Tarangire National Park is 2600 sq km of protected but not fenced land. It prides itself on being an Elephant paradise. The tembo=elephants are the first to return to the park for the dry season. They are able to dig for water thus creating pools for others when the river is low. The zebras follow them. The park is full of wonders today.
It is overcast, cool and just perfect as the savannah dances in the breezing. The grasses are tall and unruly. There are wildflowers on parade. The paper thin, white poppies with their deep red center; vibrant pinpoints of violet; rich blue morning glories; yellow sodium apples and creamy lemon delicates. The black and white, gray-backed butcher birds fly wildly among them, often with a grasshopper lunch in their mouths.
We are told there are lions hidden in the tall green and yellow grasses just beneath the flowering. I sing our family’s Kitty song and suddenly, ‘fooga’=close, a male, beautifully maned, raises his magnificent face to the wind as he rolls over disappearing without a glimmer of a trace. It is a daunting thought that a walk in the field could be so startling. A mama lion, then, surprises us by rising and yawning a great big yawn. She poses in elegant grandeur before moving on to rest again.
“Has anybody seen my kitty? Has anyone seen my cat? He’s got a scratch on the back of his head that shows that he’s been fighting…”
We turn a corner to miles of zebras: swimming, running, talking. They dazzle, true to their group name: a dazzle of zebras. They surround the car, 360°, close enough to count their stripes. Their twitching ears with black tips and white lobes resemble butcher birds. Their tails look like intricate French braids tossing to and fro. The brown stripes of fuzzy-buckets babies, leaping in frolic as they hesitate to join their mamas through the sticky mud, into the cool waters of the gathering hole. It is truly dazzling!
Penguin Lament Sandra Boynton (names changed to protect the innocent) Now I am a zebra No one else like me Except every other zebra That you will ever see And I′m a little too cute Oh, yes, I know
Miles of zebras As cute as can be…
A solo elephant joins them at the water’s edge.
This land is filled with wonders. Here before us shines the truth of Romans 1:
19 For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. 20 For His invisible attributes, namely, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. (Romans 1:19-20, ESV)
I sit amazed. The power of His general revelation displayed here points us to the special revelation that He provides for those who recognize the first. Opening our hearts and minds to His creation allows Him to bring His power and divine nature into our lives in tangible blessings. I think of James 1. When we are doers and not just hearers of His Word His invisible attributes become visible to and through us. What an incredible and truly wondrous plan! “My soul magnifies the Lord, 47 and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, (Luke 1:46-47, ESV)
Ngorongoro, named for the sound of a Massai cow bell, is shrouded in imagination today. I sit bundled in my Airplane mode sweatshirt, hood pulled up and neck pillow acting as ear muffs holding me altogether. It is a blustery day in the crater.
Misting cloud-cover gently falls into the depth of the caldera as giraffes cross in front of us. Mist-ical and mysterious. There is a clarity to the early morning crispness both in temperature and sight as we descend beneath the ceiling.
A pile of lion babies playing on top of the moms in the far sandy grass until, with further investigation, they are having bfast. The moms on perimeter with babies feasting within and on top. Hyenas circling at a prudent distance.
The tentative sun breaks through and brightens the green hills at the far end. The clouds like rain, wisping and wafting, reach down in ribbons of softness.
Shadows of elephants on the horizon, regally marching in fours. Cory basterds with their rich layers of creamy grays and beige bringing up the rear. Side by side, side by side they move.
Pumbas, giant buffalos, crowned cranes ready for the derby, the gliding run of the gazelle: They are all grazing together in quiet harmony.
The living bearded wildebeests with their paint dripping back coloring are running, chasing, and talking loudly. The brilliant white egrets at their feet nonplussed and the trio of tiny browns chatting happily on their backs.
The salt sea with its no outlet, is fed by an underground lake sourced from the outside. It leaks into the grassland by spring fed fingers of refreshment. The pelicans are basking in its flowing. Their whiteness electric against the dim day.
There is a jungle area where we stop for a snack. It is lush and thick and the smell of fresh, cut minty freshness fills the air. The forest trees tower in lush clumps of randomness and tangle. We see a black leopard high on a tree branch…or is it? Then, there is an unmistakable, large male lion lounging on the dirt road sleeping through the mobbing Safari cars turning within feet of him.
We leave the forest for the plains. The clouds bounce and swirl atop the varied emeralds of the mountains blending seamlessly into the yellow brown grasses like a sloping beach to the water. There are scattered small hills, each with a tree on top. I want to run across,
I do love the trees but somehow I am completely enchanted by this vista.
Several months ago, I was studying the book of Jonah and right at the part of the story when Jonah hightails it to Joppa to avoid God’s command to go to Nineveh, God used Kelly to call me to a task I was resistant to; a task I wanted to run from.
It involved investing/creating/ leading a future project from the bare bones up. I found an unruly resistance in me. I was happy to tackle any task as long as it was asked of me in the moment. I did not want to invest in the future yet God used Jonah to convince me otherwise. He promises rich blessings when we obey, even when resistant, so as an act of faith, I gave my reluctance to Him and accepted Kelly’s request.
Today, I saw the fruit of my willingness. I lived in the incredibly, rich blessings He called me to! It was an effervescent hoot!
Before we arrived, my team created a Community Healthcare Worker (CHW) First Aid Manual, complete with supplies. Today, we presented it to our 18 member Hope Circle of community volunteers. Dr. Maria and Dr. Ndoipo, from clinic, assisted. There were three other Hope Circles teaching other topics as well.
Our class was eager to learn and I was eager to teach! With vigor, they picked up the skills we introduced and asked thoughtful questions. They were thinking about the topics and extrapolating future concepts. I had to tell them I couldn’t give them all of my goodies at once because I needed to keep something for the next day!
Dr. N. interpreted for me and then, eagerly ran with it. He did have a tendency to go a bit deep. When I heard the words “Kreb Cycle” and “energy molecules”, I knew he was on a rabbit trail beyond the scope of this class. Dr. M agreed and had him come back to our depth. His laugh and smile enchanted us all and the whole day was full of delight.
I found out later that not everyone who attended had chosen to be there. Some had asked to go to one of the other circles but we’re assigned to ours instead; one in particular had been my interpreter in the past. At the close of day, he was heard to say, proudly, that he was going to be a CHW! He was going to go to remote villages and help people. He was going to make a difference! What an unanticipated surprise!
As I was considering this overflow of connecting purpose, I had a bit of a Captain Obvious moment that had not crystallized in my thoughts until now. I have spent the last several years living solely in the present. I haven’t wanted to plan/prepare/consider what my future might hold. I only allowed myself to respond to what was before me.
How marvelous that God did not leave me there. Having given me time to heal, He used Kelly’s gifting, and my own, to call me out of myself and propel me into a future I was reluctant to envision for myself.
He promised blessings galore and delivered them today. I am humbled, refreshed, grateful and ready to get to it tomorrow!
Second Wednesday Hope Circles #2
My eye baby from last week is here today and I spot her from a distance. She is tirelessly playing with a water bottle. Her Mama tosses it and she retrieves it. To and fro, she goes on the uneven ground, bending to reach it. It is unwieldy and needs two hands to navigate back with it. What a satisfying sight to see her playful and smiling. Mom and I lock eyes and share the joy of this shared blessing. My cup is overflowing and the day has just begun.
This morning begins slowly so I visit the Bible Hope Circle and sit next to Moines. He is our accountant and Bible Hope Circle interpreter. He is locked in, as my son would say, much like Dr. N., he has made this circle part of his delight.
He has a Maasai Language Bible in his hand so I pick one up and turn to Psalms 46 and read it in my ridiculously wrong accent. He does not understand my words so he reads it for himself and translates it to me. His thoughtful interpretation makes me smile and we share the wonder of God’s Word together.
When our people arrive, we gather again. We ended yesterday teaching about adult choking care and we laughed our way through it. We begin today expanding on that theme to include child and infant care. To demonstrate, I have made a baby out of my microfiber towel. I introduced her to the team last night and she was named Shequiva Shower Shuka or Sheshe for short. She is loved by all her aunties and uncs, including Ima our cook!
Today, I strapped her to my back, as many a good Mama does here, and revealed her when she started choking… it’s okay, she lived and was carried all over today by many loving hands.
Pat presents post snake bite care with an emphasis on the need to wipe the venom off and keep the wound below the level of the heart. Conversation breaks out and we are told they are discussing their traditional care. They typically cut the bite and suck the venom out. Dr. N is interpreting but I interrupt him with a stern finger wagging indicating this is a big no-no. This delights them all.
Our unit on uniquely female care came today. Menses, pregnancy, newborn care preceded FGM, Female Genital Mutilation, which brought up the rear. It is an ancient custom held dear by the older generation to ‘prepare’ young girls 10-14 years old for marriage. It is done without their consent and without anesthesia. It is presented as necessary and good to procure status in the community.
I asked my class to explain it to me because I wanted to understand. There was a lively discussion in Maasai with a lot of laughter, nervous laughter, I think. I was told the class was eager to ask me questions and wanted to know what I thought. I asked them what they saw as the advantages and disadvantages. There was more awkward laughter until one of my more elderly students tells me there are no disadvantages, only advantages: status was his only advantage. One of my ladies offers that it is helpful to women in that it helps to manage sexual desire before marriage. When I ask if the desire returns after marriage, she answers with a tentative ‘’no”, almost as if she hadn’t considered that before.
