See Something More

I recognized her immediately as soon as she pulled up, sitting on the back of a moto behind her father. It was obvious that she was the one that was sick. She was the reason they had come to the hospital this evening.  I was already at the hospital, waiting for Rebeca to arrive so that she could show me some test results for her daughter who had been sick. In the meantime, I recognized this little girl as Marie, the sweet and smart young lady of about eleven years old who has a light skin tone and a beautiful smile. She comes to kids' club every Wednesday.  I peeked my head into the consultation room where they took her. She sat in the middle of the room on a metal chair, shaking and trembling uncontrollably. Anytime anyone tried to touch her, she flinched like it hurt or like she didn't want anyone to touch her. She could not speak.  "What has happened?" I asked her father.  "She's in a crisis. This has never happened before."  As the doctor began asses

One of my favorite things about life in Africa is attending church in the village. I love it so much that I wish each one of you could just come and experience it for yourself... ...to see the dust flying as the hard soles of weathered feet dance to the rhythm of the drum, which is really just an empty plastic water jug that an old man beats with a stick. ...to feel the sun on your face as it filters through the tree leaves and forms delicate patterns on the ground.  ...to hear the sound of men and women singing at the tops of their voices in a language with unusual sounds and distinct syllables that make my tongue bounce when I try to pronounce them.  Maybe one day you will, but until then, I will do my best to paint a picture with my words, to tell it to you like you are walking through it with me.  You will know when you arrive at the church. You can't miss it. After bouncing down dirt roads that appear to go nowhere, suddenly you break into a clearing or turn around a bend and

"Do you have a favorite story in the Bible?" I asked. She was sitting in the passenger seat, so I glanced her way before directing my eyes back to the red dirt road in front of us.  She was thinking.  "Ever since I was in primary school, I have loved the story of Joseph." She recounted how he dreamed and how all his brothers hated him for it. She recalled how God was with him in all his troubles and how he was able to forgive his brothers at the end of the story. "I want to be like that," she said.  Our conversation ended as we pulled up to a nice little family compound with a courtyard and hopped out so begin our visit. We had barely said our hellos and greetings when her phone rang and her face fell.  "Zieme is not doing well," she announced, the look of a worried mother on her face.  She had already told me that her daughter, Zieme, had malaria. She had already started treatment, but that doesn't mean things can't take a turn for the w

The end-of-the-year summer camp for third culture kids (TCKs) includes all the normal things you would expect at any camp - cabins where you are supposed to sleep except there's hardly any time for that, a swimming pool where you spend most of your free time, silly games, sweet snacks, water balloons, capture the flag, late nights, pranks, and sunburns.  But in the middle of all the fun and activities were some extraordinary times of worship and teaching each morning and evening. I was blessed to be able to participate in camp this year as a part of the worship team, which was perfect because I simply  love worship. I don't claim to have a microphone-worthy voice, and I'm certainly not the world's greatest guitar player, but for some reason they asked me to lead, and I think it must be because I just love to worship.  In fact, that's what I hope is said of me when I die: "That girl, she loved to worship."    So, put camp and worship together and you have o

Late one evening, as I was sitting in my room by myself and reading, something interrupted my sweet silence.  It was quiet, but undeniable. Like someone had gently plucked the highest string of my guitar, which was resting against the wall in the corner of my room - the corner to which my back was turned.  I froze, but I did not turn around. This was partly because I did not really want to see who or what had made that noise. I knew that I was in the room by myself, but in a flash of a moment, my mind considered the fact that someone could have intruded and plucked the single string of my guitar, or I entertained the wild notion that a ghost wanted me to be aware of his presence in the quiet stillness.  More realistically, it could have been a mouse or a giant lizard...both of which I have found evidence in my room, but neither of which I particularly wanted to turn around and find face to face in this moment. I let the after-silence ring loud before I mentally determined that I must t

The pattern in the dust looked beautiful and intentional, like brush strokes on a canvas, but this artwork was done by children with a broom made of stiff grass.  Last week when we had sat under this same tree to do our Sunday school with the children, it was overgrown and the children sat on mats with little branches poking through. But this week, in preparation and anticipation of our arrival, the children had worked together to pull out all the scraggly bushes. They had removed all the rocks and plucked all the weeds. They had even swept the dirt, making circular patterns in the dust.  I watched as they laid out mats on the ground and sat down quietly, already attentive to hear the Word of God again.  Before one word was out of our mouths, a shirtless man marched up to the shade of our tree and started brashly speaking to us in Dagara. The eyes of the children were fixed on him, and they heard every word he said. Even though I can't speak Dagara, I could understand that he was n

Why am I so tired all the time?  Maybe it's the heat. It is relentlessly and inescapably over 100 degrees, and the sun burns like we are only ten degrees off the equator. Maybe it's a lack of exercise. I haven't been doing that as much as I should.  Or perhaps I'm anemic or even have a thyroid problem.  I just can't figure out why I go to bed feeling so exhausted every night, sleep long and hard, and then still  want to take a nap the next day and go to bed early again.  I was reading Exodus 17 the other day when I found the first mention of Joshua in the Bible. The story in Exodus 17 is actually mainly told about Moses. You probably didn't even know Joshua was in it. It's the story of the battle against the Amalekites and how Moses had to hold up his arms to win the victory. When he got tired, he had some guys (Aaron and Hur) help him hold his arms up.  But what was Joshua doing this whole time? He was down on the battle field, engaging in war, totally unaw

" As for me, I will always have hope; I will praise you more and more."  -  Psalm 71:14  With a pencil in hand, I followed each word with the tip as I read Psalm 71. When I came to this verse, I stopped at the end of the line and read it again, retracing the same invisible path with my pencil lead. I finally decided to put the pencil to paper and make visible the trace of my pencil's tip as I underlined that one phrase that stood out above the rest. More and more .  Most things in this life wax and wane. They increase and decrease. They go through seasons. Ups and downs. Our emotions and thoughts, our passions and ambitions, even our actions.  Sometimes it seems like a roller coaster, going up and down and all around and then stopping for a few moments to get a new crew on board before doing it all over again. It can seem like everything is just moving in a circular rotation, like what goes round comes around. Like nothing is new under the sun. Is there really anything th