Hair Bees

The following is a read aloud story for February 2004 (the March story is still in the computer waiting to find a way to get out!!), especially thinking of Awana Clubs, homeschoolers, Sunday school classes, DVBS, mission conferences, or just for fun. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others. Use them. God bless! This month I tell the story of two Culina boys and their adventures in the great Tropical Rain Forest of the Amazon River of Brasil. One was bold and feared nothing, the other feared almost everything until one day he learned that not everything that buzzes in your hair stings.

The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
Missionary/ culture observer among the Culina Madirra for many years
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, FL

Niro (Nee-ROO) snuggled deeper into his cotton hammock. He began to shake uncontrollably with fear as flash after flash of brilliant lightning illuminated the night. Rain poured and the thunder roared. An electrical storm was sweeping across the great forest and over the flooded swamplands of the Culina people. CRAAAASSSH! Niro’s heart nearly leaped out of his startled mouth. “Ai! Ai! Senarra! (Seh-naw-HA) Senarra! Are you awake? Ai! Ai! I can’t take it any more! Make the thunder stop it’s shouting!”
Senarra had been sound asleep in the hammock next to Niro’s. He wasn’t even aware there was a storm raging over the village. He awoke with a start and realizing his younger brother was crying out in fear…he laughed and teased. “Hide your head, Little Brother, the next arrow from the sky will hit you! HERE IT COMES!” and he clapped his hands loudly near the younger boy’s ear and nearly rolled out of his hammock with glee when Niro gave a startled yell of desparation. Senarra feared nothing, Niro feared everything. Then both boys sat up and watched with wonder as their uncle came out from under his mosquito net, took down his old shotgun and put a shell in the barrell before he stepped outside in the rain lifting the gun to the skies and BAM! The little grass-roofed shelter shook from the explosion. “There,” the uncle said boldly, “I have killed the spirit of the storm! Now go to sleep, my son!” And Niro scrounged down not feeling one bit better.
The next morning the boys were racing to the river in bright sunshine to get in their small canoe for a ride through the swamp. Niro gripped the sides of the canoe as if at any moment he would be thrown over the side into the teeth of an alligator. Senarra calmly paddled without a tense muscle in his body. “Look, Niro, do you see that parrot peeking from the hole in the dead tree?” The canoe bobbed and the boys balanced themselves as they stared at the red and blue parrot cocking it’s eye as it studied them down below.
“I’m going to climb up and get her eggs! Maybe there will be some parrot chicks! Come on, Niro, let’s shinnie up the tree and get the eggs!”
Niro was unwilling to wiggle, let alone climb a tree in the middle of the swamp. “You go, Senarra! I’ll just wait here for you to come back down!” And Senarra was off as agile as the iguana lizard, racing up the tree with his knees gripping the wood. Foot by foot he went up and up and nearer and nearer to the parrot’s nest. Niro watched and hated himself for his lack of courage and because he never could overcome his fearfulness. The parrot protested and flapped its wings amidst mighty scolding squawks, but as Senarra got within hand’s reach the big bird flew out and screamed it’s protest at the invader. No eggs. No chicks. Just an empty nest. And down the tree the boy came quick as a flash.
The boys paddled on to firm ground. The canoe bumped to a stop and they started down a well-used trail back into the forest. Niro had troubling throughts. Would he ever be brave? Would he ever have courage like Senarra? Would things always scare him nearly witless? Senarra suddenly veered off into the thick brush chasing the small jungle turkey called inabozi (ee-naw-boo-ZEE) and Niro raced behind him. The bird was not willing to be caught…it darted here and there. And then suddenly the air was full of flying, blitzing, buzzing bees! BEES! This time even Senarra was startled. The boys ran back through the brush stumbling, lurching, racing as a mad million of diving demons circled their heads and tumbled into their thick black hair. Niro just knew he was going to be stung to death! He could feel the stings! Couldn’t he? Couldn’t he? No, he couldn’t. But he wasn’t going to slow down to figure out why that was. Suddenly Senarra shouted to him “Rrizi uauanade! (Hee-ZEE wah-wah-nah-DEH) Hair bees!” And he stopped and just laughed and laughed. “What were we so afraid of? They can’t sting! They just tangle in your hair and buzz you to death!” The boys sat on a log picking the black harmless bees out of each others hair. Niro suddenly realized that most of his fears were just hair bees.
He feared things that were harmless. He was going to overcome his fears! Yes, he would!
When Jesus walked on earth amongst boys and girls He often said, “Fear not!” Do you struggle with a fear of the dark? A fear of heights? A fear of failing? Are you always holding back and letting someone else do the adventure because you fear that you might not be as good as that person? Jesus says to FEAR NOT!! He wants you to put your hand in His almighty hand and let Him take you on the great adventures of life. Will you trust Him? Will you reach out and take His hand and go with Him? Just do it!!

The Sorcerer’s Secret

The following is a read aloud story for May 2004. This is one in a series of stories especially for Awana Clubs, homeschoolers, Sunday school classes, DVBS, mission conferences, or just reading them for fun. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others. Use them. God bless! This month I tell the story of two Culina boys and their adventures in the great Tropical Rain Forest of the Amazon River of Brasil. Religious fakes. They are found everywhere. The boys were fascinated by the shamen and their ability to vomit up “curses” and declare sick people made well. But the day came when they caught the “witchdoctor” in what they thought was a terrible trick.

