These are the words we were asking the students to not say to their families.

On Black Friday, while most of America was out shopping for holiday bargains, Jos, Nigeria was covered in the smoke of hatred. While our team was incredibly safe on the other side of town, we allowed the students to call home and inform their families of what the day’s events had unfolded. They were given specific things to say and not say and “political unrest” became the best phrase to communicate. There was no need to rustle mommy-feathers from the other side of the world, especially since everything was expected to be calm by night fall.

Everything was calm(er) by nightfall, but the following morning smoke clouded the horizon once again. We had learned news of continued fighting, an angry Nigerian army, more deaths and a refugee camp.

A tiny ray of light had emerged, in the middle of anger and death stood a people grieving and recognizing their great need for help. This refugee camp would be where we spent our next three days in ministry.

Within that tiny ray of light, another war was being fought. A war that could not be fought with guns and knives; a war between flesh and spirit. While surrounded by 1400 refugees, I found myself in a surge of emotion and for the first time in two years I did not want to be in Africa anymore. If you know me well, you can imagine the shock that followed that thought.

This is from my journal on November 29th: “Lord, please remove any emotions and desires from me that are not of you. Please give me wisdom and discernment in decision making and the ability to see past myself. Help and guide me to love well today. Lord, have your way with me. Father, I pray that you would protect me from sin and the lies of Satan so that I would have the ability to discern good from evil. Father, give me your heart.”

Unfortunately my desire to come back to the states had also morphed into something else. Through the grace of God, I was able to discern the difference between my longing to go home and a lack of desire to be obedient.  While I never really “came-to” with a self-driven yearning to minister to the refugees, I desired more than anything else to bring honor to Christ and, by the power of the Holy Spirit, was finally able to see past my own nose.

I walked away from that 48-hour time period in awe of how God had abundantly answered prayer. I was given a great gift that Saturday afternoon: clarity. For years, I have been pursuing Africa all while praying for clarity from God. While in Africa, through a turn of events that rocked a nation, the Alpha and Omega answered that prayer. The God that created the heavens and the earth, the God that saw fit to redeem mankind through death on a cross, the God that is above all things and holds all things together answered my piddly prayer for clarity. This almost blows me away more than the actual clarity I was given.

The best way to finish my tale is to allow you into my mind for a while. I leave you with two journal entries:

11/30/2008
November 29, 2008 was the second most impactful day of my life. Second to _____, no other day has pushed  me, stretched me and tore me apart more. As I realized that I wasn’t one with Africa anymore, part of me died. My African dream  has been a safety net, an “unmovable” force in my life. Something that took three years to build up was torn to pieces in a matter of days.

Oh, but underneath that temporary safety net we find another. One that is not swayed with the weather of life. One that is eternal. Jesus Christ. The mourning process for Africa has subsided for the evening and I am left with Christ; the Completer of my faith, the Joy of my salvation, my Peace, my King.

During the group debriefing tonight, I was reminded of where the Lord has placed my passion. While I yearn to see lost souls come to Christ and feel privileged to play a part in God building His Church, I am really excited and impassioned by the sanctification of the believers around me; discipleship.

12/3/2008
We leave today. Our home for two weeks is no longer a home, but a place we stayed in that one time we went to Africa. We drive from Jos to Abuja this afternoon and tomorrow we fly from Abuja to London. London to NYC.

Leaving is bittersweet. I do love Africa. I don’t love it enough to move here without the guidance and protection of a husband. In a way, part of me died here. I’ve had to grieve it and bury it on these plains. Part of me will always be here.

John B. was right. You can’t take a donkey, put him on a plane and expect him to be a race horse when he lands in Tokyo. If I had no passion or desire for relief-type work in the states, why would I have one here? I do think that this trip has revealed a lack of compassion in me; I need to be praying for more. Secondly, I need to pray that God would continue to grow His ordained passion in me. Discipleship and college-age women are something that God-alone has given me a fervor for. I wouldn’t have known it if I had not come here with LIFT. This passion for discipleship has been here all along, it just took a trip to the other side of the world to see it.

Some people have rocks or momentos to remind them of major life-events. I have more than a rock. Every time I see smoke in the sky, I am taken back to the time when the Peace of the world answered prayer. Every time I see a war movie or hear of political fighting I am reminded of the emotion that comes with severe, harsh pruning. I will never think of Black Friday the same way.

Family & Friends,

As many of you know, I’m traveling to Nigeria next Wednesday with the LIFT Discipleship program. How the trip came about is a whirlwind of a story, but for now, I’m merely writing you asking for prayer.

