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For thirty days from sunup to sundown, our Muslim friends and neighbors will neither eat nor drink. The most devout won’t even swallow their own saliva during this holy month of fasting called Ramadan.  Ramadan is one of the five pillars of Islam, and it commemorates when the prophet Mohammed was believed to have received a revelation from God that became the Quran. This month is considered to be extra holy, and many believe that the good works they do during this month have more merit before God, that it’s the best time to gain entrance into paradise, and that God himself is more apt to forgive sins during Ramadan.  The meaning of the fast varies depending on who you talk to, but it generally is undertaken to demonstrate control over the physical body instead of allowing the body to control the person. In other words, master your cravings instead of letting your cravings master you.  Many also add that the fast allows them to relate to the poor and show compassion to them. St

Some days in the maternity are harder than others, and today was one of those days.   When I went back to check on the nurse with whom I was working, I found her standing at the incubator, stroking the head of the baby girl she was so tenderly caring for. All day the baby had not been doing well, so this nurse spent every unoccupied moment with her, watching over her and comforting her in her suffering.  Just as I arrived, we both watched the monitor as the baby’s oxygen in her blood started to slowly drop. It was just gradual enough that we had time to call the doctor, who came quickly. Realizing the seriousness of the situation, we shot into action to try to save the baby’s life - giving medicines, transfusing blood, and helping the baby’s lungs breathe and heart beat. But despite all of that, her blood oxygen fell even further.  I called out to Jesus, fully believing that he could make the oxygen saturation climb and the heart rate increase even when we were powerless t

“Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage.” (Psalm 84)  Life often feels like a pilgrimage, doesn’t it? I was reading this morning at the end of Leviticus where Moses recorded all the different encampments of the people of Israel during their forty year wandering in the desert. It made me tired just thinking about it: Picking up camp, moving some 600,000 plus people, and then setting everything back up again over and over again for over forty years. A whole chapter in the Bible is dedicated to recording all the different places Israel camped.  But then again, I relate. I haven’t spend more than one year in one place since I left home to go to college. It feels like I’ve moved from dorm to dorm, apartment to apartment, across countries, and in multiple different “camps” within those countries. I should make a list, too, like Moses, of all the different places God has taken me and the lessons I have learned in each place. Where he has p

I’m not sure if I had such a good time because I personally was enjoying the conference, or if it was just the fact that everyone else was enjoying it so much. No one in their right mind could have seen the joy these women had and not feel the contagious effort on their own heart.  This past weekend in our town in Burkina Faso, about fifty women gathered from about twenty villages for the first ever women’s seminar associated with the evangelistic church movement. Considering that the vast majority of Christians and church attendants in our area are women, it was high time to launch a women’s ministry. And it was launched like a rocket, for every woman left with a fire blazing with smoke trailing!  Planned, organized, and executed entirely by Burkinabé women, this seminar was perfect evidence of the fact that God’s kingdom is advancing in Burkina Faso, and local believers are taking charge and leading the way to minister to their own people.  I remember one time having a c

I know that sometimes labor takes longer for first time mothers, but this was just taking forever. I felt for the poor lady, because when she told me she was tired, I couldn’t think of anything to say except, “I bet you are! You should be!” But those aren’t the most empowering words for a woman in labor who really needs to push a baby out. Even I was tired, and I wasn’t the one who had been in labor all day or pushing for the last hour and a half.  We tried pushing in all sorts of ways, but that baby just wasn’t coming down. The cervix was completely dilated and the baby had enough space to pass through the birth canal, so we didn’t know what to do except give her more time.  That’s when the nurse’s aide asked me if she could try something. “Of course. Anything,” I replied, happy to just get a little break.  She proceeded to place a sheet on the ground and instruct the patient to get up and stand on it. She ever so gently helped the patient out of bed, stood behind her wit