The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
Missionary/ culture observer among the Culina Madirra for many years
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, FL

Wide-eyed and filled with wonder Sano (Sa-NO) cautiously peeked around the corner of the dirty grey mosquito net and watched the people coming and going from the hammock of the very ill woman, Sobida (So-bee-DAH). She coughed and gagged and spit and sputtered and moaned and groaned. Under her hammock was the smoldering coals of a little charcoal fire that had burned all night to keep her warm and comfortable. The whole area smelled of smoke and sweat from her high fever.
Azo (Ah-ZOE) squirmed his way quietly to Sano’s side. “Sano, what is happening? Will Sobida live? Will she die?”
“Quiet, Azo! The people will hear you and make us leave! Look! Here comes the zoppinerre (zo-pee-neh-HEH) and he will work miracles! He can make her well! Let’s watch him do it!”
The shaman slowly made his way to Sobida’s side and then suddenly put his head down on her bare belly and he sucked and sucked and sucked. Then with the most excruciating raucous noise he vomited up small yellow stones! “Look!”, he said boldly to the on-lookers, “It is the Dori (Doe-REE) curse! Some enemy has sent these dori stones across the forest and into her body. I have brought them out of her. She’ll get well now!” And he began to chant and sing and seemingly rejoice in his wonderful ability to make the sick well. Everyone agreed with him and marvelled at the miracle this “doctor” had performed right there before their eyes.
The boys, too, were really impressed. “Sano, did you see? He got the dori curse out of Sobida! When I grow up I want to be a zoppinerre like he is! I want to help people who are sick!” Azo declared this rather loudly causing all the people around Sobida to look his direction with disgust at the noise he was making.
A week passed and Sobida died from the tuberculosis that had afflicted her. The people debated once again whether she had died of a dori curse or whether it had been simply “one of the white man’s diseases”? The shaman seemed a sham, but no one would confront him or ask him why she had died.
Azo and Sano raced down to the river as the a canoe load of people from a distant village came to visit. They noticed that there was a very sick man who also came and that everyone was talking about his dori and how the zoppinerre could suck it out! The boys got immersed in a bundle of ingo (Ing-GAW) fruit that had come with the canoe. Ingo is like great long string beans that grow on fairly big trees and hang down. When ripe you can pull off the long pod and then twist out the most delicious snowy white “cotton candy” fruit that slides off a glistening black seed. The boys were busily working out the white juicy sweet meat that seems to melt in the mouth.
They were sitting near the sorcerer’s shanty and noticed he had come up the pole ladder and he was busily digging into the palm leaf roof to hide a little package of something wrapped in a green leaf. He did not notice his little audience and Sano and Azo were quiet as a salamander on the shelter ridgepole. The shaman left and disappeared into the house where the visiters had gone.
“What is it?” Sano whispered to Azo, “What did he put in the roof? C’mon let’s go take a look! Be careful that he doesn’t see you!” And since everyone were with the visiters hearing their story, no one saw the two boys climb into the sorcerer’s shelter and pull out the green package. Quickly they opened it and found…yes, they found hard yellow dori stones! These were made out of hard pitch broken from the side of a scarred tree.
“He’s a fake! Maiza taui! (My-ZAH tah-WEE!) He’s a liar!” Azo was really angry at this discovery of the socerer’s secret stock of doris.
“Azo, let’s put hot pepper on them! C’mon, we can squeeze some of the hottest pepper juice on them! That’ll fix him…the big fake!” And off they went to get some very hot, burny pepper to squeeze on them.
No sooner had they done this and put the doris back in their green leaf envelope and hidden them where the sorcerer had put them…and here he came! The boys tumbled out the back of the shelter and hid behind a nearby stand of banana plants…peeking out to see what would happen next. The shaman was in a big hurry and went right to his secret hiding place and pulled out the dori package and opening it just popped them all in his mouth at once!! And then he started down his pole ladder and suddenly realized his mouth was on fire! He snorted so loud that it surely would have made everyone look his direction…and it did. Then he wheezed. He sneezed. He spit the little yellow pitch pieces all over the dirty, muddy yard. But still he had a mouth full of fire. He hiccupped so rapidly and loudly that he hardly had time to rush to the river and plunge his head under the water and take great gulping drinks of cooling water! The people ran out of their shelters and stood around the yellow, muddy dori stones. The sorcerer’s secret was out! They now knew that he never sucked them out of people, he had them in his mouth all the time!
Have you learned to study the Scriptures so that you can tell what is a fake and what is not? In Acts 17:11 we read about the Bereans. They just didn’t accept anything they heard without checking it out first. The Bible says, “they searched and examined the Scriptures daily to see if these things were so”. Don’t be fooled by the fakes! Make sure what you believe is the Truth. Jesus said, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life, no man comes to the Father but by me!” Make sure whatever you believe is Christ-centered. That goes for teachers in public schools who tell you God did not create the world. The Bible says God DID create the world, and that’s the TRUTH.

Lack of Love

The following is a read aloud story for March 2004, especially thinking of Awana Clubs, homeschoolers, Sunday school classes, DVBS, mission conferences, or just for fun. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others. Use them. God bless! This month I tell the sad story of an outcast Culina girl who deeply experienced a lack of love. Imagine a whole nation of people who have absolutely no word in their language for LOVE. I was the missionary who rescued the little girl from death by drowning. If you are missing any of the previous 14 stories, and would like to have them, just send us an e-mail and we will send them to you. I will send two stories a day to not overload your computer!

The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
(missionary/ culturn observer among the Culina Madirra for many years
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, FL