There are 16 students in the program and every semester a new group of students takes a two-week mission trip to open their eyes to what mission work is like in other cultures. We’ll be traveling to visit 3 missionaries and joining them in their ministries for 16 days.

My main job on the trip is to act as the photographer/videographer and capture the significant events and emotions. Secondarily (or primarily, depending on who you talk to), I will be the female leader, taking care of all the matronly needs of the group.

While those are both tangible needs I’m meeting for the LIFT group, the main reason for “tagging along” is purely personal. As someone who aspires to be a missionary in Africa one day, this trip will be more than work-related. I will be filtering everything I see and observe in Nigeria through my “what will it be like to live here?” filter.

We will travel from Speculator to NYC on Wednesday the 19th and fly out on the 20th. From NYC, we’ll fly to London and then from London to Abuja, Nigeria. From there we will travel 4 hours south to Jos, Nigeria. Jos will serve as our “home base” for the rest of the trip. We will return to the States on December 4th.

The students, our fearless LIFT leaders and I will be traveling around observing and engaging in the different ministries of the Ardill family, working with Pro Health International and their medical outreaches, helping with African Prison Ministries and even traveling overnight to and orphanage.

Please pray for us! Pray that as a team, we would be able to lay our differences aside and approach each day with a heart to serve in any capacity necessary. Pray that our eyes would be open to the lessons that the Lord would have for us. And that we would not be clouded by our own selfishness to miss the opportunities before us to live and share Christ with the people of Nigeria and each other. Specifically, please pray for me as my responsibilities are torn between leading and observing, that I would know how to wear both hats in a Christ-like manner.

Thank you, your prayers have already meant so much already. I anticipate the Lord answering more!

I echo the apostle Paul in his letter to the Phillipians when he says , “For me to live is Christ and to die is gain” (1:21). Paul had spent a chunk of his ministry in prison and faced adversity wherever he went. He didn’t find his identity in the success of his churches or the lack of persecution he found. He found his identity in Christ, and few things shook him. At his core, we don’t find a rock-hard man’s man, we find Christ: the King of kings and Lord of lords.

So however this trip turns out, my identity is found in the One who controlls all things. By His grace, few things will shake me.

Bring on the international travel…

Back when I first saw the images that would soon find their way into A Hope in the Dark, my heart was stirring for something bigger but was unsure of what direction to point itself in. As images of African orphans and desolate African communities filled my computer screen, my heart began to solidify a bearing. While part of it was gospel-centered, my original main motivation to be a missionary in Africa was merely to replicate those images that affected me so. I wanted to go to Africa to take pictures.

It has been years since I’ve first laid my eyes on those images and my heart for missions hasn’t run away from me. Thankfully, sanctification has brought me from a photographic selfishness to a true, gospel-driven desire to boldly proclaim Him and share His love tangibly with those in need. And while that heart could be led anywhere willingly, there is  a special place in my heart for Africa.

Patience has now brought me to this place. I have been thinking about a short-term trip to the great continent for a little over a year and started pursuing such since spring. The intention was never to go with a group larger than three, but through a series of very clear, closed doors I found myself staring at a solo pilgrimage. Though my purpose in going alone was to get a complete grasp of life in West Africa, I still needed help planning. A mere five days after asking for help I found myself sitting with a tangible, I-need-shots-asap trip to Africa in my lap. With 18 other people.

To be honest, the mental and emotional transition from preparing a solo trip to allowing a trip for 19 people to built for me was hard. All of a sudden my “pet” trip, that I had been holding, feeding and taking care of, had turned into a zoo exhibition that I could just watch from the other side of a cage. I lost control of my pilgrimage and my emotions were unsure of what to make of themselves.

Through a series of conversations I had come to realize that my lack of excitement and borderline rebellion over the trip was merely a struggle for control. This was no longer my trip, ready for me to plan. Through the context’s of God’s amazing provision, I was face to face with a valuable lesson: the control was never mine to start with.

So I sit here this evening, still waiting for the emotional excitment of international travel to seep in, but cannot seem to muster it up just yet. Instead, I am in complete awe of God. He is good. He is faithful. He is worthy of my trust and worship. Maybe my lack of excitement isn’t there because a trip to Nigeria pales in comparison to the glory of God; it is His glory I am overwhelmed with right now.

Despite my desire to do things alone, He has given me the gift of community. Despite my desire to navigate the waters of Nigerian government, He has given me a first timer’s, folly-proof, bird’s-eye-view of the visa process. Despite my desire to excercise faith in finances, He has given me the opportunity to excercise it in new and unexpected areas.