I try to be diplomatic and non-judgmental in my delivery but feel inadequate to the task until I am prompted to change my approach. Instead of my opinion, I address them as the Healthcare Workers they are. It is no longer a value judgement but a discussion on how to care for a child who has undergone the event.
There are immediate and far reaching physical and psychological disadvantages/complications that can result from FGM: site bleeding, infection and pain; damage to uterus and urinary tract; difficulties with conception, pregnancy, delivery; physical and psychological trauma… When I am prompted to draw from the strength of my experience, my teaching comes with the ease of the Holy Spirit’s power.
Last trip, I had encountered a mom who had extensive scar tissue from her FGM and was not able to deliver her baby without a C-section. If she had not sought aid, she could have lost both her life and the baby’s life. As it was, the baby had spent many unnecessary hours being pushed out without success and will likely have lifelong deficits. I am not neutral on this subject.
We end the session with the news that we will have another additional session tomorrow afternoon. They all seem willing and I am grateful because we have more to cover.
Tonight we are treated to the Jesus movie at the pavilion. Driving there in the dark is like visiting the land of the bizarre and haunted. The thorn trees at night are intricately twisted and ashen when Illuminated by headlights. Every crooked, tangled, jabbing angle is highlighted in a colorless world of frenzied grasping.
Maria and her friends, including four year old, Eliana, join us. As I get off the bus to greet them, Eliana’s Mom says “Ah, yes, you wrote the book. I’ve been reading it with Maria.” I’ve never been greeted in such a way. I kind of liked it.
It is dark and cool. The Milky Way in vivid shimmer acts as background for bright pinpoints of light. I see the Big Dipper to the NW, the crescent moon with Venus, Jupiter and Mercury in clear brilliance, followed by the Southern Cross, Scorpio and possibly Sagittaurius…south and east; so many others, too numerous to count. The splendour of the heavens displayed on the night canvas.
They set up to play the movie and begin with a square dance version of Count Your Blessings…like counting stars, there are too many to hold in one day. I smile at the connection.
The heavens declare the glory of God, and the sky above proclaims His handiwork. (Psalm 19:1, ESV) so:
Count your blessings name them one by one Count your blessings and see what God has done.
I use my translator app to translate the movie in real time and add it to the list of blessings. I
Second Thursday VBS and Hope Circles extended
This morning we discuss James 1: “But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves.” (James 1:22, ESV) I had plans to be an benchwarmer for VBS this morning but I felt prompted to leave my nefarious ways and join in. I wasn’t convinced.
There are giraffes on parade as we drive into the sandy bush to find Pastor’s Daniel church for VBS. This church was started by Missionaries who came in 1993. These are the same missionaries who introduced Jesus to Pastor Peter when he was 11 years old. It is a sweet connection.
We arrive at a fine block building in the thorn forest and are greeted by children of all sizes. A large dirt area has metal goal poles on either side. Almost before any ball hits the ground, a football match erupts among the tall and older. Pastor Peter joins the local Moran young men. They are wearing the traditional black shukas. An impossibly tall Massai man in his traditional red shuka dominates the field with his swift legs and fancy footwork.
Further on, we have put up small, foldable goals and invite the shorter crowd to play. The goalies are alert and block well. They, too, execute a vigorous game mimicking the same fierce skill.
As the parachutes come out and engage the onlookers, I find an unattended little one dressed in a vivid red dress. She is watching from a distance. Suspecting she will not welcome a stranger, I keep my distance and roll a ball her way. It takes some time but I win her over and we end carrying an expanding ball together, back to the church. I smile to myself as I realize, I was convinced afterall and it was magnificent!
Our session three begins in the afternoon. I revisit FGM and answer questions. As I finish with the psychological trauma of it, I plan to segway nicely into Mental Health but pivot at the last minute. I sense a post lunch malaise so we talk about back pain instead. I talk about how we carry heavy burdens with our bodies. We demonstrate proper lifting techniques and exercises for diy relief. This gives my students an opportunity to move.
Next, I use the heavy burden theme to segway to the emotional burdens we bear. Though I try different approaches, I feel ineffective. I begin to realize that the stigma present in the US is even more insidious here. It is evident that many believe that if mental health problems are not recognized, they don’t exist. My elderly student tells me that his generation has no issues but the younger ones do. These younger ones are often seen as disobedient, recalcitrant and willfully behaving badly.
The effects of prolonged trauma or undiagnosed mental illness is unknown and unconsidered. The thought that trauma responses need healing seem inconceivable. I realize that this is a hard sell so, again, I pivot. I remember how powerful the testimonies of other team members have been in other circles so I offer my testimony.
I tell them of my big 5 of family losses. How grief has shaped me and how I am able to heal because of the help and surrounding of my family, church and community. I am surprised when Dr. N interrupts me to congratulate me on my journey and I notice my audience is engrossed and listening.
I continue. I tell them this is a picture of the power of the Community Health Worker has. We can break the cycle of the hidden and unspeakable. We have the privilege of coming alongside those who are hurting and by the simple acts of acknowledging, listening, and speaking, we share hope. Hope can open doors of healing by identifying trusted people and resources to assist the process. It can all begin with us.
As our time comes to a close, we have not covered all our material but Dr. N is undeterred. I tell him we have five minutes and he says that is more than enough. I tell him, with a smile, that he hasn’t been so good at being brief. He laughs and covers the remaining four topics in record time.
We give each student a backpack of supplies and our manual in Swahili and then all the circle groups gather in a circle. Every participant receives a certificate which is hand delivered with a hug by the teacher. I like this ending.
Tomorrow, we leave for Safari and home. The community of our safari people and the animals will be awesome but that’s not my sweet spot. My sweet spot is the majesty of God that we have lived these past weeks in the community of His people serving and being served.
There may challenges galore but the blessings are more when God calls His people together.
“And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.” 2 Corinthians 9:8
As we await the new additions arriving today, we take a hike to “The Source of Water”. It is a true four wheel drive road to the trail that is up past New Hope. Many times, I have imagined what a trek up the mountain might look like and today I am treated to something like it. It is a gorgeous, cool day with blue skies and fresh breezing.
The thorn forest is robust as we bump our way beyond New Hope. As the ‘road’ narrows, it becomes more crowded with copious, scattered rock/boulders. The trick becomes judging between whether the rocks or the thorn trees offer more peril. It is Canyonlands-level driving and I am reliving some of my favorite memories.
The hike begins with a narrow tunnel of the usual brambly thorn trees above and treacherous roots and scree below. It is a downward rocky slope under the canopied tangle of the trees whose branches reach out and take my hat even as I hunch over. Though I am distracted by the thieving plants, I can hear the beguiling, refreshing sound of gurgling, rushing water singing to me. As I step down and straighten up, the river’s hidden corridor unexpectedly emerges.
The source of water which begins in the mountains, dances past in rushing, rivaling rivulets. It meanders at its leisure through a forest of baby bao bao trees on either side. The scene is framed by the deceptively serene bee hive boxes that hang overhead awaiting their honey harvesters. Its whirling pools of sound and refreshment paired with the fluttering leaves and crazy rootedness of the trees completely enchant me and immediately cause my heart to sing its most cherished melody. On either side, there are cliffs with caves reminiscent of Arizona’s Montezuma’s Well and Castle. When God makes all things new, this will be among my sought after restorations.
Psalm 46:4 bubbles to my surface: There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy habitation of the Most High. (Psalm 46:4, ESV)
The road back seems less insidious as its familiarity numbs me to its ridiculous state of bumpiness. I marvel at the diverse disparities of this land. The long, prickly thorns awaiting their opportunity to hitch a ride in our skin contrasted the delicate, fragility of the twittering yellow, orange, green and black rimmed, purple butterflies that follow softly in waves of sweetness. But, best of all, are the wide grins of children whose faces transform with delight at the sight of our waving. Their brilliant white teeth shining as, with arms out stretched, they wave wildly with a whole body greeting at the simple joy of being seen.
The new team arrives infusing new energy to our ranks despite their long journey here. We will begin fresh on the morrow.
Second Monday VBS @The New Hope Pavilion
Today is Vacation Bible School day. The nearby boarding school students will join us for fun. Parachute colors, jump rope skill, football prowess and even Pickleball comes to the pavilion. Singing, dancing and Bible storytelling follow. The sounds of gladness echo into the hills as the children are welcomed to be children. I feel the smile of God shining on us.
I once again find myself weary but my favorite of all events pulls me from my diminished state. There is a little one, no more than three years old, trying to keep up with the olders. They have been given scooter boards and are speeding across the pavilion floor with gusto! My little one pushes an older child on one until he is brave enough to set out on his own. He inhabits his giggling joy as he wills his tiny legs to go faster than sound. The pavilion is overflowing with his irrepressible radiance that zips right from him directly into my soul. I am giddy with the sweetness of his abandon, my diminishment replaced.
Pastor Peter calls the boards: Plates with tires, and joins the play as do several other adults. Can you imagine your Pastor flinging you across the floor on a plate with tires with you holding on for dear life to the rope he holds? The laughter is wildly vibrant with its unrestrained next level giddy up as all our faces explode with the uncontainable brilliancy of joy.
It is a picture of the truth of Hebrews 1:3 in action.
Hebrew 1:3 The Son, Jesus, is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of His being, sustaining all things by His powerful word.
I am diminished this morning. My inner voice, silent. I consider that it might be a headache coming on but I decide that I am just weary.
