All Because of Grace

By Anita Tarlton - Cofounder, Waters Edge Ministries
http://weministry.com

The early morning was already hot as we bounced along the dirt road in the van, dust clouds leaving a billowing red haze in our wake. It was our last day of work on this mission trip to Ghana, West Africa, in 2002. We’d spent the previous two weeks holding Bible School sessions in several villages in and around Tema, and we were all tired. The purpose of our visit to the village of Potwabin was to establish a relationship with the chiefs and elders so that our host church, Christ Harvests the Nations Ministry, could begin a feeding program for the school children there.

The villagers gathered under the shade of a large tree in the center of the village, as we Americans and our Ghanaian hosts exchanged greetings with the town’s chiefs and elders. Most of the conversation was in their native language of Twi, and we relied heavily on our translators to carry on our conversations. The chiefs and elders were excited and grateful that our ministry wanted to establish this relationship. But I felt troubled when they began asking if we could help them get electricity in their village. Even Paul Dickens Doe, my Ghanaian pastor, seemed dismayed by their request. After all, we were not miracle workers; how could we provide them with electricity? We simply wanted to help feed their children.

When our initial meeting was over, we began to walk through the village. I gazed at the crowd of men, women, and children surrounding our group. It was then that I saw her. She stood apart from the other children, watching us as we walked through the dusty paths in her village of Potwabin. Her eyes never left us; they were deep pools of brown that locked into mine. I guessed that she was about eight years old.

It was a couple of days after I returned to the USA that I realized I didn’t know her name. Her eyes had never left mine, yet I had not asked her name. I thought of her often throughout the year, wondering how she was.

I was thrilled to learn that I could go back to Ghana the next summer, and even more delighted to discover we’d return to Potwabin during the trip. While the team’s main purpose in the visit was to bring food and clothing to the children and more firmly establish ties between the church and the village, my main purpose was to find out that little girl’s name. We drove as close as we could, but had to leave the van and walk the last half-mile because springtime rains had washed out the road. As we approached the town, I saw children clustered on benches beneath a make-shift palm-branch shelter that served as their schoolroom. I scanned the crowd of children until I found her.

She was easy to spot. When I knelt by her and asked, “Ye fro we sen?” (What is your name?), her eyes sparkled and then her hands fluttered to her face as a reflex. She replied, “Ye fre me Grace.” (They call me Grace.)

You see, Grace was born with a cleft palate. Her nose and mouth combine to create a hole in her face. I wondered how on earth she’d survived, how she’d learned to eat, how she’d learned to talk. How she had learned to cope with being “different”.

Grace. Her name was Grace.

Grace and I held hands as we walked through her village. We ambled past mud huts topped with palm leaf roofs, and past the goats grazing in the sunshine. We walked among the mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers who were going through their daily routines in the hot sweltering sunshine of an African midday. I wondered how much – if any – those routines had changed in the past hundred years in this village that had no electricity, running water, or automobiles. I felt both honored and humbled to be guided through this village by this precious little girl named Grace.

As custom demanded, we sat and visited with the town’s chief and elders. Grace sat in my lap, clutching my hand. Her eyes sparkled and smiled into mine. When it was time for us to leave, I felt that all-too-familiar ache in the back of my throat as my eyes stung with tears that blurred my vision. She walked with me back to our van, squeezing my hand along the way. I slipped a little money into her hand, instructing her to give it to her mother. As we drove away in the dust, I watched her waving at me until I could no longer see her.

Then I began to wonder. I wondered why I felt so overwhelmed at times.

I wondered why God took me to these places and connected me with people the way He did. I knew He was, and is, ultimately in control, and has a plan; yet, still I wondered. I wondered if Grace knew I cared about her. I wondered if Grace knew I had seen her in my thoughts hundreds of times. I wondered if Grace knew that I prayed for her every single night.

Grace. Her name was Grace. What an appropriate name for this precious little girl.

Again, after I returned to my home in North Carolina, I couldn’t get Grace off my mind. I felt the need to try to get some help for Grace. I sent her story and photograph to many people and organizations, asking for help. Eventually, after over a year of trying, I received an email from a lady at Operation Blessing. She asked if I could help her to get in contact with Grace; they had a doctor in Ghana that could help her! Praise God!

A quick telephone call overseas to Pastor Doe connected him with the doctor. Within a few weeks, a team of people from Operation Blessing arrived in Potwabin to visit Grace and her village. Grace accompanied them back to Tema where she was further examined. Then, in March 2005, she underwent surgery to repair her face.
But that is not the end of the story. God had a lot more to teach me about HIS Grace! During their visit, the Operation Blessing team noticed there was no running water in the village. Another part of their ministry efforts included digging wells to provide water. So through God’s grace, and because of a little girl named Grace, the village now has a well with clean running water!

I returned to Ghana again in the summer of 2005. Grace joined our team shortly after we arrived. She spoke very little English, and I spoke even less Twi, but we learned that smiles and hugs translated very easily. Her cute, mischievous personality endeared her to everyone on our team. She loved to draw and paint, and she created many pictures for us as we ministered in her country.

On my last day in Ghana, Grace, my friend Richard, and I went out to eat. She and I shared a plate of rice, chicken, and salad. I’d given her most of the chicken and half of the rice, and was about to divide the salad with her when she said “Dabi!” Now, “dabi” means NO in Twi. She said something else to Richard in Twi, he laughed and told me that Grace said that the leaves (salad) were goat food, and she did not eat goat food. I looked at her very seriously, and replied, “Baaaaaaahhh,” in my best goat imitation. She laughed musically, exposing her new bright smile, and I giggled in response. Then I was completely moved to humble adoration of God’s plan and purpose for me here.

Later that same day, I started making my preparations to leave Ghana. I get very emotional upon leaving, and the tears were ever-present in my eyes. I took my shower, washed my hair, and put on my “traveling clothes.” Then I sat down on the bed and began combing out my hair.

My hair is long, so I usually comb it “upside down” first by putting my head down and combing through to get the tangles out. As I sat on the bed, head between my knees, with my hair all stringy wet, I felt the hot sting of tears prickle in my eyes. I clamped them tightly shut to keep the tears from falling.

Then…. I heard a soft giggle.

I opened my eyes… and looked directly into the face of Grace. She was lying on the floor, letting the water from my hair “rain” down onto her face. It was so comical, I had to giggle back! I gave her the comb and she then carefully combed my hair for me. It was a sweet girl-bonding moment that will always be in my heart.

I’ve been asked to relate the best memories I have from this past year’s visit to Ghana. One has to be the image of Grace at the beach, sipping a Coca-Cola with a straw. Just a few short months ago, that was an impossible task for her; that cleft palate prohibited her from drinking with a straw at all.

Oh, and one more memory stands out to me. Earlier in our visit, we’d gone to Potwabin to pick Grace up and visit with the people. As we walked through the village, I began to notice that each hut had chalk lettering by the door frame. When I asked Pastor Doe what that meant, he grinned broadly at me. Since the town now has running water, he explained, the government has decided to provide them with electricity!!!!

God’s grace is sufficient. He provides all we need. I am so thankful for my friend Grace. And I am very thankful that God has used her in my life to show me that there is no task so large that HE can’t do. He can even provide water and electricity to a remote African village, through Grace!