Now, I find I want to take pictures of friends I know, smiles either new or familiar, places and events that hold my heart.  It’s these I hope you will enjoy (attached).  Mostly it’s women I get to connect with, the beautiful African women.  Each face tells a story of love and loss, hardships and joys.  Many of their tales are the same, whether from a city and it’s “riches” or from extreme poverty in a small remote village.  They all hope for a better life for themselves and like most of us, want more for their children than they have had.

Unfortunately, I have to let go of many of the needs, the hopes, the desperate pleas of these women I meet, but for some, because of you, we do get to offer a small cup of water hoping that they will reach out and drink, and drink deeply.   The Women’s Vocational Center in Kitale continues to evolve.  As you know, our desire is not to create one more non-profit in Africa, begging the system to remain the same that creates such dependency on Europe or the US for funding.  We are trying desperately to lift up spiritually and physically so lives are transformed and self-respect and self-esteem given.  Far too many years have been spent with the mzungu giving from hearts of compassion, but leaving so many waiting for the next hand-out to come along.  It’s our fault; we’ve done it to them.  Lives are not changed, skills are not learned.  Thinking is distorted.  Mindsets are cemented.

Appleseed, with Dawson Mudenyo in Kitale is trying to change this through the Women’s Center Dorcas Hands.  He has taken the center out to the village of Wamuini, a half hour from Kitale town.  It’s there women are coming to meet the tailor trainer several days a week.  They are paying a few shillings to learn skills for a better life.  This helps pay the teacher, the rent and the materials.  It’s working.  We help, we support, we encourage, but they are well on their way to being a self-supporting training center.  The room in Kitale town is still maintained for training several girls, but is being used also as a center for selling clothes made there and in the village.  I’ve met the girls in this village.  They are dedicated, hopeful and excited.  Their teacher has been a tailor for a long, long time.  He is skilled not only as a tailor but as a teacher.  You can see from the photo of Dawson and Ed that they are making beautiful things to sell.  While at the school in town, I met several clients who had come in to buy something.  It’s very exciting to see the changes taking place, to see girls committed to their training, hopeful for their futures.

In Kakamega, several hours south of Kitale, the same is happening.  Under church planter and trainer Amy’s direction, many projects are happening for the women in their house church network.  With seed money from Appleseed several groups from different house churches are working hard to better their lives.  There is a center for tailoring training several of the girls, raising rabbits for selling for meat, Sundays they gather as a group and make beaded bracelets or crochet the sought after decorations for homes in Kenya.  All these things are sold on market day in close by Kisumu.  They are farming together, selling kale and maize.  Some are starting small businesses selling vegetables and soaps.  John Omondi, church planter in this region is holding class once a month training/teaching business skills, so needed to learn to live not only for today, but tomorrow also.  These small groups of spiritual communities are helping, encouraging and standing by each other so they can live lives that are more than they’ve ever had before.

One woman, I may have spoken of before, Josephine, was very vocal about her life today.  She said she always felt worthless and alone, trying to somehow exist.  We cannot imagine life in these remote areas…most have been raped as young children and older; most are thin, not because it’s fashionable, but from hunger; most live in dirt floored hovels; most exist on less that 100 shillings a day ($1), meaning they and their children eat ONE meal a day of ugali and maybe beans or porridge.  Not only physically are they sickly and deprived, but emotionally they are depressed and beyond discouraged.  Josephine tells that when she was invited into relationship with Jesus Christ, found out she was not invisible, but known by a God who loves and cares about her, her entire life changed.  She found a Father who would not abuse, a God who would not leave her AND a community that would help her in real practical ways, to teach her, stand with her, be there for her.  Today she does the same for them and is even able to reach out to others and do the same.

What’s happening with the women?  Polle polle…slowly by slowly…we are helping, we are making a difference.  Don’t give up, please.  They are many; we can help some.  We are helping some…not by handing out, but by helping up.  Thank you.

(P.S.  Because of the horrific political unrest in DR Congo right now due to their upcoming election, I can’t report on the work with women there.  Sadly, we weren’t able to go be with Angel and Steven, but I hope to receive a report in the next month as to the progress there.  In the meantime, please join with us in praying for them, their family and their nation.)

