Tuesday, September 18 (continued)

Gypsy pastor and his wife – Laco and Anna

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Gypsy church

Later in the day, Karla drove us to an unforgettable site. Several familiar concrete apartment blocks stood alone, segregated from the rest of the city. Unlike the other blocks, however, there was no playground for the children. Instead, an abandoned car drew the kids and teens like a magnet. Its doors were ripped off, its windows were smashed out, and a teenage boy was hammering on the dashboard while his buddies looked on. Garbage lay in heaps around the place, and many of the buildings’ windows were shattered. This is where approximately 6,500 gypsies live, sometimes two or three families shoved into one small apartment. Considered society outcasts, no one wants them nearby. The government built a school on the property so they can attend classes with their own kind, and then it put a swimming pool there so they’ll not frequent the city pools. The unemployment rate is 99 per cent, there’s no hot water, no heat in the buildings….not a pretty sight.

The good news is – there’s a church on the property, a fruit of IM ministry. Here we spent 1 ½ hours with a gypsy man who came to know Christ about ten years ago. He’s now a pastor among his people. He shared his testimony with us, telling us how Christ delivered him from alcohol and gambling addictions. His desire is to see his people come to know Jesus as Savior so they, too, can be set free and experience healing in their lives. Now there are two women’s discipleship meetings, a children’s outreach, a teen program, a men’s discipleship meeting, and two church services each week on site. As we spoke, we could hear music – guitars and accordians – down the hall. The midweek service had begun, and the people sang with great enthusiasm. Little kids ran in and out of the building, curious teens stopped by to check things out, and the singing continued.

What a privilege to witness this body of believers worshipping the Lord. Their circumstances are less than desirable, to put it nicely, but their hearts are intent on following Christ. They are our brothers and sisters in the Lord and need our prayers for steadfastness in their faith. Brad estimates that there are 500,000 gypsies in Slovakia; perhaps 500 are believers. The Bible has not yet been translated into their language.

As we ended our meeting, the pastor prayed for the work and for us (how humbling is that??). We prayed for him and for his family, and for the Lord to send more workers to help them carry the load. Karla translated so we could understand each other’s words. His wife shook my hand and kissed me on both cheeks, and I felt blessed beyond belief.

Tuesday, September 18

Woodworking shop

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Sewing classes anyone?

Karla’s husband, Brad, took us to see their work projects. One is called Life Art and is designed to teach work skills to those needing to earn a living. There are several facets to it. First, a woodworking department teaches men to build furniture. There’s a lovely facility equipped with everything necessary to run such a course. Their first class graduated two weeks ago, and a second session will begin in mid-October. One of their students was unemployed for 10 years, living in a one-room apartment with his wife and four kids. Now he’s learned skills, is earning an income, and will stay on as a teacher! What a boost to his ego! Better yet, he’s become a believer. This facet has a major need, however – someone to take over the supervision of it. Is there someone out there with woodworking skills and a desire to use them in this setting on a long-term basis??

Next, there’s a sewing section to teach women life skills. The pilot program will begin in mid-October. This program also has a need, or rather, two: (1) money to buy irons and ironing boards – this would be an easy project for a women’s ministry group to undertake. The needed items can be purchased here, so there’s no shipping involved. Just the funds. (2) Funds to pay the instructor’s wages for this pilot program. She will earn about $7 per hour, with a total of $800 necessary. When the pilot program is complete, the government will pick up the tab for future sessions because it recognizes the value of such skills to its citizens well-being.

Then there’s Word Art. This is a language school in historical downtown Kosice. The business offers classes for 33 languages! Sometimes they’re working with professionals who have been transferred to Kosice; sometimes they’re working with refugees from war-torn countries.

Monday, September 17

Rolled into Kosice at 4:50 a.m. Karla, one of our Canadian IM missionaries, met us and took us home. Bless her heart, she told us to go to bed and wake up whenever we felt like it. We took her advice and finally got up at noon. Felt good to lie still after the 16-hours of rockin’ and rollin’ on the train.

Later in the afternoon she drove us to her family’s church. What a difference from the little Protestant churches we saw in Poland. This church is new and holds more than 500 people. It has 57 cell groups, a youth group of more than 200 kids, and it’s growing exponentially.

When we drove around the city, we saw several clusters of the familiar grey concrete apartment buildings. These clusters house between 25,000-30,000 people. If you happen to live in the middle of a cluster, you don’t see sky…only more apartments. Karla lived in one such setting many years ago, and she said she had to get outside and walk everyday so she could see the sun and keep from getting depressed. Those of us who don’t live in such a setting would never think of that.

Sunday, September 16

Catching a good night’s sleep on the train is only wishful thinking!

My hubby was asked to preach in church this morning. Bless his heart, he jumped right in with the help of a Polish translator. Talk about being stretched beyond one’s comfort zone. He challenged the congregation (maybe 50 people) to have courage to believe God for great things, and to not be afraid to say yes when He calls them to a task that’s bigger than they are because obedience will result in opportunities to experience God in new ways.

Prayer, not announcements, moved the service from one section to the next. So, after singing some praise choruses (in Polish), people stood to pray one after the other. Then they sang hymns, after which Gene preached. The pastor recapped Gene’s message, and then someone prayed again. I couldn’t understand a word of what was being said, but I could hear the passion in people’s voices. And I thought about what heaven will be like – people of every race and nation praising God together around His throne. What a thrill that will be someday!

After church we caught a train headed to Slovakia. We shared a six-seater berth with a couple from Poland who chatted between themselves for the entire six-hour trip to Krakow. The train rolled mostly through farmlands. One thing that captured my attention was the brick or concrete apartments standing less than 20 feet from the tracks. How would you like to live beside tracks that carry trains to and fro all day and night? I just can’t imagine it being a quiet place, but I guess the residents get used to it. If they can’t afford their own land or residential house, they might have no other choice. I also saw many abandoned concrete buildings with windows broken or roofs destroyed. Again, I wondered what stories they could tell if they could talk.

When we arrived in Krakow, we got off the train for a two-hour layover. Thankfully an IM missionary met us there and helped us navigate that experience. She took us to a nearby mall where we could eat supper as there was no restaurant car on the train.

My oh my, this was no ordinary mall. If Carol hadn’t met us, we would have stayed in the underground train station without knowing that above us lay a fancy three-storey shopping bonanza that stretched in every direction with no end. On the third floor we found a food court with everything from Kentucky Fried Chicken to Subway to middle eastern cuisine and Polish menus. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do,” I figure. So I enjoyed a meal of boiled potatoes and pork with a hefty side of sauerkraut. Mmmmm, good.

At 10:30 we boarded another train and set out on our overnight ride to Kosice. We’d reserved our tickets too late to get a sleeper car, so we had a six-seater berth again. Thankfully we had the berth to ourselves. In fact, we had the entire car to ourselves. Sleep was nearly impossible, though. I think we made 16 stops along the way, and several times the conductors rapped on our window and asked to see our tickets. When we crossed into Slovakia, the train stopped for about 35 minutes to allow the border guards to check for passports. “Canadian,” one commented with interest in his voice as he showed our passports to two other guards. Then he hustled off to other duties, leaving his cohorts to deal with us. Another guard marched through each car with a German Shepherd dog – sniffing for drugs, possibly. No one spoke English, and we spoke not a word of Slovakian, so we can only guess re: what was going on.

