By Tom Hudspeth
March 18, 2008
On a chilly spring morning, Saturday, March 8th, eleven people from Lovers Lane Deaf Ministry left for the hills and pine trees near Lineville , Alabama - to a spot of land coiled around a bubbling rush of water called "Mad Indian Creek". Once a prime spot for a water-powered grist mill, SIFAT (Servants in Faith and Technology) is now a Holy Spirit powered place for training Christians in missionary work. Among the 174 acres of cold-creek riven hills and red clay, are sturdy huts transplanted from Bolivia, Guatemala, Nepal, the Philippines, Liberia, Uganda and even a Central American barrio, or slum.
On our first day of our journey, we rode in our 15 passenger van, towing a U-Haul trailer, 369 miles east to Vicksburg, Mississippi . Some of our Deaf teens had never seen a river so wide as we crossed the 1-20 bridge into Vicksburg . Driving through the highway cuts and over the bridges around Vicksburg called to mind an 19th century observer's description of this spot of land: "It looks as if God, after he got finished with Creation, had taken the leftovers and dumped it all around Vicksburg ." Though the approaching sunset had closed the Civil War battlefield, we gathered for a group picture at the park entrance's cannons. All posed for the camera except for one.
Now I don't want to give this person's name, but as I got to know this person better, I learned something new about some Deaf people's experiences - specifically, the lack of experiences. Despite my efforts to explain where we were going and what we were to be doing, this person believed we were going to ride horses as we did at last year's spring break retreat.So it was, that the excited scramble over cast-iron cannons under a Mississippi twilight was met with a furrowed brow and the plaintive signs of "White horse where?" The rest of the week would become a proverbial tale of trying to lead this one to the water of new experiences, but not always drinking it. I would be sad and frustrated to see this, but reminded me that our ministry with Deaf teens requires patience, love and ever creative communication skills.
The Sunday morning brightened the sky one hour earlier, having had to set our clocks ahead, We set out for the remains of the 1863 battlefield. While our group roamed the park museum, my wife, Mary Kay, saw a park visitor ask a staff ranger, "What's wrong with those people?" The ranger, seeing hands and fingers flashing among our group, replied, "They're deaf." Seems the battle against ignorance never ages.Coursing our way between the blue and red markers, spots showing the Union and Confederate battle lines, Mary Kay prompted me to stop our drive and explain to our teens what we were seeing. Through signs and pantomime, I conveyed a story line headed under "Cannons here...cannons over there...1863...war...South...North...slaves...river..free.." At our last stop, near the restored remains of the gunboat USS Cairo, we celebrated the resurrection of our Lord with a communion meal. I focused our groups' eyes to the ordered graves of soldiers lying behind me. They had died for a cause to free our country from slavery. Then, sharing the bread and cup of our Lord's body and blood, we celebrated the One who died to free all from slavery to sin and death - and who needed no grave.
The sun now high in the sky, we needed to continue our journey eastward - 367 more miles to go. Onward past Jackson , Meridian , and into Alabama , past Tuscaloosa , home of the University of Alabama "Tide". On past Birmingham , and darkness set as we stopped in Pell City for a meal at the Golden Rule Restaurant. An apt name for a church group to stop and eat, I think. So too for the local law enforcement, whose pistol packed belts attracted the eyes and pointed fingers of our youth. The familiarity of Tex-Mex food was gone from the menu - this was the land of pork ribs rubbed Memphis style and less spicy fare.
According to our map, the last hour of our drive would be through some of the most scenic and highest country of Alabama -but we would have to imagine it under the moon-lit sky. Turning off the interstate about 75 miles west of Atlanta, Georgia, our driver, Stephen, pointed our van southward through winding country roads. He didn't like it. Nor did the locals care for our cautious pace. They impatiently tailed us, waiting for a familiar wide spot in the road so they could pass us, like the NASCAR-drivers in nearby Talladega .
At last, at 9:30pm, our van of six sleepy teens, four weary adults and one excited six year-old, pulled off the paved road, and onto an iron-stained gravel road. We had arrived at SIFAT. Greeting us in spoken words and in sign language were the staff folks from SIFAT. Relieved that we had arrived safely, they were quick to usher us into the SIFAT International House. This would be our home for the next three days and four nights...well make it three nights. There's one night that we had in an international hut, but that's another story....March 10, 8am: Situated atop a gentle slope, the porch of the SIFAT International House offered a panoramic view of the main SIFAT campus. The night before we had traveled county roads through the Talladega National Forest . Now the clear morning sky treated our eyes to a horizon of loblolly pine topped-ridges and silver-dewed grass. Below us, a fog along Mad Indian Creek slowly dissipated under the rising sun, revealing a cable-suspension swinging bridge.
Breakfast thoughts urged our group into the cheek-tinging chill. We followed a path past a lodge and between two open-walled buildings. On long tables in one building were stacks of dried mud and grass stoves, freshly removed from coffee can molds. They looked like little chimneys with a match-box shaped opening at the bottom, leading to a hollowed shaft. Later that day, we were to learn that the technology of these stoves were saving lives of women and children in developing countries. Sharing God's love in practical ways is the mission of SIFAT. Producing efficient heat and eliminating smoke, these types of stoves were replacing lung debilitating customs of cooking over an open fire in a smoke-filled hut. Unbeknownst to us, we would soon remember these principles of concentrated fire and heat for our own needs.Where the sun's rays had yet to touch the swinging bridge, frost clinged to the wooden planks beneath our feet. We walked gingerly, not wanting to tempt a sudden slip and fall to the creek 10 feet below. On our return from breakfast, one of our teens, Joshua, would make playful use of the "swing" in the bridge, walking trampoline-like, which lurched everyone's else's legs sideways and which-ways in perfect complement to the creek's name.
Filled with a country-styled breakfast, we needed the ten minute up-slope walk back to the International House for our devotional. Peggy Key, one our adult sponsors, and I led a devotional on Proverbs 6:16-19. Through sign language and impromptu drama, we related how the seven things God hates keeps us from serving God and one another. Observing us were Nate, our program director for the week, and Sarah, a volunteer interpreter and sister of one of the SIFAT staff workers. When we finished our devotional, I invited Nate to speak to the group, which he did so rapidly that I asked him to slow down so that Sarah could translate into American Sign Language more effectively.Nate was excited to work with our group, hoping to use this experience as a blueprint for future Deaf groups to come to SIFAT. First, however, Nate would need a sign name. The teens asked Nate what he enjoyed doing, which was the outdoors. One of our teens, James signed, "How about forest with an N?" Heads nodded. Joshua offered another sign name, but "N-forest" stuck. Nate was pleased.
Through the woods, Nate led our group to the first activity of the day: team building - or more appropriately, problem solving. We quickly solved the first two exercises, but the third exercise went unsolved that morning - moving six teens and one child over three 4'x4' square "islands" by walking across two boards of unequal length. Priority was now taking a lunch break, followed by an introduction to appropriate technology - mud stoves; purifying water using plastic bottles, and mixing vitamin loaded "menga" leaves (native to Africa) into sugar cookies. This illustrated how daily life in poor countries can be improved radically by using locally available resources: dirt, sun, leaves, and throw-away bottles. The teens returned to their "island" exercise later, and this time, through Geoff's coordination of suggestions and ideas from the group, solved the problem.
After dinner and the sun had set, Sarah led us to a place that looked like a street in a Central American slum. Our job would be to find water, food and shelter. It seemed simple, but we would learn that survival isn't simple in a slum.(To be continued...)