Wamuini Tailoring School:

Crafts for selling at market:

Raising beets:

Storing maize:

Women in Kakamega:

• Hot water comes out of the bathroom faucet while I shave—oh so comforting.
• I have a clean carpet to exercise on—and easier on my bones than tile or wood flooring!
• I can shower without worrying that water will get into my mouth containing bacteria that my system is not used to (causing the most dire results).
• I don’t have to brush my teeth using bottled water to rinse mouth and toothbrush (same potential results as previous).
• I don’t have to lather up with mosquito repellent when I get out of the shower leaving a film and a nice odor on my skin throughout the day.
• I can sleep without a mosquito net draped over my face that often happens to have a mosquito trapped inside the net thus exposing me to the very varmint it is meant to protect me from.

But, indeed, these are very small things when I reflect on some of the everyday results we get to see as you partner with us on these travels:

• A discouraged, hopeless, impoverished person given a new beginning and a new perspective on life as she is gathered into a new church family
• A vulnerable child receiving an education and food
• A woman without means given opportunity to make a small living and support her family
• A disabled adult who was previously cast off learning a skill to support himself and finding dignity

Okay, this does help to keep the “small things” in perspective, eh?

Disabled man making products to sell:

Children receiving food at school:

Women learning skills:

Fresh water for children:

People, like all of us, who just need a little love:

The trainings went really well throughout the weekend.  It was a blast to have Dawson and John along from Kenya.  Not only are they very fun to be with, but they add so much to the discussions by sharing their own experiences and practical suggestions to the dynamics of African culture.

One day we spent in town with about 20 men and women and the next two days we went out to church planter/trainer Justin’s place, about 30 minutes on the outskirts of town, where he can find rent to house his family a lot cheaper than in the city.  An interesting ride getting there and back both days.  The first day it was POURING rain and we had a matatu (public van) just for those of us around the city going out there.  Now the van was packed, I thought, with about 15 of us jammed tight with rain dripping onto the passengers smashed up against the windows, which I happened to be one of!  The next day was hysterical…I’m serious.  There were 21 of us packed into the van!!!  No rain, no leaks…but, there were 18 men and 3 women, plus one child, making 22.  The day before just me and the guys!  It wasn’t so bad either day til we got on the red dirt roads with deep ravines in the long, long stretches going either up or downhill on either side of the trip…to our place and to Justin’s place.  Only slight bruising and a new appreciation for deodorant and American’s love of space!

Old Kigali mixed with new:

Dawson, Justin, John, Roger

First, Monday we left Kitale…only three of us…Albert, Roger and myself…in the van with new legs and new heart headed to Mbale, Uganda.  Albert was driving and we were on our way to pick up Dawson in a town “close by,” only an hour away.  There was a slight glitch before actually leaving.  It seems that even though the van has had a heart transplant, it now needs a new kidney (the radiator).  This required stopping to grab a couple of gas containers at Dawson’s house and fill them with water.  So, with water jugs sitting at my feet sloshing all over with every pothole swerved to miss or actually hit, we were on our way.  Scheduled departure?  2:30.  Time?  4 p.m. Things take time in Africa!!!

With only a couple of stops to give the poor radiator a drink during this one-hour trip, we managed to pick up Dawson who was ready and waiting.  All four of us loaded in, we headed for the border of Kenya and Uganda.  Not too much happened…well, except for the constant stopping to give drinks to the radiator, especially when the van would just quit altogether.  At that point, needless to say, it took all three men to attend to whatever it is that’s under the hood.  I just watched from the back seat the billows of smoke coming from underneath it.  The last four times the van shut off completely, and then we would drift off to the side of the road. That’s when we would wait, pray and try to believe that “all is well.”  Roger told me he had really prayed that if the van was going to break down completely, that it would die in Kenya before crossing the border.  And so it was, with God’s grace, we glided not into some dark deserted section of road, but into the immigration point, where it stopped for the final time.  As things had gotten worse along the way, Dawson told us there was a new plan.  We would be going to a friend’s house nearby who was a mechanic and maybe he could fix the car.  That plan had now been aborted and a new one quickly set in motion:  while we got our visas and passports signed, the guys were able to find a driver and a car that would take us to Mbale, where we would sleep.  Now this car was a small Toyota, so Roger, myself and Albert squeezed into the back seat, stuck together, I was sure, for the rest of our lives as we journeyed yet another TWO hours.  By the time we arrived at our hotel, it was 9:30 p.m. And that’s when we sat down to dinner.  Fortunately, there was a football (soccer) game on, so the guys had a blast eating, laughing it up, oo-ing and ahh-ing as each play was made while I sipped tea laughing at my comrades.  I told the other two that it was bad enough to try to talk to my husband at home while he watched his beloved 49-ers, but seriously THREE guys ignoring every word I was saying????  Quick to eat, I hurried to find my bed, secluded and content under a mosquito net yet one more night.