When I arrive at clinic, I am greeted by the 18 month old baby and mom whom I had been treating all week. I wrote about them on Monday. First thing each clinic morning, Mom has returned so we could see if what we were doing was having an effect. Each morning, the baby buried her head under Mama’s shuka and wailed when I tried to assess her. Yesterday, the right eye was clear of drainage and less swollen. The left remained stuck shut but the discharge was no longer gooey; it was now dried. Her inner lid was still swollen and angry red. Today, she is still irritable and vigorously resisting care but there is no drainage though the swelling remains. We decide to have mom apply a warm compress and have her return to me every hour for another.
As the clinic continues, so does my slowness of spirit. I wash my hands and read Psalms 42:1
1 As a deer pants for flowing streams, so pants my soul for you, O God. 2 My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and appear before God? (Psalm 42:1-2, ESV)
I realize my diminished spirit is drawing me to prayer. “When shall I come and appear before God?” And my spirit says, emphatically, “Now!” I am reluctant to leave my team in a lurch but if God is calling me to prayer, He will fill the gap.
I walk up to the lodge near the place where I prayed for Peter on my original trip here. It was only a parcel of land back then. I sit facing the mountain and with my head in my hands I pray. I can hear the music of sheep bells approaching and I look up to see a Shepard leading his flock toward me. He is wearing brilliant red against the green backdrop and he is beauty in motion and sound.
As I pray, I am overwhelmed by tears that come in forceful waves. I am wordless, panting, wet and dripping. As if outside of myself, watching, I consider that this feels like grief level sobbing but without a trigger or target. I wonder at this but do nothing to interrupt. As tears come up from my toes and wrack my body with shaking, I offer them to God, knowing His Spirit is translating every one of them into groans that are too deep for words. The silent inner voice that began my day, is finding its expression.
As my flow ebbs, I peak out from my own swollen eyelids. The Shepard in red has stopped his journey and sits under a tree with his musical sheep, watching me. It is a picture of My Shepard watching over me, the one of the 99 who has wandered off to pray.
Upon reflection, I feel sure that this grief was not about me or my personal journey. This grief was attached to the grimace of my first encounter with my eye baby. What started as contempt for my patient’s suffering has found deeper expression in these wordless tears. I do not imagine that my groanings will affect the suffering I see but it is not about me. My obedience is all that is asked for.
I return to clinic with my own swollen, red eyes in time for another warm compress.
I have several unusual cases.
A 10 month old darling arrives screaming in his Mama’s arms. He is as strong as they come and will not allow anyone to even glance his way. It takes all I have to look at his head. He has a firm knot with a red pinpoint center.
Upon investigation, we decide it could be: Furuncular myiasis, a parasitic skin infestation where fly larvae burrow into healthy human skin. I am advised to shine a bright light on it for 3 minutes. If there is something in there, it will be drawn to the light and emerge. I know full well that if it is a positive test, I will vomit where I stand. I brace myself with a firm stance and join Mama’s grip on the child’s head. For three minutes, I sway back and forth against the child’s fierce will. I sing and speak softly but have only momentary success in settling him. In the end, the test is negative and we all breathe a deep sigh of relief.
Next, I have a case of orchitis, a condition found in men. I consult with Dr. V which leads he and I to remember a case in Haiti. Back then, our pharmacist handed our patient a disposable ice bag. She told the patient to “squeeze it til it pops and shake it til it’s cold”. The patient, with horror, thought she was talking about his body part and was fantastically relieved when he realized it was the ice bag instead. It is one of our favorite shared memories.
As I clear my station at close of day, I hear the goat bell ring. Our last station of clinic is Spiritual Counseling. When they lead a patient to accept Jesus, they ring the loud bell so everyone can hear and celebrate. I look up to see it is my eye baby’s Mama accepting Jesus as her Savior. I hurry over and hug her. What a lovely ending, I think.
A while later, when it is time for another warm compress, Paulo finds me to ask if my eye baby and Mama can go home or if I want to give another treatment. He points at the front row of chairs where they are sitting. I look over and with an audible gasp of surprise, I see my little darling standing on her Mama’s lap, playing with her Mama’s phone. Her eyes are open and bright and she is smiling and calm! Mom smiles back at me and waves, visibly relaxed. This child has been clinging tightly to her mother’s chest, taking refuge beneath her shuka; responding wildly if disturbed all week… but now she is transformed! I can’t believe my eyes!
It makes me think of a scene from “The Chosen”: “I was one way and now I am completely different. And the thing that happened in between was Him.” Jesus. Now this is an even better ending!
It is before dark when I rise to join Kelly for a New Hope sunrise. The stars are displayed with sparkling intensity. The surrounding hills cloaked and sleeping with only the sounds of the whirring night bugs. The crisp air revives my weariness and I sit with His beauty in the darkness.
The mountain is completely hidden from my view as if it weren’t there at all. The early morning misting clouds inhabit its space, flattening the horizon. Only my memory is here to testify of its majesty.
Behind me rises Kilimanjaro in the East. It’s flat top uncovered. Its grandeur towering above the horizon, unmistakable. As the sun joins us, it is as if the Great mountain steps back, fading into the distance, almost disappearing. Perhaps, it is making way for the majesty of God’s pinnacle creation, us, as we go about His work of restoration. I wonder at this marvel.
Kelly is playing a song though it is my own heart singing: ‘Alleluia’ by Elevation Worship:
“I came to praise! That’s why I got up today!”
She progresses to another which also sings for my spirit as I gaze out at Kilimanjaro on the horizon: ‘Holy Forever’ by Chris Tomlin:
All who’ve gone before us and all who will believe Will sing the song of ages to the Lamb Your name is the highest (higher than Kili) Your name is the greatest Your name stands above them all And the angels cry holy All creation cries holy You are lifted high, holy Holy forever
Clinic, Day Three!
The siren song of our inherently human search for significance permeates all of us. I see it in my patients, my teammates, my leaders and myself. It is so beautiful every time I awaken to the truth that it is this song that draws me, us, to Jesus. It is in Him, alone, that I find wholeness and affirmation especially when I least expect either. He doesn’t need me yet He chooses to include me anyway so that I might know how truly significant I am to Him.
Today, I am challenged in my spirit. I am called over to start an IV on a listless child with Cutaneous Anthrax on her hands.
Though I was called, I feel pushed aside by others who want to do it. I find myself suddenly irritated and territorial. “How dare they usurp my position!”, I think and feel to myself, but my amazing God readily challenges my angst. As He told Jonah and Job, He reminds me, “Do you really have a right to be angry? Do you remember our convo about the search for significance? This is their comfort zone in a sometimes chaotic clinic. Step back, my friend. It’s okay.”
I did not immediately relinquish my angst but I did recognize the truth of His wisdom. As it percolated in me, I relaxed. It was then that I remembered my early morning experience with Mt. Kili. His message was now clear: Sometimes, those who are established in front must fade into the background to allow His Spirit to illuminate others…
This makes me burst out in laughter! I do so love it when God uses His creation to school me!
We are invited to a “celebration” at a neighborhood Boma. Tonight we will witness the pre-party but later there will be a traditional coming of age ceremony. Some of these young men will be ushered into adulthood through the Maasai tradition of circumcision. If they can stand stoic and unwavering during the no anesthesia event, then they are considered Moran or men.
The inductees wear black Shukas and await the arrival of the previous Moran. These men wear black as well but draw intricate designs on their faces in white paint. They aggressively approach the inductees who charge them as a sign of their courage. The olders form a circle around the inductees and sing songs to instill courage and resolve to bolster the youngers in their coming trial. This progresses with the addition of a deep guttural chanting accompanied by rhythmic jumping in unison.
One of the leaders of the olders wears an ostrich feathered headband reminiscent of a voodoo witch doctor. He marches around the youngers slapping them with the feathers. It is a pageantry at its best but to this outsider it has a decidedly hazing vibe. Nonetheless, I am drawn to the deep chanting that reverberates in my soul even without my consent.
Wednesday, Clinic Day Four
I am troubled this morning. I have a low offer on my townhouse. I’ve been praying that God will bring a buyer who will be blessed by it. I woke this morning wondering if I should accept this low ball offer. Could it be that God sent this buyer to get a great deal for a reason beyond what I know? Or do I play the realty game and haggle for the price… I long for a word from God.
I share my dilemma and as I talk it through with a stateside friend, I come away encouraged, having received the word I asked for. God will make this a win-win for both of us: the seller and the buyer. I can play the realty game and trust God within it.
John 14:1 “Do not let your heart be troubled; do not be dismayed” are the words that are spontaneously running through my mind after my call. God’s got this and me! I can release my trouble and be about His work.
Raphael is my interpreter today. He and his sister have been with us before. I adore his spirit of service and joy. His smile is a gift that keeps on giving all day! He is an excellent, self-taught, English speaker. I am honored and grateful to have him by my side today.
My patients’ today are such a delight. The past days I have begun by taking their hands in mine and greeting them with ‘Jambo’ followed by their name. This has transformed their weary and stoic faces into playgrounds of joy. It is so beautiful. Today, however, I find that they take my hands first. I scramble a bit to pivot. I say my customary ‘Jambo’ and then repeat it after I’ve had a chance to read and say their name. Something in me giggles and dances with each exchange. I love my job.
Often my patients speak their concerns to my interpreter and he/she then speaks to me. I try to keep my eyes on the patient while they are telling their tale because so much of communication is non verbal anyway. We rarely look each other in the eyes during the history taking.
