Life in Africa

all for one

Four years ago at youth camp, I met Peterson. Smallest boy on his team. 14 years old. With a smile that lit up the room.

He's attended camp every year since.

Peterson's name was on the registration list to attend our second camp (we've done three back-to-back this year). But he didn't show up. I was pretty disappointed. Even more so because I didn't get to see him last year. (It was the first time ever that Niel and I missed youth camps, since we were both in the States.)

At the first session of Camp 3 yesterday, a huge smile spread across my face when I saw Peterson across the tent. He looked up, saw me, and smiled real big. My heart melted. "Little" Peterson is little no longer. He's 18. In 11th grade. He's very tall, and his voice has gotten many octaves deeper. His eyes still shine and his smile still lights up the room...

"Where were you last year?" he asked me earlier. It was nice to know I was missed...

"I'd like to be a team captain someday," he said. He has incredible potential, and I know he will make a great leader.

One of the activities is a visit to the "Music Station". Each team performs and records a song, and each young person gets a copy of it on CD. Peterson had a solo during his team's song; my friend said it was exceptionally good...

He's grown up a lot. Not quite the shy, quiet boy he once was. He's bolder, more confident. It makes my heart glad each time he seeks me out, comes over to say "hello", remembers the names of people I've introduced him to...

If all of this was for Peterson, it's worth it.

Yet I know there are many "Petersons"...

Then:

Now:

incomplete

We lost one of our own today. All the interns gathered this morning to say goodbye to Amy. There were waterfalls of tears, heartfelt prayers, and even some genuine from-the-gut laughter. Watching each one hug Amy and sob out goodbyes was treacherous, yet I couldn't look away. I had to watch. Each one. Each moment. And I cried and cried...

Times like these, my empathy feels like a burden. For I can do nothing to mend broken hearts...

I am so glad that Niel and I had the three-hour drive to the airport to spend with Amy. We had some great conversations and shared some good laughs. When we pulled in at the airport and climbed out of the car, Amy and I locked eyes. We both started to shake our heads, and, as if against our will, the tears started flowing again...

I cried off the last bit of mascara that still managed to be on my eyelashes.

I am emptied out. And my heart feels like it has a hollowed out corner in it.

I'm glad God is holding me---us, the entire Thrive family---in the palm of His hands. His empathy is not a burden. For He who knit us together in our mothers' wombs can surely knit back together our broken hearts...

september 22nd

"If blood's flowin' through my veins
And there's air to breathe,
Life to live,
Then I've got a song to sing
On this normal day,
September 22nd..."
~Nathan Angelo


Today is day one of our youth camps. And this evening, over 40 young people became followers of Jesus. I couldn't keep from crying as their hands shot up in the air, as they flooded to the front of the tent, as I prayed with some young women who just made the biggest (and best) decision of their lives, as I looked around and saw our interns experiencing this incredible moment alongside me, as I hugged a young girl who sobbed...

As the holy moment ended, I was overwhelmed with the thought: This is what it's all about.

I've got a song to sing. And sing it I shall.

but i did today

Almost 7 years ago, I lost a friend.

Sueann and her husband Kevin were youth pastors in a city about 3 hours away from us. Because Niel had family there at the time, we visited the Clarks fairly often. They were newlyweds; married less than a year. They were so sweet together. Sueann was quiet and reserved, gentle-spirited and genuine.

She started having some strange pains and shortness of breath, and they discovered she had a hernia. She was scheduled for an in-and-out procedure at the hospital to take care of it. Living in a city, their hospital is much better than ours. In fact, it was considered one of the foremost medical care facilities in the country. No need to worry...

Kevin was idling away the time in the waiting room. There was a frenzy of activity; nurses frantically ran by. And back again. Then doctors ran by. There was panicked shouting and confused chaos. They were looking for the defibrillator. Kevin wondered what was going on.

Minutes later, a doctor approached. "I'm sorry, sir, but there were complications. We lost your wife." Somehow, during the procedure, they pierced Sueann's aorta. They were unable to fix it. They weren't even able to find the defibrillator. She died on the table. During a simple out-patient procedure.

I haven't thought about Sueann in a long time. But I did today.