And the coolest: Despite my heart’s desire to serve in whatever capacity needed, He has gifted our group with a need for a photographer.

My first African dream was to go and replicate images. 2 years later, my longing has moved on to more selfless, gospel-honoring things and the Lord has chosen to gift me with so much. He is knitting my first trip to Africa together so perfectly and it is all geared towards His glory. By His grace I intend on honoring that.

Lord, help me.

More actual detals to come soon…

The tom-toms thumped straight on all night and the darkness shuddered round me like a living, feeling thing. I could not go to sleep, so I lay awake and looked; and I saw, as it seemed, this:

That I stood on a grassy sward, and at my feet a precipice broke sheer down into infinite space. I looked, but saw no bottom; only cloud shapes, black and furiously coiled, and great shadow-shrouded hollows, and unfathomable depths. Back I drew, dizzy at the depth.

Then I saw forms of people moving single file along the grass. They were making for the edge. There was a woman with a baby in her arms and another little child holding on to her dress. She was on the very verge. Then I saw that she was blind. She lifted her foot for the next step . . . it trod air. She was over, and the children over with her. Oh, the cry as they went over!

Then I saw more streams of people flowing from all quarters. All were blind, stone blind; all made straight for the precipice edge. There were shrieks, as they suddenly knew themselves falling, and a tossing up of helpless arms, catching, clutching at empty air. But some went over quietly, and fell without a sound.

Then I wondered, with a wonder that was simply agony, why no one stopped them at the edge. I could not. I was glued to the ground, and I could only call; though I strained and tried, only whisper would come.

Then I saw that along the edge there were sentries set at intervals. But the intervals were too great; there were wide, unguarded gaps between. And over these gaps the people fell in their blindness, quite unwarned; and the green grass seemed blood-red to me, and the gulf yawned like the mouth of hell.

Then I saw, like a little picture of peace, a group of people under some trees with their backs turned toward the gulf. They were making daisy chains. Sometimes when a piercing shriek cut the quiet air and reached them, it disturbed them and they thought it a rather vulgar noise. And if one of their number started up and wanted to go and do something to help, then all the others would pull that one down. “Why should you get so excited about it? You must wait for a definite call to go! You haven’t finished your daisy chain yet. It would be really selfish,” they said, “to leave us to finish the work alone.”

There was another group. It was made up of people whose great desire was to get more sentries out; but they found that very few wanted to go, and sometimes there were no sentries set for miles and miles of the edge.

Once a girl stood alone in her place, waving the people back; but her mother and other relations called and reminded her that her furlough was due; she must not break the rules. And being tired and needing a change, she had to go and rest for awhile; but no one was sent to guard her gap, and over and over the people fell, like a waterfall of souls.

Once a child caught at a tuft of grass that grew at the very brink of the gulf; it clung convulsively, and it called-but nobody seemed to hear. Then the roots of the grass gave way, and with a cry the child went over, its two little hands still holding tight to the torn-off bunch of grass. And the girl who longed to be back in her gap thought she heard the little one cry, and she sprang up and wanted to go; at which they reproved her, reminding her that no one is necessary anywhere; the gap would be well taken care of, they knew. And then they sang a hymn.

Then through the hymn came another sound like the pain of a million broken hearts wrung out in one full drop, one sob. And a horror of great darkness was upon me, for I knew what it was-the Cry of the Blood.

Then thundered a voice, the voice of the Lord. “And He said, ‘What hast thou done, The voice of thy brother’s blood crieth unto me from the ground.’”

The tom-toms still beat heavily, the darkness still shuddered and shivered about me; I heard the yells of the devil-dancers and weird, wild shriek of the devil-possessed just outside the gate.

What does it matter, after all? It has gone on for years; it will go on for years. Why make such a fuss about it?

God forgive us! God arouse us! Shame us out of our callousness! Shame us out of our sin!

From Wikipedia: Nigeria, officially named the Federal Republic of Nigeria, is a federal constitutional republic comprising thirty-six states and one Federal Capital Territory. The country is located in West Africaborders with the Republic of Benin in the west, Chad and Cameroon in the east, and Niger in the north. Its coast lies on the Gulf of Guinea, part of the Atlantic Ocean, in the south. The capital city is Abuja. and shares land

Nigeria is the most populous country in Africa and the eighth most populous country in the world with a population of over 140 million. It is a regional power and it is also listed among the “Next Eleven” economies. The economy of Nigeria is one of the fastest growing in the world with the International Monetary Fund projecting a growth of 9% in 2008 and 8.3% in 2009.^[3][4][5][6]

From Sending in Mission: Nigeria is Africa’s most populous nation with 140 million people, and is one of its most influential countries. Though the country is rich in natural resources, most Nigerians are in economic distress. About 470 languages are spoken in Nigeria. English is the official language. The constitution guarantees religious freedom.