Today, however, a seventy year old tower of a man is among my first patients. I’ll call him Gregori, my G-man. He looks me right in the eyes after his smile transformation and, in Massai, tells his story to me instead of to my interpreter. He is grinning big, his pearly whites brilliant against his beautiful skin. He speaks as if I understand his every word and I hold his gaze with my own. It is impossible to not share his enthusiasm and though I don’t understand a word, I find myself nodding with the ebbs and flows of his cadence as if I do. When he pauses, Raphael doesn’t miss a beat and shares all I need to know. There is something wondrous and right about this but it somehow defies my words.
My G-man has multiple difficulties but we manage to navigate each one with ease. I surprise myself by the treatment ideas that arise within me. As I consider this, it seems almost Pentecost adjacent that our communication is so effective despite our differences.
My next Darling, is also seventy and she brings a ten year girl with her to whom she points indicating she belongs to her. She, too, takes my hands first and greets me with vigor and many words. I am enchanted at once. I greet her and say her name, which has 14 letters to it. Raphael repeats it with admiration at my pronounciation! Full of myself, we continue as if we are old friends.
Though my energy comes and goes, my spirit remains strong. The Spirit in this place is invigorating.
I end this busy clinic day being asked to assess Pastor P’s youngest. I do not question the request but I do marvel at the privilege and the beauty of our God Who calls, even, me.
As we wait for our ride home, I seek another of Pastor P’s children, G. I sit next to her and am content to hold her hand not knowing how much English she is comfortable with. She begins to sing a Swahili song and decides it is time I learn it.
On Sunday, we were surprised with this same song and with the DJ accompaniment were asked to sing it as a group in front of the congregation. Lip syncing works my friends! None of us knew it but we sang along anyway hoping no one would notice!
I am not so shielded today and soon find myself surrounded by several male volunteers and G. They all patiently, but with vigor and all at once, have me repeating it until I get it. I sing what I hear, thinking I am right but somehow continue to be corrected. For the life of me, I cannot distinguish the source of my error. With no escape, I finally have them write the words and that is when my success begins to emerge.
Iseyek, papa papa,iseyek Iseye,itaujalang,papa,iseye
I am touched by God! It is good to be touched by God! (Filled by the Spirit)
Once I ‘master’ the one song, much to my dismay-ish reluctance, they began to teach another. Again, they write the words and my success speeds up much to my own relief.
Enkai e Daniel ira enkai aai nasipa Like Daniel in the lion’s den, God is so good!
I close the day with a nod to my Pentecost adjacent feeling today. It takes the form of a song: Thank God I Do. by Lauren Daigle
“I don’t know who I’d be if I didn’t know You I’d probably fall off the edge I don’t know where I’d go if You ever let go So keep me held in Your hands
You’re my safe place My hideaway You’re my anchor My saving grace You’re my constant My steadiness You’re my shelter My oxygen
I don’t know who I’d be if I didn’t know You.”
Especially on this day. I was troubled, approaching an edge this morning but He held me in His hands giving me deep nourishing breaths of His oxygen all day.
It is a cool and balmy night as we leave our last plane of the day. The sweet, moist Tanzanian air fills my lungs as I am welcomed by the Kilimanjaro International Airport sign lit up bright against the dark sky. The iconic palm trees join the illuminated chorus. I am weary but smiling.
As I enter, the first sign to greet me is an electronic public ad. In large print is the word EBOLA. I guess the public health department trumps public relations.
To my understanding, the ebola outbreak is 1000 miles away but education, well, I guess it is right that it is everywhere.
Day One, Friday The Road from Arusha to beloved Ketumbiene.
The lush greenness of the post rain season surrounds us in Arusha. My heart is delighted at every turn. The farms of bright yellow and red flowers are blooming beside the fields of sunflowers following the sun. A tree flourishes with both white and purple, delicate petunia like flowers. Its branches are dotted with small, singing birds. The hills are alive with their new verdancy, the eclectic greens spanning the continuum. My spirit bursting with the vibrancy and beauty. It is God speaking life to my soul.
There are families of giraffes, children and goats along the dusty road to Ketumbiene. The familiar thorn forest crowding the roadside as evidence of the rain, welcomes us home.
We arrive at our Ketumbiene Motel where we will stay for the next two weeks. In the late afternoon, we visit the New Hope campus where once I helped plant fruit trees and attended Sunday service in its rocky field. What was formerly the stuff of imagination can now be seen. The pavilion is newly finished and we will attend its dedication on Sunday. Tomorrow, we will hold clinic here for the first time. It is an open air building with a red roof and floor and an expansive view of the mountain. Ketumbieme Mountain is lush and majestic against the blue sky; its peak hidden by clouds as it gathers the greenness of the valley hills to itself. It is a spectacular display.
Before heading home, we fuel our imaginations once more with a tour of the construction zone that is the lodge in progress. It is located just north of the pavilion. Next year, we will stay here!
Day Two: Saturday, First clinic day
We are treated to a soft start to our first day of clinic. The sun, rising over the eastern horizon, spreads its golden hue on our porch as I sit and listen. There is the distant singing of multiple voices joining in… a hymn in Swahili perhaps? I join them with my spirit and we welcome the new day together.
It is a cool but warming morning at the pavilion today. Fresh breezes further awaken my senses as we work out the configuration of clinic. I greet Rachel, my interpreter. She is a single mom and student who attends college in Tanzania’s capital, a 12 hour bus ride away. She is on a break and has come home to join us. She speaks English well and will be my beautiful asset all day.
Dr. Maria sits with me at our assessment table. We worked together last March and it is so lovely to see her again. She has a gentle, inclusive way about her that welcomes me in as a trusted colleague and friend. It is so affirming to be welcomed by her.
These trips stretch me, especially in my Nursing self. I sometimes struggle with feeling like an imposter and need frequent reminders that God does not call the equipped; He equips the called. I trust Him to know what He is doing even when I feel like I do not. He promises that my weakness will be a canvas on which to display His strength.
With that in mind, I had a patient with an intermittent eye problem. He had the wisdom to take a picture of his eye when it flared and he showed it to me. The photo alerted me to a course of action that I initiated and sent him on his way. Later, I saw that Kelly had intercepted him and was in hot pursuit of a fuller plan of care. Though I am often afraid I will miss something, God is not. He accomplishes His plan through the whole family and I am blessed to be included.
Next, Dr. M receives an Uncle and his 10 year old nephew. They tell her that they want to be seen by me. They say that I come highly recommended. A laugh escapes my lips as, in my surprise, I wonder who in the world would think I was the most qualified in the room? My answer is, of course, God does. He has given me something they need and here they are to receive it. The thing is, He has also given them something I need and so, here I am to receive it. I love His circle of giving!
Sunday
We gather at the Pavilion for church. The center wall is decorated with colorful silk and ribbons. The podium shares the theme. There is a festive table at each side for distinguished guests and rows of chairs to fill the room. The DJ/Worship leader is elevated on the side bleacher seats. We are ready.
At the left side table, the distinguished guests gather. They are government officials who have come to celebrate the dedication of the pavilion. There is even a Muslim section, I find out later, who are welcomed and included seamlessly.
We spend the next several hours singing with various choirs and dancing with them all. The dancers are of every age and arrayed in the fantastic colors of life here.
I am my usual self so I sing and dance with my hands. Today my feet and shoulders join as I try to embody the Maasai way. My movements seem chunky and foreign to me. Though I am working hard to pop my shoulders and neck in the rhythm of those in front of me, I am well aware of my disconnect. Could there be some subtle trigger or skill I am missing? I stop trying to procure movements and let my body take me, much the same way my hands take over when I sing. If a joyful sound is pleasing to God so must be my pitiful attempts to absorb the unabsorbable. It is as intangible as it is sacred.
I am off to the side, taking comfort and courage in being noticed only by God. That is, however, until I am popped out of my reverie when Pastor Yonah, a pastor I do not know well, makes an announcement from the pulpit. With a microphone, he announces how delighted he is that ‘Mama Anna’ is dancing like a true Maasai. This makes me yank my head up just as the whole team and congregation look my way… swallowing my tongue and feeling a rush of blood to my cheeks, I feel like I am caught on the jumbotron being naughty. So much for being noticed only by God!
It is the church style here to spend the majority of the celebration time worshipping with movement and song. I marvel at how they express their love to God through their whole selves. They get their heart out, as my Pastor back home says. Focused on Jesus, they offer their whole bodies to Him. It is as truly marvelous as it is freeing.
The service is paused and we move outside to gather around a curtained wall. There is a red ribbon enclosing the small area that reminds me of a photo booth. It is here they reveal a plaque behind the curtain. It declares the glory of God on a plaque dedicating the pavilion to His work. This pavilion is now:
THE GLORY JO PAVILION ESTABLISHED 2026
“NOT TO US, LORD, NOT TO US BUT TO YOUR NAME BE THE GLORY BECAUSE OF YOUR LOVE AND FAITHFULNESS PSALM 15 NIV
Back inside the sermon eventually comes. Pastor Peter speaks from Isaiah 43:18-21.
18 “Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. 19 Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. 20 The wild beasts will honor me, the jackals and the ostriches, for I give water in the wilderness, rivers in the desert, to give drink to my chosen people, 21 the people whom I formed for myself that they might declare my praise. (Isaiah 43:18-21, ESV)
“God says “I will do a new thing!” The Israelites were once in slavery and could not imagine God doing a new thing but He did! He is the same God today! He is doing marvels! When God says it will be done, He does it!
Here at New Hope, we did not imagine God would do such big things. This was the bush BUT God has done a new thing! God brings New Hope!
I remind you today, God can do new things out of your difficulties! When you believe, God can do it! Even if you are passing through the wilderness, God can bring water!
God is transforming the Maasai! Believe big things! The past miracles are nothing like what He will do!
Is it possible? When in the wilderness? God told Israel through Isaiah, forget old, I am doing new things!
He will work in and through the community and individuals. Let us trust in God. He will make a way where there is no way!
We are here to give thanks to God! He is reviving our new hope. Let us give Him our declarations of praise!
Hallelujah!”
Hallelujah, indeed!
Monday, June, 2026
The sound of the roosters mimics my prayer today. They begin with a cockle but they really lay into and prolong the doo. It is at times more of a deep guttural, persistent longing, almost a bursting as if they are trying to will the very sun to rise. It is a picture of my own willingness to bid the Son to rise in me as I feel the depth of my longing to be all about His business. On this day two of clinic my cockle doodle doo is “Here I am. Send Me.”
Wispy fluffs of clouds touch the viridian mountain peaks. The delicate birdsong and insistent twittering fill my ears as the gentle, cool breezes blow strength and vigor into my bones. It is as if God Himself were lending me His Ruach, His breath. It is a fine beginning.
Dr. M is back and, as usual, her smile lights up the room. She asks me if I am cold because she thinks this is coat weather. I tell her I am always so hot here that this fresh cool morning is a cherished reprieve for my expectations.
I am greeted by a healthy looking woman with abdominal hernia symptoms though I cannot find one. Dr. M advises she be referred for an ultrasound but adds the Ketumbiene ultrasound tech has been absent for a month. My patient agrees to take the bus to Longido instead.
This leads me to tell Maria about my ambulance trip to Longido last March. My patient needed a C-section but there was no anesthesiologist here. Maria is surprised and shows me a video of the C-section she recently attended at the Ketumbiene hospital. Go figure…
I am called over by Pat to assess a small darling with eyes swollen shut. She is also malnourished and at 18 months will take nothing but breast milk. As I try to open her lids to see her eyes, there is a thick, creamy gunk preventing inspection. We try to clean some of it away but realize there is just too much ick. I give her an antibiotic shot and eye drops. I teach mom about warm compresses and comfort meds at home and I have her agree to return tomorrow for assessment. It is my hope that tomorrow the swelling and discomfort will decrease allowing a more thorough assessment of all of her needs.
Through my years, I have been known to keep my feelings off my face but today I feel my face contort in a breath holding grimace as it, unbidden, shares my contempt for my patient’s suffering. This is the worst I, and others, have ever seen.
Later, a team member noticed how busy I was ‘saving’ that baby. I found this a rather curious word choice. Was I saving that baby? I decide it probably looked that way to him. To me, it was not a ‘saving’ but, rather, a privilege to be used as an instrument of God’s peace. It will not be me or the medicine that will heal this darling. It is always Jesus Who brings the healing.
I have multiple others with eye injuries and vision problems which are beyond our clinic’s scope of care. As I take my concerns to Kelly, she sends a text to an Ophthalmologist she knows in Arusha. This doc answers her and may join us next week! It never ceases to amaze me how God uses our giftings in the most wondrous ways.
Kenzie and I said goodbye to the team last night as they returned home. Today, we leave early for Moshi, a town two hours east of Arusha, at the foot of Kilimanjaro. Our destination for the next five days is the Kilimanjaro Christian Medical Center where Kenzie will offer education to the Neuro ICU staff.
It is really just a drive through the countryside. I am reminded of the road from Delhi to Agra in India and the back roads of upstate New York and Missouri. I love how the trees make tunnels for the road, meeting in the middle above, hiding the sky. It is pleasant, cool and a bit perilous as passing anywhere can be.
As we enter Moshi, looking for the hospital, the roads change. On one side there is an abrupt drop into a drainage ditch. On the other, a thin margin before life in the city begins. There is not much room for error. To my eyes, the roads are narrow and barely two-way but to local eyes, there is plenty of room! Nonetheless, I find myself sucking in to make myself smaller to help us squeeze through and don’t get me started on turning around when lost…which we were.
Twittering birdsong and the vibrating cicada buzz brings music to the reddish-brown dirt and rich green landscape as we approach the market next to the hospital. A woman passes carrying a long tray filled with bananas and avocados held comfortably atop her head. The air is filled with the scents of fresh lumber, fried meat with an intermingling of fresh air breezes.
We will stay at the Doctor’s compound, A14. It is marked by a sign and a charming tree by the garage. Someone has hung red solo cups from its branches and planted a delicate assortment of plants within. In a jungle environment where life is keen on overtaking every inch, it is a lovely, though unexpected, decoration. We will share this home with Cyrus and Francisco who are neurosurgeons on loan from Barrow’s, back home. Our housekeeper, Sia, greets us and settles us in before walking us to the hospital.
There we meet Sr. Magdaglena, Nursing Specialist in the Surgical ICU. She graciously gives us a small report on each one of the 9 patients. Kenzie has a delightful way of bridging the communication and cultural challenges. She asks questions and always relates their practice to hers in an easy, inclusive way. She is here to learn and share and there is no superiority in her manner. It is a pleasure to watch her work with such easy beauty and skill.
Friday
The sunrise sparkles behind and through the trees, the world is alive with bugsong answered by the choruses of birds and a distant rooster. The soft wind breezes through the treetops, drying the midnight rain, still shiny on the leaves below. The smell of the air is rich with its earthy, moist vibrance.
We walk to the hospital through the mud, increasingly taller as the ground becomes one with our shoes. Once on the cement, we stomp and carry on like tap dancers gone wild trying to attain our original height before entering the hospital.
We arrive early for African time but on time for us. We change into scrubs in the narrow, small room provided and I attempt to hide the residual mud beneath my shoe covers.
We have come for the morning rounds in the surgical ICU, scheduled for 0730. Around each patient, in turn, there is a gathering of ~15 caregivers: Dr. Chrystal, Magdalena RN Specialist, Night/Day shift bedside RNs, physiotherapy, pharmacy, dietary, and a chaplain praying at the bedside of an adjacent patient.
They speak low and I strain to hear. Dr. Chrystal reminds them to speak English for ‘our guests’. The discussions are detailed and thorough as the team describes much of the patients’ night history, present status, ongoing needs and future goals. This meeting of the minds is unexpectedly lengthy but appears to be patient centered and helpful.
After the fourth patient, I leave for a cup of cool water. I tell myself I have never been made for the ICU and, this morning my body agrees. I feel like an imposter but take comfort in knowing I am Kenzie’s imposter.
Next, the Neuro team rounds begin and there is a bit more energy in the room. It becomes louder, more lively, smiling and laughter erupt. This has not been my experience with Neurosurgeons. I may need to reevaluate my life.
Unsure about who I can touch and talk to, I leave Kenzie to her strengths and go in search of the mountain. Kilimanjaro is just northeast of our location and I can get a limited view from the parking lot. Its snowcovered, towering top remains protected by the fluffy white clouds of the morning. As I try to find a path towards it, for a clearer view, I am soon scallywagged by the constant underbrush and trees that seem to step in front of me at every turn. The mud seems to swell around my shoes and soon I retreat before I am swallowed up into the landscape.
It is clothes washing day at the compound and I have not remembered to put my scrubs out. As I enter our yard, there are newly washed clothes hanging to dry and I wonder with dismay if I have missed my opportunity. There was no water during the afternoon yesterday which means I can’t do my own. I decide to acknowledge my defeat and admire the colors of the clothes instead. It is with sudden surprise that I recognize they are my clothes hanging in front of me. Our sweet housekeeper, Sia, has come to the rescue again.
It is humid. I would love a shower but the afternoons appear to be water resistant, not a drop to be had. I discover that the best way for me to deal with the life sucking heat is to lie immobile. This allows even the slightest of breezes to be fully appreciated. I am feeling some congestion build in my chest as well so lying down is a win-win.
Francisco returns briefly and lets us in on a little secret before he is off to the hospital again. He tells us about the Courage Cafe. It is a small cafe that caters to the non-Swahili, supports saving children from trafficking AND it delivers! This is a game changer for us. Ready as we were for canned chicken salad again, we welcome pizza and french fries instead.
Saturday Today, I stay in bed when Kenzie leaves early for a day at the SICU. My cough is worsening so I decide to live vicariously through Kenzie and keep my cough to myself.
When she arrives back in the early afternoon, she regales me with tales galore. Routine care with teeth brushing and bed baths, skin care and tube care and time for morning tea. Everything stops for tea…now that’s an idea to bring home!
I tidy up my journaling and photos before a rousing game of Golf, the card game, though I hear there is an actual nearby course with a notable golf pro in residence. Cyrus joins us. This Golf was my favorite game in Haiti. I remember hours of raucous fun though I can’t remember any of the rules today.
Our boys, the neurosurgeons, take us into the market for a late lunch at their favorite, safe place. They warn us it is a hole in the wall but the rice and chicken is good, that is when they have rice and chicken. I order rice and vegetables since there is no chicken. The waiter returns to say there are no vegetables and he’ll see if they have rice then he brings me rice and vegetables. It is a lovely lunch with friends. As we walk to the car in the pouring rain, I feel like the coolness is washing away my fatigue. My hands begin to dance as they sometimes do when I am feeling myself inside. Watch out cough, my sense of well being is coming to conquer you.
When we get home, there are Swahili lessons at the kitchen table that hardly pause when the electricity goes off. My doodling, however, is hindered so I switch to writing. The rest of the night is chasing after the power, whether it be the electricity or the power within me. It is a la la salaam night indeed.
Sunday
K and I walk over to the hospital chapel in hope of catching a service but not knowing the timing, if any. We encounter a crowd of fancily dressed church goers just leaving but we swim upstream anyway. The chapel is a freestanding, round building with windows for walls nestled in a courtyard of gigantic trees of ancient growth. It is a beautiful garden setting. The shade is delicious.
As we sit at the foot of one to the trees, a small group gathers inside so we join them. A young lady dressed in beautiful floral yellow sits next to us and becomes our guide. She brings out the order of service book and finds each hymn, pointing to the words, in Swahili. I try to sing in Swahili but lose my way and resort to singing ‘watermelon’ which makes me look like I’m singing. Some songs are familiar: My Hope is built on nothing less than Jesus and His righteousness; or Hapana rafiki kama Yesu: There is no friend like Jesus. She also directs us when to stand, sit and kneel. K finds her Google translate app and it translates the sermon for us. It is the passage of the loaves and fish and I am instantly taken back to the heat of Texas and the Chosen where we filmed this scene. I close my eyes and envision it.
As service ends, the congregation file out singing in Swahili: On Christ, the solid rock I stand. We form a Whoville circle around one of the magnificent trees and end the service there, together.
After service, Chaplain Johnson greets us. He tells us the history of the church and makes our final hymn all the more connecting. The founding bishop came to this spot looking for God’s direction in building a hospital. When he saw the random, lone boulder here, he knew this was the place. He climbed on top and prayed for provision. On Christ, our solid rock we are still standing.
We are invited into the big city for lunch by our neurosurgeon hosts. We take a tuk tuk to meet them and relish the cooling breezes that come with it.
It is a bustling Sunday in the city. Tour groups gather, local Maasai dressed in Maasai grandeur, gather under a tree awaiting tourists in need of a guide. Among them, to our mutual surprise, is Alpha. He had helped me translate at Longido hospital after a patient there recognized me from clinic in Keteumbiene. The patient needed my help getting a ride back home and both she and I needed an interpreter. I apparently have a memorable face for a munzunga.
When I left Longido, I regretted not getting his info as his kindness, English and heart of service could be an asset to our team. Remarkably, 😉I have his card now.
Back at the compound, K and I go to the hospital in search of the view of the mountain. After many attempts and only one passable success, we return. We meet Cyrus and he takes us just past our house to the money shot. He calls the mountain Kili and its lesser peak, also spectacular, mini Kili. It is a brilliant, fresh sunsetting wonder!
Monday It is Paparazzi day for me in the SICU. I am shadowing K with her camera. In the dispensing of my duties, I am cautioned to not photograph patients. This, of course, is already in my RN DNA but how delightful that it is in theirs as well.
We are sent off with warm gratitude on both sides and invitations to return. Walking through the busy Neurology clinic, I think of the crowds of people who gathered around Jesus seeking His healing touch. They are here today as well.
This may seem like a neverending story. It can burden a soul who doesn’t look up. But thanks be to my God Who also has a neverending story and He invites us to look to Him. He has never called me to cure the world. He does call me and each one here to touch the lives He puts before us and leave the rest to Him. If I do not trust Him for this, it would not be faith.
We leave on the 9p plane for home. After 16 days, I think I am ready to go.
Kwaheri, TanziAnne and Moshi Mackenzie
Today, I stay in bed when Kenzie leaves early for a day at the SICU. My cough is worsening so I decide to live vicariously through Kenzie and keep my cough to myself.
When she arrives back in the early afternoon, she regales me with tales galore. Routine care with teeth brushing and bed baths, skin care and tube care and time for morning tea. Everything stops for tea…now that’s an idea to bring home!
I tidy up my journaling and photos before a rousing game of Golf, the card game, though I hear there is an actual nearby course with a notable golf pro in residence. Cyrus joins us. This Golf was my favorite game in Haiti. I remember hours of raucous fun though I can’t remember any of the rules today.
Our boys, the neurosurgeons, take us into the market for a late lunch at their favorite, safe place. They warn us it is a hole in the wall but the rice and chicken is good, that is when they have rice and chicken. I order rice and vegetables since there is no chicken. The waiter returns to say there are no vegetables and he’ll see if they have rice then he brings me rice and vegetables. It is a lovely lunch with friends. As we walk to the car in the pouring rain, I feel like the coolness is washing away my fatigue. My hands begin to dance as they sometimes do when I am feeling myself inside. Watch out cough, my sense of well being is coming to conquer you.
When we get home, there are Swahili lessons at the kitchen table that hardly pause when the electricity goes off. My doodling, however, is hindered so I switch to writing. The rest of the night is chasing after the power, whether it be the electricity or the power within me. It is a la la salaam night indeed.
Sunday
K and I walk over to the hospital chapel in hope of catching a service but not knowing the timing, if any. We encounter a crowd of fancily dressed church goers just leaving but we swim upstream anyway. The chapel is a freestanding, round building with windows for walls nestled in a courtyard of gigantic trees of ancient growth. It is a beautiful garden setting. The shade is delicious.
As we sit at the foot of one to the trees, a small group gathers inside so we join them. A young lady dressed in beautiful floral yellow sits next to us and becomes our guide. She brings out the order of service book and finds each hymn, pointing to the words, in Swahili. I try to sing in Swahili but lose my way and resort to singing ‘watermelon’ which makes me look like I’m singing. Some songs are familiar: My Hope is built on nothing less than Jesus and His righteousness; or Hapana rafiki kama Yesu: There is no friend like Jesus. She also directs us when to stand, sit and kneel. K finds her Google translate app and it translates the sermon for us. It is the passage of the loaves and fish and I am instantly taken back to the heat of Texas and the Chosen where we filmed this scene. I close my eyes and envision it.
As service ends, the congregation file out singing in Swahili: On Christ, the solid rock I stand. We form a Whoville circle around one of the magnificent trees and end the service there, together.
After service, Chaplain Johnson greets us. He tells us the history of the church and makes our final hymn all the more connecting. The founding bishop came to this spot looking for God’s direction in building a hospital. When he saw the random, lone boulder here, he knew this was the place. He climbed on top and prayed for provision. On Christ, our solid rock we are still standing.
We are invited into the big city for lunch by our neurosurgeon hosts. We take a tuk tuk to meet them and relish the cooling breezes that come with it.
It is a bustling Sunday in the city. Tour groups gather, local Maasai dressed in Maasai grandeur, gather under a tree awaiting tourists in need of a guide. Among them, to our mutual surprise, is Alpha. He had helped me translate at Longido hospital after a patient there recognized me from clinic in Keteumbiene. The patient needed my help getting a ride back home and both she and I needed an interpreter. I apparently have a memorable face for a munzunga.
When I left Longido, I regretted not getting his info as his kindness, English and heart of service could be an asset to our team. Remarkably, 😉I have his card now.
Back at the compound, K and I go to the hospital in search of the view of the mountain. After many attempts and only one passable success, we return. We meet Cyrus and he takes us just past our house to the money shot. He calls the mountain Kili and its lesser peak, also spectacular, mini Kili. It is a brilliant, fresh sunsetting wonder!
Monday
It is Paparazzi day for me in the SICU. I am shadowing K with her camera. In the dispensing of my duties, I am cautioned to not photograph patients. This, of course, is already in my RN DNA but how delightful that it is in theirs as well.
We are sent off with warm gratitude on both sides and invitations to return. Walking through the busy Neurology clinic, I think of the crowds of people who gathered around Jesus seeking His healing touch. They are here today as well.
This may seem like a neverending story. It can burden a soul who doesn’t look up. But thanks be to my God Who also has a neverending story and He invites us to look to Him. He has never called me to cure the world. He does call me and each one here to touch the lives He puts before us and leave the rest to Him. If I do not trust Him for this, it would not be faith.
We leave on the 9p plane for home. After 16 days, I think I am ready to go.
When my last child graduated from High School last May, I found myself considering what I would do now that I’ve grown up, anew.
As I welcomed home a friend returning from Africa, I felt God inviting me to another round of traveling with Him. So here I am, traveling with my ZoeHopeGlobal.com team to Tanzania, East Africa. We will be returning to God’s project in Ketumbeine and to our established, beautiful partnerships with our friends.
“Zoe Hope partners with ordinary people to guide children and their poverty stricken communities toward greatness.” God always uses the ordinary to give and receive His extraordinary. I am so pleased to be back!
Join me as I journal through this adventure.
TanzaniAnne March 1, 2026
Tuesday, March 3 It is a cool, breezy day. The sky is overcast with the heavy smell of rain in the air. Birds are singing, dogs are barking and the rumble of awakening life surrounds us.
We drive to Ketumbiene today in a 20 passenger van/bus. Sam is our driver for the week. He is tall and thin with a brilliant smile.
From my bus window, Arusha rushes by. I marvel at the hot tin roofs on the block houses gathered in clusters. They are yellow, black and red, some with a point, others mimic Kilimanjaro with their flat peaks. The driver ahead of us swerves abruptly revealing a calf sauntering down the middle of the highway unaccompanied much like the children.
There is a 4 year old child with a red backpack walking alone down a muddy dirt lane adjacent to the busy traffic. Another, slightly older boy, is running beside the shoulder of the road. It is so curious to me how often the small ones are left on their own, independent.
