The Prophet’s Dream – Chapter from “Le Foyer – An African love story of faith, friendship, family, and FIRE!”
“Stop using your left hand!” Noviho’s dad barked, slapping him on the wrist.
“You know it’s unclean to use your left hand! You’ve got to stop disrespecting others,” his mother scolded.
But for a left-handed child, it was a hard habit to break.
Rex tells: Noviho grew up stuttering, likely related to his being forced to change from his left-hand preference to use his right hand. When he grew to be an adult, his stuttering worsened when he was under pressure. He was often hard to understand; his words came out in blasts like bullets from a machine gun. Noviho was a twin. Because twins carry a certain mystique in traditional Togolese life, they are celebrated and venerated. Noviho was no exception. People often fear twins. A student at the University of Lomé recently told me, “You never want to make a twin mad and you never get into a quarrel with one. If you do, then bad things will happen to you.” It surprised me to hear this from a university student in 2020, which demonstrates the power of this belief. So, people tend to avoid twins or make sure they don’t upset them.
With those kinds of attitudes surrounding them, it makes sense that twins would have difficulty in relationships! People usually kept Noviho Mawuenyeame (Ma-woe-ain-YAH-mie) at a safe distance. Due to having polio as a child, he limped as he walked. He was known as “the lame man who stutters.”
Physically, he was a picture of weakness.
But Noviho had a brilliant mind. He usually carried a spiral notebook filled with notes, organizational charts, and creative writings. He was a prolific writer whose letters and hand-written documents all bore his unique and colorful style. He was skillful in calligraphy and made his own letterheads. His every composition was a detailed work of art. I know—I have files full of them!
Besides his status as a twin, Noviho’s high-strung, fidgety mannerisms and his social awkwardness caused people to back off from him. Another part of that intimidation was his special gift: Noviho prophetically saw and heard things that others did not. He had an intuition about people and events. He was a unique mix of ability and disability.
Tuesday, February 5, 1980 was a typical West African day—blazing sun, hot and humid. Around 2 o’clock in the afternoon, a familiar figure appeared at my front door—Noviho Mawuenyeame. The French and English translation of his Ewe name is “Emmanuel” or “God with us.” He carried in his right hand a small black French Bible, well-worn from constant use.
After greeting, we continued to stand on the front porch. Noviho acted as if he had an urgent message to deliver.
“Pa-Pa-Pasteur, J’ai quelque chose à te dire.” “Pastor, I have something I want to tell you.” As he spoke, I got butterflies in my stomach. It was one of those “pay attention!” kinds of feelings. My heart pounded. When Noviho spoke, his French words usually came like machine-gun fire. And the stutter always made it difficult for me to understand what he was saying. But today, he spoke clearly. Every word was articulated as if he never had a speech impediment. The clarity of his words had my complete attention and added to my butterflies.
“Last night I had a dream,” he began. “Mama Sherry was sitting, holding a baby. It was a boy. There were other children around her feet. I could not tell how many, nor the sex of the other children.”
We continued to stand at the front porch entrance. No one else was there. I thought to myself, He chose this time because he knows that everyone is on their long lunch break, probably in their rooms taking a break from the noon day sun. Noviho himself was on his lunch break from work.
“Pasteur, we have been weeping with you because you cannot have children,” he said. “But now we are no longer weeping, we are rejoicing!”
He opened his Bible to Habakkuk 2:3 and read:
“Car c’est une prophétie dont le temps est déjà, Elle marche vers son terme, et elle ne mentira pas…”
“For the vision is yet for an appointed time; it hastens toward the goal, and it will not fail. Though it tarries, wait for it; for it will certainly come, it will not delay.”
“Pasteur, you left America by faith like Abraham left his homeland. God gave Abraham and Sarah a son, Isaac.”
“God will give you and Mama Sherry a son before you leave Togo. You will have other children. I don’t know how many or whether they are boys or girls.”
“Abraham ‘against hope believed in hope.’ (Romans 4) Like Abraham, have a coeur d’espoir (a heart of hope),” he exhorted.
“Noviho,” I replied, “you know that through the years we have had many tests and treatments. We recently had a complete battery of tests in the U. S. by a grand spécialiste américain—who is one of the leading fertility specialists in America. His diagnosis was that we could not have children. There are physical reasons why we can’t conceive.”
“Pasteur,” Noviho replied forcefully, “Dieu est plus grand que le grand spécialiste américain.” (Pastor, God is bigger than the grand spécialiste américain.)
