Chapter 53- Climbing Mountains
The students at Victory Bible Institute in Cairo are mostly Sudanese immigrants who are eking out a living in a foreign land. Having a Christian background, they are hungry to learn more of God’s Word, and the large classroom is packed with around 100 students. But the room’s small air conditioner cannot lower the temperature much. Once, I even need to walk out for fresh air, the smell of sweat is so strong. The students listen intently, take notes, ask questions.
Festus the school leader from Nigeria interprets for us into Arabic and exercises good discipline. One young man doesn’t know Arabic well, so needs extra interpretation into his tribal language. All this translation takes time, so we choose our words well and make concepts simple.
I am reminded of the large Sunday gatherings in the Ilaga Valley when my dad’s sermons had to be relayed to the crowds into two languages. We are carrying on the Lord’s work in our time and generation. It is so fulfilling…we walk home tired and joyful.
In the next quarter we teach second year students on marriage and family in an upstairs room that’s cooler. This class is smaller, around 50, are more mature, with both Egyptians and Sudanese. One time I finish sharing on the woman’s role in marriage during the first half of class, and then it’s Larry’s turn. After giving scriptures, Larry begins to apply them.
“Jesus is the Head of the church, right? He is the One we worship and obey. But in truth, he is always serving us. We are his bride, and he nourishes and cares for us.”
“So, men, what is our role as head of your family? When we come home after work—do we expect to be served, to be waited on? Should we also desire to serve, to meet our wife’s and children’s needs?”
I watch the class from where I sit. The women look alert and smiling, the men serious and a little uncomfortable.
Later during break an older man takes Larry aside. “I think this truth you are teaching may work for the younger men,” he confides. “But it may not be obeyed by the older men. We are very set in our ways.”
“I understand,” Larry answers thoughtfully. “But God’s Word, his instructions are for every time and culture. He must give us all grace to obey.”
“Yes, but I believe it us more difficult for Egyptian men.”
When we later teach at the four-year Bible college, we ride the train north at dusk. The metro is not as crowded as India, but just as exotic. Beautiful girls in jeans board, wearing layers of bright colored head scarves, sweater tops, and well applied makeup. A young man might carry her backpack, but there is never public display of affection. More mature women wear thick black galabias in the heat…many are overweight, and they look tired, with parcels and children. Men read papers…some recite the Koran softly, especially during Ramadan. Always there is order, politeness.
The students at this Bible college are mostly Egyptian, better educated, ask thoughtful questions. Dr. Laban interprets for us, an expansive man in both size and length of words. Late at night as we ride the metro home, I muse on the unique privilege of sowing seeds of truth in this ancient city.
Needing more efficient transportation, Larry and I finally shop to buy a motorcycle, and settle on a 400cc Honda. It is black, shiny, and fast. I pray sincerely for protection as Larry swerves in heavy traffic at busy roundabouts.
We begin attending Maadi Community Church’s cell groups. In the vast Islamic atmosphere, each small group is an oasis of light and life in the middle of the work week. I meet Eileen from England who becomes a dear friend. She takes Larry and me shopping to Khan el-Khalili, Cairo’s great bazaar and leads us to unusual shops of antiques, jewelry, and glassware. And we develop other friends, like Mike and Marlene from the States with whom we begin to eat out every Thursday night. One favorite place is TGI Friday, next to the Nile. Eating hamburgers and fries we watch sailboats and dinghies drift by, slanting rays of sunshine glittering on the gray-blue water.
As we continue to study late mornings at Greco's Café, I am unaware of how encultured we are becoming. One day some tourists stroll in, one of them in a black top with spaghetti straps.
“Look at that woman, Larry. I can’t believe how bare she’s dressed!”
“Yeah,” Larry agrees. “Here in Cairo, she looks like a prostitute.”
“I suppose we’re thinking like Egyptians now,” I laugh. “In the States she wouldn’t even be noticed.”