Further out, I hear the clanging, jingling sound of bells and see a herd of goats living their best lives within feet of our 50mph bus seemingly unaware of the peril.
As we leave the city with its shops, houses and bustle, the roadside becomes lushly green. The overcast sky has broken free into fluffy white clouds and blue skies. White goats and sheep dot the landscape and are brilliantly illuminated by the sun peeking through the clouds. They graze on the soft rolling hills with their natural fencing separating fields of crops and grazing. With my desert eyes, it is a sight to behold.
After a long while, we arrived at the next town, Longido. With a left turn, we reached the dirt, bumbly road to Ketumbiene as the thorn forest rises to meet us.
There is every shade of green and brown in the soft, sharp, prickly, muted, vibrant, shiny, dusty , light, dark cacophony of foliage that closes rank in dense pockets of brambly tangles. There are few other colors on the savannah floor as far as the eye can see.
Roofs are now thatched as we trade the paved road for the dirt one. We spot zebras, giraffes and Impalas on our way. I love this place.
My deep fatigue coupled with the mesmerizing scenery has me in la la salaam (Swahili for good night) mode. So off to la la I go.
Wednesday, March 4, 2026.
As I watch the sun rise, my heart spontaneously calls out “Show me Your glory, God”. He reminds me that I held His Glory last night as I held Pastor Peter’s new baby named Glory.
The first day of clinic is always a bit chaotic as we all learn our stations and choose our rhythms. I saw a lot of patients of every age today. I gave several shots. My older men with their toothless smiles make me giddy with delight. Most sit down in my chair with blank expressions but when I take their hands and say their names, they are transformed. It is medicine to our souls. There were so many with Sciatica symptoms like my own. Like my sons, Joseph, Thomas, Samuel, and Peter were among them which made us all smile.
I was en route to somewhere else when one of our high schoolers pointed to a door I was passing and, with concern, said there was so much blood in there. Curiously alarmed, I pivoted and found a 6 year old darling on a gurney with a gash on his forehead. I’ll call him Roscoe. He was screaming as the blood poured into his eyes and mouth. His mother was struggling to keep him on the table so I helped her. I put pressure on his wound with one hand and held his other hand as I talked to him in English. We locked eyes and he calmed though he didn’t know a word of my English. The thing about language is that the words don’t need to be known for the intent to be understood. All through the suturing, my young friend held my gaze and allowed us to help. His bravery and strength of spirit were stunning.
It made me think of the Hebrew word Ruach, God’s breath. How God lends us His courage by breathing His breath into us. I think God used His Ruach today to breathe through my breath into my little friend.
Back home, a friend’s prayer for me was that harmony might come through me and add to the beautiful song God was playing. How lovely a blessing to be invited to infuse His harmony to another in need! We serve an awesome God!
Thursday, March 5, 2026.
There was a fierce storm last night. The wind whipped and thunder roared and the rain, rain, rain came down, down, down in rushing rivling, rivlets. Even so, it was a mere footnote in my slumber, awakening but not disturbed.
This day held so many profound wonders. My cry to see God’s glory yesterday became so poignant today. He knows my heart and answers me at the point of my need. He has made each of us to be His radiance, reflecting the radiance of Jesus as in Hebrews 1:3. He knows that more than seeing His glory, I long to be His glory and He nourished my deep places today. I am humbled, emptied out, filled up and stunned by how wondrous God is!
I started in the clinic seeing my precious babies, their mamas and siblings with their waxy, crusty ears, running noses and GI issues. I love the little ones. What a privilege to be trusted by Mama to care for them and her.
It wasn’t long, however, before Kelly came, and with urgency in her voice, motioned to me to follow. In the same room as yesterday, a 7 year old boy had been carried in by his dad and placed on the stretcher. It was immediately apparent that this little boy was gravely ill. I’ll call him Paul.
I unwrapped Paul. He was pale, limp, and feverish. He was in extreme respiratory distress with increased heart rate and was nonresponsive to painful stimuli. I looked for a place to start an IV and discovered that he already had one.
Paul’s story was slow to evolve but it went something like this… He had been sick for several days and kept at home as is their custom. He was given tribal remedies and when he began to get worse his family took him to a nearby neighborhood clinic. The clinic began initial treatment but soon recognized that his extreme distress was beyond what they could treat so he was brought to us.
Our local doctors gathered with Kelly and began a series of treatments addressing multiple difficulties as they arose. Our working theory for the core diagnosis seemed to be meningitis but it was clear he had multiple other complications. We gathered what was needed from all over the hospital including borrowing from other patients in less distress. The oximeter, thermometer and blood sugar meter we got from our clinic. The oxygen and suction with tubing along with equipment to drain his bladder we got from the hospital. We tested him for HIV, took blood, gave IV fluids, did old school chest percussion, to name a few…
As his labored breathing worsened, our local docs opted out of intubation because there would be no adequate way to transport him and we anticipated he would need to be stabilized and taken to a higher level of care. We called our medical partners in the US for treatment options. On and on as we desperately searched for ways to reverse this precious one’s troubles.
Kelly and the local doctors were impressive with their creative solutions for wrangling equipment and making procedures work with the spare parts that were available. Their collaboration was a meeting of the minds and their only goal was to give the best care possible.
I was an overseer of sorts, monitoring and assisting as needed but my main job was to be the one constant by Paul’s side. I held his hand, rubbed his head and talked to him in English. I repeated his name and talked to him about Jesus as I prayed over him. I told him how his strength in fighting today showed how he would make a fine Maasai warrior one day; that we were working hard to help him to that goal.
The closest hospital that could provide a higher level of care was an hour away down the same bumpy dirt road on which we had come. We called for an ambulance having no idea what actual services would be provided by it. My time on the Navajo reservation had taught me that an ambulance didn’t necessarily mean it would bring equipment with it.
All the while, our US team rallied around all of us in the room. They wiped my sweaty face, brought water, snacks and prayers. Our students asked thoughtful questions and excelled at loving this sweet little one and me. Like Moses whose arms were held up by Aaron and Hur in Exodus 17, so were our ‘arms’ held up by this team.
After hours of fighting for his life with no improvement, Paul went home to Jesus. I closed his eyes and, with my hands on his chest and head, I thanked him for the privilege of caring for him and I thanked God that though our human goal for healing looked different, it was accomplished in the perfect healing of our child’s soul.
How marvelous that we serve a God Who always answers our prayers with His best rather than with our ideas of what might be best. How profoundly beautiful that God brings us just what we need exactly when we need it. He stoops down to, once again, breathe His Ruach through us to others and through others to us.
A few days later, we were told that Paul’s dad gave his life to Christ. He told us that he was moved by the way we cared for his son and he wanted to know our God and bring his whole family to church. Pastor Peter connected him with a Pastor and church near his home. Your wondrous ruach at work, Father, bring it on!
Friday, March 6, 2026.
I was tired today and my mind was a bit slow to wake up after my body did. I would look for the highlighter that was in my hand. I’d get in a rhythm and forget I was asked to do something else. I heard rumors that we might see a birth today but I tried to center my attention on the patient in front of me until…
Kelly came and asked me to go with the woman in labor to Longido. The doctors decided it should be by ambulance. I never saw the ambulance yesterday so the issue of equipment was still on the table.
My dear sweet mama was having her first baby but the birth could not progress because of some tribal customs that were done to her when she was young. She needed an emergency C-section and because we had no anesthesiologist where we were, she needed to go the one hour ride down the bumpy dirt/mud road to the nearest town, Longido. It would take an hour for the ambulance to get to us and then another hour to get to Longido, in theory.
Before they realized she needed a C-section, they had put her on medicine to make her contractions more effective. After realizing she needed a C-section, they didn’t turn the medicine off. When I got there my poor darling was having vigorous, frequent contractions every 1-2 minutes. She had an intense desire to push and was, indeed, pushing. She was also peeing blood which is a sign of distress for both mom and baby. I turned off the medicine and listened for the fetal heartbeat. It sounded strong despite her current environment.
My mama, I’ll call her Eloise, was lying on an old wobbly, elevated cart without side rails under one thin sheet with her shuka wadded up for a pillow. I asked for a cloth to wipe her brow but it was somehow lost in translation so I found my cooling cloth in my backpack and used that.
I wanted her to lie on her left side to maximize circulation to both her and the baby but as the time went on, Eloise was too restless to maintain any one position for long. It became a constant dance from one side of the gurney to the other to ensure she would not fall off. Of course, I talked to her like I did Paul but I didn’t know if I was comforting or helpful. I doubted until she sat up and pulled me to her so she could rest her head on my chest. It was then that I understood we were doing this together.
We spent the next 3 hours visually reminding Eloise to pant through the pain. I took the tiny win when the contractions slowed to every 1-3minutes. I had one of our students helping me and keeping track of the timing. He was a priceless companion.
The ambulance came 3 hours later. It was a small van with a stretcher on one side and a small bench on the other. There was a small cabinet up against the cab wall; no equipment. There were two attendants and a driver. I envisioned that my patient would be on the stretcher; one attendant, my student and me on the bench and the other attendant and driver up front. It is funny sometimes what I think with my American city girl mind.