The night was a long one – especially because it was very cold in the berth. Apparently the heat is turned on from a main source only when the train authorities think it’s cold enough to warrant it. And this wasn’t a night that warranted it, in their opinion. Brrrr. I obviously didn’t bring warm enough clothes with me for this trip. If we ever have to travel this way again, I’ll pack lightweight blankets and inflatable travel pillows. Live and learn.

Saturday, September 15

Dinner party with pastors and wives.

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Removing the protein from our mushroom soup

Rather than zipping around town to meet folks and see projects involved with IM work, we stayed home and prepared for a dinner to which the city’s three Protestant pastors and their wives were invited. Marti’s kitchen is about 4 feet wide with precious little counter space so we had to juggle tasks and washing dishes to accommodate all that needed to be done. In the midst of preparing dinner, we cooked homemade soup with the mushrooms we picked yesterday. That meant first examining every mushroom for worms before tossing them (the mushrooms, not the worms) into the pot with chicken broth. The finished product was gourmet fantastic. Move over, Campbell’s!

The dinner party was fun for all. Marti served cold salads, deli meats and cheeses, and roll – a typical Polish meal – and topped the menu with lemon meringue pie and apple crisp. I learned that, when you’re sitting at the table and you want a particular food but can’t reach it, it’s more acceptable to simply stand up and reach across everyone for it rather than interrupt others who are closer but engaged in conversation. Whatever works!

Conversation flowed freely during dinner. A translator had come along for our benefit, and we enjoyed being a part of what was happening. Before long, however, the guests entered a conversation about which everyone felt passionate, and they all spoke at once. The translator threw off his English and jumped back into Polish. Gene and I must have looked like deer staring into a car’s headlights as we tried to catch a familiar word now and then. Reminded me of the ol’ days in Nepal when we couldn’t understand a word at first, and we constantly walked around feeling brain-drained. Nevertheless, the evening ended with prayer for one another’s ministry (3 Protestant pastors in a city of about 120,000). I love praying with others when they speak in their native language – God understands those prayers no matter the language in which they’re spoken, and coming before Him knits our hearts to each other.

Friday, September 14

local pastor and wife

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Lunch at the camp

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mushroom picking

Wild mushrooms and grilled Polish kielbasa – the makings for a memorable picnic in the countryside. Bill and Marti drove us to a site where a local pastor oversees summer camps for kids and teens. The pastor and his wife met us there, gave us a tour of the facility, and treated us to grilled Polish sausage – yum! Then came the desserts – pastries, chocolates, and other goodies. (Fitting into the plane seat for the trip home will be a major feat if the sweets keep coming as they have in the past week.)

We three women took a walk around the property and found wild mushrooms growing in the field. Apparently these are a valuable commodity, often sold in the open markets by those who pick them. The pastor’s wife, Danielle, showed us how to peel and cut the mushrooms (watching for wee worms inside), and we prepared them for freezing later.

We had a fascinating conversation over lunch, learning about their experience during the Communist days. They told us that Poland didn’t suffer the same repression that other countries such as Romania did. They talked about their church activities being watched and of having to report every gathering such as baptismal celebrations, but they were never forbidden to meet as believers. In some ways, they feel their religious rights are more restricted now than before – something I wouldn’t have imagined.

Thursday, September 13

Ania, my translator


















Grace and a Polish granny

















Marti and I walked through the market today – I much prefer the open markets to the modern department stores. There’s ‘way more character to the little shops, and there seems to be a personal warmth that’s missing in the mega stores. Afterwards we went to a bakery and enjoyed coffee and European treats with a gazillion calories – Marti had a chocolate yummy while I tried a tart filled with whipped cream and topped with kiwis and raspberries.

A 25-year-old Polish IM worker joined us for lunch, which is the big meal of the day. She’d just returned from her first trip to the States where she traveled to raise funds to cover her living and ministry expenses. It’s difficult for national missionaries to raise financial support here because sometimes they’re first-generation Christians and their families and acquaintances don’t understand or appreciate their faith and calling. Again, I have the utmost respect for these folks who are faithfully serving the Lord amidst challenges that might cause others to throw their hands up and walk away.

This Polish gal was my translator later in the afternoon when I spoke at a women’s meeting. The gathering was held in a one-room facility – on Sundays it holds church services and during the week it doubles as the neighborhood food bank. The meeting began at five o’clock – not a normal time for a midweek women’s event in North America but that’s what works here because people don’t like going out at night. Most of the attendees were regulars from that church, but there were several women who heard the Gospel, one possibly for the first time.

My heart warms to these women – from eight-year-old Asha who came with her mom after receiving the invitation at the food bank, to the 20-something gal who told me about her dress designing business, to the nearly toothless 65-year-old Polish grandma who showered me with numerous hugs and kisses – and I long to see them live life as fully as God intends. Each one is created in His image and beautiful in His sight. I pray that my message and response to them will bring hope and an understanding of His great love for them.

Wednesday, September 12

Gene and his translator

Today’s highlight? Well, there were two. One was driving to the city’s outskirts to see where Bill and Marti and a couple other IM staff had a ministry with women and children. When we arrived at this place (a former military barracks), we saw four concrete apartment blocks. Several walls had graffiti painted on them. A playground with swings and slides sat out back. Children ran past us, one of them pulling a puppy on a leash. Several adults walked by, but none looked happy. Their eyes seemed empty and their faces appeared strained.

The 20-year-old we’d come to visit invited us into her family’s apartment. We entered a wide doorway and found ourselves in a long, dark, concrete hall. About six white doors lined the hall – they reminded me of freezer doors. The area looked more like a food locker than an apartment hallway. When the young woman opened her door, however, we stepped into a teeny apartment that was pleasant to behold – bright white ceiling, blue and yellow tiles on the wall, and coordinated blue tiles on the kitchen cupboards. Once again we were treated to a cup of strong coffee (complete with grounds that settled to the bottom and stayed there) while discussion about the girl’s request for financial assistance was held.

When the visit ended, we walked to a nearby building that bore a sharp contrast to the apartments. Inside we found nearly a dozen children either playing games with adults or on a computer. This is a government-funded program for children in this housing development. No one over the age of 15 is allowed inside in order to provide safe refuge for children whose lives are affected by domestic abuse or alcoholism. These kids can come here anytime for help with their schoolwork, for fun and games, or for a hot meal. It’s here that weekly children’s Bible-based programs have been held in the past. Sadly, a lack of staff means they’re not happening anymore.

We walked past the dismal apartments again when we returned to our car. I couldn’t shake the feeling of darkness and hopelessness in that place. And I wondered how many children leave there to go on to live productive and healthy lives. The odds are stacked against them.

