A word from Wycliffe USA’s President/CEO

Linda K. Thomas has delivered another captivating memoir. . . . In Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go, Linda invites readers to a turbulent time in a volatile region. Threats from anti-American Marxist guerrillas were just one of the many very good reasons not to move to 1970s Colombia.

But Linda, her husband, and their two young children answered God’s call anyway, and her account is a reminder that a call to the mission field is a call to sacrifice. It can be uncomfortable, challenging, and at times tragic. 

But Linda’s story also reveals the amazing work God accomplishes through His people when we trust Him with what seems impossible. (Bob Creson, President/CEO, Wycliffe Bible Translators USA)

In my other memoir, Grandma’s Letters from Africa, I wrote about a mini-adventure I had with Bob. At the time, he was Director of the Cameroon Branch of SIL (a partner organization with Wycliffe Bible Translators) and I worked as a journalist with SIL, based out of Nairobi, Kenya.

Below is an excerpt from Grandma’s Letters from Africa about that day with Bob.

On November 11 each year, Wycliffe members set aside the day to pray for our work. Around the world, wherever they gather, they view the World Day of Prayer video so they can link faces and personalities with specific prayer requests. During May’s meetings at Brackenhurst [upcountry in Kenya], I interviewed several people for this fall’s video—individuals from Ghana, Nigeria, Central African Republic, and the Philippines.  

One of the people I interviewed, Grace Adjekum, serves as the Director of Ghana’s Bible institute. Grace found herself in the midst of brutal ethnic violence in February when [my husband] and I had planned to travel there. (. . . . We received word along the way to skip Ghana so we traveled on to the next country on our itinerary.) 

When Grace arrived at Brackenhurst, she told us that those clashes had focused on her and Ghanaian Bible translators. Warring factions killed a thousand people, including Grace’s adopted son, and destroyed a hundred and fifty villages. . . . 

During our stay at Brackenhurst, Grace’s sister underwent extensive surgery in Nairobi. She needed a blood transfusion, so Grace asked people with Type O negative blood to donate. Only Bob Creson (the Director of Cameroon’s work) and I had that type, and we checked out a car and headed down to Nairobi.  

Along the way, I confessed that I worried about giving blood because of potential exposure to AIDS and hepatitis, but we went ahead with it anyway. Bob watched closely during the procedure and assured me afterward that they had used new, sterile needles.

Whew! I was so glad Bob was there to reassure me during this nervous time—exposure to AIDS, and to any number of other diseases, was a real consideration while we lived there.

Our drive to and from Nairobi was 90 minutes each way, giving us lots of time to visit. I still remember significant wisdom Bob shared with me—words I needed to hear at the time. Bless his heart.

Bob went on to become the President and CEO of Wycliffe Bible Translators USA and has served very successfully in that role for many years.

Below is a quote from Bob about the work of Wycliffe Bible Translators:

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If only I’d known I would love living there

What would you expect your living conditions to be if you were to move to the end of the road in the middle of nowhere in South America?

That’s where my husband, Dave, wanted me to move, along with our two preschoolers. But to me, Dave was acting like that “wild and crazy sheep in love with thorns and brambles” that Thomas Merton wrote about. 

In my other memoir, Grandma’s Letters from Africa, I described Dave as “a free spirit who seldom limits himself to coloring within other people’s lines.”

But I was the opposite kind of person. Adventure and risk—those “thorns and brambles”—were not my cup of tea.

And coloring outside the lines? Never!

The thought of moving to a remote outpost in South America—of all places!—shot scary stuff into my brain and heart, stuff that assaulted my wellbeing, night and day.

If only I could have looked into the future—because then I’d have seen how much I would love working at our mission center, Lomalinda (pretty hill), alongside remarkable people.

But, of course, I couldn’t see into the future. I had no idea what rich adventures and relationships my family and I would enjoy there.

Instead, my mind went bonkers. Here’s an excerpt from Chapter 1:

 “What kind of house would we live in?” I asked Dave. I pictured a hut with a dirt floor.

 “I don’t know,” he admitted. 

“What if we had to build our own house? And with what? Bamboo and palm leaves? Besides,” I heard my voice getting shrieky, “we don’t even know how to build a house.” 

My mind went wild. “Would we have to grow our own vegetables and meat? What about eggs? And milk? The kids need milk, you know. Would we have to get a cow? I bet we wouldn’t even have electricity. And what about water? Would we have to haul our water?” 

I didn’t give Dave a chance to answer. I was on a roll. “Living in South America could be deadly! After all, look what happened to Jim Elliot. The natives killed him and his friends.” 

My voice rose an octave. “Karen’s only three years old! And Matt just turned five!” Our kids were so vulnerable, and the unknown for the four of us shook me to the core. Sometimes God does lead people to perilous places, and I didn’t want to find our young family among them.

I envisioned the worst. All I could do was pray—urgently: Please, God, don’t make me go!

Think about it: 

What would you expect your living conditions to be 

if you were to move to the end of the road 

in the middle of nowhere in South America?

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