See Something More

I regarded the tapestry displayed on the wall, first noticing how beautifully colorful it was, and then seeing how also intricate it was. If you looked close enough, you could see the one sparkling thread that made the whole piece shimmer. That thread by itself would not be remarkable, but without that thread woven into he tapestry, the masterpiece would certainly be much less remarkable. It is almost as if the string is nothing by itself, but when woven into the tapestry, it makes the whole design extraordinary.   In Hebrews 11, the "Hall of Faith", I might have noticed something I never noticed before - a little sparkling thread that weaves all the stories of these great heroes of faith together. I used to think that single thread was faith. It is faith that connects them all, but when I look closer, I see how this one hread shimmers and sparkles. I begin to see something more.  The one common thing made their faith extraordinary is this: a hope in something not yet seen or

I feel like telling a story even though it's not yet finished. In fact, I have a feeling it's only the beginning, but it's a beginning worth sharing.  Joël touched my heart from the moment I met him. He didn't smile much, but I guess I wouldn't either if I was in his condition. At thirteen years old, he was crippled because he busted one knee when he fell off his bike two years ago. He had to stop going to school, used a bent stick for a cane, and had little hope for things to ever be different.  There was something deep inside of him though. Something that I couldn't see but wanted to find. He had a stength and a gentleness about him, and I wanted to do what I could to help him.  That started a long strand of phone conversations, meeting arrangements, travel organization, doctor visits, X-rays, scans, and a biopsy here in Burkina Faso. When they determined there was nothing left to be done except amputate the leg (which is almost worse than a death sentence in

Transformation happens quietly, sometimes going completely unnoticed until you wake up one day and realize things have changed. How did it happen, we ask and wonder because it happens so gradually that we miss it. I like to pray for eyes awake  enough to see transformation when it happens, and sometimes I even pray for eyes acute enough to see it in process.  I saw it first the other day when Bobakebée took the cup I was drinking out of and took a big swig. "Bobakebée!" I exclaimed, "that was mine!" He handed it back to me with a laugh and a mischievous look on his face, but I replied with just enough agitation, "No, it's yours now."  Bobakebée drinking out of any unlabeled cup laying around was not what surprised me. Rather, it was what happened next. I watched him go to the cup drawer, fill up a clean cup with clean water, and bring it right to me. All annoyance was erased in that moment as I smiled and gave him a huge thank you. The Bobakebée that w

The day started at 6:30 in the morning for me as I loaded the car in preparation for our trip to Ouagadougou. Although I wanted to leave by 7:00, it wasn't until 8:00 that the car had all of its expected passengers: Rebeca and her twin daughters, Naab  and Ziem, Lucie, and Poubezaola with her cousin. Let's just say it was a party in there.  Each of these people were in need of medical care, so let's just stop right here for a reality check. The ability that you have to drive down the road to a medical clinic or hospital to see a doctor and get blood work or other diagnostic testing is not something to take for granted because the majority world doesn't have that. We fall in that category, which is why I load my car up with sick or hurting people and drive them four hours away to a place they've never been just to get an X-ray or an EKG. Reality check: there are people in the poorest places  of the world who die from lack of access to medical care.  We arrived to Oua

A nice, good long rain on Tuesday night made for a spectacular outing on Wednesday morning.  Goal: find and invite orphans who have graduated from the infants in distress program to come for a big celebration party in a few days.  Method: invitation only works by word of mouth and the handing out of a simple invitation with the time and date and a little black and white party clip art from good old Microsoft word.   Plan: take the car, leave early in the morning, hit six different villages, touch as many kids as possible in those villages, and get back in time for kids' club at 1500.  But things hardly go as planned.  Evidence number one: it rained wonderfully and practically all night long on Tuesday, making a muddy mess Wednesday morning. It also meant the electricity was out all over town, so we had to wait for it to come back on before making photocopies of the invitation and then finally leaving around 10:00am. So much for an early start!  With Rebeca in the front seat directi