Mehi (meh-EE) and Rohi (Row-EE) sat together on a giant ironwood stump in the middle of the lake. The tree had been cut many, many years before and its hard wood had provided boards and house supports. Now, during the flood season, the stump was almost covered, but, not quite…and the twins, about ten-years-old, were perched high and dry throwing their fish lines into the lake. Mehi was very troubled and finally just blurted out to his look-alike brother: “Rohi, did you hear the old ones talking last night around the fire?”
“No, I heard nothing,” Rohi laughed, “except old Grandmother snoring!”
“I wish I had been able to sleep!” Mehi said with a sad sigh, “They were talking about the old days”. His foot was banging the stump nervously as it obviously was hard for him to go on with the conversation. “Rohi, did you know that just a few Rainy Seasons past…ai, this is bad…this is REAL bad…did you know that twins were thrown in the river at birth? Thrown to the piranas and alligators! You and I, Brother, would have been fish food! Just fish food!! How could the People be so cruel? How could our mother ever have done that to us? Could she have done that to us, Rohi? WOULD she have ever done that to us?” His speech had ended and both boys sat on the stump lost in deep thought.
What the boys could not possibly comprehend was that their language had no word for “love” in it. There was a lack of love. It has always been impossible for a Madirra (Maw-dee-HUH) to say. “I love you” to anyone. Missing. Gone. Not there. They are basically a very self-centered, uncaring society, and often extremely cruel to one another. No compassion. No love. But, then, the white long-legs came to live with them. They taught Father God’s Word and they talked about something called “amor”, that meant you treated people nice and with respect and didn’t hurt them. The Madirra were learning “love” by example and teaching.
Screams! Calls of distress! The twins were startled back to reality by someone calling for help. Aiiii! Aiiii! They looked out in the lake and saw Maraco (Maw-raw-COE) in his canoe beating something, or someone, over the head with his paddle. Immediately they knew who it was! Uarro! (Wah-HOE).
Yes, Uarro was out in the lake and her uncle, Maraco, was trying to drown her. Uarro had been abandoned by her mother when she was a baby and her grandmother did not want her. Her uncles and her aunt had agreed to raise her as a servant. She carried water and got firewood and took care of the children. They had always treated her like a slave. Abused and misused and sometimes tortured for laughs she was often hurt just for the fun of it. Poor Uarro!
WHACK! The paddle hit Uarro on the head as she came up for air. She was snorting and crying and pleading with her uncle to not hit her. He laughed and shouted ugly things at her as he pushed her down under the water with the paddle. He waited for her to come up for air and then would try to push her under before she could catch a good breath of air.
Suddenly the missionary, the white long-legs, raced down to the edge of the lake and shouted, “MARACO! PONI!! (Poe-NEE) Stop! Let her breathe! Leave her alone!” Maraco turned and paddled back to the other side still muttering curses at his wretched niece. Uarro gasped for air and was crying and managed somehow to swim to the missionary who helped her up out of the water. Then she just sat and sobbed. Poor little Uarro. “Come, Uarro, to our house. You’ll be safe there.” She followed the long white-legs to his house and was given food and comfort. Eventually she had to go back to her village and her wicked family, but for some time she just enjoyed being surrounded by this strange new thing…what was it? A happy, new sensation called LOVE.
Mehi again turned the philosopher, “Rohi, the white long-legs have done it again! Can it be that Father God wants us to be nice one to another and treat each other good? My eyes are hatching! (I’m beginning to understand) and I think it is BICA (Bee-CAW)! Good! His twin agreed and the boys continued their fishing from the stump.
A lack of love! Isn’t it sad to have no word for love in your language? To not be able to express love to someone because it doesn’t even exist in your vocabulary? When the Apostle Paul wrote the first chapter of the book of Romans he talked about people just like the Madirra, “They didn’t realize there was a God, and they glorified Him not as God, neither were thankful; but became cruel in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened”. Love is light. Love is God. Do you try really hard to love others? Do you try to help those who are being teased and tormented by others? Do your long-legs take you to the side of someone in desparate need? Jesus’ legs did!!

The Great Turtle Egg War

The following is a read aloud story for June 2004. This is one in a series of stories especially for Awana Clubs, homeschoolers, Sunday school classes, DVBS, mission conferences, or just reading them for fun. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others. Use them. God bless! This month I tell the story of two Culina girls and their adventures in the great Tropical Rain Forest of the Amazon River of Brasil. Certain times of the year the turtles dig deep to lay their many eggs in the hot sand and then cover the nest well, camouflaging it to prevent any creature discovering the precious eggs. Now, Who taught the mama turtle to do that? This is the story of turtles and tikes…greed and tricks…egos and eggs.

The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
Missionary/ culture observer among the Culina Madirra for many years
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, FL

Orani (Oh-raw-KNEE) and Maia (My-AH) raced through the forest trail to begin the descent to the smaller brush of the Big Low. The Big Low was an old river bed that was quite wide and lower than the rest of the forest marked with stunted trees. The main river once flowed through it, but now just a clear little stream was there easily crossed on a fallen log. The girls were chattering about the up river village, the Pisideni (Pee-see-deh-KNEE), the little white monkey people, who had been recently coming through to go out to Hot Beach on the river and dig for turtle eggs.
“The Pisideni stink!”, Orani said as she marched down the trail, “And their clothes are all rags! Did you see Zequeri’s (Zeh-keh-REE’s) shirt?…it was all rips and tears and PEW it stunk like rotten fish!” The girls kept on discussing their less fortunate neighbors up the river with great cackles of laughter as they competed to see who could make the most sarcastic remark about the Pisideni.
Then they suddenly stopped. Someone was approaching. Quickly the two lithe brown bodies shimmied high up a gnarled tree by the trail and buried themselves as best they could in the branches and leaves. The approaching party was also talking quite loudly and there were more of them. As they got close to the tree one of them shouted back to those behind, “Wait until the zomarrideni (Zoe-maw-hee-deh-KNEE) get out to Hot Beach…they’ll NEVER find the turtle eggs! I made so many fake turtle nests that they’ll all be roasted in the sun by the time they find a real one!” And this brought great peals of laughter. As the Pisideni marched by under the girls, never once looking up to discover them, one of the group said, “The zomarrideni are all children of sloths!” and, again, laughter rolled through Big Low.
“Sloths! They called us sloths!” Orani said once it was safe to come down on the trail. “PEW. Could you smell them when they passed by? I had to hold my nose the stench was so bad!” The girls determined right there and then that they would go to Hot Beach and find the eggs. And they began to run to get on the connecting trail that would take them to the sandy beach.
It was the scorching dry season. Female sibore (See-bore-EH) turtles would come at night to Hot Beach and with one muscular flipper at a time scoop out a hole and fling the sand behind her. As she scooped deeper it required more work and more effort. The sand got wet and heavy, and she had to fling it above the rim of the hole she was digging. Finally, she was satisfied that the hole was the right depth and she began to drop shiny ping-pong ball sized eggs into the nest. Her instincts told her that she must cover the nest securely, so she filled the hole, tamped the sand delicately, as with loving care, added more sand on top, packed it too, then made a wide circle of disturbed sand to confuse any predators. She would finally rest in the moonlight and watch all of the other female turtles doing the exact same thing all over Hot Beach. Some time later the eggs would incubate in the hot sand and small turtles would hatch and crawl out of the hole and make their way slowly down to the safety of the river. But only a small percentage would survive! Predators loved turtle eggs and baby turtles! And, of course, so did those brown-skinned two-legged predators that had toes and fingers that could dig!!!
Maia and Orani burst out into the humid oppression of Hot Beach. The sun was so hot and the girls did not want to get any browner than they already were. But they soon could see that the Pisideni had raced around all over the beach making fake nests…and the girls dug here and there to find nothing. “Orani, come quickly! Look what I have found!” shouted Maia. And sure enough Maia had discovered a newly cut stick slanted in the sand and when she dug near it…she found where the Pisideni had stored a whole cache of hundreds of eggs. They had intended to come back later and get them. “ICCA!” (Eee-CAW!) Ours!” the girls stated again and again. Then Orani made a suggestion…”Maia, let’s fill the hole with buriti nuts! That’ll teach the stinking Pisideni to hoard our eggs!” So they raced into the jungle and soon found a buriti palm tree and gathered many, many of the golf-ball sized nuts. They made carrying baskets for the actual eggs and filled the hole with the nuts and raced back to the village anticipating the surprise the Pisideni would have when they returned for the eggs.
And so it went for the next few days. Every day people from one clan or the other would go to Hot Beach and try to find the eggs. Every day the sarcasm and name-calling seemed to get worse. And then one cool evening as Orani and Maia were laying in their hammocks trying to read their school books…proudly thinking of how they now had a school and the Pisideni did not…the village chief came up into their shelter and sat by the fire with the girl’s relatives. “Tomorrow,” he announced, “I am taking my canoe and going to Hot Beach. Some days ago my wives and my children went to Hot Beach and we buried many freshly laid eggs. I hope I have not waited too long to go and gather them”. Then he chuckled and said, “We left a big hole full of them and I put a slanted stick just where they were! I’m sure no one would ever find them!” The girls nearly fell out of their hammocks! But it was too late. They couldn’t confess. They had given the eggs from that cache to many people and eaten quite a few of the eggs themselves. But…but…what would the chief do when he found buriti nuts??? And they whispered in the dark that this must be their own secret FOREVER!!
Do you know what a “snob” is? That is a person who believes they are better than someone else. We sometimes refer to such people as being “uppity”. But, actually, they are just proud, conceited sinners. Jesus stated it correctly when He said, “The poor you will have with you always!”, but Jesus also loved the poor and less fortunate. Do you criticize and make fun of kids at your school who don’t have what you consider “nice clothes”? Or live in a house that is not up to the standard of your home? Have you ever defended the child who is being teased and tormented? Do you look for ways to be friends to them? Don’t be egotistical. That means being “stuck up” and thinking you are “big stuff”. Be ready to make friends and love and care for ALL people regardless of their social standing. Jesus did. He loved the leper as well as the lawyer. Follow His steps every day!!