The founders of the “Soudan Interior Mission” arrived in 1893, called to reach Nigeria’s far north with the Gospel. Not until the late 1930s, however, was missionary work permitted in this area. A center was established in central Nigeria in 1902. Since then, SIM has worked in over 30 Nigerian language groups. The Evangelical Church of West Africa (ECWA), growing out of SIM’s work, claims more than 6,000,000 worshippers. The church is engaged in theological education, medical work, radio, publishing, rural development, urban ministries, and cross-cultural missions. Over 1,600 missionaries from ECWA churches serve with ECWA’s Evangelical Missionary Society (EMS), both within and outside Nigeria.

SIM Nigeria’s goals include increasing the numbers of adequately supported Nigerian missionaries and motivating believers to get involved in evangelism. We seek ways to increase the number of pastors and church members who are involved in effective discipleship within their congregations. Increasing the numbers of competent Nigerian health workers committed to compassionate evangelistic witness is a goal, as is supporting the church’s involvement in care for the suffering and marginalized, especially among AIDS patients and orphans. Finally, we are developing our capacity to support Nigerian missionaries.

In recent years our work in Nigeria’s far north has been neglected. We now wish to expand our SIM base there, to assist and support the work of the church in evangelism and discipleship. This is a challenge, given the area’s climate and deeply Islamic traditions.

While we aren’t going over with SIM, we will be working closely with their ministries in Nigeria. For those of you who care and have the time, there is a 20 minute video on what they’re doing out there.

Wednesday, August 20. 2008
until you reached this place

As days go by here in Liberia, I find myself realizing that I’m possibly a real grownup now. Don’t tell any of the myriad kids I play with every chance I get, but I don’t think I am one of them any longer.

I think the straw that broke my proverbial back (not that I’m a camel or anything; the metaphor just seemed to fit) was getting this poster in the mail. Go ahead and click on that bright red square and you will see the reason I’ve had to say goodbye to my childhood once and for all. It’s not really anything spectacular, nothing but a piece of posterboard with kids’ signatures scattered across it in black marker. But if you look up there at the top, you’ll see a little card with a photo and an address on it. It just happens to be me. Ali Wilks. Missionary.

I’ve gone to the same church since I was about two years old. Ever since I can remember, Mr. Don has been leading Vacation Bible School in the summers. Every year there was a missionary of the week, someone he would tell us stories about and someone we would pray for. And every time we would sign a poster that Mr. Don promised to send to the missionary in question; I’ve probably signed close to twenty of those posters. This year, it was me. I was that missionary, and I sent stories back to be read to the kids each day and I totally forgot about the poster thing until it showed up in the mail a week or so ago. When I pulled it out of the envelope and unfolded it across the floor of my cabin, I was overwhelmed with what I can only describe as the absolute weight of my calling and the unmistakable realization that I’ve grown up.

I’ve spent my life hearing stories about missionaries. The last Wednesday of every month sees my whole church in the basement, eating potluck casseroles and listening to a different warrior of the faith from some far-flung corner of the world. I sat there, enthralled, promising my grown-up, future self that I was going to be a missionary. Going to live in Africa and take care of those laughing, dark-eyed children. Going to let God use me however He felt like it.

I knew he was telling me that I’d go. Somewhere, someday. I guess I just didn’t completely believe that He was serious.

And so, of course, because that’s what happens when you doubt God, here I am. I’m that girl, the one who grew up and became a Nurse In Africa, which needs to be capitalized because I always thought it was such a big deal. And now that I’m here, I realize that missionaries aren’t anything special. Not really. And neither are grownups; they aren’t the superheroes I’d always made them out to be, because if they were, there’s no way I could be one. They’re just people. People who laugh and worry and do things right and do things wrong and somehow get through each day more or less intact.

I thought growing up and becoming a missionary would feel different, somehow. I figured I’d get to some magical point where I felt qualified to make decisions that affect the entire course of my life. And where being in charge of someone else’s life while they lie helpless in a hospital bed wasn’t flat-out scary. Where I’d know what to say and when to say it and then I’d be grown up.

Instead here I am. Just as petrified as the day I heard that still, small voice tell me not to get too comfortable in the States. And just when I’m ready to pack it all in, to throw up my hands in surrender and retreat from this strange world of responsibility and adulthood, that same voice whispers to me again.

There you saw how the Lord your God carried you, as a father carries his daughter, all the way you went until you reached this place. (Deuteronomy 1:31)

These waters are not so uncharted as I’ve made them out to me. A wiser mind than mine is laying plans. Stronger hands than mine are guiding me.

And a deeper heart than mine is loving through me.

Sunday, July 20. 2008
pouring out

My Granny just wrote me an e-mail and asked for an update on Baby Greg. It’s funny, really- I’ve lost sight of the fact that there are people in the world who don’t eat, sleep and breathe this situation. People who have to wait and read a blog entry before they know what’s going on. I’ve become so entangled in his small life that I don’t know that I’m ever off duty anymore. It’s draining, and I know I’ve said this before, but I’m tired. I watch my fellow nurses getting days off and playing with their patients and having fun at work, and I’m wishing myself back to the days when my biggest worry was whether or not my little ortho patient was going to wipe out on her crutches.

Baby Greg has been up and down the past few days. He rarely has two good shifts in a row, but he’s starting to gain weight and his breathing is markedly improved when he’s able to tolerate being off the CPAP. (A photo of which I have included just so my esteemed PICU colleagues can laugh at my creation; it might not be pretty, but it gives him PEEP!) His g-tube isn’t leaking like it used to, and we’re working on getting him a different one from the States. He needed a transfusion yesterday; the charge nurse jumped at the chance, left the ward to donate and then came back to finish her work just feet away from where Greg was receiving her blood. The ship has taken Baby Greg under their collective wing, praying for him non-stop, twenty-four hours a day. All these little details and myriad more swirl and mix and have become second nature to me; reciting them comes as easy as breathing.

Phil came to visit the ward last night and hung out with Baby Greg for a little while. I was talking about it all with him over cinnamon toast at some point during the shift (which has stretched on so long I’ve absolutely lost all concept of time). Ever pragmatic, he just patted me on the back and told me not to worry. I can see why you’re attached to him. It makes sense when he looks at you like he does. But just keep serving. You’ll find your inspiration again.

Right now, I have to smile. Because it just happened. He’s had a good night, honestly. He’s slept comfortably most of the time, only thrown up once and never had the panicked look of a baby who can’t get enough air. (That look breaks my heart every single time he brings it out.) About an hour ago, he decided to wake up and be angry. I changed him and patted his back and snuggled him on his side and did all the things he usually likes. No dice. So I climbed into his bed and pulled him into my arms. Whereupon he put on little hand on my chest and immediately fell asleep. And I was left there in the dark, my heart a puddle in my chest.

I’m in Africa in the first place because God told me to pour out my soul. To kick over my heart and let everything spill out. I remember talking about this with my youth group girls last year. We all came to the conclusion that we should go to bed every night absolutely empty, completely poured out on the world and relying on God to fill us up again for the next day. I’m wondering whether or not this is the first time I’ve really managed to do it.

Click here to read the final update on Baby Greg.

What Impresses God

Stop it.

Love, Me

A Heart for the Poor, pp.38-39

Like nothing else could ever do, the gospel instills in me a heart for the downcast, the poverty-stricken, and those in need of physical mercies, especially when such persons are of the household of faith.

When I see persons who are materially poor, I instantly feel a kinship with them, for they are physically what I was spiritually when my heart was closed to Christ. Perhaps some of them are in their condition because of sin, but so was I. Perhaps they are unkind when I try to help them; but I, too, have been spiteful to God when He has sought to help me. Perhaps they are thankless and even abuse the kindness I show them, but how many times have I been thankless and used what God has given me to serve selfish ends?

Perhaps a poverty-stricken person will be blessed and changes as a result of some kindness I show him. If so, god be praised for His grace through me. But if the person walks away unchanged by my kindness, then I still rejoice over the opportunity to love as God loves. Perhaps the person will repent in time; but for now, my heart is chastened and made wiser by the tangible depiction of what I myself have done to God on numerous occasions.

The gospel reminds me daily of the spiritual poverty into which I was born and also of the staggering generosity of Christ towards me. Such reminders instill in me both a felt connection to the poor and a desire to show them the same generosity that has been lavished on me. when ministering to the poor with these motivations, I not only preach the gospel to them through word and deed, but I reenact the gospel to my own benefit as well.