In between school quarters we fly to Holland to teach young people at a DTS in Amsterdam, and later another one near Birmingham, England on “Discover Your Destiny,” on how to cooperate with God in finding his calling on your life. Later in Denmark we teach at a Family Ministries School on marriage and family life. In each setting we adapt the instruction to the age group and culture.
Back in Cairo, our leader Moses asks me to teach the books of Hebrews and James in his School of Biblical Studies at a base south of the city, in the Egyptian desert. Each book will take a week, or about fifteen hours of instruction.
“I don’t know, Moses. I haven’t taught Hebrews in depth before. Are you sure you can’t find someone more experienced?”
“I’m sure you can do it, Marti.”
After working with the outlines and historical context I take the challenge. And the Lord enables me…I grow richer from the study and instruction. Each late afternoon Larry and I stroll out of the compound into golden sun stretching across desert shrubs and grazing sheep.
“This is like it was in the days Israel lived in Egypt,” Larry comments.
“So peaceful…I love it!” I answer. “Only they couldn’t soak in the beauty. They had to make bricks!”
Living in Cairo where the air is smoggy, we begin having bouts of upper respiratory infections. We make friends with a local pharmacist who prescribes whatever antibiotic he thinks best. No need to see a doctor first! But at various times we each are bedridden, with time to meditate, pray, watch pink bougainvillea on the balcony bob in the dusty breeze.
After living in city about a year Moses invites the team to have a retreat at the Red Sea, asking Larry and me to teach on forming five-year goals. There are around ten of us, a mix of Koreans, Americans, and one Egyptian. The resort is luxurious, with bright stucco buildings near the glittering blue waters.
Each morning we sit in a circle. Larry and I instruct them on forming five-year goals through a specific exercise. “Your objectives need to be specific and measurable,” Larry tells them. “And set within a time frame.”
“After you define them well, you can even make a spread sheet,” I add. “If God has encouraged you to believe for finishing college, writing a book, or learning a language within five years, you can make a list of what you want to have accomplished at the end of each year. A deadline keeps you focused on finishing that particular step. And each goal builds on the one before it.”
The next day each team member shares their measurable goals, and we are amazed by one of the young Korean women. “How did you think this through so well, Sunshine?” I exclaim. “You taped together all these sheets of paper to recount your progress, month by month, and year by year!”
She laughs. “Well, I want to learn Arabic, develop my ministry to older people here, and eventually complete a degree in college, so I thought writing each monthly step would be helpful.
“Sunshine has us beat,” Larry laughs. “I’ve not yet been that detailed!”
“This has been very helpful,” Moses comments, holding his list up. “Joanne and I are praying about next steps as our children graduate from high school. Goals change as we enter new stages of life.”
The following week we meet Alice, one of the Korean team. “Your teaching exercise was so helpful to me,” she comments, sipping coffee. I’m setting new objectives and enlarging the ones I have, as I teach children here.”
“I’m so glad, Alice. I’m impressed with your long-term commitment.”
“My sister is coming to visit me from Korea. I want to show her some sights, and one of them is to take her up Mt. Sinai. Have you been there? You could come also.”
“No…we haven’t been out of Cairo much, except to Alexandria and the base in the desert. Would you like to go, Larry?”
“Sure,” he says, looking up from his book. How do we get there, Alice?”
“Well, we can take Moses’ van, since they’ll be out of town. We drive to Sharm-El-Sheikh, which takes all day, sleep in a hotel. Then the next night we drive to St. Catherine’s Monastery, and around midnight ride a camel up the mountainside. You trek the last few hours, to reach the peak by sunrise. It’s beautiful, but very tiring.
I take a deep breath. “That would be a real adventure. Riding up Mt. Sinai on a camel!”
“It is,” Alice laughs. “But I’ve done it so many times with outreach teams, I’m not excited anymore. However, my sister will love it.”