Whipped Substitute

The following is a read aloud story for July 2004. This is one in a series of stories especially for Awana Clubs, homeschoolers, Sunday school classes, DVBS, mission conferences, or just reading them for fun. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others. Use them. God bless! This month we tell the story of two Culina boys who go to their very first “Cocossi”. The Whipping Festival that turns into a tortuous party of purple welts and bloody stripes! Sizzling whips snapping and snarling and cutting the flesh! Nadine and I observed a couple of these festivals and just shook our heads in astonishment at how the Culina could give and take such painful punishment. And, yet, we realized here was a “cultural key” that gave us the opportunity to teach them about Jesus, our Whipped Substitute!

The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
Missionary/ culture observer among the Culina Madirra for many years
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, FL

“Here they come! Here they come! And there are LOTS of them!” Aode (Ah-oh-DEH) shouted from his seat on the branch of a tree that gave him a good view out over the swamp. He and Obai (Oh-BY) had declared themselves to be the villages “first alert” of the approach of the up river clan. “It’s the Ettedeni (Eh-TEH-deh-knee)! And they are all painted up! Quick! Let’s get to our canoe and race to the village to tell the people the Dog Clan are arriving…and ready to whip!”
For weeks Aode and Obai’s village had prepared for the big Cocosssi (coe-coe-SEE), the whipping festival. The men had some months before killed a large manatee cow fish that had become entangled in an across-the-stream fish net. The giant mammal-fish had ruined the net in it’s struggle to be free, but in the end was speared to death. The hide of the peixe boi (PAY-she BOW-ee)
cowfish was thick and strong and the men soon had made it into strips. Once dried and worked well these strips were fastened securely to strong unbreakable sticks…and, thus, they turned into “whips”. Several days passed with people practicing swinging the whips with all their strength and pretending they could hear the leather cut into the flesh. Then messengers raced to the neighboring villages and a date was set for the Cocossi in the boy’s village. The women prepared pot upon pot of sour potato soup. Deer and wild pig were roasted and boiled in large pots of potatoes or bananas. It was PARTY TIME!!
And now the clans were coming. Obai and Aode’s arms were about to break from paddling their small canoe so fast through the swamp to the village…and their voices sang out the news, “The Dog Clan is coming! The Dog Clan is coming!” Several other clans from other villages would soon arrive. The boys rushed down to the mud hole where the village men were already packing thick mud on their chests to ease the pain of the stripes they would be getting. They laughed and bragged and some older men gladly displayed ancient welts across their chests from some other cocossi of the past. Then they put on women’s skirts and everyone teased his neighbor about their faminine apparel…but they had learned that skirts are good protection in case of a “low blow”. Finally bark-band caps were placed on the head. The faces were painted with red and black lines…and some were done very professionally and to perfection. Once everyone was ready they would form a line and begin the single file dance from the mud hole to the village center. Whoo! Whoo! Whoo! Whoo! Hearing their loud chants the boys almost wished they were participating too…but they were not men yet! Their time would come!
Hundreds of people from all the clans were milling around. A bold up river warrior stepped out and shouted,”I will whip Uazobi (Waw-zoe-BEE)!” And Aode watched as his shaman uncle stepped out to face the challenger. A lot of people blamed Uncle Uazobi for his magic curses that made their clan members sick. Uazobi boldly stood and lifted his arms high in the air to expose his muddy chest. His opponent circled with his whip and swished it through the air several times to frighten the one he’d whip. Then as the crowd all held their breath…CRACK!! The whip circled the body and bit across the chest! Uazobi fell to his knees gasping and beating at the stinging pain across his chest as an ugly red stain came through the mud. Then slowly amidst the cheers of his clan he rose up and lifted his arms again to let his attacker hit him harder than before…CRACK!! Down again gasping for air. Up again to expose his body to yet one more mighty blow. CRACK!! Uazobi had passed the test. Both Aode and Obai were shouting, “Manaco! Mah-naw-COE! His turn! His turn!” And Uazobi grinned maliciously at his opponent who now was forced to raise his arms and receive three blows from an angry bloodied man. Uazobi swung his whip with every little bit of force he could produce and drove his antagonist to the ground blow after blow. Both men had red bloody welts, but they would not quit and back and forth it went until one or the other was not able any longer to get up!!
Suddenly Aode felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to face a young man from the Dog Clan. “I challenge you to be whipped!! Step out and raise your arms!” Aode gulped big and loud and felt desparate. Even Obai had melted away in fear someone would challenge him! And the crowd was gathering around the challenger and wanting to see the two boys whip each other. Aode’s voice was weak and his bottom lip had begun to quiver as he tried to say, “I’m too small! I’m not a man yet!”, but the bigger Dog Clan boy was swishing his whip and laughing with a pitiless glee. Aode wanted to run. But the crowd was too tight around them. And now his own clan members were shouting, “Aode’s going to be whipped! Aode’s going to be whipped!” and more of his clan rushed to watch him get his initiation into cocossi. “Lift your arms!” the Dog Clan boy shouted!! LIFT YOUR ARMS!! Tears came to his eyes and he felt terrible. He couldn’t cry…everyone would call him a baby. But the boy was so big and it would hurt so much!
Just then Aode felt a hand on his shoulder…he turned to look into the eyes of his older brother. He saw the mud on the chest of his brother and the whip marks from some encounter he had already had. “Go, Little Brother! Go, sit down! I WILL TAKE YOUR WHIPPING FOR YOU!!” The Dog Clan boy now had panic in his eyes, but he had been the challenger and he knew he could not back out. Aode slowly pushed through the crowd to a safe distance. Saved. Saved by a substitute!
Did you know that you, too, have a whipping substitute? That Someone took your punishment for you? In Isaiah 53:5 we read, “He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon Him; AND WITH HIS STRIPES WE ARE HEALED”. When you were lost in your sins and far from God, Satan stepped out to whip you. And you were small and weak and had no escape…until Jesus came and said, “I will stand in his place! I will take his punishment! I will be his substitute! WHIP ME!” And that is what Jesus did on the Cross. He died for our sins as our substitute so that we do not have to be whipped. Have you accepted Jesus as your sin substitute? Do you know Him as your Savior? “He who His own self bare our sins in His own body on the tree, that we, being dead to sins, should live unto righteousness: by whose stripes you were healed.” I Peter 2:24