“Yes, He is,” I said meekly.
Then as suddenly as he came, Noviho left.
I stood frozen on the front porch—on holy ground. I was speechless. My insides were trembling. Like the two on the road to Emmaus with Jesus, my heart burned within me.
I now rank this conversation as one of the defining moments in my life. Everything up to that point felt like preparation for this one encounter. This prophecy was a watershed event in my life. That moment influenced all that came after it. It was another seed moment, the seed of a new way of life. And since that unforgettable moment, my life has not been the same. What he said to me, I now know was a prophecy—a prophecy that would in many ways shape my life, inform my identity, and focus my future. It would change the way I understood the dimension we call “spiritual.”
But what would I say to Sherry? She’d had her hopes up and down about having a baby for the past sixteen years. And there were some painful moments along the way.
I remember Sherry’s mother saying to us with heartfelt anguish, “I don’t want you growing old without children!”
Then there was the pain of being misunderstood, as one man who said to me after turning down the adoption, “Rex, this is crazy, how can you do this to Sherry?”
I thought of the Mother’s Days and Father’s Days, and of all the couples who hesitated to tell us they were pregnant for fear of hurting us.
Once Sherry was holding a baby who started to cry, and a woman thoughtlessly took the baby from her saying, “Here—let me do this, I’m a mother.”
Sixteen years of baby showers . . . for other people. I felt like Abraham going in to tell Sarah that she was about to have a baby . . . and that it would be a boy.
When I finally told her she said, “Rex, you know I have had my hopes up so many times these sixteen years only to have them dashed. I know God can do it, but I want to keep my heart neutral about this.”
So, we decided not to talk about it, keep it close, between Noviho and us.
The next evening, we gathered in our home for the Wednesday night prayer service. About eighteen of us were sitting on folding chairs in a large circle. After prayer, we were going to have a short business meeting.
“Are there any special prayer requests?” I asked the group.
Noviho stood, clutching that tattered French Bible. He said, “Our fetish friends are mocking God. They say that our God is not powerful enough to give our pastor a baby.”
Heads nodded in agreement.
I thought, Oh no! He’s about to let the cat out of the bag!
“They are mocking us for following Jesus, the one they call Le Dieu des Blancs,” (The white people’s God).
“We have all been praying for our pastor and his wife to have a baby. We have wept with them. But now we will rejoice with them, because God has given us a promise!”
Sherry and I sat there in stunned silence. Noviho told about his dream and read “the vision is for an appointed time” passage in Habakkuk. He then opened his Bible and read 1 John 5:14-15:
“Now this is the confidence that we have in Him, that if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us. And if we know that He hears us, whatever we ask, we know that we have the petitions that we have asked of Him.”
Noviho gave this example: “If you send a registered letter to your boss asking for a raise and he doesn’t respond, you don’t need to send another request. He has received the request. You know because it is registered mail.”
He then made his point. “If he doesn’t respond to your request immediately, then what are you to do?” He paused. “You supplier sans cesse!” Noviho declared. “You pray without ceasing!”
At that moment, I knew the meeting was out of my hands! Noviho’s prayer request became the only business of the night—and it was to become the main business of Le Foyer for the next nine months!
He then called on all of us to make a covenant with God and with one another. “We will remind the Lord continually of his promise, every time we meet. We will supplier sans cesse (supplicate without ceasing) until the baby is born.”
On that Wednesday evening, February 6, 1980, our small band of believers covenanted to supplicate God without ceasing until a baby was given to Pasteur et Mama Sherry.
Julienne Makany, full of the Holy Spirit and faith, broke the silence that followed Noviho’s speech. “Prions le Seigneur,” (“Let’s pray!”) she said, falling to her knees.
“God, give a child to Tata Rex and Mama Sherry.”
The prayer meeting lasted over two hours. There was spontaneous singing and praise and declarations of faith, all with one object in mind—a baby for us. Tears flowed freely. It was a deeply moving time that we will never forget!
Word was sent to village churches to join in this prayer project. News spread like wildfire to pray for Pasteur Rex and Mama Sherry to have a child.
Almost daily, the Africans would ask, “How is Mama Sherry?”
“No change,” I would reply. “Have a heart of hope,” they encouraged me. “God will do it!”
Julienne Makany especially took that dream of Sherry holding a son and ran with it. She prayed with a pure passion that bordered on violence. It was exhausting to witness. One day a couple of months later, Julienne overheard the children in the street call Sherry, “Snoopy Be No.” She understood enough Ewe to know that they were calling Sherry the mother of our dog, Snoopy. This infuriated her!
She drove straight home, walked into her room, fell on her knees, lifted her hands, and cried out to God,
“Do You hear what they are calling my pastor’s wife? They are calling her the mother of a dog! How long are You going to let my pastor’s wife be called the mother of a dog?” She was shouting now! “Give Sherry a child. Answer our prayer. Fulfill your vision to Noviho!”
Later, Julienne told Sherry, “There are some things that come only by much prayer and fasting. I never want a prayer burden like that again!” It was heavy on her day and night.
A month later, Madame Makany, as I called Julienne, pulled me aside and said, “I would like to talk to you as an older sister to a younger brother.”
Taken aback by her seriousness, I said, “Sure.”
We distanced ourselves a bit from the others and began our brother-sister talk in the kitchen. Her somber and direct tone made me nervous.
“I believe that God will give to you and Sherry a baby. But the baby that God will give to you is not like the child God gave Mary and Joseph. This baby will be given through normal means.”
She paused for effect, then added,
“Pasteur, faith without works is dead!”
“Madame Makany,” I said, “I know that,” trying to pass this off as a light-hearted joke.
But she was not joking. She didn’t crack a smile during the entire conversation.
“Well then, you need to stay home more with Mama Sherry.” She became animated.
“You are working too hard, running from one village to the next preaching and starting churches. Stay home more!”
The longer she talked, the more uncomfortable I became. I don’t have an older sister. So I suppose this is what having an older sister feels like, I thought, as she continued to press home her point.
“You are not spending enough time alone with her.”
And just in case I didn’t get it the first time, she quoted again from James 2: “La foi sans les oeuvres est morte.” (“Faith without works is dead!”)
“Yes, Ma’am,” I said and hurried back to join the others. I had been schooled by my older sister!
I couldn’t wait to tell Sherry about the talk with Julienne Makany. When I finally got alone with her, I vented some of my pent-up frustration on my wife.
“This is getting on my nerves. The Africans are so certain that God will give us a child. We were told once again by the fertility specialist last year that we couldn’t have a child. These are mostly first-generation believers. How will this affect their faith?”
“God will take care of their faith,” Sherry said softly. “Let’s give this to Him.”
Once again, we prayed and gave our barrenness, our desire for children, and my frustrations to God. During those intense and somewhat stressful months of waiting, my faith, fragile as it was, grew; I was catching the faith and passion of these African prayer warriors. I started to believe!
Supplication without ceasing was made by these African believers from February to August. And then, on August 21, 1980, Missionary Barbara Lassiter was praying in her home in the Ivory Coast. Suddenly the Holy Spirit prompted her to record in her prayer journal,
“It has been done. A baby for Sherry Holt!”
September 1, 1980, I received an emergency call from my mother. “Rex, come home. Your sister has been arrested and is in rehab for drugs and alcohol,” Mom wept. “I need you here.”
So we quickly arranged for an unexpected trip home. A large group of African friends gathered at Le Foyer to pray for us before we left. Our bags packed, we sat in the living room like wounded soldiers surrounded by a team of caring medics. They had pooled their resources and presented us with a $200 gift to help with expenses for the trip. We received it tearfully.
They had already been praying for my sister. Yaovi prayed, “Lord, heal and deliver Melody from the alcohol and drugs.” He rebuked the unclean spirits, pleaded the blood of Christ over her and cried, “Save her, Jesus!”
Yaovi then laid his hands upon Sherry and me. “And Lord, as long as there is breath in my body I will cry out to you for a child for Pasteur and Madame.”
When we arrived in Memphis, Sherry was not feeling well. We gave her a treatment of chloroquine, thinking she had malaria.
I had an emotional meeting with my sister in rehab. The doctor took me aside and said, “You might as well go back to Africa. You are too close and too involved emotionally to be of help here.”
His words bit like a rattler. Surely there is something I can do. I loved my little sister like a father. She was only two when Dad had his cerebral hemorrhage. Mom had to go to work to put food on the table for four growing kids. She took a night shift job at General Electric in Jonesboro.
At age 14, I became Mr. Mom. I tucked Melody in at night, telling her stories, getting her water, and showing her there were no monsters under the bed.
But the good doctor was right: Melody still had to hit bottom, make her choices, and get out of this horrible pit in God’s strength alone. It took awhile, but my sister had an amazing transformation. She gave her life to Christ, stopped drinking and taking drugs, and checked herself into a long-term drug and alcohol rehab in Fort Smith, Arkansas. She got involved in AA and did not turn back. Melody is a trophy of God’s amazing grace and unfailing love. I couldn’t be prouder of her. And if ever she needs prayer, she tells me, “Call the Africans!”
The next morning, Sherry woke up feeling nauseous again. I assured her the treatment of anti-malaria medication would soon take effect. However, her symptoms made us think that perhaps something else was happening. We made an appointment for some tests.
We sat waiting for the results of Sherry’s tests in a room crowded with nervous patients. Soon Brenda, a nurse friend who knew we had been married over 16 years without children, came bursting through the doors.
“It’s positive!” Brenda exclaimed. “Sherry is pregnant!”
I jumped up, lifted my hands in that crowded room and shouted, “God has answered our prayers!”
I went to the phone, called Western Union and sent a 7-word telegram to Togo, “Mama Sherry est enceinte. Gloire à Dieu!” “Mama Sherry is pregnant. Glory to God!”
The Togolese quickly sent back their reply: “We rejoice with you. There’s dancing in the streets of Lomé!”
Leaving Sherry in the States, I returned to Togo to prepare for us to be away for the birth of the baby. Arriving in Lomé, I was greeted at the airport by a cheering, singing, dancing church. After greetings, everyone came to Le Foyer.
“Let’s choose an African name for the baby,” someone suggested.
“Mawuse would be good,” said one.
“How about Mawuli?” another said.
This went on until there were seven suggested names.
“I like Mawuli,” I said, “But I want you to select the name.”
They wrote the seven Ewe names on seven slips of paper, folded them, and put them in a hat. “We will let God choose the name,” they said.
After praying, Verena, a Nigerian student, reached in and drew out a slip of paper. She opened it and read aloud, “Mawuli!” Everyone laughed and cheered! “Even the naming of this baby is a miracle!”
“Mawuli” means “God is alive.” It is the name of a first-born African son. The Africans were certain that this child would be a boy, according to the prophecy of Noviho.
After a month in Togo, I flew from Lomé to Amsterdam on KLM. Since there was no connecting flight that day for the US, I spent the night in an airport hotel and woke early the next morning. I had nearly four hours before my flight, and spent the time alone with the Lord. Looking through a Gideon Bible, I began to read Luke. I didn’t get far before the Lord lifted verses off the page and into my heart.
“Do not be afraid . . . . your prayer has been heard. Your wife will bear you a son, and you are to give him the name John. He will be a joy and delight to you, and many will rejoice because of his birth.”
Luke 1:13-15
I copied the verses onto hotel stationery and then wrote: “His name will be John Mawuli Holt. John means ‘God’s gracious gift’ and ‘Mawuli’ means ‘God is alive.’ He will be a joy and delight and many will rejoice because of his birth.”
Sherry went into labor Friday morning May 15, 1981. Around noon, Dr. Berry, our beloved physician and friend, held up the baby and said, “You have a big boy.”
I was emotionally numb. Surely, my feelings will kick in! I thought I would shout, cry, faint, dance, something! I seemed frozen, unable to respond to the moment.
My life flashed in front of me: Growing up in Arkansas, seventeen years of childlessness, the call to Africa, saying “no” to adoption, teaching African couples about marriage, the dreams and prophecies, the fervent prayers of African believers, the giving of a name, the birth of a son. It was too much to digest at once.
But on the following Sunday morning, my emotional dam broke. I was speaking at First Baptist Church of Pocahontas, Arkansas. Just before the message we sang the hymn, “Have Faith in God.” I sang with the others:
“Have faith in God when your pathway is lonely, He sees and knows all the way you have trod; Never alone are the least of His children; Have faith in God, have faith in God.”
When we got to the second verse, I started to weep.
“Have faith in God when your prayers are unanswered, your earnest plea He will never forget; Wait on the Lord, trust His Word and be patient; Have faith in God, He’ll answer yet.”
As we sang the last verse, I felt overwhelmed with the goodness and majesty of God.
“Have faith in God though all else fail about you; Have faith in God, He provides for His own; He cannot fail though all kingdoms shall perish, He rules, He reigns upon His throne.”
I burst into tearful praise as we sang the chorus:
“Have faith in God, He’s on His throne; Have faith in God, He watches over His own; He cannot fail, He must prevail; Have faith in God, Have faith in God!”
I stood up to preach, but all I could do was weep. I finally managed to say, “I am the happiest man alive.”
The people clapped for what seemed like a long time.