At six o’clock we had to be a local church because Gene had been asked to lead a Bible study. It was his first time speaking through a translator. A small group gathered – perhaps a dozen precious Polish folk. The prayer time that followed was sweet – one after the other, they stood and prayed on behalf of their families and city. There was scarcely a second or two between prayers – it was as though they couldn’t wait to talk with God. What a privilege to worship God with His children on this side of the world.

Tuesday, September 11

Andrew and Iwona

When it takes three days to dry clothes, one must plan ahead!

It’s strange that in India and Nepal we could understand the language enough to get around and hold friendly conversations. But here, where outwardly we appear to have more in common with these people, we can’t understand a word. Here’s an example of the Polish vocabulary: “platki kukurydziane.” What do you think it means? Read the end of this entry and I’ll tell you the answer!

The day’s highlight was visiting Andrew and Iwona – a local pastor and his wife. They live in a 550-square-foot apartment with their two sons. Andrew made a special coffee for me and Marti, flavored with cinnamon and cardamom. Wow – it was strong! He poured about an inch of his brew into each mug, and we added ¾ cup of hot water to dilute it. We nibbled on rolls stuffed with mincemeat (I think that’s what it was) while learning about Andrew’s ministry, and then we enjoyed a prayer time together. I felt so humbled to be in their presence. These servants of God have an obvious heart for Him and a passion for their city. I wish I could have stayed longer – I know I could learn much from them.

Marti and I washed clothes today using the tiniest washing machine I’ve ever seen. It’s about 15 inches across. The top loading area reminds me of my bread maker at home. There’s no dryer in this apartment, however, so we hung clothes on plastic racks on the outside deck and around the house. By nighttime, nothing was dry yet so we turned on a little heater in the room where we’re sleeping and aimed it at the clothes rack. We certainly take conveniences such as clothes dryers for granted in North America.

What do you think “platki kukurydziane” means? If you guessed “corn flakes,” you’re right!

Monday, September 10

Roadside shrine – one of many

On the road again. This time, we headed for Poland by car with our other Canadian IM missionaries, Bill and Marti. Twelve hours later we arrived at their home, but enroute we enjoyed beautiful scenery – rolling hills, trees, castles, cattle and goats grazing. In cities we saw huge apartment blocks that looked like towering rectangles sometimes painted yellow and orange or bright green. Other times they were a drab grey. Apparently they’re remnants from the Communist regime. People still occupy them, but they’re insulating them with Styrofoam and painting them bright colors now.

As we drove through countryside and city, I couldn’t stop thinking about the people here and what their history has been. When I saw crumbling farm houses, I wondered what stories they could tell if they could talk. Did they hide army troops? Were their residents expelled or killed by military forces?

My grandfather was born in Russia and later defected from the Russian army by hiding in a haystack. Soldiers went looking for him and actually shoved pitchforks into the very haystack in which he was hiding. Fortunately their aim was off and he escaped. As I looked around the Polish countryside, I thought a lot about Grandpa and others like him who have lived, or died, under Communism.

I shake my head at the suffering caused by selfishness, and I’m reminded of the blessing that’s ours to live in a country that guards its citizens’ freedom.

Saturday, September 8

New friends – one from the States, one from Poland

The day’s highlight for me was speaking to the women in the morning session. Being over-busy is a common struggle to many women, and this group could relate to my message on that topic because of the additional demands on their schedules due to ministry. I encouraged them to keep their relationship with Jesus as their utmost priority – that abiding in the Vine (John 15) is what matters most, and that doing so will result in a fruitful life.

Today I discovered the answer to a question over which I’ve puzzled for nearly 25 years. When we lived in Nepal, I struggled with culture shock, illness, discouragement, isolation, and homesickness. Over the years since our return to North America, I’ve often wondered what that experience was about. What was the purpose behind our living there for three years, struggling with those issues, having no visible results for our labors, and then returning home to NA? The answer? Maybe, just maybe, it was to give me a heart that understands these missionary women and the issues they deal with on a daily basis. After I’d presented my message, several told me that it was nice to hear from someone who truly understood their situations. All I can say is, “Thank You, Lord, for so beautifully knitting Your design into Your children’s lives.”

Along a lighter note, we were served wieners for breakfast this morning. Three weenies each, with a slice of cucumber and tomato. I love these cultural differences!

Friday, September 7

IM missionaries – some of our favorite people!

The International Messengers conference began this morning with heartfelt praise and worship music and a message that encouraged us toward personal revival. What an amazing time – the room was filled with missionaries who share the same Lord and purpose but who come from various backgrounds and countries. There were folks from the Ukraine, Germany, Romania, the Czech Republic, Poland, Slovakia, Canada, and the U.S., to name a few.

As we mixed and mingled with various individuals throughout the day, Gene and I realized afresh that our new responsibilities have thrown us onto an ever-increasingly steep learning curve. Being effective means understanding the various projects into which these people have invested their lives, and capturing their vision and passion. It means learning to understand various cultures and why certain evangelistic efforts will or will not work within them. It means carrying our understanding back to North America and sharing it with others with the hope that they will capture the vision and passion, too, and choose to get involved here as kingdom-builders either on a short-term, long-term, or support basis for those on the frontlines.

Personally, I’m challenged by the passion I hear in the missionaries’ voices as they speak about their projects. One gal is running a horseback-riding therapy program for handicapped orphans and she needs someone with wrangler skills to come alongside her.

One couple is holding weekly evangelistic children’s clubs for at-risk kids in the government’s social service program. They’re trying to follow a scouting-type program but have no such manuals in their language. They asked us if we could find something of that nature and mail it to them. They will translate the manual into their own language. They also asked if we could find a team of helpers with scouting experience to help them run a 10-day summer camp for these kids in 2008. The Polish government is aware of their efforts and will pay the children’s way to camp because it recognizes the long term benefits of this couple’s efforts.

Some missionaries are working with kids who literally live in the sewers of Odessa, Ukraine. Others are conducting prison ministries for men and women. Some are caring for homeless women, while others are providing care for children with HIV/AIDS.

I have the highest respect for these missionaries. Some are nationals struggling with limited finances for personal living expenses. Others are North Americans who have said goodbye to family and familiarity and stepped into a foreign culture and language that means facing a daily challenge. They’re dealing with issues such as loneliness, meeting their children’s educational needs as best they can, and trying to establish relationships with nationals who sometimes regard them with suspicion or distrust. I feel so honored to come alongside and encourage them in their work.

Thursday, September 6

We spent last night with Brad’s family. What a delight to chat and share a meal in their home. After breakfast we hopped into their car and drove about an hour to the hotel where the IM conference would be held. Along the way I noticed numerous roadside shrines – mostly celebrating Mary, the mother of Jesus. I couldn’t help but think of the uncanny similarity between them and the roadside shrines in Nepal and India. Their focus is different but they’re all built to worship someone other than God.