Thunder Fish

The following is a read aloud story for March 2005. This is one of a series of stories especially written for Awana Clubs, home-schoolers, Sunday school classes, VBS, mission conferences, or just the fun of reading about children in a wild land called: “The Amazon Rain Forest”. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others who have children and would like to get these stories. Use them for the glory of God! The Culina Madiha people, one of the many great Amazon Rain Forest tribes, have lived for centuries in a world of superstition and fear. Primitive peoples attempt to explain natural phenomenon, such as thunder and lightning, through their isolated world view. That is the case in our story for this month. Brilliantly educated scientists in our modern world sometimes fall into the same trap. The Big Bang. Mankind evolving from apes. We call these “theories”, but they are not based on actual fact and deny the existence of a Creator God. The Culina’s eyes are “hatching” and they are stepping out of centuries of superstitious ignorance to faith in God.

The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
(Missionary/cultural observer with the Culina Madiha for many years)
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, Florida

March was the month of the heavy rains. The forest was dripping! The five Culina boys huddled together in the blade-like roots of a giant samauma tree and wished they had brought a dozen or more banana leaves to spread out over them like an umbrella. But in their fun at racing through the soggy forest searching for toads and frogs, they’d not been able to see the black clouds gathering and when the storm broke they were far from home and without the wide banana leaf umbrellas.
“Keep your eyes open for snakes! My frog is telling me that a snake in curled up near us!”, shouted Noba holding up a greenish-brown bug-eyed frog for everyone to see. His unkempt black hair was matted on his head by the hard rain and now several small leaves and chunks of tree dirt perched atop the ratty mess. He poked around looking for that snake he was sure was just inches from them and ready to bite!
VAROOOM! There was a blinding flash of light and then a deafening roar right over their heads. Lightning and thunder. The astonished boys dropped their catch of frogs and toads and closed in together in a tighter group with fear written on their faces.
“I’m scared,” cried little Zequeri (Zeh-keh-REE), the smallest of the five. And suddenly he squirmed out of the huddled group and dove into a hollowed log. It was scarsely big enough for him to shove the front half of his body in. And it was damp and dark.
“Zequeri!” Noba pleaded, “Come out! My frog says that is where the snake is laying!” The boys all laughed and took up the teasing and shouting at the half covered boy.
“I don’t care, I’m not going to let the Thunder Fish get me! Or the giant heron! I’m scared. I’m staying right in here until the Thunder Fish calms down!”
The other four boys huddled closer together looking at the small legs sticking out of the hollowed tree and each one wondered about the Thunder Fish. Was it real? The Old Ones said that thunder was caused by a giant fish in a great lake in the sky. When spirits or anything else bothered the Thunder Fish he would flap his tail and cause gigantic waves against the shore of the sky lake. The pounding of the waves was the loud thundering noise that you heard. At the same time a giant heron bird would be startled by the thunder and take flight…the rain drops on his wings were like light and flashed.
“The God’s Word Teachers say there is no Thunder Fish or Lightning Bird! Come out, Zequeri, before something worse…like a poisonous snake gets you!” Noba continued to plead with the small nearly naked boy.
“No! There is no snake in here! But that Thunder Fish will flap his tail again soon and scare another heron…I’m staying right here”.
The sudden rain storm had marched on and the thunder and lightning marched on with it. The trees were dripping, but the rain had stopped and a bright shaft of sunlight suddenly pierced down into their swampy playground. How quickly the storms pass and the sunshine comes! “Zequeri! Zequeri! Your Thunder Fish has swam far away! Come out! You need to go listen to Father God’s Word and not the teachings of the Old Ones. You are nearly old enough now to go to school like all of us!”
Slowly and carefully a small little dirty body wiggled its way out of the hollowed log and looked around at the increasing sunshine. And, then, to the surprise and astonishment of the boys, a long green snake slowly crawled out of the same hollowed log!
The frog had been right! But the five boys didn’t wait another minute…they ran like lightning!
How about you? Are you afraid of the thunder and lightning? Do you sometimes want to run and dive under your bed when a big roar of thunder crashes over your house? What do you think causes thunder and lightning? Or do you know it is just an explosive expansion of air heated by a lightning discharge? God the Creator has made some awesomely beautiful things. Have you ever stepped outside and watched an electrical storm? Boy, that is better than The Fourth of July! A great and very wise man named Job said, “The thunder of God’s power, who will not be astonished by that?” Thunder and lightning show us God’s awesome power. It shouts, “I AM IN CONTROL! I REIGN!”
Don’t accept manmade “theories” as the truth, when you can know the Creator through His Son Jesus Christ.

