Cap Guns, Revolvers and How to Spell Police
When the police moved into the compound I thought nothing of it. They didn’t get in the way of our make-believe games, and besides, there were always people coming and going through the courtyard. In dusty Jampur, Pakistan, we lived in a walled compound. In it was our house, a couple swing sets, a see-saw, a clinic where my mom worked and the toilet that sat on the opposite side of the compound from our house. There was also a low, one story, one-room brick building that served as the church. There was a door on the left for men to enter and a door on the right for women to enter. On the front was painted a big red cross on a field of white. Inside there were no chairs or instruments, just woven reed mats to sit on and a giant curtain that ran down the middle of the room to separate the men and the women. When my dad or one of the elders would preach they stood at the front of the room right at the curtain divide and would look left and right as they taught the men and women. Back then, I did not know what America was. Jampur was all I knew.
View of the compound from the front of our house. Up ahead in the shadows is the gate.
There were a few trees and plants and there was ample space for us boys and our friends to run around inside the brick paved enclosure. For a young child like me it was perfect. I had space to run and play and goof off and there was nothing to be afraid of.
Of course, everyone’s childhood experience is a little different, but when you are a child where do you find your security? Typically, in your parents. They are always there to help you up, to put on a bandaid, to give you food at meal times, to tuck you at night, to snuggle you and pray with you when you are scared, to protect you, to play with you. When mom and dad are there, there is nothing to be afraid of. You are secure, you are safe and you just play and grow. Of course, as you get older, you begin to carry some of your own burdens and responsibilities and your eyes are opened to all that your parents did while you just played and slept and enjoyed your little childhood experiences.
Early on, when the police first moved into the compound, I vividly remember standing next to a policeman who was seated in the church reading the Urdu newspaper. He had a blue, ballpoint pen and wrote “police” in English in the margin of the black and white paper to explain who he was. They were friendly to me and seemed to enjoy watching my brothers and I play. I think they got a kick out of our cap guns as we ran around shooting each other. Once, while playing cowboys with my two older brothers, one of the policemen dressed in off-white salwar kameez (Pakistani men’s clothing) approached us to show off his revolver. Or another time one of the men handed me his submachine gun and said in thickly accented English “take your gun.” It was extremely heavy and I can only hope the safety was on. Needless to say, both times my parents weren’t there with us and I don’t think they would have approved.
One of our protectors, he armed with his trusty cigarette and I with my cap guns.
I continued to play in my own childish world oblivious to the fact that our family now needed constant police protection. Disgruntled folks in the town had made threats towards my parents. Threats to kill them or us boys. Our landlord had been threatened to have his house blown up if he did not ask us to leave. Some in the community did not take kindly to the sharing of the good news of Jesus Christ as salvation for all people and they wanted it to stop. Under such stress, I don’t know how my parents stayed and continued their work: my dad teaching and training the local church leaders and my mother operating the small clinic. In time, it became unfeasible to continue the ministry with constant police protection. My parents saw the police presence as an inhibition to their work and in the end we moved to a larger city where my parents continued their ministry. There was a church in Jampur before my parents arrived and it remained after they left. And now, decades later there is still a church in Jampur, to the glory of God. But they have been under immense persecution for many years.
Is my faith in Christ so strong as to continue serving him openly even in the face of death threats to my children? Would I stand tall or would I fold? What would you do? Is there anything in your life that you would stand and face those threats for? It’s cause for reflection. I think if we are faithful to Christ in the small day to day battles and challenges then when our time comes and we face a challenge like never before, we will be more able to rely on His power for the necessary courage.
As my parents leaned on each other, the other believers in the church, and on their firm foundation: Jesus, they became a rock for me. I did not know the dangers that could have lurked in the street outside of our compound. Or why dad always had to have a rifle toting policeman with him whenever he left. In the swirling stress, fear and anxiousness my parents must have faced, they were a rock and I was free to be a child, secure and care free. The memories I have of Jampur are sweet and precious. That is a gift from God and a gift from my faithful parents who weathered the storm so I did not have to. It is a challenge for me, and hopefully for you too, to be a rock for our loved ones whatever life throws at us. Like the Apostle Paul told the Corinthians, may we be steadfast and immovable and always abounding in the work of the Lord and know that in the Lord, our labor is never in vain.
Me and some of our childhood buddies. That is the front of our house in the background.
The gravity of the armed protection was lost on me. I have since then learned lessons from it, but at that time my only takeaways were happy memories and how to spell police.
Peace. And until next time, happy travels!
Seth
P.S. If you appreciate or enjoy the work I am doing at Marvelous India, feel free to say thank you by buying me a cup of chai!