Since it was so dark and late, we hadn’t been able to see any of Uganda the night before, so when we got up the next morning I was shocked!!!  It was gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous outside…green, lush, trees, thick foliage, dotted with banana trees.  High mountains were all around including the very impressive Mt. Elgon.  Heaven!  Sheer heaven.  It’s the rainy season still, so the weather is spectacular:  cool and pleasant, ok at least the majority of the day; we are on the equator after all.  The four of us met in the morning to coordinate the day’s training and waited for church planting trainer and leader Henry to pick us up to go to his village.

Now Henry has to be one of God’s favorites.  I know God doesn’t really have favorites, but if he did, I think Henry might be one of them.  He lives in the boonies of Uganda, in a small village, has very, very little income, and is the epitome of humility and generosity.  He is married to a beautiful woman and has several children.  His intention to bring hope and life to his region is evident.  He has implemented many projects such as teaching farming skills for growing and selling kale, the importance of preventing malaria by using mosquito nets and getting immunizations for the children, to name just a few.  All of these he does by getting others involved as he builds relationships throughout the villages and far into Uganda while speaking the love of God to people, discipling and starting home churches as he goes.

After Henry came for us, the day’s adventure began in earnest.  A pastor friend who owned a car came with him to pick us up. So, now it’s me, the pastor, Henry, Roger, Albert and Dawson.  Yep, I’m relegated to the back seat with three of the guys, meaning I get to sit on the edge of the seat, hang onto the front seats for dear life because of the roads…ALL of the roads are thin asphalt strips with barely two lanes and with so many pot holes you know for absolute sure that your brains are going to fall out.  We rode a short half hour and then turned onto what actually turned out to be better…a red dirt road equally loaded with potholes but for some reason not as treacherous.  All along the way people were walking, going and coming, water jugs on heads, baskets, uniformed kids with satchels in hand.  Finally we were in Nabumali, Henry’s hometown.  The training was great, Albert and Dawson joining in, making it so very relevant to African life and sharing their experiences and how simple church has affected the spreading of the gospel to so many.

After such a great, great time with the men and women who were so hospitable, so engaging and so interactive, it was sadly time to leave.  Sad on so many levels…one, I fall in love with every group we get to be with and most places we get to go.  I always say, “Roger, you know I think I could definitely live here.”  Of course he laughs at me, knowing this softie mzungu would have little hope of surviving such a life!  Yet, it was sad to leave this little village in the beautiful mountains of eastern Uganda and the people who live there and the ones who had come from long distances to join us.  Two, I now knew what the 2.5 hour journey back to the border was going to involve.

By now, I’ve gotten used to the African issue of space.  Basically, you have none.  My space is your space and vice versa.  It works…whether standing in a line at the market, walking on the road, sitting in a bus, wherever.  I rather like it.  In our country, I’m afraid of touching someone or “getting in their space.”  Maybe it was from my youth and shouts from a younger brother to our mom, “She’s touching me” with squeals of horror thinking one of my so-called cooties might alight on him.  Once again in the backseat, four of us were squished together, chatting, commenting about this and that while Roger and the very hospitable Ugandan pastor sat up front.  On the drive the guys educated me on some of the Ugandan ways, like men and women sitting in a circle around a large jug each with their own very long straw dipped in to sip their home brew.  They say the stuff is so strong it can make the seeing blind and even worse.  They also wondered if perhaps I was interested in adopting the tradition of many of the Ugandan women, especially the older ones, of bowing low, and I mean low, because I had seen it, before any male figure, making sure not to make eye contact.  Mmmm, maybe not, to Roger’s great disappointment, and Dawson laughing his head off saying he would really, really like to see that

During the journey, we eventually caught on that the mechanic who had been called to come and repair the van sitting at the border was still there…with the van, which was unable to be fixed.  We had made it through the Ugandan border with slight harassment to the Ugandan friend driving us, but we all bailed out and walked through on our way to the Kenyan immigration office some distance away.  Getting our passports stamped once again, we went to the poor lonely grey van sitting in the dark looking like a deserted friend waiting to be found.  The mechanic came walking up and explained that now the engine had cooled (for two days), so maybe it would start.  He, himself, had been unable to do anything for the poor thing.  Albert, shaking his head, grimly announced that we were never going to make it the two hours from there to Kitale.  He was in the third seat back guarding the groceries Roger had thought to bring along for the trip.  We all know that Dawson’s theory about road trips is this:  Get in the car with a loaf of white bread and a liter of coke and don’t stop til you get there.  Thinking ahead, Roger had bought plenty of snacks for everyone.  Yay for things in boxes and cellophane bags!