Watermelon Babies

The following is a read aloud story for October 2005. This is one of a series of stories especially written for Awana Clubs, home-schoolers, Sunday school classes, VBS, mission conferences, or just the fun of reading about children in a wild land called: “The Amazon Rain Forest”. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others who have children and would like to get these stories. Use them for the glory of God! The Asheninca people, one of the many great Amazon Rain Forest tribes, have lived for centuries in a world of superstition and fear. I have just returned from the Breu River that forms the border between Peru and Brasil. We sat for hours with our Asheninca friends in Ridge Village. The next few stories are based on the observations we made as we dipped into bowls of food together.
The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
(Missionary/cultural observer with the Amazon tribes for many years)
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, Florida

Noena (No-EH-nah) dug her toes into the cool wet sand. Oh, it felt so good on this very hot day! She squinted a half second at that bright round ooria (sun). What makes it burn so hot? Why can’t we throw water on it and make it sizzle like we do our campfires? She returned to the river sand and dug her toes in even deeper. Her little dirty brown robe was getting wet at the fringes. But who cares? It was a carefree day. A day when all of her people had come to the beach to camp. They had quickly made little stick shelters and gotten broad palm leaves to make a roof. Everyone sat in the shade of his feeble little sun-protecter…except Noena. Noena was 10-years-old and tired of constantly carrying babies on her side…she wanted to be free and to feel the cool river water running over her feet.
She wandered farther and farther from the shelters and the chattering of The People. She wished she had brought her “pouarentsi” to smoke. All little Asheninca boys and girls smoked pipes. Her uncle had made hers and the stem came out of the side of the pipe, but it worked great and she always carried a bit of tobacco to put in the bowl and light with a twig from the fire. She wandered aimlessly until suddenly she realized she was right in the middle of a sea of watermelons. Dozens and dozens of watermelons. They were laying in the hot sun and some were rotting. More watermelons than The People could ever eat. Who had planted them all when the waters went down some months ago?
Noena ran in amongst the big elongated green and white striped fruit. She tripped over a vine and crashed down on a rind! Some people had just come walking through and smashed open a melon and ate the juicy red insides and threw away the rest. The little girl lay sprawled in the sand with the vine wrapped around her foot. And she was looking right at the most beautiful little watermelon she’d ever seen. A baby! Noena grabbed the melon baby and put it in her shoulder strap where she carried actual Asheninca babies. It fit perfectly. She patted the hard green head with affection. My baby. And so it was that Noena continued her wandering chattering constantly to sooth the feelings of her watermelon baby. Don’t cry little baby! Don’t suck your fingers! I’ll get you a pouarentsi to smoke!
Thus being completely consumed with motherhood and caring so tenderly for her little green melon baby…she did not see the boys coming! Boys will be boys. These boys, all in brown robes like little monks, came racing down the sandy beach and in one quick second they knocked Noena down and stole her baby! She screamed in terror! My baby! My baby! But the boys were laughing and tumbling and throwing her baby melon back and forth. Oh, what if her baby fell and smashed to pieces? She shouted and protested and ran after them…which was, after all, exactly what the boys had wanted her to do. These little “melonnappers” raced down to a shelter and before Noena could catch up they had put her melon baby in a whole stack of other watermelons. They all looked the same. The mischieveous boys raced on to other conquests, and Noena stared at the stack of melon babies. Which was hers? Oh, my baby! Oh, my baby! But the melon baby would not answer. It did not cry. It did not respond. Carefully she examined them all, but she had not left any scratch or mark on her baby. It was impossible to tell which was the baby. Poor Noena. Finally, she decided to just choose one…adopt it…and, yet, how could it ever be the same? Her little feet headed once again for the cool river sand.
Did you ever think that Indian children do not have toys? Or dolls. Or computer games. They have to invent their own toys and it seems God has given them great imaginations. Many little Asheninca children play with knives. Toddlers stumbling about carrying a sharp knife. Their parents don’t seem to think it is any danger at all. Missionaries about have heart failure! God has made all of us with wonderful imaginations. Have you ever thanked God for your imagination? That’s the wonderful ability to play games in your mind. You can imagine you are a princess! Or a great warrior going to battle. A stick can become a sword. A piece of board a rifle. And a watermelon a doll. Children the world over play. Have you ever thanked God for being able to play? He is a fun God and made us to have fun and play.

The Message on the Melon

The following is a read aloud story for November 2005. This is one of a series of stories especially written for Awana Clubs, home-schoolers, Sunday school classes, VBS, mission conferences, or just the fun of reading about children in a wild land called: “The Amazon Rain Forest”. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others who have children and would like to get these stories. Use them for the glory of God! The Asheninca people, one of the many great Amazon Rain Forest tribes, have lived for centuries in a world of superstition and fear. The following story is true. It actually happened. I was there. I was the old white-haired missionary in the boat with Noena.
The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
(Missionary/cultural observer with the Amazon tribes for many years)
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, Florida

Noena (No-EH-nah) sat in the dirt of her village yard and watched the blackened old pot boiling. It was “cotsonaqui”…the brown dye that the Asheninca people use to color their robes. She had gone with her aunt to gather the bark of the “patsataqui” tree to make the dye. Now it was bubbling and boiling and kind of fun to watch. She took a stick and slowly stirred around making sure the robe in the brown liquid was getting thoroughly covered with the dye. Then she looked up at the old white foreigner sitting at Little Mike’s house eating peanuts with him. Who was this stange man who kept coming back to her village? He always carried around a little book and made scribbles on it. He always was watching her and interested in everything that she did. Noena was 10-years-old and that is a magic age when you are almost an adult and almost a child. Some of each. She stirred the pot and took a puff on her little pipe. I wish, she thought, that I could just take that white man and stuff him into this pot of dye and make him come out all brown! Wouldn’t that be wonderful? He looks so sick and so pale. Why is that foreigner so different and so white?
The very next day the whole village was filled with excitement. They had decided to go up the Jurua River to Peru and visit Asheninca at a bigger village. Noena was so excited and quickly got her “melon baby”. She carried a watermelon in her carrying strap as that watermelon had become her doll…her make-believe baby. She and the melon baby were never far apart. Now she made her way down to the open canoe with the others who were going on the trip. Oh, look, the old white foreigner is going too!! And when they all got in the long dug-out canoe it was so packed and so heavy there was hardly room to wiggle. And to Noena’s horror she had to sit next to the white man on the same bench. She would try to ignore him as best she could. So the trip began with people shouting and laughing and having to jump out now and then to push off unseen sand bars. On and on they went up the river under that hot burning sun.
Noena fell asleep. Her head bobbed this way and that way and finally came to rest on the shoulder of the white man. But she was soundly asleep and unaware of where that head had gone. The old white man looked down affectionately at the little black-haired girl in the little brown robe and he loved her. Seeing that her melon baby was exposed the old white man found a bit of a stick and began to scratch on the melon three symbols. I-heart shape-U. He worked hard to make the impression look nice…I Love You. Noena slept on. Suddenly the canoe hit an unseen log and everyone about tumbled into the river, but being very agile and use to river travel soon it was all stabilized and back to the normal river boredom. Except Noena was awake. Her fingers ran over the I-heart shape-U that had suddenly appeared on her baby. Where did that come from? Who did this to her baby? The old white man seemed to not notice. WHAT DID THAT WRITING MEAN? To her it meant nothing. But could it be some secret message? Did a passing tree scratch it on her baby’s skin when she was sleeping? What did it mean? She sighed and held her melon baby closer. I Love You. She would never be able to comprehend that message on her melon baby. Or one day…maybe…one day she would!!!
I Love You! Isn’t that about the most wonderful message God has ever scratched on the skin of your heart? Isn’t it a shame that little boys and girls around the world have never been able to comprehend that message from God? Write it on a piece of paper…I heart-shape U. I Love You! Noena perhaps will someday understand the message on her melon baby. Missionaries are now in her village learning her language so they can tell her of Jesus and His love for her. Noena’s melon baby will quickly rot away and be gone. But when God writes “I Love You” on our hearts, it is there forever. Have you noticed? Have you looked at the skin of your heart to see the I heart-shape U written there??

Hiding in the Clay Pot

The following is a read aloud story for February 2006. This is one of a series of stories especially written for Awana Clubs, home-schoolers, Sunday school classes, VBS, mission conferences, or just the fun of reading about children in a wild land called: “The Amazon Rain Forest”. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others who have children and would like to get these stories. Use them for the glory of God.   This month’s story is about a little boy in a village many, many years ago. It is sad and tragic…life for Indians often is very cruel.
The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
(Missionary/cultural observer with the Amazon tribes for many years)
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, Florida

The ladies carried up to their village load after load of the rich, red clay. It had been a wonderful discovery for them as they had been on a fishing trip up river and gone back into the jungle on a little tributary stream and suddenly found the clay. Pot clay. Small Oneco (Oh-neh-COE) had been with his mother and he had no idea what all the fuss was about, but these women were really excited about the clay. He jumped out of the canoe, as they were doing, and waded to the bank and took a handful of the putty. It was pretty putty. He got a large gob of the clay and began kneading it through his dirty little fingers and it felt so good. It was so pliable and easily molded into whatever shape he chose. The women were already filling their old cooking pots with it…and whatever else they could find to carry this good clay home.
Days later Oneco sat watching old Grandma Mahawa (Maw-ha-WAH) as she cleared a small area and made a leaf roof to shelter her and her work from the direct rays of the sun and she began the tedious task of making a clay pot from the accumilated pile of red putty. Her hands were so careful and hour by hour the pot grew bigger and bigger and bigger. When it was finished it was enormous. Grandma Mahawa had set it carefully near the fire so the clay would harden slowly without cracking and she watched it so attentively that you knew it was her life-long prize. It was beautiful.
The Culina Madiha people in those days lived in large “malocas”. These were communal houses where up to ten families all lived inside. The house was made of poles and peach palm fronds and it was very high so that the smoke from their fires could go up and out the little slits along the maloca peak. It had two openings…one at each end, otherwise it was all enclosed by palm fronds down to the ground. It was very dark in there….and if your neighbor had wet wood, it could be very smoky and you coughed a lot. But it did keep the mosquitoes out!!
One very uneventful day, Oneco was playing with his sister in the “big house” and they had been doing a version of hide and seek around the large clay pot which now sat empty and upside down. And suddenly a woman screamed from out in the village yard, “Invaders! Invaders! We are under attack!” The Culinas had enemies that lived long distances from them, but every few years they would come and surprise everyone and kidnap women to take back to their villages. They killed all the men and older women. It was mad confusion as everyone raced for his bow and arrow, but the attack had been such a successful surprise that within fifteen minutes it was all over! Slain bodies laid here and there and women wailed as they were bound and herded together like cattle for the long trek back to the enemy village. Some men had been out fishing or hunting and would come back to find the village a killing field. Children were captured if the enemy group particularly wanted them…if not they, too, were killed. Oneco had heard the noise and screaming and shouts and he had thought about running. But where? He then saw the pot and lifted it up and slipped under it. There he sat in the darkness of the clay pot shivering and shaking with fear. He heard the strange language as the warriors came into the maloca and grabbed whatever they wanted to take back with them. They were laughing and bragging about their success and that none of their people had been killed in the surprise attack. One naked man sat on the pot. Oneco was sure the man would hear his heart beating…it was so loud and noisy! He tried not to breathe, but feared he might cough or gasp. Then quite unexpectedly the man sitting on the pot told his fellow warriors that he wanted that beautiful pot! They laughed at him because it would be impossible to carry it on the trail all that distance and would slow down their escape before the hunters returned. But the man suddenly lifted the pot up to put it on his shoulder! And there was Oneco! Tears filled his eyes! He sobbed uncontrollably. He, for the first time, saw the slain children. Everyone dead. Blood everywhere. Now they would kill him! But the man let the pot fall with a crash and break into many pieces. “HE IS MINE!” he shouted. He roughly grabbed Oneco and carried him outside into the sunshine and gathered him with captured women and children. And so it was that Oneco grew up in another tribe and learned to speak their tongue and became, many years later, a great chief amongst that tribal people.
Have you ever read the story of Daniel in the Bible? He was a little boy like Oneco who was captured by an enemy speaking a strange language and he was carried off to their land. Daniel, too, became a great leader and chief in that foreign culture and country. What would you have done if you had been Oneco? Isn’t it wonderful that we can know the Lord Jesus Christ personally in our lives and He will go with us through every cruel circumstance that happens to us? Bad things do happen. Sad things…like car accidents…are something we never can escape. But we can TRUST God that He will continue to love and care for us whatever the tragedy is in our lives. Jesus is our clay pot! Hide in Him always!

