’, and I even think he said we were Canadian. He is telling them that we were here to help the people.”

The people started shouting out again. It was hard to tell what they were saying, but whatever it was, it wasn’t peaceful. Then a man hushed the crowd, and eventually, his voice was the only one we heard.

“Mon homme, je suis officier pour le général, où sont les blancs?” The man said. “Le général veut leur parlé!”

“I work for the general,” I translated, “where are the whites, the general wants to speak with them.”

“Sont pas là!” Samuel protested, his voice echoing.

“They aren’t…” I started.

“I got that part,” Jonah interrupted.

A few of the members started yelling, and soon everyone was in an uproar.

The man hushed the crowd again. “Traître, tue le!”

The crowd went wild, and a few faint yells could be heard. I knew they were Samuel’s.

A tear formed in my eye.

Jonah noticed. “What? What is it?”

“They killed him.” I muttered, “Why would he give his life for us?”

“I don’ know,” Jonah answered. “I didn’ even respect ‘im.  But he… he was a good man.”

 

 

 

 

 

Fruition: A Spoken Word Poem


Hey ladies and gentlemen, my good friend and spiritual leader, Joshua Healey, made a video that expresses God’s truth and promise.  I encourage you to take 2 minutes to watch his video.  I have below the video the lyrics from this spoken word poem, and if anyone has any questions about what he means in this video, I encourage you to get a hold of me.

Fruition

By Joshua Healey

 

I am miserably lost, I just can’t find it

It’s like being a million miles from the treasure,

And yet you’re standing right behind it.

I’ve been searching everywhere for acceptance,

But all the more I am denied it.

And even on my brighter days,

It’s impossible to hide it.

See, how can I conceal this canyon inside of my soul?

While I am under this rolling erosion, a hopeless implosion,

Rotting away, like there’s no shot today,

For me to be whole.

Constantly feeling purposeless, like setting a thousand glamorous goals.

And reaching every last one, without ever understanding my role…

This cycle eats away, like a chewer’s mouth full of Skoal.

Alone, Like the unredeemable separation the south feels from the North Pole.

And trying to make everything appear ok, it does nothing in this cold,

It’s like taking manure and coating it in gold.

With all due respect, please don’t provide me with directions, where I will be told

To grab a copy of “finding happiness for dummies”, I’ll never be sold.

 

Well perhaps this diagnosis is a wretched discontentment,

Disconnected from true value, from true meaning left bereft.

Where life violently rips any piece of peace we’re left with.

And kicks us to the curb,

We are disturbed by our versions of happiness that turned out to be myths.

Misled by the talking heads and their masquerade of tricks.

Meanwhile the media loudly whispers “cheap thrills will make you rich”.

And this, I beg to fix.

But I can’t be in the mix,

I must trust in Something greater to free me from this glitch.

Like Someone who knows the sting of a thorn, but loves despite the prick.

Is there a Source of meaning,

In a lost and unraveling world, a stitch?

If there was, I’d be fixed.

I’d be broken but I’d be fixed,

In the same exact way you fix a fire with broken sticks.

And such meaning I wish to find,

Because all my life, these “meanings” I’ve missed.

No doctor do I know to tote an antidote like this.

To medicate my identity,

One that’s lost in deep remiss.

Well perhaps we’re searching for restoration,

From the God that we’ve dismissed.

But refused to admit we missed him, because our hearts are sick.

But I guess some of us would rather die from this disease than feel the healing prick.

 

So we cry out,

What I covet, what I hold, please remove it from my fists.

I beg of you to take it though my flesh resists this risk.

Please bring to fruition within me, the work that pierced Your wrists.

Breathing meaning into my life, the only meaning that exists.

 

By Joshua Healey

The Chatter


There’s so many things that upset me about the world, but this post is not at all about that.  It’s funny that I should start with a phrase such as that, and for the life of me, I can’t tell you why I’d start in such a fashion.  This blog post is not about what makes me mad.  But what I can tell you is that tons of people are upset.  Many are sad, mad, emotional, and frantic.  The blogs that crawl through the internet scream out that people are in need.  There’s so much on the internet that peals at our skin as we read about the demented lives that some have to go through to live, to breathe, and to eat.  The internet chatter beckons us to respond, to feel.  Something-Anything!

One of my communications teachers made a comment about people’s writing on the internet that I totally disagree with.  She said that what most people write on the internet is garbage.  I agree that the wording of what’s written may be garbage, but what most people write is what they are feeling.  I don’t agree with a lot of the stuff people write on the internet, but for that person to write it, it must mean they are dealing with something hard.  Their situation probably sucks.  Their life may not be the life you and I live.  Then again, you may be living a better life than I am, or I may be living a life worth more than yours.  HOLD UP! How can anyone be living a life worth more than someone else’s?  Is someone else’s life worth more than yours? Is my life worth more than yours?  NO.

