Story by Helen Talo with Susan FreyPhoto by Susan Frey
I was 15 years old when my father first met that crazy white man and his wife. It was a formative age, when I was really beginning to differentiate bad from good.
My father would meet the white couple, Robbie and Debbie Petterson, in one of the vacant rooms at the hospital. He would come home with stories that they had written in our own language, Mouwase. The stories were fun and easy for me to understand. Sometimes I would read them out loud and my family would laugh and enjoy hearing them.
They were translating the Word of God into our dialect, and it was lovely to hear. Whenever dad finished translating a portion from the book of Luke, he would read it to us. Our people still don’t understand the story of Jesus, because it is written in a foreign language. I thank our Father in heaven that He brought these two crazy white people to translate the Gospel message from Luke into our dialect. When I read it, it is easy to understand, and I really feel that Jesus speaks my language too.