A few weeks later we all drive to Sharm-El-Sheikh and wander around the modern, white-washed city sightseeing, then take a late afternoon nap at our hotel. That evening, with Alice and her sister in the van, we endeavor to find the road to St. Catherine’s Monastery.
“Why don’t they mark the roads better?” I wonder, as we turn and drive up yet another highway.
“There are few road signs,” Alice agrees. “I suppose all the bus tour guides know the way already.”
It’s around midnight when we find the site. Tour buses and cars line the parking lot. And all available camels have been hired out—not one is left. But Alice is undaunted. “We have flashlights. I can find the way.”
We trudge up the dark mountain for around two hours when we begin to meet guides leading camels downward, having left their tourist burdens partway up the mountain. Alice barters with a young Arab who has four camels, until he agrees to rent each one for $10. We mount, and I grip the saddle horn desperately as my white camel heaves to his feet. Hamid the guide leads the way on foot, through the darkness.
Onward, upward, I sway back and forth. My camel is perilously close to rock precipices on the left, so I try leaning to the right. It makes no difference—each camel has his own idea about safety. I hug the animal tightly with my legs and try to calm myself.
“This is amazing, Larry! How are you girls doing?” I call.
“We’re fine, Alice answers. “I’m so glad we’re on a camel, and not walking!”
After a couple of hours my legs turn numb. I shiver in my light jacket and rearrange my scarf as we sway upward, on and on. The black rocks around us begin to glow gray green in early morning light. The landscape is surreal…this is like a movie…am I dreaming?
“Larry, how are you now? I can’t believe we’re doing this!”
“Climbing Mt. Sinai on camels, in the early morning—it’s unreal!”
Brighter and brighter the morning dawns, until we can look left upon vistas of mountains and valleys. Finally, we stop on a broad ledge of rock and dismount among scores of other camels. We order hot tea and candy bars from a Bedouin kiosk, take pictures, rest.
“Alice, I’ve never had an adventure like this. Thank you for bringing us, with your sister!”
“You’re welcome, Marti.” She smiles, her dark eyes crinkling with joy. “This is a big memory.”
As we plod two more hours on foot toward the last summit, we meet hundreds of tourists descending the mountain, who had watched the sunrise from the peak. We step aside on the narrow path as each tour group passes us. Larry is recovering from the flu, so we also pause for him to rest. “We could stop here, view the mountains, and go back,” I finally suggest.
“No, we’ve come this far. I want to make it to the top.”
We finally reach the summit and sit near a small chapel. Gray blue mountain ranges tumble below us, everywhere we look. The world is so vast, bare, majestic. God is great, the Creator of it all.
“Lord, you’re so good to us,” Larry says, looking around. “You brought us here, and we’re able to view your wonders here in the land of Egypt. Thank you for your love, your mighty works. May the peoples of the earth come to know you, to love you.”
“Amen,” we agree.
As we rest, I muse on the years of preparation and pain, the many steps of obedience in my life to reach this summit. Living among the Dani tribe, Bible college, divorce. Working with single parents with Larry in Minneapolis, beginning a school in Penang. Years of nursing and building and cell group ministry in Colorado Springs. Living and teaching in India, and now Cairo. Each step has prepared us for the next vista or mountain range to be climbed in God’s calling. Each stage, each obedience was important.
Moses was prepared until he was 80 years old, Abraham was 100. Paul had years of training and desert experience until he was sent out from Antioch with Barnabas. Mountaintops are like milestones. At the summit you remember the past journey and look to future horizons. And remember that faithfulness matters. Faithfulness each step of the way.
We descend the mountain slowly, on shaky knees--no camels. The sun is scorching the earth now, and we are exhausted. But it has been worth it.
We collapse into the van several hours later and doze in air conditioning as Larry drives back to Sharm El Sheikh. The next day we drive back into vast Cairo, quiet much of the way.
We are the same people but changed. From being on the mountain.
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