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The back of the flat bed truck was loaded up with children, their mats for sleeping, and their buckets for bathing when we pulled out of the city and headed to the country for our first ever weekend kids' camp. I positioned myself on a sac of rice between the generator and the ice chest, and I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into position with each bump along the rocky dirt roads.  All the way - a full one and a half hours - the children sang and clapped at the top of their lungs. As we passed through the villages, people stopped to watch and listen. I think the praises could be heard from a kilometer away, and they were certainly heard in heaven. The excitement only continued to build as we pulled up to one village and loaded more children in the back. Just when you thought no one else could fit, add thirty more! And then when we arrived to our destination, at least two hundred children had gathered and were waiting for us there.  The theme for camp 2017 is "J

A seemingly normal Wednesday afternoon was suddenly interrupted by a phone call. Social services had found a two-day old baby that had been thrown away in a plastic bag and left in a cemetery.  Rebeca and Juliette both dropped everything they were doing to be with the baby. Juliette got up so quick that she left her phone and wallet at her house. Rebeca was in the middle of getting her hair done, but she didn't wait to finish. Instead, she showed up at the hospital with only half of her head arranged.   They cleaned dirt off the baby girl and pulled worms out of her eyes and ears. She had bruises on her abdomen and neck. Wounds on her legs. Her eyes were red and swollen shut. The placenta had still been attached. No one had any idea who her family was or what had happened.  Of course social services had called on Rebeca to take the baby and of course she accepted without hesitation. After they finished cleaning the baby, Rebeca took her to her house, and that's whe

She pulled up a three legged stool, but it's not what you might initially picture. It's only about twelve inches high and it's made out of local wood, smoothed from many years of use. Her aged knees bent deeply until she lowered herself onto the stool, and she propped up her foot and began to unwind the bandage. She exposed a raw, but clean wound that was healing around the edges. She was bit by a snake a little over a month ago that left her with a significant crater-like wound that covers almost the entire top surface of her foot. Daniel, an African nurse, has been coming to her house every three days to change the dressing. The gaping hole has now become a healthy wound bed that is steadily healing.  As he worked, she talked and laughed. She was truly delightful, joyful, and unbelievably thankful. If that had been my wound, I would have been crying and complaining. Probably totally discouraged, even angry. But she seemed to be just the opposite. Listening to her sto

Although it was after dinner and the kids normally go straight to bed, I wasn't tired and neither were they, so I offered to teach them a game.  I've never seen anybody have so much fun with Hot Potato in my entire life. We didn't even have a ball, so we used a rolled up skirt from somebody's dirty laundry, but that didn't stop anybody from having a good time. They laughed and cackled every time the music stopped, and we played over and over again for at least an hour.  The other night, the Lord put something on my heart for this family that I am living with - a widow with her six young children. I want my presence in their family to be memorable and encouraging, and because of that, I was laying in bed at night thinking about how to initiate something that would bless and strengthen them spiritually. I thought some form of nightly family devo would be good, but I didn't really know how to start it.  So after the heated game of hot potato (pun inten

I had no idea what she was saying, but she was passionate about it. Even if you don't speak her language, you can see it in her eyes and hear it in her tone. You can see it in the way she moves her hands and touches her heart. She loves talking about the Lord.  My greatest joy in the whole world right now is to watch her and our other teammates who are like her as God uses them to touch this place and it's people.  They teach children. They lead worship. They care for the sick. They welcome orphans. They install and repair water wells. They preach the word of God. They engage in normal activities and conversations and then introduce Jesus right into the middle of it, encouraging people everywhere to put their faith in God.  And I am awed to the point of speechlessness that the Lord has given me the joy of watching him work through them.  This week I moved into the neighborhood. I gave up the house, packed my belongings in a suitcase and a bucket, and moved in

I leaned over to Rebeca and whispered, "Please help me if there is something I need to do or not do, because I haven't been to many funerals." And I had never been to one as personal as this one.  Juliette's uncle had died, and he was the closet male relative that she had. I wanted to support Juliette by attending the funeral, but I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't had Rebeca and Delphine with me. I watched their every move and did exactly as the did. After living here three years, I'd like to say that I've learned the dagara culture and how to behave in many circumstances, but when it comes to funerals, I feel like I just stepped off the plane. Dagara funerals are so rich in culture and tradition, that I honestly feel awkward, uncomfortable even. The last thing I want to do is offend someone, but the practices are just so foreign that I feel lost.  First of all, a dagara funeral is generally three days long. A one-hour long funer

I never thought I'd say this, but I want to be a cheerleader.  I've never seen myself as the cheerleader type. I always thought cheerleaders were the girly girls who wore skirts and makeup. I loved my shorts and t-shirts; I wanted to play outside, go camping, and get dirty. I stereotyped the whole cheerleading thing and didn't really want anything to do with it.  Until recently when a missionary told me that I needed to decipher whether God wants me to be a coach or a player in his mission. A coach is one who leads and instructs his players. He is successful when they are successful. For the missionary, the coach is the disciple maker. He invests in leading a small group, and when those in that group share God with others, then he shares that victory.  The player is different. He is more hands-on. He is involved in the game. For the missionary, he is the one who is less of an overseer and more of an on-the-ground participant. He's the well-digger, the child

Just a few more minutes, and then I'll get a shower and a meal and take a Sunday afternoon nap. That's what I told myself. Famous last words.  I was in my way home after a wonderful weekend. Seven girls from summer Bible study spent the night with me on Saturday night, which meant turning every sofa into a couch, dragging out every mattress onto the floor, and transforming the living room into a slumber party extravaganza complete with a meal, devotional, several wild games of Uno, popcorn, chocolate, and a movie that kept us up until midnight. The next morning, we all got ready and went out to the village church  together, where the girls helped me do children's ministry.  The girls all fell asleep in the backseat on the way home, and I was practically asleep after I had dropped them all off and was only two hundred meters from my house. That's when I was pep-talking myself about a shower and meal and a Sunday afternoon nap. That's also when I unintention

I've never gardened before, which many Burkinabé find very hard to believe. They are actually quite amazed at how little I know, especially since they have all been cultivating and gardening for as long as they can remember. Their very lives depend on it, and they are very good at it.  I didn't know that you have to push dirt up around the bottom of the corn stalks as they grow to build up extra support. That's why all my corn stalks fell down when we had a nice big rain with heavy winds. So I went out and stood them all back up and pushed dirt up around the bottom. When I tell this story, the Africans laugh.  But then they also understand when they hear Ephesians 3:16-17, which talked about being "rooted and grounded" in God's love. If we don't put our roots down deep into God's love, we fall over when the winds and rains of life come. But if we build up his love like a base around the bottom of our souls and cultivate his love in our liv