Chapter 23 - This is God's Car

“After they were come to Mysia, they assayed to go

into Bithynia: but the Spirit suffered them not.”

—Acts 16:7

Working in Ivory Coast with the Ghanaian

refugees was a real blessing. As I’ve mentioned
earlier, our original plan was to start a church
in Ghana, but with war ravaging the country and
closing it to outsiders, our field director had suggested
that we go to Ivory Coast and work with the
Ghanaian refugees. The Lord had led us to Aboisso
and had blessed us with a local church there and a
national pastor to run the church.
    The war in Ghana was now over, and it was time
to see if the Lord would have us move there. While
my wife and children stayed behind in Ivory Coast,
a missionary friend and I prepared to visit Ghana. A
good friend in Christ, he was, however, a little skittish
and worried about everything.
    The morning for our departure arrived, and
we kissed our families good-bye and headed off
to Ghana, Ivory Coast’s next-door neighbor. The
Ghanaians were building a bridge over the lagoon
that separated the two countries, but it was not finished
yet, thus, we were forced to cross by ferry.
    When we got to the crossing we almost returned
home, and my somewhat nervous-natured missionary
friend was all for that.
    There before us was a ferryboat—if you could
call it that—and we were expected to drive over
two rotten-looking two by fours in order to board.
We looked at those boards and asked the captain
if they would support my car. He assured us that
he had been using those same planks for years and
no car had fallen into the lagoon yet. That was of
little comfort to me. I asked my friend if he wanted
to ride in the car to board the ferry, but he opted
to walk. I jumped into my old Peugeot and headed
up the planks with the guidance of the captain. To
my amazement, I made it. It took about thirty minutes
to cross the lagoon, all along wondering what
the conditions would be like to disembark on the
Ghanaian side. I tried to set these thoughts aside and
enjoy the trip.
    Conditions on the Ghanaian side were much
better. There was a ramp for us to back easily onto
Ghanaian soil, and I thought maybe we would like
it here. We had no problem getting our visas and
headed down the road toward Accra, the capital city,
where we were to meet our missionary friend who
had been a missionary to Ghana for thirty years. As
we drove along, the potholes in the road got larger
and larger, and we presumed they were bomb holes
from the war.
    Then we were stopped by the military. They
wanted anything they could get from us, but all
they got were gospel tracts we had brought along
for such an occasion. With all their hardware on
display, the military men were a little unnerving.
After this encounter, we continued on our journey,
and the closer we drew to Accra, the more military
jeeps with machine guns on top we saw. I had never
seen anything like this, it was rather unsettling. My
friend grew quiet looking as though he was wondering
why he had come along and fearing we might
both be killed.
    We finally arrived in the capital city, and it looked
like a junkyard. Beat-up cars were everywhere, and
there was no fuel in the country except for what the
government had stockpiled for itself. We finally
found our missionary friend and lodged with him
outside of town. It was now dark, and there was no
electricity or water. I thought, What have I gotten
us into? I did not want to know what my timid missionary
friend was thinking.
    The next morning we started checking out Ghana,
and the more I saw, the less I was impressed that the
Lord wanted us to move to this war-torn, desolate
place. Even the missionary living there had to travel
to Togo or Ivory Coast to buy food and supplies. We
stayed in the country for a few more days, and as we
prepared to return home, we discovered there was
no fuel to be found.
    The next morning I was told I could buy fuel
at a certain station, but by the time I arrived, many
cars were already waiting in line. I had no choice
but to take my place in the line. While waiting, a
motorcycle officer pulled up beside me and asked
for my registration and proof of insurance. I handed
him the proper documents. He examined them and
then said that the papers were no good in Ghana.
He threatened to confiscate my car as we argued
back and forth about the legitimacy of the papers in
Ghana.
    Finally, the officer declared, “I’m the law here.
I make the rules, and I’m going to take your car.”
I thought to myself, You cannot do this, but then I
looked at his gun and reconsidered. Then the Lord
impressed upon my heart to tell him the car belonged
to God, and if he took God’s car, He would be upset
with him. I relayed the message, and the man suddenly
jumped back onto his motorcycle and rode
off. Thank You, Lord, for Your intervention and for
letting me keep Your car! I silently rejoiced.
    By now God had convinced me that He did not
want me in Ghana, but we still needed fuel to get
home. I waited in line until the owner informed me
that all the fuel was gone and he did not know when
there would be more. What a dilemma we were in
now—no fuel to get back to Ivory Coast! Returning
to our missionary friend’s house I related to him our
problem. He responded with, “Let’s go see the military.”
So that is what we did. We begged them for
some fuel, and Praise the Lord, they sold us a tank
full, enough to get back home. It was not a reasonable
price, but we were happy to pay it.
    The next morning we headed for the border,
happy as could be. Arriving at the ferry, we saw a
long line of vehicles waiting to board for the last
trip that night. We certainly did not want to spend
another night in Ghana, much less sleep in the car; I
went to speak to the captain, Who had remembered
ferrying us into Ghana several days earlier and told
me not to worry. We would be on the ferry in a few
minutes, he promised. I told him we were the last
in line and the other passengers would object if we
boarded before them, but all he said was, “I’m the
captain of this ferry, and I say who goes and who
does not go.” True to his word, he had us on that
ferry and headed across the lagoon in ten minutes
time.
    Arriving on the Ivory Coast side, I had to back
the car off the ferry, using those same rotten two by
fours. It had been bad enough going forward, but
backing up was another story altogether. Thankfully,
I did make it off the ferry, and we drove home
praising the Lord for the safe trip He had given us.
And, I will admit, I was also praising the Lord for
the answer I had received-do not move to Ghana!

(Copyright by Jay B Ayers)