Sad news arrived in the late afternoon. Four Christian young people, all with associations to IM, were driving to a youth conference in Romania earlier in the day. They were traveling with other vehicles headed for the same destination but had fallen behind. In their hurry to catch up, the driver lost control of the car. It crashed into a tree and exploded into flames; everyone died instantly. One of the passengers was a 20-year-old girl – the same age as my youngest daughter. Another was a youth worker – an only child to his parents. His girlfriend also died.

My heart broke when I heard the news. Four young people were ushered into heaven, leaving loved ones behind wondering why God would allow such a tragedy and crying out to Him in their pain. I can’t imagine what they’re feeling.

Wednesday, September 5

Rolling green fields dotted with farms and villages greeted us as the plane descended into Kosice (ko-SHEETS-sa). As we waited in the customs lineup we watched as a gypsy couple and their teenage daughter handed over their documents to the official behind a plexiglass window. He snapped at them. They didn’t understand his question, so he snapped at them again. And again. And again. I felt sorry for them, but the incident backed up what we’d heard in the past – that gypsies are not well-liked. The official allowed the parents to go to the baggage claim area but he ordered the girl to stay put while he processed our passports. We’re not sure why he kept her back – perhaps he was checking for the possibility of human trafficking.











Brad, one of our Canadian IM missionaries, met us at the airport. He took us to see an abandoned former college facility that IM is hoping to purchase for use as a conference center. It’s in desperate need of TLC, but it would be ideal once remodeled. On the same grounds was another building – a castle of sorts – that’s more than 200 years old and in the process of being restored for ministry use. Walking through the facility made me feel like I’d stepped back into history. I imagined grand parties held by royalty – ladies in poofy ballroom gowns, gents in their fanciest attire, feasts prepared by the servants in the kitchen downstairs. Wouldn’t it be great to see the building useable once again, especially for ministry purposes?

Tuesday, September 4

My oh my, what a day. Gene and I woke up yesterday morning facing a never-ending to-do list. We were still organizing our household after moving a few days prior, and now we had to run last-minute errands and pack for our trip. The day wore into evening, the evening rolled into nighttime, and still we hadn’t come to the end of our list. At 3 a.m. we decided that whatever tasks hadn’t been completed by then wouldn’t be completed, so we piled our suitcases into the car and headed for the airport.

The early hour meant no crowds so we easily passed through security and found a seat in the waiting area. We’d already been awake for 25 hours when our flight left at 8:20. The flight took us to Toronto, another took us to Vienna, and the last leg took us to Kosice, Slovakia.

Overseas travel sounds glamorous, but glamorous it is not. Imagine the screaming toddler behind us from Toronto to Vienna – three hours of non-stop crying until she fell asleep exhausted. Imagine reaching Vienna after being awake for about 40 hours and then searching for a place to rest during our four-hour layover. We found one waiting area with about 150 other people who looked equally exhausted. I crashed on a bench while Gene guarded our belongings. Then we switched places and he caught a short nap. At this point we felt like total aliens – we couldn’t read a word on the signs, couldn’t understand a word of anything spoken, and had no local currency to buy a snack. We’d entered another part of the world in which nothing was familiar.

Thursday, April 19

We’ve been home for a few days, busy catching up on business that fell by the wayside in our absence. Plus, we celebrated our youngest child’s 20th birthday on Tuesday!! No more teenagers….I’m getting soooo old!!

Jet lag hit me a little harder than I’d expected. I had an interview with my publisher’s publicity team on Monday afternoon to gear up for my next book (Moving From Fear to Freedom: A Woman’s Guide to Peace in Every Situation – coming in August), and oh my….I struggled to come up with intelligent answers to their questions. I know that book inside and out, but I just couldn’t think clearly enough to give them an overview in a nugget. They were very patient with me. Sigh.

But this morning I’m feeling much better; the achy fatigue is gone. And good thing. I’m flying to Manitoba shortly to do a TV taping for “It’s a New Day” and speak at a Baptist women’s conference this weekend. My bags are packed and I’m ready to go.

But first, I want to say thanks to all who followed my blog over the past few weeks and prayed for our safety and strength. Several of you emailed to assure us of your prayers, and that meant a lot. I’m still processing everything that happened, and I’m sure it will take time.

Gene put together an 8-minute Power Point presentation for me to use this weekend, and tears fill my eyes each time I watch it. It’s hard to believe that less than a week has passed since those pictures were taken, since I hugged the village kids and they giggled in response. Their lives are so very different than ours, so difficult in many ways. I never want to slip back into comfortable North American complacency, content with having my needs met and forgetting about those who struggle to survive.

A quote sits on my desk this morning. It says, “Be as great in your acts as you have been in your thoughts.” My thoughts wander back to those people we mingled with in India and Nepal and they nudge me to pray for them and to support them as I can. It would be so easy to get caught up in my busyness here again, and to let those thoughts dim over time. But this quote encourages me to act upon my thoughts. Don’t just think about praying and giving. Do it. I want to be as great in my acts toward the needy as I have been in my thoughts. As James 1:22 says, “Be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only.”

Friday, April 13

We’re heading home. I’m writing this at 39,000 feet, somewhere over eastern Canada. We’ve already flown nine hours from New Delhi to London. Another nine hours to Vancouver will put us on the tarmac by six o’clock.

How does one process the past three weeks’ events? While waiting in Heathrow, Gene asked me if the experience has left me emotionally drained or emotionally charged. That’s an easy question. While I’m exhausted physically, the emotions are running on high. . .

I’ve been challenged to re-evaluate priorities and values. I’ve been blessed beyond words by the kindness shown by the World Vision India staff. I’ve been thrilled to meet Ankit and his family and numerous other Indian friends. I’ve been encouraged to see God at work in pockets all across this Asian land. And now the question is: How does God want to use this experience to accomplish His purposes in and through my life? My heart’s desire is that coming home and re-entering the North American culture and life’s busyness will neither erase the memories nor hinder His purposes.

Only four hours left ‘til touchdown…..

Thursday, April 12

Bless the hearts of the World Vision staff, they arranged for vehicles and drivers to take Gene and me and the two WV Canada staff to New Delhi. As if that wasn’t enough, two of them decided to accompany us. The round trip took them about 12 hours and believe me, the driving conditions are anything but safe. These fellows have such humble, servants’ hearts. They work so hard with no complaints and consider it all joy. “God, pour out Your blessing on these men.”

By mid-afternoon we arrived in New Delhi and booked into a YWCA. With the temperature soaring to about 112 degrees, it was ‘way too hot to sightsee. We walked a few blocks to find a restaurant for supper and that was almost too much.

Strange thing – we ate at a McDonald’s. Imagine – only a day prior we were in rural India where the villagers struggle to survive for lack of water six months each year. Now we sat in an air-conditioned restaurant eating grilled chicken burgers as families celebrated their kid’s birthday parties a few tables away, just like at home. Outside sat vendors selling chewing tobacco to eek out a living. A block away, convention guests and tourists checked into hotels that cost more than $300 per night. To say that India is a land of extreme contrast is an understatement!

