Precious

My new puppy, Precious, lives up to her name. She is awfully sweet and makes me laugh at all her puppy-like antics.

They Eat Dogs, You Know

One of my neighbors is a man who takes care of the house and yard of some missionaries who are currently in the U.S. He waters the plants, looks after the two dogs, and keeps a general eye on the house and neighborhood activity. Recently, a third dog appeared in his yard. My friend and I asked him who owned the dog.

He did, he said. The dog was one of a litter of puppies and all the other dogs were sold off to people who wanted to eat them. Yes, people do eat dogs here! So he had valiantly saved this one puppy. Then, with a frown on his face and a wide gesture with his arm at all of my neighbors' houses, he pronounced with disgust, “Everyone around here eats dogs!” He did point out graciously that one of my neighbors was not among the dog-eating community, but most certainly everyone else is!

Afterwards, I asked my friend if it was true. Yes, she said. Even that one neighbor who loves dogs and always has dogs at his house? She nodded. Especially him! Hmmm... come to think of it, all of his dogs disappeared recently. Oooh...okay, now I know why. And now I know why he's been asking if my dog will have puppies any time soon!

So now I am extremely thankful for my walled-in backyard where my two dogs stay securely hidden away from the rest of the neighborhood. Believe me, they won't be coming out to roam around...ever! It's awful to think about people wanting to eat my dogs, but they must think I'm pretty funny for only keeping them as pets. A pretty ironic situation, I guess- a dog-lover living in a neighborhood of dog-eaters!

Life As Normal and Not

I'm getting back into the swing of normal life here after the new year. We had a very quiet Christmas and New Years here, followed by our annual missionary conference four hours south of here. Despite getting sick with a lung infection and a stomach bug, everything has been getting back to business as usual. I'm still working in the children's library. The girls at the girls' hostel are back to school. And life here moves steadily forward.

But earlier this month, I asked the Lord what He has for me this year. Does He want me to continue the library, working at the girls' hostel, and teaching Sunday school teachers? Or does He have something different in mind for me to do? In a way, He began to answer that question last week.

I was preparing to teach my class for Sunday school teachers again, as well as a class on leading children to Christ. But to my surprise, no one signed up. We heard there was interest, but no one came to register. So, despite my preparations for class, we canceled my classes for this semester. I will probably not teach again until September. This leaves a big gap in my schedule!

I had also been having some conversations with friends about the girls' hostel and improvements in the buildings and living situation that can be made for both the girls' and boys' hostels. I hadn't expected to do much about this situation, since I was unsure of what to do about it. But suddenly people were asking me about it and wanted to help me make some changes. So when my classes were canceled, I chuckled. “So, Lord, this is what You had in mind?”

Now I have the time and the manpower to help these 200 plus children living at the hostel away from their families. This week, there will be a hostel board meeting and we can start making some decisions about how to guide these children in their physical, spiritual, emotional, and academic needs. Please pray for us as we make these decisions and pray for me that the Lord will really guide me in my activities this year.

Another Dog?

Yes, I have two dogs now. Sorry, no picture at this time, but one will come soon. Angel, my German shepherd, was reluctant to accept Precious, my two month old “bush dog” puppy, but today she allowed Precious to take a nap right on top of her. And Precious seems to be getting over all this crying and howling at night, much to my neighbors' relief! Precious was one of a litter of very malnourished puppies who were not well taken care of by their mother. Being as there is no humane society here and I have a tender heart for puppies, I rescued Precious and brought her home. She is doing very well, getting that “fat puppy” look to her and having fun roaming around such a big yard. Her favorite things to do are eat, take a nap in her cardboard “house”, play with her new tennis ball, and, when my head is close enough to her face, grab a chunk of my hair in her teeth and yank as hard as possible! Ouch! I think two dogs will be my limit of pets, especially since half of my fridge space is taken up by homemade dog food! But they are great company for me, and I'm thankful for them.

At the Funeral

In Africa, death is a part of everyday life. One day, someone complains of a headache. The next day he is dead, and no one really knows why. It happens that way all the time. So people here will cry and mourn and bury their loved one. Then they move on. That's all they can do. There's usually not a lot of answers to why people die here. And people just expect to die young, so every day that they live, they count it as a blessing.

For me, who has not experienced a lot of death, it is hard to grieve and move on so quickly, to treat death as a very normal part of life, like paying taxes or going to the grocery store. For western society, I think death is usually unexpected, and when it comes, all normal life seems to stop and pause for a moment so that we can catch our breath and then try to move on, as best we can. It is interesting how differently two cultures view death.