One Armed John

The following is a read aloud story for April 2006. This is one of a series of stories especially written for Awana Clubs, home-schoolers, Sunday school classes, VBS, mission conferences, or just the fun of reading about people in a wild land called: “The Amazon Rain Forest”. Print them out. Collect them. E-mail them to others who would like to get these stories. Use them for the glory of God. Let’s change the pace a bit. For the next few months I want to share some true stories of people and events that have happened in the Amazon jungle. My favorite author is Jack London. He wrote tales of the sea and also of Alaska…and most of us have read “The Call of the Wild”. Brasil is not Alaska, but it is one of the last true wildernesses in the world. One-armed John. I met him some time ago and an old man told me John’s story.
The old story teller, Douemi (Dough-way-MEE)
(Missionary/cultural observer with the Amazon tribes for many years)
Serving with New Tribes Mission, Sanford, Florida

He didn’t always have that stub dangling from his left arm. Joao, or John, grew up with all of his limbs in tact. Nothing missing. Well, the neighbors said that maybe he had a little “good sense” missing. He was a boy who loved the wild and felt right at home playing with snakes and hunting wild pigs and, especially, fishing in the ponds and lakes of his home area. And he liked to fish alone. Those peaceful mornings you could paddle back through the swamps to the old river beds that were full of brownish green water and as undisturbed as the grey hawk in the high old tree that was patiently waiting for the mouse to come out of his hole and greet the new day. “I’m a hawk!” John often said to himself out loud, “and I’ll get my prey! I’ll get my prey!”
The lake he was headed for was a few miles from the little grass-roofed home he shared on the muddy Jurua River. John had brothers and sisters. His father and mother were easy-going and his father would always remark every morning at sun-up, “Boys, you have to go get the fish! Mother will cook it, but you have to hook it!” More or less like that. And John and his brothers NEVER came home without a string of fish. But old Uncle Joe had many a time warned the boys, “Don’t go to Spider Lake! That lake is full of danger! Don’t fish in Spider Lake! Who knows what evil is down in the depths of that water? Stay away from there!” And they did, well, for the most part, but when someone says “don’t” usually in boys that creates a desire to “do”. It’s a challenge. And John never turned down a challenge. So, this bright morning his small canoe was weaving it’s way through the flooded jungle to the forbidden lake…Spider Lake! “I’m a hawk!” he said.
Spider Lake was calm. It certainly didn’t look dangerous. John eased his way out of the canoe to stand on a living woven carpet of vines and grass and old logs and floating junk. The mat was so thick you couldn’t break through it and so solid that it supported his weight. Under it was deep water. He inched his way close to the edge of the floating debris and carefully got the piece of bait fish on his hook. he had no fishing pole, just a handful of heavy duty nylon fishing line and the well secured hook on the end. SPLASH! He threw out the hook and then slowly pulled it in. He repeated this for up to twenty minutes and did once see a big fish surface and descend again. “I’m a hawk”, he told himself, “I have to be patient!” SPLASH! This time he let out more line and threw his hook out much farther. Too far in fact. When he tried to pull it back it was stuck…snagged on some limbs and stuff and it would not pull loose.
John’s dilemma was that he had no other hook. If he jerked and broke the line, he would lose the hook. He stood and contemplated Uncle Joe’s warning words, “The Lake is full of danger”. Then he told himself that it was so calm and undisturbed and nothing evil could be in that water. He knew that he could dive in and swim to the hook and quickly untangle it and swim back. He was a strong swimmer. He could do it! But still he wondered about Uncle Joe’s warning…he wished that he had asked Uncle Joe what made him fear Spider Lake. Well, the hook wouldn’t come unfastened and he finally got up his courage and decided to dive in and swim and unhook it.
John tried to go in the water as quietly as possible. And he wasn’t making much noise, but he knew he probably had awakened all the devils of the deep. A few strokes and he was fingering the hook and untangling it as he kicked his feet to not sink. And then he sensed the danger. He didn’t see anything in the water, but his heart began to beat much faster and he knew some evil was there! WHOOM. A giant alligator surfaced, it’s snout just ten feet from him! It was big and ugly. And John was swimming faster than he ever had before…he had to reach that mat and climb up on it. The alligator was in deadly pursuit! John made it to the mat and he tumbled out of the water and up on it, but that gator was as much at home out of the water as in the water. The fierce sharp-toothed monster was coming up on the mat after him! John’s reflexes shouted to him to strike the alligator. He swung his left arm with all the force he could and ZIP the sharp teeth amputated the arm just above the elbow! In horror he saw his arm in the mouth of the alligator. The big lake monster dove down and disappeared with it.
Waves of nausea came over the young fisherman. He lay on the mat shouting for help, but he knew no one could or would hear him. Finally, he looked at his severed arm and saw that the blood wasn’t spurting out. He stood up and wrapped his shirt around the stub. It soaked in blood. But he could walk. And so he went back to his canoe and paddled with his good arm until he got home! And then he passed out. Forever after the “hawk” was without one wing and he was called One-armed John. This time the prey got the predator!
How do you listen to good advice? Does it go in one ear and right out the other? Do you take heed of warnings in life? Or do you, like One-armed John, think you are invincible? The Bible tells us to “walk circumspectly”. That means to walk wisely, paying attention to advise and warnings from other people. You may never fish in a lake full of sharp-toothed alligators, but you do live in a dangerous world. Your computer can become an alligator! It can become a danger to you if you go on line to places that are forbidden and dangerous. Computer games can be evil and ruinous. Stay away from the “Spider Lakes” that are all around you! Don’t lose your spiritual arm because of your foolishness

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