Wednesday, April 11

Our hotel was a 45-minute drive from the WV office and Ankit’s community. We returned around 7:00 p.m., our bodies begging for a shower to wash away the sweat and dust.

We had the evening to write a feedback report for WV, pack, and grab a bite to eat. At midnight, the WV staff returned to pick us up and drive us to the train station. Now THAT experience was another story…

We had to make two trips from the hotel to the train station because the vehicle couldn’t hold everyone and their gear. Gene and I were dropped off first. There we stood in the dark, eyed by curious and perhaps suspicious nationals. I was the only woman in sight; my white skin and short, fair hair drew stares like a magnet. A wee bit unnerving, to say the least. Suddenly, like a guardian angel, a WV Indian staff member appeared. “Hi! I’ve been waiting for you inside the terminal!” Whew. Relief swept over me as he took my suitcases and directed us to a safer place to wait.

The others showed up about 20 minutes later, making us a group of seven. We transferred everything to a waiting area immediately beside the tracks where we stood for the next hour. Now I became the one who stared.

Two police officers with a prisoner between them walked past us and climbed aboard a darkened train car. A rope joining the three at the wrists kept the prisoner from escaping. A man with only one leg hobbled by, using one crutch to steady himself. A family with four small children slept on the bare concrete about five feet from the tracks. An elderly man sat a few feet away, watching the goings-on in silence as his wife slept on the ground beside him. A stray dog scrounged through garbage and then curled up to sleep. A train employee holding an old-fashioned lantern with a light that glowed like a 30-watt bulb stood at the edge of the platform as one engine disconnected from a row of cars and pulled away.

Finally our train arrived. The WV staff directed us to the sleeping car for which we had reservations, but within a few moments we realized we had a problem. Apparently there was a booking mistake and our reservations had been made for the previous night! The train employee in charge of that car simply shook his head and told us that if we could get our tickets changed right away, we could ride. Unfortunately, the train began to move away from the station before we could get to the ticket booth and back. By now it was nearly 2:00 a.m. With only one clean and safe hotel within an hour’s drive or more, I silently prayed that our rooms were still available as we loaded our suitcases back into the Jeep.

The hotel’s security gates were locked when we showed up. I whispered another arrow prayer. Our driver honked and honked the horn while our guardian angel searched for and found an opening in the fence. He roused the night security guard and reception clerk, and they greeted us with unspoken questions written over their faces. Thankfully our rooms hadn’t been claimed by anyone else. It was 3:00 a.m. before everyone had returned to the hotel. Our best laid plans had fallen apart, but we slept with the confidence that, for whatever reason God had allowed this, we were in His care.

Wednesday, April 11

Today was another forever etched on my heart. The WV team drove us at least an hour into a remote area before parking the vehicles on the roadside. As if on cue, about 18 men, women, and children appeared from around the next bend wearing smiles a mile wide. The women, clad in their finest saris, carried marigold garlands and floral bouquets with which they welcomed us. Then they joined us for a long uphill (and very sweaty) trek to a village that has been greatly impacted by World Vision.

Three-quarters of the way up the hill, another group welcomed us with more marigold leis. They held a banner that declared themselves as the “self-help women’s group” – those benefiting from the economic development program made possible through WV sponsorship.

When we rounded the last corner, we saw the rest of the village waiting for us. They’d planned a welcoming reception for us to say thank-you for the impact that WV has had on their community. Every child (about 35) in the village is sponsored by a Canadian, and WV has supplied each household (7) with a concrete tank that collects 8,000 litres of water during the rainy season to provide the valued resource for six months of the year. Although this doesn’t solve the water supply problem year-round, it has provided immense relief to these precious villagers.

They ushered us into a makeshift outdoor meeting area, shaded from the searing sun by a tarp. They gave us seats of honor and again presented us with marigold leis and floral bouquets. A pre-teen girl sang a song she’d written about the value of education, and a toothless grandma stole the show with a song and dance. We were able to say a few words of thanks and encouragement, and then they served us chia and crackers. I estimate that 70 people were present. Some had walked a long distance from surrounding villages for the event. Doing so in this scorching heat was no small effort on their behalf.

The people’s warmth overwhelmed me. They lack the material possessions that North Americans enjoy, but they’re rich in hospitality and gratitude. They were eager to communicate despite the language barrier, and I enjoyed a good chat with a WV volunteer who helps coordinate the women’s self-help group. She told me that they’ve benefited through the purchase of cows and the subsequent ability to sell the milk for income.

This village’s size and remote location reminded me of our experience in Nepal. It felt like I’d come home to long-lost friends. Again, when departure time came, I found it difficult to say goodbye. In Nepalese I told them the women that they were my “sottees” (friends); the word was close enough to Hindi that they understood. They nodded and smiled and lined up for goodbye hugs. While most stayed on the edge of the village and waved farewell, those from surrounding villages walked the path with us. One by one they eventually veered onto other paths enroute to their own villages, and again we exchanged hugs.

As women, our lives are a universe apart. These gals climb trees to cut leaves as fodder for their livestock. They walk kilometers to collect one or two containers of water for household use. They live miles from the nearest clinic or bazaar where they can buy the simplest staples such as bar soap. They’ll never have a driver’s license, let alone own a car. Despite the differences, we all understand the meaning of friendship. Smiles and hugs transcend language barriers.

A part of my heart remains in rural India.

Tuesday, April 10

Mid-morning saw us enroute to meet Ankit. First, though, we bumped our way from the congested bazaar to the town’s outskirts where our convoy of WV vehicles stopped. A group of people met us and motioned for us to follow them to a canopied area behind a shop. These folks were the village leaders, the local committee that works closely with WV, and the team of women involved in the self-help group.

They treated us like royalty, directing us to chairs at the front of the meeting area. They placed garlands of orange marigolds around our necks and gave us bouquets of flowers. The chairman made a speech, expressing gratitude for World Vision’s work in their community and thanking us, as sponsors, for coming to visit them. Then they invited us to speak. It was such a pleasure to tell them that the pleasure was ours, and to thank them for their partnership with WV in accomplishing meaningful goals among the poorest of the poor within their community. I truly felt humbled by their gratitude and hospitality. The time with them ended all too soon, but we had to press forward to reach Ankit at school before classes would be dismissed at noon.

Another five minutes’ drive found us at six-year-old Ankit’s school. Twenty-seven children, grades one through four, were sitting on skimpy blankets on a concrete floor in one room. Grades five through eight sat in an adjoining room.

Ankit knew we were coming, but he was obviously unsure of himself and these white-skinned strangers. When the teacher asked him to stand and we approached him, he responded by looking down and avoiding our eyes. We simply smiled and said “Namaste” to him. He then bent down and touched our toes to show respect. I wanted to pick him up and give him a big hug, but I had to restrain myself because that might have been his undoing!

I’d purchased enough foam shapes to do a craft with 30 children, so this class size was perfect. Within minutes we’d pulled out the supplies and shown the kids how to make a picture with the shapes. They eagerly set to work and completed their craft without further instruction. The kids from the adjoining class then filed in, and we gave the teachers some gummy worm candy to distribute to all.