Dawson was driving, the mechanic in the passenger seat, Roger and me in the second seat, and Albert alone in the third.  Albert is generally a pretty positive guy so I was surprised at his proclamation of doom about the van.  I turned to him and said, “Are you kidding me?  There’s no way God is leaving us out here!  I’m praying and we’re going to make it home.”  We all laughed, but have to tell you, I was seriously hoping all the grace we have been experiencing on this trip would continue to be with us.  It was getting later by the minute and the road home looked pretty dark and desolate.

And, yep, that’s my God!  Seeing us home all the way!  Well, there was the one pit stop “to help ourselves,” (i.e., use the toilet) when the car refused to start again, I mean as in would NOT turn over at all!  No, it didn’t need even need water.  A man there ambled over (not the mechanic), and jabbed something and sparks flew and all of the sudden that baby was purring again like a kitten.  Off we went, non-stop the whole way home.

Adventures are fun, but I have to tell you, even more fun when God is involved.  Meeting people, seeing new places, experiencing new things, sharing hearts…it’s all such a great adventure.  Will we get to go back to Uganda?  I surely do hope so.  Will we be taking the van?  Probably.

Beautiful Uganda:

Drinking home brew:

Amazing church planters:

Henry and his wife:

In Kisumu my beloved Roger gave into spending a whole 45 minutes with me in a little side-street alley where native (and some not so native) crafts are sold.  Each vendor grabs your arm, saying in clear English, “Hi, I’ve been waiting for you!  Come and see my shop!”  and then anxiously describes each article and how much either you need it or your friends back home do.

One of the vendors, a tall, lanky guy actually did have many things that I thought were interesting:  huge drums stretched with cow hides as well as other fascinating musical instruments, even a huge long metal spear, complete with some kind of tail hanging off the end and leather strips with colorful beads.  I stopped to look and that’s when our fifteen-minute conversation took over.  He had several of the cow tails on a stick like the one I had bought before and thought I really needed one…for $8.00!!  He told me they were perfect for swatting flies or for dusting my “beautiful furniture” at home?!  I was explaining how I had already bought one in Kitale and how very nasty the thing was and how extremely disgusting the smell was, so much so that I had had to throw it away.  He was horrified!  He explained carefully how you have to wash it, scrub it with your hands with the wash tub and soap and water.  Then, he continued to explain IN DETAIL that it was because of where the tail is on the cow.  Geeshhhhh, how gross!!!  And, here it is traveling around in my suitcase.  Literally, when I took the two bags and all the duct tape off (reluctantly shared by Roger as it’s typically saved for mosquito nets we encounter with holes in them), I seriously thought I was going to throw up the smell was so bad.  So, yes, I gave it another go.  I bought ANOTHER cow tail on a stick promising to go home and follow his directions.  So, now it’s been sitting in a wash bucket for two days with a ½ cup of laundry soap.  Tomorrow, I plan to hang it in the sun for at least a few days hoping to bleach out any last odors or living things.

Fortunately, for me, I was able to find someone to help me scrounge through the trash out back and retrieve the old cow tail on a stick, so now I have two soaking away!  Some people just pay the big bucks in the souvenir shops for the ones already washed, I guess, with the pretty carved elephants for a handle or beautiful beadwork (check out the photo).  Mine?  A wooden stick!!!!! Price???   $1.20!!!!  He said, “Madam, you are a very good bargainer, not like the others!”  YAHOOO for me!  Do you think it’s worth it?  Mmmm, I’ll let you know!  Hey, and if you happen to know any other suggestions, please send them along!  Yes, ditching them both is still on the table as a viable (and perhaps the only) option.

We stopped at church planter Amy’s house to check out some of the projects Appleseed is involved in with folks there and in the area.  For example, we got to meet a woman there who had just harvested her beets and was getting ready to dry them.  Close by along the road, there were many girls all crammed into a tiny space with huge smiles, lots of laughter, all excited and committed to learning tailoring skills.  Then there was another gal with rabbits for selling.  We met others, a disabled man weaving baskets, another husband and wife working in their hotel (restaurant).  We got to visit with group after group of people who are really lifting themselves up, facing some challenges for sure, but so hopeful for their newfound futures.

