See Something More

I need to tell you that I have found the most amazing spot in my entire city with the most spectacular view, and the convenience of it is too good to be true. It's right over my own head - my roof.  Climb up the Dagara ladder around 6:30 pm and you can look to the west and watch a 30 to 45 minute show of clouds and colors as the sun sets behind the mountains. If you make it up there by 5:30 am and scootch out to the farthest southern corner, you can see around the big tree with the yellow flowers and watch the sun peek over the eastern horizon. If you lay up there flat on your back at night, you can see an uncountable array of twinkling stars and this weird phenomenon that they call a star cloud that looks like the Milky Way except it's not. Or if you want to, you can stand up there and watch a rain storm blow in, like I did for the first time today.  The clouds to the north were dark and brewing, layers upon layers as far as the eye could see. They looked soft and  smooth, but

"Let me tell you a story," she said, and I leaned in a little closer to listen.  "One time, my husband saw a woman walking on the side of the road, carrying a large and heavy basket on her head. Since he was going in the same direction as she was, he stopped to offer her a ride, and she accepted. But she had never been in a car before, so even when she got situated inside, she still carried the basket on her head."  She didn't realize she could put it down. She was so used to carrying it that she didn't even see the chance to give it a rest. She may not have known another way or another option, and yet she seemed ridiculous to carry a basket on her head when she could lay it down.  It's a modern day parable for us, for many carry heavy, weighed-down, unnecessary baskets on their heads when we have been offered a place to leave them at the foot of the cross. 

With her green dress tailored made and her hair tightly curled, anyone could tell that she had dressed her very best for this day.  The day of her death, or better yet, the day of her brand new life.  That's what baptism is, you know. It's a physical representation of something so spiritually deep - the resurrection story in which we get to both receive and participate. We receive - the gift of salvation by grace through faith - because Jesus died, was buried, and resurrected to save us from our sins that separate us from God. And then we participate (or respond) to this free gift by undergoing a death to ourselves, a burial of our old lives captive to sin, and a resurrection into new life of surrender to the lordship of Jesus. All symbolized by entering the water, being immersed for the washing away of sins, and being raised again in the power of the Holy Spirit. It's kinda crazy, isn't it? Such power and significance in such an act, yet it's not the act in and of

I have to confess, when I first saw her, my heart fell. Not because of her. Because of me.  I knew she was coming to ask for medical help for her son. Again. And I wasn't sure I had the time, money, and energy to help her.  Her son was born with hypospadias, a problem that can be resolved with multiple surgeries. We had already helped him have three corrective surgeries, and now I knew it was time for the fourth, but I couldn't help but silently ask how many it was going to take...because this stuff is not cheap.  I graciously told her that I needed time to think and pray about it and that I would get back to her as soon as possible.  I prayed about it once, and I kept thinking about how we can't literally help everybody and how we need to learn to say no. We've already helped is kid here times. Plus his mom says he is doing fine; he doctor just thinks he needs one more surgery to wrap everything up. It's not a life or death situation. If there was ever a time to sa

After the lesson had been taught, the skit had been performed, the coloring sheets passed out, and the little craft bracelets tied to all their little hands, you would have thought that the program was over. We could have packed up the cars and gone home, but instead we looked into over four hundred little pairs of children's eyes that didn't want us to leave, and so we loved them in their love language: play.  Soccer balls. Frisbees. Jump ropes. Bubbles. Kites. The open field turned into a full-blown circus. Some little groups huddled together in different parts of the field - a little pod over here chasing bubbles and a little pod over there tossing a ball in a small circle. Then there were other kids who were just all over the place, weaving in and out of the huddles because of a wildly thrown frisbee or because they are trying to keep a kite up in the air.   I particularly loved watching one team member run around the field flying the superman kite he brought on an absolute

The phone rang and I saw that it was Madame Kambire, so I answered with an enthusiastic "Bonjour!" Madame Kambire is sweet middle-aged woman who helped take care of Phoebe, one of her elderly family members, when we helped her receive a medical intervention.  To make a long story short,  Phoebe had a prolapsed uterus for five years before finally seeking help with social services here in our town back in March of this year. When social services didn't have enough funding to help her, they reached out to our missionary team because they know we help people.  Since she had a medical reference to go to Bobo, that's where we sent her, even though we know and trust the doctors in Ouaga better. I guess there is a reason for that. She ended up sitting outside the hospital for days and then waiting for weeks to have a surgery. When she was finally admitted, someone broke into her room and stole all of her money, worth about $180. After the surgery, she had a secondary problem

"Here we are," I announced with excitement as we rounded a corner around some bushes and found the church meeting under a thatched hangar. After following foot paths for a few kilometers in my giant vehicle, I began to think that I might have taken a wrong turn and ended up in the middle of nowhere, but it's always that way. Just when you think you are lost, you find a little gathering of believers meeting in their village in indigenous worship. It doesn't need an announcement really, because there is no doubt about it when you arrive.  I pulled the vehicle under the shade of a tree and cut the engine. Suddenly, the joyful sound of singing, clapping, and a drum beat filled the air. The lively color of the sounds matched the vibrant color of the church - everyone dressed in the pagnes and traditional wear. Poverty in its Sunday best.  We joined them, wholly participating yet wholly observing as both are equally important and holy.  I noticed how their worship involved

They arranged the benches, set up the tables, hung the scale, and put everything - the thermometers, the malaria tests, the milk powder, and even the little gift bags - in place. Now we just waited to see who would come.  Our infants in distress program includes a monthly milk distribution such as this. I use the phrase "such as this" lightly because this day was particularly special. Instead of having one distribution in town and one in the village for the convenience of the attendants, we called everyone together under one roof. Instead of having it on a Friday, we changed it to a Thursday because of a national holiday. And instead of giving everyone a notice one month in advance, Rebeca had to rush around the entire province last week on her moto to inform as many mothers and caregivers as possible of the date, time, and location change.  Oh, and it rained the night before. It would be amazing if many people came at all.  But they did. One at a time. Walking as many as fif

Somewhere in the village of Badiéré, a woman prays to God with a cry for help. She prays that God will remember the situation of her village, the suffering of her family, and their need for clean water.  Somewhere in the state of Ohio, a family prays for God to show them how they can serve his kingdom around the world. They pray that he will reveal to them how they can help ease the pain of a hurting and broken world in the name of Jesus.  Today those two prayers collided. And God provided his answer through  one event.  The women of the church in Badiéré met under the shade of a tree, and just when you thought one more person couldn't fit, one more squeezed in. They left a small opening in the middle of them, just for dancing. They took turns leading songs of worship and adoration while a man patted out the rhythm of their dancing feet with a djembe. It was as if each woman wanted a chance to lead her favorite song, and then the rest joyfully joined in as if to say, yes, we like t