Next on the agenda was a visit to Ankit’s home. We walked about a quarter-mile with him and two of his older brothers down a dusty road and through a wheat field to their two-room home made of mud and rock. Several cows rested in the courtyard near the house where family and friends had already gathered for the event.

World Vision staff introduced us to Ankit’s parents and nine siblings. At first I felt a little awkward – what are the perfect words to say in such a situation, anyway? With cameras clicking and a video camera recording the event, I suddenly felt overwhelmed. How must the family have felt? The entire moment seemed surreal. Thankfully we were able to disappear into the house with just the family. There I gave them the gifts we’d purchased for them – a baseball cap for Dad, a comb and mirror set for Mom, beaded necklaces for Mom and the girls, toy airplanes for the kids, and peanut butter to spread on their “roti” (bread).

When we exited, Ankit showed us a card we’d mailed to him a couple of months ago. I showed him the picture and thank-you note he’d sent to us in return, and gave him a picture of our family. I think something twigged in his mind when he saw the picture he’d drawn.

By now the courtyard had drawn a couple dozen curious villagers of all ages. They smiled and nodded as Gene and Eric, the Canadian WV rep, demonstrated playing with a Frisbee and with a Velcro ball and mitt set. Mothers and big sisters nudged the younger girls my direction when they saw that I’d brought a dozen wee hair ties. What fun!

With everyone now relaxed, Gene and I walked with Ankit and his parents through the back field. Using a translator, we asked questions about how much land they own, the crops they plant, and the challenges they face on a daily basis. One of their greatest challenges is the danger posed by wild elephants! Ankit’s father told us that an elephant had broken through the protective wire fence dividing their property from the jungle nearby only two days prior. He said that they run for safety if they see a beast coming their direction, but if it comes at night, there’s nothing they can do except remain as quiet as possible in their house.

We spent about an hour with the family. During that time, I bonded with Ankit’s mother. We’re from opposite sides of the earth and possess two very different belief systems, but we share the common desire for our kids’ well-being. There’s no way she can provide for her children’s material and physical needs as I can provide for mine, and my heart ached for her. When I offered her a farewell hug, she immediately responded and embraced me in return. I was finally able to give Ankit a hug, too. I’ll always treasure his shy smile and I make a commitment to correspond with him on a more regular basis.

“Dear God, Your Word contains more than 2,000 references to the poor and oppressed and You command Your children to help those who cannot help themselves. Please impress this day’s memories upon my heart and mind forever. Open my eyes, my heart, and my hands so that I might respond in a way that honors You and that makes a difference in the lives of the needy.”

Tuesday, April 10

Words cannot adequately describe today’s experience. The World Vision India staff here had obviously prepared very well for our visit. We enjoyed morning devotions with them and then they showed us a power point presentation of their work in this project. In all honesty, I learned that my understanding of WV’s work was very limited indeed.
I’d always (mistakenly) thought that our family’s monthly cheque went solely towards our supported child’s education, food, and medical care. I had no idea that our finances went towards community development so the entire village could benefit.

In our child’s situation, he IS receiving education and health care, but there’s more. One of his sisters has received a sewing machine and has learned to sew so she can become economically self-supporting. Two destitute widows and their children have received new homes. (Think of a one room concrete house, maybe eight feet wide and 12 feet long, and imagine sharing that with three kids – it beats the mud and rock house that was destroyed by rain). A third has received a toilet and shower facility. (Think of a concrete outhouse in the backyard and you get the picture. It sure beats having no shower facilities, and using the open fields as a toilet.) Mothers are being taught about the importance of child immunizations and HIV awareness, and kids are receiving regular medical checkups. There’s also a women’s self-help group that meets regularly to help participants become economically independent through the establishment of small business and to inform them of their legal rights (ie: they have a legal right to have sterile instruments used during child delivery and can demand to receive this service rather than risk infection through dirty instruments). Amazing! And I also learned that in this particular project area, there are six communities working together and Canadians sponsor more than 2500 children here.

World Vision’s structure is particularly impressive. The WV India team doesn’t dictate who will or will not receive sponsorship. Rather, it leaves that to the local leaders who know the families and can determine whose need is greatest. There’s a committee comprised of locals who also determine the community’s greatest needs (ie: do they have an adequate water source or could they benefit from having concrete water storage tanks to collect a six-month supply during the monsoon season?). The WV team networks to disperse funds but each member spends at least two days visiting projects to follow up and build strong relationships with the locals.

I was also very impressed with the hearts of the men in the WV office. They’re humble and hard-working. They’re passionate about their work and about seeing transformation take place in the lives of those who are the poorest of the poor.

Monday, April 9

Travel day. Enroute to the airport by 8:15, accompanied by a couple of OM women who attended the conference on Saturday. They presented me and Gene with hand-embroidered cotton shirts – a specialty item from Lucknow. We enjoyed a good chat as they told me about their involvement with women’s empowerment, especially among the Dalit women.

I’m so impressed with my Indian sisters. They’re on the front lines of service and their task is enormous, but they don’t utter a word of complaint. They simply dig in and get the job done. They display such humble hearts, but they are obviously women of great strength and passion. It’s hard to say goodbye to them – I wish I could stay with them longer and learn from them.

A 45-minute flight took us to New Delhi where three World Vision reps met us. We drove through bustling city streets for at least an hour, stopping and starting as traffic allowed. Two little girls, maybe ages 5-8, came to our car windows to sell red roses and beg for food when we stopped at a red light. I gave them three bananas I had in a bag, but they wanted more. The WV reps pointed at a woman wearing a green sari lingering on a nearby sidewalk and said that she was probably their mother, keeping a watchful eye over her daughters.

It took four hours to reach the region where our sponsored child lives. I’d never seen so many people anywhere. Even the rural bazaars were crawling with men, women, and children. There were lots of Muslim folks, too – women clad in black robes from head to toe (I couldn’t help but feel sorry for them in this heat), men with their white crocheted-looking hats. We saw dozens of farmers taking loads of sugar cane to the local processing mills, their loads stacked at least six feet high on flat wagons pulled by white oxen or black water buffalo. Our driver skillfully wound his way between the sugar cane wagons, men riding bicycles, horse-drawn wagons carrying 8 or 10 family members, motorcycles carrying three or four passengers, buses, and transport trucks. We finally arrived at our hotel around 7:30 p.m. – sweaty and dusty – and were greeted by the Canadian World Vision reps who’d arrived yesterday.

We’re definitely in a region of India where people aren’t accustomed to seeing white women. The female WV rep, Krista, and I garnered more than a few unwelcome stares from the male population. We were both wearing Capri pants – that might have had something to do with it! Tomorrow I’m planning to wear the Indian clothes I had a tailor sew for me while in Gangtok.

Sunday, April 8

The afternoon rolled on and on….