Then we were led across the main road to head for Alice’s home.  We trekked some distance down a red dirt, thick foliage bordered road “Jambo-ing” (hello-ing) everyone along the way, some with baskets or sacks of beans or potatoes on their heads, others herding two or three cows, a group of men animated and fiercely talking about Kenyan politics.  After a time, we reached Alice’s small vegetable stand signifying the entrance to her home.  She smiled sheepishly and invited us in where we were pleasantly surprised to find that we were coming together with others for a house church gathering.

The home was typical with dirt flooring, two windows filling the room with light, and adults taking up every square inch of the tiny living room.  We clustered around the coffee table where I knew African tea (milk, sugar and tea boiled together) would be served later.  Some of the women were those I had met with the day before, so I felt very much at home and happy to see familiar faces.  Others, typically Kenyan, were warm, friendly, and relaxed with us as each one shared introductions.

We had a great time in worship, prayer, and Bible study together.  And, then the moment happened, as always does in a house church meeting, the moment you have been waiting for, when the Holy Spirit reveals something to you personally.  That’s when Josephine began to speak.

She shared her heart, what house church meant to her.  Before coming to this gathering, she felt so despised as a woman, even as a human being, that no one cared about her and not only was she worthless, but there was no hope for anything better.  She had no family and “was very, very low.”  When she started coming to this group, people accepted her for who she was.  They loved her, cared about her, lifted her up both in a spiritual way and physical way, empowering her by reading the Word of God and her receiving it and believing it for herself.  Now she says she has the “boldness and confidence of a man!”  She has family and is confident to share her testimony and the Word of God with others.   She no longer hides from life, but participates in life.  She has grabbed a hold of the opportunity before her to learn skills with the other women in her house church – skills like beading and crocheting, making things to sell at the larger market in the larger town of Kisumu on Saturdays.  She’s committed to a better way of life, learning business skills, life skills, work skills.  She is passionate in her faith in the God who loves her, picked her up from the trash heap and set her in a family to believe with her, in her and encourage her.

Tea came.  Conversation extended, then the traditional handshake good-byes.  Saved for those you know well and love, I was given not only a handshake, but then first a kiss on the left cheek, then the right.  I, too, felt accepted and cared about.  I, too, get to experience what it means to be part of a house church family.

Alice’s house:

Alice’s vegetable stand:

House church family:

Harvesting beets:

Examples:

When I asked a friend how her marriage was, she replied, “Well, it’s not bad, but let’s just say he doesn’t quite exalt me.”  (mmmm, girls, do you feel exalted today????  I’m not thinking I do so much…loved yes, exalted? Maybe not!)

Talking with another friend and asking how it’s going, she said, “I am so stressed up; life is hard, hard, hard.”  (I can be stressed out, but maybe when life is extra challenging, I’m really feeling stressed up!)

“We must delete ourselves from the situation.”  (Self-explanatory I guess).

A mom trying to deal with her restless and very bored children in a restaurant, “Please be calm.”

Not to waste precious cell phone minutes or time, a caller says, “This is ___________.”   The receiver of the call may respond, “Tell me what you want to say!”   (How many times have you ever wanted to speak to someone so directly!)

In reference to the many, many “brokers,” men you might pay to help you get across a border, money exchangers, taxi drivers, men or women or children in your face wanting you to buy a soda, fruit or who knows what, I was told, “When you go somewhere for the first time, there are many people there to deceive you.”

In reference to someone a friend thought was pretty much a jerk, he told me, “He is not a very bad man (with strong emphasis on the ‘very’).”  This holds true for most anything.  If you don’t like it, you just say, “It’s not very bad!”  Nice twist, huh?

“I do not know why they want to confuse the price.”  (referring to the price of very limited gas in Kitale right now with the price fluctuating throughout the day.)

Regarding the purchase of a used dresser from a neighbor:  “He is thinking of disposing of a dresser and I am thinking of receiving it.”

“I must go help myself.” (I am going to use the toilet.)

Regarding the challenges of a project one of the guys has been working on, he said, “It has been difficult from day one to day last.”

Referring to the level of concentration it takes to drive on pot-holed, red dirt road in Uganda:  “If your thoughts are mixed, it (a car accident) will surely be your fault.”

“They are proud of being big.” (referring to a tractor trailer angling to get in front of everyone else on a thin strip of pot-holed, dirt road.  The general traffic rule being if you are bigger you can overpower anyone else, which everyone obliges, even if begrudgingly.)