God created everybody for a purpose.  Every human is greatly loved by God.  People may get lost during life. They may stumble along the way, but God still loves them.  God didn’t give up on David, when David committed adultery and murdered Bathsheba’s husband.  God still loved him, and used David in great ways.  God didn’t give up on Peter, when Peter denied he knew Jesus, and this wasn’t just one slip of the tongue, Peter did it three times.  God doesn’t give up on people, and His forgiveness is never-ending.  And Paul, the greatest missionary ever, he condemned Jesus followers to death for a living.  God forgave him too.

There are many things we may not agree with, in daily conversations, and especially what we read on the internet.  A Jesus follower needs to love and not hate.  In the past, I have, for lack of better words, been MEAN in conversations on the web.  I was wrong in doing that.  People need understanding, they need people to argue their point without blowing their top.  Christians need to love.  God’s forgiveness is for everyone, Christians especially need to remember that.

Humans were designed to search, and feel.  We are driven by emotion, and even when that emotion is targeted the wrong way, we still need to love.  What is the point of saying you follow Jesus, but hate everyone that disagrees with you?  I know Jesus wouldn’t approve.

The Cop Out


In the last week or so, I haven’t really had much to say.  I could tell you that writing was pushed to the side during my Thanksgiving break, but that would definitely be a lie.  I thought about writing.  I ached over the fact that I hadn’t written.  To be totally honest, I was blank, and couldn’t think of anything worthwhile to write about.  But now I have something.  And it’s something I actually take to heart.  It’s important to me.  I’m going to write about something that deeply upsets me.  I do it, and I find that many around me, at my Christian University do too.

At my school, each student is required to partake in a “course” called CSER.  It stands for Christian Service, or Community Service, and many call it C-Serve.  Because I transferred into Liberty University this last year, I had never participated in CSER.  I went out job hunting so to speak, and I found a health and rehabilitation center here in Lynchburg that caters to the elderly.  It’s similar to an elderly home, but most of the patients here are younger, but have physical problems or illnesses that require constant monitoring.

Now I’ll dive into what upsets me.

I’ve been going since September.  And since then I have become friends with a few of the elderly gentlemen that live there.  There is one elderly man, whom I shall call Bob, that I have become good friends with.  I’m upset with myself because there will be days and weeks where I tell myself I’m too busy to go to hang out with Bob.  Every time I go, I enjoy Bob’s company.  We have great talks.  I really enjoy going, and every time when I leave, Bob thanks me for coming and spending time with him.  I am disgusted with myself because some days I’ll say I have too much homework to do, and then I’ll waste my time on Facebook.  I could be really making a difference in the lives of many people, but I sit on Liberty campus.  Nevertheless, I do go.  I’m glad I go, and I wouldn’t want to be doing anything else for CSER.

The fact that I don’t spend a lot of time at the health and rehabilitation center does upset me,  but there is something else that upsets me even more.

There are so many CSER opportunities out in the community.  There are tons, just to name a few, working at an elderly home, working for Habitat for Humanity, Invisible Children, volunteering at the hospital, or anything out in the community.  But I find that most people at Liberty find really horrible CSER opportunities.  Instead of being out in the community, where people need Christians, and Christians are needed to serve, like Jesus, they decide to do a CSER right here on Liberty University campus.  WHY?  The word of God and presence of Christians is already right here on campus.  But in Lynchburg, only 2 miles away from campus, I don’t find Liberty University students doing CSER.  People can choose to do a CSER on campus where they sit in a professor’s office and do paperwork, or you can work for the Liberty security and do office work for them.  To someone in the community, looking in on CSER, it would seem as if Liberty is just getting free labor.  I, as a Liberty student, see it that way too.

God has called Christians to be out and among the community.  If we are going to do Christian service, or COMMUNITY service, then Serve The Community. Working on campus for Liberty is a cop out.  God desires every one in the community to follow Him, and if we aren’t in the community, and off Liberty campus, how is that going to ever happen?  If  the CSER isn’t out in the community, then call it Liberty free service, where you work freely for Liberty that is right now spending 50 million dollars on their new Library.  They have the money pay people to work on campus, but they can’t pay people to love and care and desire a change in the community.

An African Folk-Tale


This is a folk-tale from Africa that I heard once upon a time. This story does have a moral, and I believe that it can be greatly appreciated, especially after the United States had their presidential elections a few days ago.  I have written this story in my own literary form.

Once upon a time there was a small African village, deep in the African bush.  In this village, there was the village chief.  He was a man that was respected greatly among his people, and even though sometimes he got a temper.  He had many friends within the village, and one of his best friends, was a man named Josef.  One day, Josef went to the chief’s hut.

“Hey chief, would you like to go hunting? I feel as if today is a beautiful day, and the perfect day for us to go out for a hunt together.” Josef asked.

The chief agreed, and thought it would be good for him to get away from his chiefly duties and spend some time with his friend.  They went far out into the jungle, each carrying a small caliber rifle.  They weren’t hunting for anything in particular, maybe a monkey, or something small.  Anything they could find they would hunt.

The chief decided to tell Josef a riddle.

“Once upon a time, two men went out for a hunt,” the chief started. “They eventually saw a chimpanzee in a tree.  The first man aimed his rifle and shot the monkey.  When the chimpanzee fell, the second man ran to the ape, and cut the tail off.  The first man argued that he should be given the tail since he shot the chimpanzee.  Who should keep the tail?” The chief finished.

Josef thought for a second, and eventually, he smiled at the chief, and shook his head.

“A chimpanzee doesn’t have a tail Chief!” Josef answered.

The chief chuckled, “That is correct Josef. Well done.”

All of a sudden, there was movement in one of the trees.  Josef and the chief ran closer to get a better look.  There up in the branches, was in fact a small monkey.  The chief aimed his rifle, and shot, but missed the monkey.  This time Josef was going to take a turn at it.  The monkey started climbing down the tree rapidly, and Josef started aiming, and he shot.

“Ouch, ahh, urgh.” The chief yelled out.

When the chief turned around, Josef ran to the chief in horror.  He had accidentally shot the chief’s right ear off.  The monkey escaped, and the chief’s ear was gone.

After the chief was bandaged up, his pain turned to rage. He promised Josef that he and his family would be exiled from the village for his ignorance.

Sure enough, when they got back to the village, Josef and his family were sent away from the village and told that they were never allowed to come back.

About a week later, the village was attacked by a group of cannibals.  They came in and killed many, but took some as prisoners to eat.  The chief was among those that were captured.

When the cannibals decided they were ready to eat the chief, they brought him to a big cauldron with boiling water.  They were going to boil him like a chicken.  They brought him to the cauldron, and just as they were going to throw him in, they stopped.

He heard them arguing about the fact that he was missing an ear.  You see, they believed that whoever they ate, they would receive the same physical form.  They believed they could receive blessings and curses through the people they ate.  He heard them talk about the fact that he was missing his right ear and that it must be a curse.

They promptly untied him and forced him to leave and go far away.  They did not want anything to do with the chief.

The chief realized then that everything happens for a reason, and he went out and found Josef.  He apologized, and explained to him what had happened.  Not only did Josef save the chief from being eaten, but the Chief had saved Josef and his family by exiling them from the village.

I Stand For. . .


I have no answers today, and I’m not even going to make any statements.  Well, then again, I may make one or two, but for the most part, I only want to ask questions.  What is it that you stand for?  That’s my question.  We see advertisements, political campaigns, religious groups, humanitarian organizations, and many others that stand for a certain cause.  And this is a really good question. What do you stand for?  Everyone stands for something, whether we want to or not.  We must know what we stand for.  One organization that I used to be a part of, Invisible Children, stands for the freedom of children in Central Africa.  They want to see that children in this area will no longer be taken as child soldiers for the LRA and will be able to live in peace.  They know what they stand for, and they work really hard to promote their position.  They have worked so hard that their cause came to the attention of President Obama.  They know what they stand for, and like Invisible Children, we too must know what we stand for.  In life, there will come a time when we are questioned.  We will be interrogated, and must be prepared to answer questions.  These questions we are asked will be based on what we stand for.  And if we are confused as to where we stand, we will not be ready to answer.  Know what you stand for, and when you know what you stand for, stand up for it.  Do not be silent.

The Story of Djonke


First of all, before I start my story, I want to give you some background knowledge.  The name Djonke is pronounced with a silent D, and that his name in its native language means slave.  This story takes place in Bamako, Mali.  Mali is situated in West Africa, above Ivory Coast and to the south of Morocco.  This took place in French, and the year is 1998.  This is a true story.