Yesterday at the conference I met an American woman who invited us to join her family and several others for Easter afternoon. Her hubby picked us up, and we saw more of Lucknow as he drove us to the home where they’d gathered. The moms were homeschoolers and glad for fellowship. It was so hot that we women folk visited in the master bedroom, sitting under the ceiling fan to stay cool.

From there we returned to the hotel and met with Dr. Sanjay Mall of World Vision India. What a joy to meet the man who helped orchestrate our visit to the project in which our sponsored child lives. I began to get an understanding of the incredible amount of coordination it has taken to pull this together. It would never had been possible without him and the India team.

We had a great visit over dinner. Our menu was somewhat turned around – Gene and I ate Indian food while he ate a chocolate ice cream sundae!

Sunday, April 7

This was an Easter Sunday to be remembered for the rest of my life. A group of about 50 men, women, and children met in the same facility as yesterday’s conference. They sang several English songs that we know from back home, and those were okay, but their enthusiasm rose to a new level when they broke into a Hindi chorus. I couldn’t understand a word but I could understand the joy that flowed from their hearts. With guitars and a bongo-type drum accompanying, they sang for probably five or six minutes. I just closed my eyes and joined them in spirit.

A group of about eight children participated in the program by doing a pantomime to an English song. The lyrics may be familiar to some: “Thank you for giving to the Lord…I am a life that was changed….Thank you for giving to the Lord….I am so glad you came.” The oldest child was perhaps 10 years old; the youngest was only three. It was so touching that I couldn’t hold back my tears.

As the song went on, I was challenged afresh to be faithful to God’s calling on my life. Life is about loving others, not collecting stuff or a bulky bank account or even building an impressive platform. It’s about serving and encouraging and building up. It’s about leaving a legacy that impacts others for eternity.

Minutes later I was given the privilege to encourage through the spoken word. I spoke from Psalm 138 and listed the reasons for why we can celebrate God: His unfailing love, His faithfulness, His answers to our prayers, His care for the humble, and His mighty power. A skilled translator interpreted everything in Hindi for those who spoke no English.

Afterwards we enjoyed an Indian lunch with several OM leaders and their wives. These wonderful, talented men and women are passionate about serving their own people. While Gene spoke with the men, I learned more about the work being done among the women. One of the most effective things they’re doing is called Women Empowerment. They send out teams to rural villages to educate women (especially Dalits) about their legal rights, literacy, health issues such as immunizations, family planning, TB and HIV awareness. They also visit women in prison and have had the opportunity to present Christmas programs to them.

The women in these prisons are there because of the dowry issues. For instance, when a girl marries, her family must pay a demanded sum to the groom’s family. The payment is made, but the groom’s family often returns to ask for more. These demands are not small; they might even include land, a motorbike, or even a new car. If the bride’s family cannot pay, the groom’s family will seek revenge by torturing or killing the girl. That’s what the bride burnings are about – dousing a woman with gasoline and burning her alive to punish her family for not meeting the dowry demands. The prisoners (the bride’s female in-laws) might have been directly involved in the killing, or they might be paying for the crime committed by the male members of the household. In any case, the living conditions consist of an outdoor facility (no protection from the chilly winds in the winter), and a concrete floor to sleep on. Bathing facilities are practically non-existent and the food would be less than sufficient. Whether they committed a crime or not, their hearts are heavy and they’re hungry for someone to show kindness.

Saturday, April 7

Our flight finally reached Lucknow about three hours late last night. Three Indian women and one of their tenth grade daughters greeted us with two bouquets of gladiolas. Bless their hearts, they still wore big smiles and gave me hugs despite waiting at the airport all evening.

The conference began at 10:30 this morning, and approximately 50 women came from various local churches. Remember how I keep saying that flexibility is the key word? Well, put another tally mark on the wall! I’d prepared to teach in English but when the MC used a translator, I knew I’d best switch mental gears immediately. Two gifted Indian women took turns speaking as my translators. It was a ton of fun to work with them, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

The sessions went well, I believe. At the end of the last session, we had an open discussion time with questions focused on each of the three topics covered. I was delighted to see the ladies freely share their thoughts about how they’ve grown in their spiritual journey. I think they could have gone on for at least an hour but we ran out of time.

Harvest House and OM partnered to donate 70 copies of 10-Minute Time Outs for Busy Women to each participant. What a joy to see these women eagerly receive their own copies of the book!

I think I had my most embarrassing moment of my speaking career this afternoon. The heat here is about 105 degrees F. The electricity surged many times throughout the day, knocking out the air conditioning and leaving us sweltering in the meeting room. One lady gave me a cold Coke before the third session. I opened it while the ladies were singing a song a few minutes later. To my chagrin, the soda fizzed and overflowed all over my lap. There I was, desperately digging through my bag to find something…anything….to soak up the puddle of soda. The only thing I could find was a roll of toilet paper (one carries a personal roll of TP here because one never knows what to expect re: toilet facilities). I cleaned up what I could and got up to speak again albeit the huge wet spot across my middle. Oh well! The heat was good for something—it dried up the puddle while I hid behind the podium! The ladies enjoyed a good laugh when I told them what happened.

After the conference we had a few minutes to wander the street and buy bananas and oranges for tomorrow’s breakfast. On the nearby corner, a vendor sold marigold leis and teeny dishes filled oil and a candlewick. These were used by customers in a room across the street for a certain Hindu ritual performed only on Saturdays. We watched as men and women filed into the little room that held a golden idol that stood about three feet tall. They dabbed red powder on the idol’s face and set the burning candlewicks before it. Another idol sat in the room next door, flanked by two friendly Hindu priests – father and son, I learned.

Watching the idol worship reminds me of Scriptures that describe idols fashioned by man’s hand. Why do human hearts worship inanimate objects crafted by human hands? How does one find spiritual fulfillment by performing rituals on a rock? I’m also reminded of Scriptures that declare God as being above all gods. There are millions of false gods across this land but there’s only one true God – the One who loves mankind and invites relationship with anyone willing to believe in Him.

Friday, April 6

The morning began early with another meeting to learn more about human trafficking. One gal with whom we met has been working with sexually exploited women for several years. She told us that human trafficking is now a bigger international money-maker than the illegal drug industry. The evil and greed of man’s heart is hard to comprehend.

What to do about it? Well, I think I have my homework cut out. I need to do a lot more research and reading to ensure an accurate understanding of the complexity of the problem and to be able to suggest practical solutions.

We noticed something unusual when we left out guesthouse at 7:15 this morning. Hundreds of people had already lined the sidewalk of the nearby main street. The crowd grew as the morning passed. By 10:45, buses and taxis were having a difficult time getting through. We managed to get out and to the airport, but after arriving there, we heard that the riot police had come out and streets were being blockaded. The reason? A cell phone company was featuring a good deal and everyone wanted a piece of it.

Today w flew from Kathmandu to Delhi, arriving in time to find that our connecting flight to Lucknow would be delayed for two hours. So here I sit in the airport, catching up on blogs and working on an article.

