"Thank you, thank you. Thank you very much."

Thank you, originally uploaded by Boyznberry.

Juli, Allison and I went to see Hannah again today.

I asked if I can take photos. She was happy to let me photograph her as she visited with Juli, Allison and her other daughters. "Other" daughters, because she calls us her daughters, too. Even though she has 7 of her own.

Hannah's health has deteriorated since I had last seen her 5 days ago. Her speech is getting more slurred. The tumor seems to be showing up below her left eye, too. She is obviously having a lot of pain.

Yet she continues to rejoice in Jesus. She broke out in worship songs a few times again during our visit. When I gave her a box of soy milk to try, hoping that it would be easier for her body to digest, she held it with both hands, lifted it up, and said a prayer of thanksgiving to God for his provision.

We left when it was clear that Hannah needed to rest. But as we paused outside in the garden and visited with the family, we heard her voice from her room, "Thank you. Thank you very much..." and saw her skinny hand waiving at us. Nancy explained how they appreciate the visits. We do, too. It's a joy to go and spend some time with her and her family, pray together, worship God together...

I'll be going back early next week to take photos of their entire family. I look forward to doing that.

In the meantime, please join me in praying for a miracle for Hannah!

(Click on the photo to see more pictures from today's visit.)

Wise Words from the Elderly

The old man shuffled into the mud living room. I stood up to greet him, respectfully holding my right arm with my left hand as I shook his hand. He wore a suit for the visit. And a felt hat. We quickly made room for him to sit, but not before he shook hands with every person on the team.

I was on a home visit with the visiting team from APU, and we were at the home of two of our staff members, Mark Tarus and Sally. Sally's daughter Damaris introduced us to her grandfather. "He's 104," she told us. (Someone later said he's almost 100, so I'm not entirely sure how old he is. But he's old. Very old.)

The team started asking Agui (grandfather) questions, which Damaris translated back and forth.

"If you could impart any wisdom to us, what would it be?" Adriel wanted to know.

"Serve God. Live a good life."

"What should we eat to become as old as you?"

"Eat whatever you want. Enjoy life."

"Should we eat ugali?" Zach asked.

"You wazungu don't eat ugali."

We laughed at his spunk, and when Gogo (grandma) came in with three thermos flasks full of chai, she joined him on the couch.

"Tell us how you met," I asked.

Sally stepped into the room with trays full of cups. "They are old. In our culture, in their day, their parents decided who they will marry. Both of them have always lived in this area, so their parents knew each other."

"You mean to tell me," I joked, "it's not that you noticed the handsome young man tending cattle in the field?" Gogo croaked with laughter. Agui gave just a chuckle.

They told us about their wedding, about the years when she was brewing alcohol, of how she got to know Jesus and introduced him to Christ, too, how they've been serving God for the last 30 years.

We asked about their ear piercings, and Damaris was sent to fetch an old, wooden container with arrows in it. Gogo demonstrated how they used the arrows to cut their ears, and how they would insert wooden rings in them week after week to stretch the ears. "Some of my friends had ears that hung to their chests," she chuckled.

After we shared some Bible verses with them and prayed for their family, we walked home, blessed by the time in their home.

We were invited in to another house on our way home. "Adele, come on in!" I honestly didn't think I knew the neighbor, but we went in to meet his family. His name was Timothy, ("You can call me Tim-Tim.") and he wants me to come and preach at a youth event tomorrow.

"Maybe another time," I explained. "I have commitments with the team tomorrow."

And that was but a two-hour snippet from our day. It's been a good day. A day full of opportunities to bless and to be blessed.

Little Mom, Big Heart

Earlier this week, I had the honor of meeting a mother and son with smiles that etched itself in my heart. "Come on a home visit with me," Juli invited me on Wednesday morning. "You'd love to meet my new friends."

On our way, Juli filled me in on the story. The mom, known to us only as Mama Daniel, had brought her son to our clinic in January. Both of them are little people, and the 5-year-old Daniel had problems with his spine. Our clinic staff referred him to the AIM hospital in Kijabe, the best hospital in the area for him to get surgery. "I always leave clinics crying," the mom explained to us. "But when I left your clinic, for the first time, I wasn't crying. I had hope." And so, last month, Daniel received corrective spinal surgery.

Last Sunday, this young mother had walked the 8 miles or so to church and has shared her heart at that time. Standing up in front of the congregation, hardly visible to anyone in the back, Mama Daniel shared how she had come to thank God for the surgery her son had received. She explained that she never went to church "because I always thought church can only be for tall people. But now I know that I can come here."

"What would you have me learn from this family, Lord," I wondered as I drove, pulling over to the side of the road a few times, asking for directions. Time and again, we'd be pointed to the next junction and told to ask there again. Everyone knew about this family, and my heart ached thinking about the challenges they face in a culture that is less than friendly to anyone with a handicap. And to make things worse, as Luyas, they hold tight to superstition.

In fact, the first thing I noticed about Daniel's baby brother is the string around his hips. I asked about it later, wondering if it has the same meaning as in Mozambique: a sign that the mother has taken the child to a witchdoctor for prayers of protection. I was told no, it's a wish for him to have big buttocks. (!)

Back to Daniel and his mom, though. The body cast, stretching from his hips all the way to his arms, may be limiting his movement, but it's not curbing his smile. Not even for a moment. I asked if I could take pictures, and the mom agreed with a smile as big as that of her son's. We asked about their family, about Daniel's health, about life. Every time, the 4-foot-mom answered with a big smile, "Mzuri sana." (Everything's very well.) Yet we weren't offered chai, certainly not because we weren't welcome, but more likely because the family had none to offer visitors.

As we went into their mud hut to pray for Daniel, his mom, and his little brother Darius, the mom removed the floral shirt her smiling son was wearing so we could see the cast. She asked that we also pray for her mother, who was traveling. Immediately after the prayer, Daniel said he'd like to see the car we came in. He's just like any other little boy, I thought. I hope he gets a chance someday to drive his own car. But in this culture, chances are slim.

As we walked to the car, little Daniel's bare buttocks stuck out under his shirt as he walked hand-in-hand with Juli. He was smiling from ear to ear, excited about having had his own visitors for the day.

May he know you, Lord, I prayed. May he know the God who delights in him. And may he show others someday what it means to be a giant in God's army, his small stature despite.

Thursday Night

I am heading to bed. Today, after we (the visiting team and I) got back from visiting a group of people whose lives have been transformed by God through ELI, I started feeling queezy. My body's aching and my tummy feels unpredictable. It may have been something in the chai or mandazi we had...

I'll upload pictures and stories tomorrow. Right now, I need to head to bed. I took some NightQuil. It should help.