The Story of Djonke

Hello, my name is Djonke, I am twelve years old, and I live in Bamako.  I don’t live with my parents, because they are right now in the country of Zambia.  My father is a diamond miner, and my mother stays with him.  They never had enough money to take care of me, so right now, I live with my uncle here in Bamako.  About a year ago, an American family moved into the house beside me.  They have a son, named Zachary, and I have become really good friends with him.  We do almost everything together, we fish, and even hunt lizards together with our homemade slingshots.  In the street, we play soccer with all the other kids from the area; dodging the traffic and the sewer since it runs right through the middle of the road.  I started talking to Zachary and his parents about their belief, and why anyone living in the United States would ever want to come to Africa.  They told me that they were Christians and believed that their mission in life was to bring people to know Jesus Christ personally.

I got interested in what they were teaching.  Every week, besides playing with Zachary, I would come over and listen to them teach about the Bible.  This Jesus character was very interesting, and if what they taught was true, I wanted to be a part of it.  Over the next few months, I learned more and more.  They gave me my own bible in French, and I took it to my house and hid it underneath my mattress.  I had to hide it because my whole family is Islamic and if they found out I was interested in Christianity, I could be in danger.  Because I share my bed with a few of my cousins, my bible was found, and my uncle interrogated me over it, and beat me because of it.  I went to Zachary’s family in tears.  I decided to leave my Bible at his house and come study it when I got out of school before going over to my house.  I learned more and more, and I believed that Jesus Christ was in fact the savior and that God had sent him to save the world of their sins.

I was a believer, and now, I too was a Christian.

It was around March now, and my uncle realized that I had drifted away from the Muslim faith and had become a Christian.  He was furious and treated me as an outcast.  Being beat by him was normal, and my cousins treated me like a disease.

A few days before Easter, my uncle came to me with a VHS tape, and three nails.  He said that on Easter, the whole family was going to ridicule me for what I believed in.  He said they were all going to beat me, and they would watch the VHs tape he had which was the Jesus film.  They would mock Jesus, and then as the crucifixion came, they would nail those three nails through my hands and feet mocking my faith.

I went over to Zachary’s house and talked to his parents, I was crying, and they shared in my sympathy.  I decided that I truly believed that God had sent his son Jesus, and that my faith in Christ was true.  If this was going to happen to me because of my faith, so be it.  I prayed that God would save me from this torture.

Easter day arrived, and I was afraid for my life.  I did not run, but I prayed that I would be saved.  All day I waited, and my uncle was no where to be seen.

It turns out that my uncle had had car trouble the day before Easter.  He never made it home that night.  During Easter day, he spent the whole day trying to get the car fixed in town and never even returned to the house.  When he did return, he had lost all memory of what he had planned to do to me.  No one in my family mentioned it, and somehow, he never brought it up again.

I returned to Zachary’s family in tears, this time tears of joy.  God had saved me from a man who hated me and truly wanted me dead.  I continued to be good friends with Zachary and his family, and got connected with other believers in the area.

Zachary’s family had to leave in 2000, they had been re-assigned to another part of the world and had to go.  I continued to grow in my faith, and being able to fellowship with other believers in the area really helped me.

Now, in 2012, I have been reunited with my birth mother, and she lives with me now. I came to find out I had younger siblings, and now, my mother and younger siblings have become Christians.  Jesus christ is real, and has changed my very existence.

Why I Love Coca-Cola


In 2003, my father put together a team from Canada to go to Mali, West Africa, to conduct a humanitarian mission.  Our goal was to inform villages out in the remote parts of the country on how to prevent the spread of HIV.  I was only a young boy of twelve years old, and since I had grown up in Mali from the age of five to nine years old, my father allowed me to come along and see where I used to live.  During the trip, we decided to go on a day hike up the Dogon cliffs located at the edge of the Sahara Desert.  The Dogon cliffs were about four hours away from any civilization and electricity, and the hike was going to be a 13 kilometer hike. The first part was going straight up the cliff about 200 feet.  The path up this cliff was not an easy one, one slip up, and you would have fallen to your death.  Once we arrived at the top of the cliff, we saw a small village in the distance.  This village was very minimalistic, and their only water source was from a well.  When we got to the edge of the village, one of the elders came to us, and asked if we were thirsty.  The group agreed that they were in fact thirsty, and the elderly man brought us to a shack.  When he opened the door, we couldn’t believe our eyes.  From the dirt floor to the ceiling, Coca-Cola was stacked crate upon crate.  Here in the middle of nowhere, someone had taken the time to bring all these crates up the cliff.  It must have been a tedious job.  We bought a few Coca-Colas from the man, and right there on a cliff, in the middle of Africa, I enjoyed the taste of that Coca-Cola.  Even though it was warm, nothing could have tasted better.