With six of us piled into a car as we were leaving Uganda, a friend prayed, “Daddy, thank you for this good day.  Now we beg you to be our Provider, our Protector, our Friend as we make this journey to the border.  In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

So, you can see why I LOVE to be in Africa!  The people are loving, extremely hospitable, warm, animated, and kind.  We have come to enjoy, appreciate and love them so very much!

Check out some of the folks we get to hang out with:

When we got there we spent some time with the kids, then headed to one of the classrooms to greet the parents and guardians of orphans.  They were dressed to the nines, ready and waiting…not a full representation, but many women and even men.  It was very, very good and I enjoyed meeting the parents of some of the students we have come to recognize and love.  This school meeting was unlike any in the US, so to me, it was really fun and fascinating.  John is hysterically funny, blunt, forthright and so compassionate and loving…trying to teach  the parents and guardians new concepts, the importance of education, owning the school themselves, the importance of sleeping under a net for protection against malaria – all done respectfully and lovingly, somehow not offending them.  I’m not sure how he does all he does for that community, school, and his church, as well as be on the Board at a public school and head of the pastor’s association in the group of villages out there, AND he has four children and a wife!  The day was great out there, even if far too short and ending with a rainstorm and a flat tire.

Kids getting fresh water from the newly drilled well:

Every child received a mosquito net to protect them from the deadly disease of malaria:

Some moms who came to the parent/guardian meeting:

Time to go, but…

On arrival at where we stay, you can only imagine my complete horror that “our room” had been taken!!  So, we’ve moved into another, not to be outdone by our old room, though.  It has it’s own idiosyncrasies (photo attached; Roger’s ingenuity to use a coathanger I had brought to keep the back of the seat from falling down on you).  Within 10 minutes of getting here, a couple from a nearby town was ready to greet us, excited about the upcoming trainings.  So, after meeting with them, we trekked to do some shopping in the nearby “Walmart,” called Khetia’s.  It’s very relaxed here, warm and green.  Huge birds, perhaps some kind of stork, as always are hanging out in the big trees lining the streets.  There is a big agriculture trade show for the week, so the streets are crowded with lots of people as this is the hub for agriculture for the entire country.  We found ourselves very comfortable in familiar territory as we walked down the streets winding in and out of bicycles, cars, matatus (vans that are buses), and for me, men, as ALL have the right-of-way above me, as a woman.  I glanced in one alleyway where Elizabeth, Dawson’s wife, has a little shop, and there she was waving and beaming at us as we came closer to greet her and see what she is selling today, promising to meet for tea later.

After buying a couple of more soccer balls and candy for the kids at the school, we began the search  going in and out of shops trying to find a computer bag for the newly purchased computer for Pastor John, the man who began and now runs the Bikeke School.  Once again we were greeted, as so often happens here, by two friends running up to us with big smiles, a handshake and a kiss on each cheek.  We do feel quite at home and content.    Later that night we caught up with Dawson and his family and the next day to the school in Bikeke Village.  More to come…

Side street in Kitale:

Making the accommodations work:

Our last trip here ended with news that our son had passed away.  It makes sense that returning here would bring up some of those memories as well as the loss we continue to walk through.

Then, as our feet touched the ground in Kitale, we were not only surrounded by familiar team members but also greeted by a couple from a neighboring town that we had never met before.  Sitting down to lunch with this husband and wife, they began to show us pictures of mentally ill adults that they were caring for.  As difficult as it is to find good treatment at home for the mentally ill, there is NO treatment available to the African with no finances and, what is worse, the family very often abandons them to the streets where most others shun them.  Often, they are left in gutters to fend for themselves.

Now, if you haven’t made the connection yet, I was particularly stirred by this couple’s ministry and the needs they were meeting because Tim was so plagued by his own mental illness during the last couple years of his life.  The needs they were meeting of cast-off, mentally ill people stirred me deeply as my own heart was reminded of what Tim went through.  A coincidence or a God-thing?  Probably the latter.

But, oh  the insatiable needs of Africa that so easily get under one’s skin and causes both Brooks and I to want to rip the clothes off our back and hand them to someone like these people in need!  Alas, this is not the answer.  But, we will carefully build relationship with a couple like this over time, learn more about their work, and pray carefully about what steps can be taken to empower them in their work  and not just set up a handout that never ends.

Our new friend caring for an abandoned mentally ill man: