A Reluctant Missionary Gets a Ghana Blessing

It was six in the morning. The thermometer, as it had every morning so far, hovered stubbornly around 80. The sauna-like air wrapped around me and wrung out the first drops of what would be copious amounts of perspiration that day. The effect was magnified by the cup of scalding Starbucks I had just poured from the French press. I tolerate heat fairly well, though, so I was almost enjoying it. I hadn’t been in Ghana a week yet, but an early morning front porch quiet time had already become part of my routine.

Seven, and time for breakfast. The team from the Bridge Church in Alexandria, Kentucky entered the screened-in hut and greeted our host. Emmanuel is in charge of Seed Ministry when its founders, Bob and Bonnie Parker, are back home in the states. 

Though Emmanuel speaks English well, the first thing from our lips to him was despa. That’s good morning in Dagbani, one of the three primary languages spoken in Tamale. He returned with naa (yes, it is). We naa-ed back. The naa-ing continued back and forth another time or two.

Yes, it certainly was a good morning in Ghana. Especially since we started with devotions and then a healthy and hearty breakfast. What I ate in Ghana is a whole other blog in itself. I’m still working those pounds off.

I hopped on the Seed Ministry van at eight. Our destination was schools and Bible clubs in or surrounding the sprawling city of Tamale. Another routine I was getting acclimated to. There I was, along with the team, going into schools and working with children. Voluntarily!  

When I retired from teaching middle school in 2003, though I really enjoyed it for the most part, I thought I was done with that. I might’ve even clued God in. But I’ve since learned never to say never to The Almighty.

I must say, I ended up having the time of my life. Preparing lessons, doing activities, telling stories, playing games, acting out skits, and even animating hand puppets in an effort to make Bible stories come alive. In my opinion, Brian, Lisa, Jackie, and I are quite a team. Jacob and Dorcas were invaluable guides and helpers. (Len, the team leader, stayed at the compound. His job was training Christian workers there, something he has done for many years.)

I have many fond memories from this two-week mission trip in November 2025 to Ghana.

Though I couldn’t know that morning, this day would hold first place in my heart, all because of a new activity between school visits later in the day.  An activity not exactly at the top of my list of reasons to go to Ghana.

But first, we had to drive through the city streets during morning rush hour. Thomas, our guide and another important member of the Seed Ministry staff, is an expert driver. He has to be! The first day there, I had discovered that a two-lane road in Tamale has three bonus lanes.

Picture vehicles everywhere.  A lot of folks stay either in the right or left lane, but who knew there was an extra, unmarked lane in the middle. Yes, motorcycles, three-wheeled cabs, cars, trucks, and even buses use that “lane” to pass anytime they get a chance. But wait, there’s more. Each shoulder is also a lane!

Warning, graphic details: If we drove that way in the states for one day there would be limp bodies lying all over the highway and shoulder. But in the two weeks I was in Ghana, I saw only one accident. That was when I happened to have my eyes open.

When I opened my eyes for the last time (no, I wasn’t killed), we had arrived at our first school of the day.

OK, enough talk about traveling. I’m starting to feel nervous again.

We had a great time at the school talking about the Good Shepherd of Psalm 23. Funny, me the city boy talking to real shepherd children in Ghana. I felt a little sheepish. But they enjoyed our story, and we followed it up by letting them put together sheep puppets.

At the next school we told the story of Jonah, the reluctant missionary. (Fitting that I should play him, as you are soon to find out.) To look like I had been in a whale’s belly for three days, I slathered on that healthy mineral sunblock they say is invisible, but it really makes you look like a ghost—the visible kind. In this case, that was perfect.

I concluded my little story to the wide-eyed children by explaining that this is what happens when you run from God. But he will always forgive you when you ask him to and you repent.

Then came the moment Thomas told us we were ready for some door-to-door evangelism in the small village near the school. (Maybe he was ready.) I knew this was coming. I can give you a whole list of things that are easier for me. Examples are work days, like the one coming up soon where we were scheduled to paint a church. Even going to schools. But this was out of my comfort zone. If there had been a ship going to Joppa from this town, I might’ve boarded it.

Our first stop, though, was the chief’s hut. Without his blessing, we would not be permitted to visit his village. Guilt, stronger than my morning dose of caffeine, surged through me when I, for just a second, hoped that he would say no, not today.

The chief’s assistant took us into his hut. Jacob started with a bow and a despa. Our team did the same. We waited for the chief to say naa. (Well, most of us did.) He did, and we, with more coaching, responded back. Then he said it again, so we said it again. Luckily Jacob was there to help us know when to stop.

The chief offered us water from a gourd to seal his blessing. However, Lisa said no, but thank you very much. I had been ready to drink some, just out of protocol. Outside the chief’s hut, Lisa reminded me that we needed to stick to bottled or filtered H20.

Thomas reviewed the town visitation plan with us. We would introduce ourselves, wish the families well, share the gospel, and finally ask if there was anything about which we could pray for them. Though most were Muslim (they are the vast majority in Tamale), they were very hospitable and attentive as we shared our Christian beliefs.

Obviously, I am enthusiastic about spreading the gospel. But door-to-door is daunting for me. Thankfully I was prayed up (out of fear) before we started. And I think that praying gave me the sense to do less talking and more listening than I usually do.

One visit in particular I’ve recalled many times. Through our translator, I had a lengthy discussion with the man of the house. It may have been my favorite encounter of the entire trip.

It wasn’t because we agreed on everything. As we exchanged our beliefs, we found only a few points in common. It was pretty obvious that I wasn’t going to convince this man to agree with my views on getting to Heaven, or vice-versa. 

At one point, when we had gone back and forth for a while, a long second passed before he said, with a twinkle in his eye, “Well, I don’t know anything for sure about Heaven because I’ve never been there.” I had to smile. After a couple more exchanges about Heaven, we agreed to disagree. This is the way a good discussion should close, I thought. 

I walked out of the hut and the man followed me out the door. He smiled, pointing at me. Then, pointing to himself, he put his hand over his heart. I followed suit, even as a lump was forming in my throat.

For some exchanges, a translation isn’t necessary. I was a reluctant missionary no more.