I’m looking forward to the conference tomorrow. Seventy women are expected to attend. On Sunday I’ll speak at the Good Shepherd Community Church. We’ll meet with OM leaders for lunch, and with the World Vision Program Manager in the evening. On Monday we’ll fly back to Delhi where we’ll meet World Vision reps who will take us to visit our sponsored child.

I’m not sure what our email access will look like after today, so I’ll blog each day and post when there’s internet availability. Happy Easter weekend to all!

Thursday, April 5

We started the day by meeting with several men who serve on the Board of Directors for an NGO whose goal is to rescue and rehabilitate women sold as sex slaves into India. They described the means by which these women are sold: Sometimes attractive men visit remote villages, find beautiful young girls as young as age 12, and either marry them there or take them away with the promise to marry them later. They take the girls to large cities such as Bombay. Once there, they take the girls to a brothel, saying that these women in the house are relatives and they’ll (the men) will be back shortly. It doesn’t take long before the girls realize they’ve been lied to and are now enslaved in prostitution. If they refuse to comply, they are tortured and raped.

Sometimes the girls are sold directly into the sex trade by their own parents or even their husbands because of the income potential. Sometimes young girls are lured to the big cities with the promise of a cleaning job in an office or for a wealthy family. They get the job, alright, but they’re also forced to give sexual favors to their employers and then sold by the same into the industry.

Rescuing these girls is risky because so many people appreciate the income earned through this business. The police are often involved, taking bribes to keep their mouths shut if a girl seeks their help. We’ve heard stories of girls going to the police station for assistance and being raped there.

In many cases, these girls contract HIV. If they’re kicked out of the brothel when they’re too sick to function any longer, they often have no place to turn. Their village folk don’t want them back – being ill only makes them a financial burden. If they can’t work, how will they earn a living? They’re left destitute. If they’re still able to function to a degree, they often return to the brothel for lack of other options.

We listened to these men describe the work that’s taking place in their organization and sat in awe of what they’re doing. They own a house where these women and their children live. While there, they receive food, clothing, education, life skills training, and much needed HIV medication. If the girls marry, the organization looks after the details. If they die from AIDS, it takes care of those details. The Board expressed the desire to become self-supported by leasing or purchasing land to run a pig and poultry farm. They’re hoping to raise at least $3000 to help them purchase the above. What’s that to a North American? If 30 people donated $100 each, the farm could be purchased and the work could advance to a whole new level.

This issue of human trafficking looms larger than my imagination can comprehend. How can a little organization like this even make a noticeable dent? By faithfully doing what it can, one life at a time. And I want to help.

Wednesday, April 4

My friend K. is truly a woman of influence in her culture. The 20 additional children showed up at the orphanage for an initial visit while we were eating lunch in her dining room. Without a word, she slipped outside and made sure their arrival was a smooth one. While we were there, she also checked the previous children’s arms for their TB skin test results. Seven kids showed positive. Now they’ll have to take one pill on an empty stomach every morning for a year – accomplishing that will take nothing short of an act of God.

The facility was spacious but very modest: A three-storey concrete building provides a sitting room, kitchen, bedrooms, shower and tub, a covered deck on which to play during the monsoon rains, and a study room. The eating area is a separate building that holds four wood tables and enough benches for 42 kids. Where the other 20 will eat is anyone’s guess. A third building, a narrow brick structure with a bare concrete floor provides indoor play space. It’s a far cry from anything seen in North America, but it’s more than what some of these kids have come from, and their smiles show that they’re happy to be there. One little fellow, maybe four years old, sidled up to me and slipped his hand in mine – he stole my heart in an instant, and then we had to say goodbye. Sometimes I wonder why life seems to be so unfair, especially to these innocent ones.

We spent the remainder of the day traveling across the city and then visiting a training institute for Nepalese church workers. There are 12 students presently enrolled in the five-month program. Again, talk about a modest facility! The director has to walk through the men’s sleeping quarters (a bare room with four bunk beds) to get to his office. Three female students share sleeping quarters on a different floor. The dining room has one table meant for four people – perhaps the rest spill onto the adjoining outdoor deck. The teaching room has six narrow tables barely long enough to accommodate two students each, and a small whiteboard on one wall.

Nevertheless, good things are happening in and through the lives of these young people who have decided to follow Jesus. Several have overcome drug addiction and are now helping others who are struggling with various issues in their lives. They remain steadfast despite persecution. It’s obvious they’re following the Lord because they love Him, not because of a false notion that He’ll make their lives peachy-keen.

Tuesday, April 3

An American gal who works in Katmandu told us about a coffee house with wireless internet access. We discovered that it’s only two blocks from where we’re staying! So, this morning, I sifted through my emails while sitting on a comfy sofa and sipping a vanilla latte. Nice!

God fulfilled one of my personal dreams today. Through divine networking, yesterday evening I located the woman who was my language helper when we lived in Boudha in 1982. We saw each other for the last time in January 1984 and have had no contact since then. We spoke by phone this morning and arranged to meet for lunch.

K. is a beautiful, strong woman who has endured much. For instance, she lost her husband five years ago when he was killed by Maoists rebels during a major countrywide political upheaval. Her family's vehicles were burned the same night, and she was forced to flee with only the clothes she was wearing. K’s life flipped upside down, and understandably so. While weaker folk might have thrown up their hands in despair, she has chosen to persevere and try to make life better for others.

K. is now involved with a local orphanage that cares for 42 children. Another 20 will join the facility within the next two weeks. Recently she discovered that most of these kids aren’t really orphans. Some parents lie about their children’s status to the government-run Children’s Welfare Organization in order to secure a guaranteed education for them. Others have one parent who works for 12 hours a day while their child or children sit alone at home or run the streets. The CWO then labels the kids as orphans and places them in facilities such as the one on her property. Granted, the kids are well fed and educated, but under false pretenses. They’re also filling space that should rightfully belong to children who honestly have no one to care for them. What to do when the needs are so great?

K. told us how strangers visit rural villages and tell parents that, for a price (about $300), they will take their children to the big city and place them in a boarding school to receive a good education. The parents believe them, pay the price, and bid their kids farewell. The strangers then deposit the kids at an orphanage and walk away with the money in their pockets. Sometimes those orphanages sell the kids into the sex trade industry or pass them along to another facility. Meanwhile, back home, the parents are thinking that their kids are being well cared for. Only when they try to contact their children do they realize they’ve been duped. Tomorrow we’ll visit the orphanage where K. volunteers and get an up-close-and-personal peek at what’s happening there.

Thanks to technology, K. and I can now stay in touch via email! With all my heart I believe God has reunited us for a reason.

The day ended with dinner with an ex-patriot family we’ve supported for more than a decade. What a joy to hear first-hand of their work and to see that they’re doing well. They spoke about the cause of the political unrest here – simply put, the Maoists want to throw out the existing government and establish their own.

We saw results of that unrest while trying to travel through the city today. Mass traffic jams resulted when Maoists demonstrated their displeasure at the massacre of 29 of their comrades last week.