I stood on top of the hill and watched it all unfold. At first it was just a wall of dark clouds on the horizon in the distance, the kind that make you wonder if it's coming your way or not. Then gradually darker clouds started rolling over the tops of the distant mountains, the ones that tuck our town in the valley where it is nestled.  Everything within me said to run and take cover, yet something deeper within me also said to stay and watch. It  was only a moment before the wind came. I could see it long before I could feel it. It came over the tops of the same mountains, only it was brown, and it was fast. It picked up more and more dirt and tossed it higher and higher into the air. I watched it creep into town, invading like smoke first in between the houses and huts, filling the streets and any low lying space with dust, then billowing higher until even the roofs and tops of the trees were buried in the dust cloud. It was only then that I felt it, and it wasn't like a gen

How have you seen Jesus today? I think you could ask just about anybody who knows me right now and they would confirm that this is my favorite question. It's my favorite question to ask and my favorite one to answer. I love using it as a conversation starter around the dinner table. I love asking it at the end of the day. I especially love making a habit out of it. The truth is - if you make a habit out of it and start asking youself  every day, you will be truly amazed a how much you begin to recognize the presence of Christ in your daily, ordinary  life.  I was taught as a little girl that our God is an invisible God, which I suppose is true in the sense that I can't see Jesus like I can see my friend sitting on a couch across the room from me. But I don't think it's fair to call him an invisible God because he is very, very much visible.  Look at creation. Look at the love of a mother for her child. Look at answered prayers. Look at servant hearts. Look at how circum

Wherever I go, I get introduced as a nurse. In the Dagara language, there is not even a word for "nurse", so they introduce me as a doctor. To be known as a medical professional is a good thing, but it can also be a really hard thing when you are living in West Africa.  It means that whatever disease or problem a person has, I'm supposed to be able to do something about it. It means that everyone comes to me with their medical problems. And sometimes it means me feeling utterly overwhelmed and helpless.  This happened to me the other day in a certain village. After our team had finished leading the church gathering, we were preparing to pack up the cars and go home. That's when all the sick people started coming to me. Stomach aches. Diarrheas and fevers. Open sores and rashes that I knew nothing about. Peripheral vascular disease and venous ulcers. Bumps and abscesses. Goiters and hernias. I gave out a couple of presciptions and a tube of triple antibiotic ointment t

Walking the dirt paths of the village as the sun set was like going back in history or standing in the pages of National Geographic. It felt surreal, and I almost wanted to blink my eyes or pinch my skin to wake me up from this beautiful dream, but I knew that this was real. The barefoot children holding my hands and smiling shyly whenever their gaze caught mine were real. The ancient, larger-than-life baobab tree and its  chalky  fruit that that tastes like natural fruit loops was real. The women drawing water out of an open well, three at a time in a rythmyic dance, was real. Life in the village is very real, very raw. It is very simple, yet very hard.  When our team arrived in this village, we immediately noticed its distinct characteristics that set it apart from the rest. Most Dagara villages are flat and spread out across a plain, but this little village was tucked away in the hills. We parked the cars right beside one of these small mountains and then ascended to the sound of si

The village of Tankiedougou has a population of around three thousand, a mixed group of Dagara, Mossi, and Fulani who all get along well in their simple agricultural lifestyle.  They have a school and a church and a small market. They even have a well. And that's where their story begins.  The hand pump well is the preferred spot to get water, which also means that the majority of people go there so that it's overcrowded all the time. If you aren't the first in line, you end up waiting hours just to fill up a few jugs.  That's why some women opt to fill up at the hand dug well, which has an open top much like Snow White's wishing well. This well's water is not clean like the hand pump since anything and everything can fall in it, and the buckets used to pull water out also introduce bacteria and disease. In the dry season, the well runs almost completely dry. The muddy bottom of the well is visible, but the women still throw their buckets down, wait for them to