This week, the younger brother of a friend of mine died. He had been sick for a while and was in the hospital. Then, he suddenly felt better. He got out of bed and danced for his family, telling them he thought he was finally getting better. He told his sister to cook some spaghetti and bring it for him the next day. And then, after most of his family left that evening, he died.

A missionary colleague of mine and I went to his burial today. We went to the graveyard, which was actually just a field overgrown with bushes. No headstones or fancy statues. No caretaker trimming the grass around each plot. No bouquets of flowers on the graves. Just a mass of bushes with little dirt paths weaving through it. The men of the church and family went to find a plot to bury the body, and after several tries (they kept finding that they were digging into someone else's grave!) they found a place. Just a hole in the ground to place the casket. No markers or memorials. No time or money to bother with memorializing the dead. It made me realize how this is such a normal part of life that if fancy funeral services and beautiful headstones were done for each person who died, no one would have time or money for anything else!

It made me sad to watch the service, but thankful, too. Thankful that God gives me little opportunities like this to see things from a different and new perspective. I don't think I ever want to see death as so normal that I barely give time to grieve or memorialize that person in my own mind. Rather, I want to see the hope in it all. Death shouldn't be some shock to us. We know we will all die someday. It shouldn't be viewed as so common that we don't give it another thought, either. This life is fleeting and death can come very unexpected. But for those of us who belong to Jesus Christ, we can embrace that fact and celebrate that soon we will be home with Jesus, away from this world and all it's hardships. I want to remember those who have died, who have made impacts in my life, and grieve them properly. But, oh the joys of heaven! May we view each day as a blessing and heaven as our reward!

Naaman's Dance

I often heard the story of Naaman from the Bible (2 Kings 5) when I was a little girl. I imagined this man with these white sores from leprosy all over his arms and legs dipping into the muddy waters of the Jordan. But a few weeks ago, I heard Naaman's story told in a new way, vivid and wonderful and moving.
Here in Africa, many beggars on the street have only stubs instead of hands and feet because of leprosy. Although non-contagious, they permanently bear the signs of the disease and are shunned because of it. Even children understand what leprosy is and that a leper is an outcast. Naaman's story is familiar and real in this culture.
So when I was nearing the end of the 10 week course I was teaching to Sunday school teachers and I was about to assign each teacher a story to teach in front of the class to demonstrate their skills, I thought of Naaman's story. I assigned Elizabeth, a good teacher and a gifted story teller, to teach the story of Naaman.
After weeks of hard work, teaching the teachers to apply gospel truths throughout their Bible lessons, and spending hours with the teachers to help them prepare and write out their lessons, each teacher got up and presented their various stories: Saul's conversion, Jesus calming the storm, and blind Bartimaeus.
Finally, it was Elizabeth's turn. She came to the front and began her lesson with a heart wrenching story of a little boy who went to school each day with a bleeding, oozing sore on his leg. He was shunned and rejected by his friends and his teachers, although he could do nothing about his condition. Just like Naaman. Perhaps, said Elizabeth, no one wanted to eat in the same room as Naaman any more because of the disease. Perhaps he felt very alone and rejected. But there was hope. Elisha the prophet of God, could pray to God to heal Naaman. His solution, though, was to dip in the muddy Jordan river. After feeling furious and insulted at the thought, Naaman finally went down into the river. Elizabeth held her hands out in front of her, curling her fingers into her palms, making her hands look like gnarled stubs, just like the hands of the beggars we see on the street almost everyday. Naaman was disfigured, unclean, rejected. But he began to dip down into the water. One. Elizabeth dipped down. Two, three, four, five. She looked at her stubs of hands. No change. Six. The hands were still completely disfigured. Seven. And as Elizabeth, playing the part of Naaman, came up, she lifted her hands into the air, her fingers suddenly extended, her hands made whole, her arms lifted in praise, amazement, celebration. And she began to dance, a jubilant dance across the front of the room, for she was made whole. No more rejection.
All my childhood imaginations of a sore covered man coming up the seventh time with clean skin, coming calmly out of the water, were gone. I understood. It was real. I think Elizabeth got it right. I finally understood those feelings of rejection and disfigurement that Naaman must have felt. And the joy when he became whole. Whole. Whole hands and whole feet.
He must have danced. I'm sure he did.
Thank you, Elizabeth, for giving me a new understanding of Naaman.

Reading in the Children's Library

The pictures say it all: