A Forever Missionary Goes Native

By John Bradley Lambeth

Feb. 5, 2010

When mom came to Brazil in 1959 alongside her husband and a little baby boy in her arms, little did she know it was a forever trip. There was no one to greet their arrival and the city was dark. Not dark enough, however, to hide small faces with brown eyes everywhere staring at them. It was a strange land with a strange language. Gazing at each other in that primitive airport my parents suddenly realized they brought with them but one thing—a calling. There was no money, no return fare, no friends, not even a travel dictionary. That’s when I began to cry in her arms.

Those first months were full of grief and loneliness. I know. Her hot tears wet my face as she rocked me to sleep every night. Even so, the fear of isolation forced her to learn the native tongue as she committed her future into God’s hands through her husband’s vision.

Stuttering broken Portuguese, she grew out of her petite sized body frame to become a fearless giant of a missionary, walking into places brave men refused to go. Even her name changed to be always known as “Missionária Luiza.” Like Abraham she learned how to map revival with her walk, over hills and mountains and down sandy beaches, proclaiming the Gospel to a dark land using tracts and charts she had translated into Portuguese. She planted churches where there were none. She became light midst darkness.

I suppose you could say that eventually she “went native.” She adopted Brazil and Brazil adopted her: they called her “mother.” The original homeland faded from the horizon of her thoughts as her heart reached for one more Brazilian soul. She became a forever missionary.

Then she was visited by that terrible German doctor named Alzheimer. He stole the prime of her dream. He stole her mind. He stole her language, even her speech. Dr. Alzheimer left nothing but a shell. Her last months became days on end of silence. No longer did she unwittingly intermix English with Portuguese (the sure sign of a forever missionary); even that was taken. Silence.

When I visited her for the last time I found nothing more than a blank mind wrapped in a frail body. I touched her arm and called her name in English; no answer, not even a blink of the eyes. I tried again, in Portuguese: “sou eu, mãe”. Not a flutter. A little discouraged, I helped return her hollow body to comfort of bed. Tenderly, we laid her down. Silence filled the room.

Then suddenly I heard another language. It was a voice of heavenly tongues. Where…? How…? Who…? The bed! That was where the sound was. The bed! In her unconscious state, she was uttering words I couldn’t understand, the native tongue of a distant land; she was speaking heaven’s language.

It was at that moment I realized that mother was in flight to another land to adopt as her own. Maybe she was just arriving and decided to practice the native tongue of that new home. Best I could tell, she sounded quite fluent with her new native tongue.

Missionary Wanda Louise Lambeth stamped her new passport when she entered the portals of Heaven. Word has it that she is quite well with her new language skills and has adapted fine to the new land.

ninetyandnine.com

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John Bradley Lambeth has been involved in missionary work in South America, especially Brazil, since he was a child. Although licensed as a Brazilian Attorney, he has worked full-time as a missionary for over 25 years. He won’t trade places with anyone!