How beautifully said

So much has been crammed into the last seven days that the memories of last week's Saturday night already seem to be fading. But I do remember that Susan was wearing a beautiful dress that night, and I actually had a tie on for a change. We were in a wonderful dining room on the second floor of the elegant Kimpinski Hotel in Dar es Salaam, and there I was standing up and addressing a gathering that included the former President of Tanzania, Cardinal Pengo of the Catholic Church, and table after table of interesting people.

Inheritance from a grandfather to a grandson

For the past several months, ever since I heard Oscar Muiru's sermon at Urbana, my thoughts have repeatedly been drawn back to the things that he said and to the passage in Philippians that he spoke from. As I prepared myself mentally to head for Toronto for the launching of Village Schools Canada, I wanted to listen again to Oscar's sermon, to take in again all of his words, and the Sunday before I left the village to begin my long journey, I just had to listen to that sermon one more time, and I wanted to listen to it with my boys.

It wasn't their words

Abishye lay on his wooden bed frame. He could no longer walk and there was no use in torturing him by trying to transport his wasted body to Kibao. I asked him what he would like to eat. Could he eat rice? Would he like dried fish? Was there anything that might put life back into him? There was no reason I could think of why he couldn’t get better, but he just wasn’t getting better. He accepted the food his aunt had prepared. As I held his hand, he smiled up at me and with a twinkle in his eye asked if he could have an Orange Fanta too? He got three! That was the last time I saw him.

One last big long push

I just got a series of messages from Anyisile and my thoughts went right away to what Paul wrote in the eight chapter of Corinthians:

And now brothers, we want you to know about the grace that God has given the Macedonian churches. Out of the most severe trial, their overflowing joy and their extreme poverty welled up in rich generosity. For I testify that they gave as much as they were able, and even beyond their ability. Entirely on their own, they urgently pleaded with us for the privilege of sharing in this service to the saints.

Only in superlatives

Obviously teaching is important, but in Village Schools Tanzania what is really important to us often takes place outside of the classroom. Each of the 84 people who have come to serve with us over the past five years have brought their own unique contribution to the work we are doing, impacting their students and their students' families in unique ways. Becky has lived now for almost two years in the little village of Mpwapwa, and like so many of our missionary teachers, when I think of her and what she has done in the village where she has lived, I think only in superlatives.