The van was small so there was no standing up. As I approached I saw the attendant sitting on the end of the stretcher with the patient and two women who brought buckets of supplies with them sitting on the bench. I timidly sat on the little space left on the bench by the back door but soon realized I couldn’t see, let alone touch my patient. I wanted to be sensitive to their cultural ways but I knew this wasn’t going to work. I gingerly stepped over the two while I was bent in half. I was thinking that I’d trade positions on the bench. Ha! I ended up propping myself up on the tiny cabinet grabbing hold of the stretcher rails with both hands while leaning over my patient … and I stayed that way for the entire cacophonous roller coaster ride through the muddy, thorn forest to the hospital. When I wasn’t white knuckling it on the rails, I was smacking my head on the roof and trying to encourage my patient to pant and not push. My Navajo reservation days came flooding back to my mind which was good because that was when I did my delivering of babies.
We were relatively intact when we were delivered to our destination. By this I mean, I had only bruises and our baby was still inside!
The hospital staff were welcoming and kind. Two of our students met us there and had already charmed their way into the hearts of the staff. We were invited into the OR provided we wore a mask, a hat and a pair of the white Yves St Lauren crocs that were lined up outside.
I was a bit uncomfortable with the anatomy lessons to which the students were being exposed but my only resort was to trust my leaders who initiated it.
Eloise was made to sit straight up on the table that, again, had no side rails. She shivered, uncovered in the cold room, but was impressively able to remain still while the doctors struggled to give her a spinal block. All this while still contracting every 1-2 minutes.
Once the block was accomplished, she was laid flat, arms wide and a screen was placed between her chest and abdomen to protect their sterile field. I wasn’t sure if it was allowed but I briefly slipped my hand in hers and caught her gaze a few times hoping to reassure her.
A C-section (Caesarean section) is a surgical procedure used to deliver a baby through incisions in Mama’s abdomen and uterus. The procedure typically takes about an hour with the baby delivered in the first 5–15 minutes. This said, my students stood in a line, mesmerized by the procedure. It took some strength for the doctors to separate the abdomen layers to reach the uterus. There was a lot of blood but they managed to defy my reservations and stand tall. They asked good questions and listened to my answers. They were curious, respectful and grateful. I was proud to have them with me.
One doctor’s large hand was swallowed whole by the incision and a blink later, out came our baby’s head and body covered in the fluids of birth. It was like a magic trick: now you don’t see her, now you do! It was a girl!
After the cutting of the cord, her small blue body was gathered up in cloth and taken to the incubator where she was vigorously dried off. We held our breath until several minutes later she gave us hers in a weak cry. Needing encouragement to breathe, the Nurse held our tiny, blue darling upside down by her legs and gave her the stereotypical spanking of life. It was evident that she would need oxygen.There was in a 6ft tall canister that weighed 5,000 pounds, give or take, on the other side of the room, standing by for Eloise. It was commandeered and as the Nurse struggled to move it, the students came swiftly to her aid and brought it to our tiny girlfriend. With oxygen and continued encouragement, our blue baby became pinker and stabilized.
Her head was elongated after trying to get out for hours but we were assured that in the miracle process of birth, it would return to round with time. She was wrapped up like a baby burrito and left, unattended, in the warmth of the incubator.
For the next 30 minutes, the staff worked to put Eloise back together. Numb from the block, Eloise was able to rest at last. She was never given her baby to hold or even see. When all was done, the baby was placed between her legs on the stretcher and they were wheeled off. I grabbed her hand one last time and smiled, at last resting myself.
Saturday, March 7,2026
I have always liked that Mary, the mother of Jesus, pondered His birth in Luke 2:19 and as I begin my day, I am in need of pondering myself. I have had to sit with the words my teammates have lavished on me over the past few days.
I was acutely present with Roscoe, Paul and Eloise. My back ached from standing so long but it never deterred me. I was exactly where I wanted to be, not only at the point of my patients’ need but at the pinnacle of my most satisfying desire and gifting.
The extraordinary thing is that my team recognized it as well. At the bedside of all three, I often wondered if I could have been more productive elsewhere. Their many affirmations countered those thoughts.
A couple teammates told me I was like Paul’s mama, caring for him like a mother would. Another told me he admired my work. Another said there was no doubt that I had earned the trust of this team… At the time, this made me pause and wonder. “I was just doing my job,” was my gut response and though this is true, they saw that by doing my job, I was in the center of God’s remarkable plan.
They have given me the extraordinary gift of speaking out loud and, somehow making visible, that which I have hoped in my heart for years but thought was unseen.
I felt seen and valued. It was like their words were God’s words pouring His Ruach into me to tell me through others: “Well done, good and faithful servant. I am pleased.”
Morning VBS
Today we are going to Ketumbiene Primary School for a Vacation Bible School organized by our students. It is Saturday so there is no school but the students, both our and theirs, are gathering with the signature vitality of children.
The first round is singing and dancing. A large circle of three people deep is formed, with our students intermingled. The kids are ready and responsive. They overlap the English and Swahili songs, teaching each other. It is a good start.
Next, the games begin with a spirited soccer, I mean, football match. Whoops, hollers and shouts of acclamation resound as balls and bodies fly. The intensity of joy is palpable and this match becomes a brilliant universal connection point that is celebrated.Last, we have storytime. The students gather under the courtyard umbrella tree. Here two of our student leaders tell the beautiful story of God’s heart for all us and how His unlimited love can change their lives for the extraordinarily better.
Watching from the side, I see two of my male students notice that a crying, young girl is separating from the group. They grab an interpreter to ask the girl why she is crying. The three of them gather around her and I see one put his hand on her shoulder as they pray. It is the Bible story in action and I can only stand in silent awe. As I was seen, so too is she.
Afternoon It is a breezy afternoon when we begin our perilous 4-wheel drive trip through the rain soaked countryside in our non 4-wheel drive bus. We stop often to clear debris from the ‘road’ which is really a simple dirt path. We recognize that we are bamboozled in the end and walk the rest of way.
We have been invited to a Maasai celebration of family, community, life…oh yeah and the circumcision of four young men that will launch them into adulthood.
We arrived at the boma celebration. It is a Maasai ‘neighborhood’ consisting of several thatched roofed huts with communal outdoor kitchen, areas for keeping animals and for gathering under shade trees; all within a communal Maasai fence made of thorn bushes that deter predators.
The colors of the Maasai traditional dress worn by the revelers among which we are included, pop against the green and brown of the countryside. The mountains rise in the distance against the cloud streaked, magnificent blue sky making the beauty complete.
As we enter, there is a large gathering of dancing/jumping Maasai young men in all black shuka attire. This signifies that they have already been launched. Our group joins and soon we are the inner circle, welcomed completely with the vigor of excitement and hospitality. The young men jump, two or three at a time, with a particular rhythm that ends with a bit of a lunge forward. Some of our team take to the dancing/jumping with the electricity of authentic connection. Their delight and exuberance is contagious but my body warns me to stay reasonable and remain immune to the siren song.
Later, we are told that the jump’s end lunge forward is designed for the young men to choose a bride. It seems that some of our gals have inadvertently agreed to multiple marriages but fortunately, no livestock has been exchanged to seal the deal!
It has been a day of celebration, laughter and beauty. We are no longer they and us. This week has made us ‘we’.
Sunday, March 8, 2026.
2 .
I awakened with avid anticipation for a day at church. My first time here, we worshipped in a small wooden building and gathered under a tree for fellowship. Today for the first time, Church will be held at our New Hope Center’s recently built pavilion! An open air covered space with a sound system, chairs and room for all. There will be a ribbon cutting dedication and party!
I am ready!…until I’m not. My vigor turns to dismay as I begin to be undermined and overtaken by my own body. I spend the day in bed instead… I tell myself it will be okay because I get to return in June…and I believe it. The team brings back their excitement fitting for the festivities of the day. It is a wonder to see God’s inspiration become reality. Like the Velveteen rabbit, it has become real because of love.
Gratefully, TanziAnne
2 Corinthians 3:17-18 17 For the Lord is the Spirit, and wherever the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. 18 So all of us who have had that veil removed can see and reflect the glory of the Lord. And the Lord—who is the Spirit—makes us more and more like Him as we are changed into His glorious image
As I watch the sun rise, my heart spontaneously calls out “Show me Your glory, God”. He reminds me that I held His Glory last night as I held Pastor Peter’s new baby named Glory.
The first day of clinic is always a bit chaotic as we all learn our stations and choose our rhythms. I saw a lot of patients of every age today. I gave several shots. My older men with their toothless smiles make me giddy with delight. Most sit down in my chair with blank expressions but when I take their hands and say their names, they are transformed. It is medicine to our souls. There were so many with Sciatica symptoms like my own. Like my sons, Joseph, Thomas, Samuel, and Peter were among them which made us all smile.
I was en route to somewhere else when one of our high schoolers pointed to a door I was passing and, with concern, said there was so much blood in there. Curiously alarmed, I pivoted and found a 6 year old darling on a gurney with a gash on his forehead. I’ll call him Roscoe. He was screaming as the blood poured into his eyes and mouth. His mother was struggling to keep him on the table so I helped her. I put pressure on his wound with one hand and held his other hand as I talked to him in English. We locked eyes and he calmed though he didn’t know a word of my English. The thing about language is that the words don’t need to be known for the intent to be understood. All through the suturing, my young friend held my gaze and allowed us to help. His bravery and strength of spirit were stunning.
It made me think of the Hebrew word Ruach, God’s breath. How God lends us His courage by breathing His breath into us. I think God used His Ruach today to breathe through my breath into my little friend.
Back home, a friend’s prayer for me was that harmony might come through me and add to the beautiful song God was playing. How lovely a blessing to be invited to infuse His harmony to another in need! We serve an awesome God!
Tripping with God: Stories of Faith and Inspiration 