Remember those words? Yes, of course, they are the words of
Ruth the Moabite, who was willing to renounce her own country and religion
because of her love for her mother in law, but more than her love for Naomi,
she wanted to put her trust in her God.
I was living in the Western Highlands of New Guinea when
Ruth’s words came to me afresh.
‘Lord,’ I prayed. ‘That is how I feel. I want to belong to
these people; to live and die here.’
I didn’t, of course. After five years I was dragged,
unwillingly back to UK, where the Lord had to remind me that he had asked me to
be willing to go anywhere for him, but I think it had meant a lot to the Enga
people that I had felt like that.
So why had God sent me so far away, to this previously
unreached people? Have you heard the words of the new song we will be singing
in heaven?
It says, ‘With your blood you (Jesus) purchased men for God
from every tribe and language and people and nation.’
Yes, from every tribe, and even every clan, of the many
many tribes in Papua New Guinea, as well as all the other tribes and languages
all over the world. That is why my friend has laboured for over forty years in
the Congo, and why I was willing to learn yet another language as I went to
Ghana to help with the children’s work in the Ashanti region.
But now I am in Wales. Born in England, I am glad that I
can put British on my passport, for I proudly declare ‘I am Welsh by marriage,’
and very happy that my husband had wanted to retire in Porthcawl, this
beautiful seaside town in South Wales. And yes, for me it meant yet another
language to learn, for God had spoken to me, before I left Australia, that I
should gain a knowledge of the language where I was going. I had wondered why God
hadn’t specified the Enga language, the ‘True Talk’ as they called it, but God
had known where else I was going.
Together we worked hard with the Welsh, the hardest
language yet it seemed, but sadly I haven’t been able to keep it up. But now I
was faced with a fresh challenge, and that was to write a poem for St. David’s
Day.
Poems seem to trip off my pen easily these days, and I have
always enjoyed a ‘Cawl’ evening, and been happy to wear my daffodil, but was I
sufficiently Welsh to write a poem for St. David’s Day?
God reminded me of Ruth’s words and of the desire I had had
to identify with the Enga people of New Guinea, and then later of my joy in
learning Ashanti amongst the Ghanaian people. But now I know it is God who has planted me here in Wales. So this
is what I wrote for our St. David’s Day celebration in Stoneleigh Court.
ST DAVID’S DAY
‘I’m proud to be Welsh by marriage,’ or so
I used to say,
But now I have found my identity, on this
our St. David’s Day.
For here is a nation of warriors, but
above all a people of song,
A people St. David gladly owned, as he
taught them right from wrong.
He opened up wells of water, that are
still among us today
And fearlessly taught us the word of God
and of Christ who is the way.
So gladly we own him our patron saint,
while daffodils wear we with joy
Boasting in hymns of revival fame, which
our choirs with gusto deploy
So proudly we celebrate St. David’s Day,
for from every nation and tongue
The Welsh must be there with harp and with
song, to worship God’s holy Son.
