“Runs a current”

Faith and Murray Nickel, and their children Elias, Julie and Denee, live in Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo. Missionaries with MB Mission and Service International, and members of Bakerview MB Church in Abbotsford, they have worked with the MB church in Congo since 1999, in health care development and education. Murray is a medical doctor and Faith is a social worker.

Faith keeps friends, family and supporters posted on their lives and work. Her regular “diary installments” are full of colour and stories and honest reflection. These excerpts, from installments of 2000–2001, barely begin to relay the Nickels’ passion for what they do, but, says Faith ( in granting permission for their use), “any attention Congo can get is gratifying to us. Hopefully it means more people will be praying for these discouraged Congolese people.” We hope they will also provide a window into the world of one missionary.—Eds.

Murray and Faith Nickel with their children (l–r) Elias, Julie and Denee

There is a constant and dangerous undertow that threatens to sabotage my heart. It is the underlying current of pain that is the portion of those who live among the poor. It is the pain of knowing I cannot help everyone. It is the pain of knowing the suffering will continue whether or not I help. There are brief seconds of respite when I help someone with a gift or with employment. But reality caves in on the moment, and the anguish returns . . .

I must not confuse my role with Christ’s. I cannot save people, but I can live like Christ . . .

Deeper still than the pain, deeper than the undertow runs a current that is far greater in strength. It surrounds me and it sustains me. It is the deep current of Christ’s love. It is vast, unmeasured, boundless and free. “The earth is full of his unfailing love. He gathers the water of the sea into jars; he puts the deep into storehouses” (Psalm 33:5,7).

As I read The Poisonwood Bible (by Barbara Kingsolver), I am torn between guilt and hope . . . I cannot shake that colossal western guilt over the callousness of our colonial ancestors. And then, really, it’s just too embarrassing that we couldn’t figure out a solution to all the problems. On the other hand, here I am in the Congo making friends and learning about people. I enjoy their warm embracing of my family . . . I see a strong church that is a genuine expression of Congolese culture. Christians here are not wasting time dragging around burdensome guilt trips. The Holy Spirit is at work.

What violence to the spirit it is to stand by helplessly and watch someone die . . . the inverse of that moment of awe, the miraculous experience of participating in the birth of a child . . .

Imagine a medical student standing at the bedside of a woman who is hemorrhaging. She has just lost the child she had carried almost to full term, and now she is bleeding to death. The student intern is fully aware of what she needs in order to be saved, and he is fully capable of healing her. His one problem is that her family cannot afford the blood transfusions that are needed for her care . . . A war rages in his spirit as he participates passively in the ebbing of life. How does he swallow this bitterness in his mouth? I am sobered by my realization of how important it is to lift up my friend Delphin and his classmates in prayer . . . I wonder what casualties will pay the price of this war of poverty.

God loves a cheerful giver. Well, it takes a bit of know-how around here to give cheerfully. We have a “friend” who has come around now for the third time to “causer un peut” (chat) . . . He is a very determined man. He comes on the pretext that he wants to be friends, but Murray points out to him that asking for money is not a surefire way to win friends . . . Murray is very straightforward. He explains that we have prayed and considered this very carefully, and that we have decided to trust the leadership of our neighbourhood MB church, Batela. We believe that the money we would give at the door will go a lot farther to help people if we let the church decide who needs that money . . .

I need to rest in the assurance Matthieu, my Lingala teacher, gives. He believes the Holy Spirit will convict me of someone else’s need. He is convinced that God will stir my heart when it is time to help. I am grateful for his confidence.

Ping Pong is the game we watch here in Congo.

• Ping – rebels take over the country with the help of Rwandan and Ugandan troups.
• Pong – military free-for-all.
• Ping – rebels part paths with Rwandan and Ugandan allies.
• Pong – Congo is carved up with new bloody frontiers.
• Ping – the new president sinks devaluing money into arms and ammunition.
• Pong – the people eat less and less.
• Ping – the president is killed.
• Pong – US dollars and commerce flow once again.
• Ping – the new president has no power over a money-grabbing elite.
• Pong – the military isn’t paid for two months.
• Ping – inter-Congolese dialogue breaks down.
• Pong – military goes back to confiscating civilian cars at gunpoint.
• Ping – to the outside world, Congo’s image improves.
• Pong – our pastors pray for miracles to find food on their tables.

Ping Pong is the game . . . We watch and pray.

I’ve scraped myself deeply, and now I struggle. I have to clean the wound aggressively. As much as I hate self-inflicted pain, it must be done or I’ll pay for it later. But the pain is almost rewarded by the after-effects. My knee looks red and somewhat inflamed, but it feels right. It feels clean. Now the ointment and the band-aid are almost fun! . . .

It’s not so different when God is hard at work healing my wounds. So often I wake up in our new home, alert to God’s healing from fears and worries that consumed me when we moved to Kinshasa. Each day I remember anxieties and insecurities that have simply vanished. Our children play happily around the house with their friends and my heart is content. This home, this healing balm, helps me trust that God has a job for us in Congo. This sweet-smelling ointment is a fragrant reminder to me that God knows me and He cares.

What have I learned? Mainly, God is not a galloping knight who will rescue this damsel in distress . . . God chooses the inglorious role of the tireless Florence Nightingale, working by candlelight all through the night, making sure that no soldier goes unnoticed and uncared for. There He sits by my cot, quietly holding my hand . . .

Further information on the Nickels or the projects they are involved in can be viewed at MBMS International.