Wednesday, April 5, 2017

Pregnant Medical Report

I sat with pen posed this week while listening to Kathleen and Afri, our Indonesian nurses.  I anticipated that I would jot just a few notes from their observations of their two weeks interior, hiking through 28 villages.  Two hours later, my blank page is filled with tiny scrawl and my heart is moved, beyond what I expected, to see the immense needs through their eyes.  I can’t hold their report to myself.  I must process the information and share it with you.  We have to formulate plans and goals of how we can impact people groups who have little or absolutely NO access to health care.  Please listen with me, as I recreate their conversation:




“Mam Ruth, we are so confused how to teach health care prevention in these far places.  We thought we would teach them the importance of washing their hands, before they eat.  Yet they have no water anywhere near their houses.  The people have to walk maybe thirty minutes to the river, before they can wash their hands.  By the time they return to their homes, their hands are dirty again.  And we tried to teach them to brush their teeth.  They were eager to learn, but they said, ‘Where are the toothbrushes?’”  (My mind is racing.  Building churches and schools and clinics is not enough.  They need water piped into their villages.  We don’t need other countries to buy toothbrushes.  We can purchase them here for .15-.50 cents a piece, we just need toothbrush sponsors.  Brushing teeth alone can extend ones life over 5 years). 



The brave nurses then went onto tell me about being in one village with a beautiful clinic that was built over a year ago.  The village people clean it often faithfully.  Waiting.  Waiting.  Waiting for workers.  Waiting for medicines.  But it stays empty, because nobody comes and they continue to suffer for nobody is there to help.  Pregnant hopes.  Pregnant anticipations.  Pregnant needs.  Unfortunately, this scenario is all to familiar in Papua.




“Mam, in two weeks we saw 400 patients.  The most common medical problems we saw were wounds, poor hygiene, poor nutrition, worms, respiratory issues, and skin diseases.  Also many of the men were smoking.  They grown their own tobacco.  The hiking was very difficult.  Often we had to cross over rivers where there were only thin pieces of wood.”  At which point the conversation digresses into laughter at Afri who was so scared and often would forge through the river instead (A woman after my own heart.  I have a strong aversion to balance beam bridges……ugh).  They then showed me many little videos and pictures of extremely difficult places they had to cross.   And they shared how they ran out of food and medicines and……



“And Mam, the babies.  The babies were just kept in the nokins (a traditional Papua woven bag).  When the baby goes to the bathroom the Mommy will just use part of the bag to wipe the baby clean.  Then the baby and the dirty clothes are just repositioned to another spot in the nokin.  This will go on like this for several days until all the clothes are dirty and there is no clean spot in the nokin left.  At last, the baby and dirty bag and clothes are taken to the river to be washed.  Then the process will start all over again.  Infant mortality is high.  One lady we talked with stated she had nine children, but only two currently alive.”

“One village we stopped in there were no patients, because there were six witch doctors.  Except for one man, forty years old.  A tiny hut has been built for him.  A month ago he got sick and now he cannot walk or control his bathroom needs.  He has large decubitus with necrotic tissue and foul smell.  He is constantly wet.  The village people believe he is sick like this because a curse was put upon him.  We want to send in rubber mats for him so that he can stay more dry.”D7D09D4D-7CED-48CD-80A5-8F4287AA1636



“We need small scissors, that we can boil in water to sterilize.  We took stiches out of one Papua person who had left them in for over one month.  We need more gauze and ace bandages and Vaseline gauze.  We need a thermometer and a glucometer.  We need waterproof raincoats and ways to keep our medicines dry.”  Yes, pregnant needs.  Not selfish wants.  NEEDS. 

“Look at these children, Mam Ruth.  They are using a wheelbarrow bucket to ride down the hill.  But at the bottom of the hill where they stop is open toilets.  All this area, in the tall grass is where they use the bathroom.  No hole or water.  Just the open tall grass.”


“We came to one village where there was a school, but no teachers have been there in five years.”  Pregnant learners, waiting. 

Its almost too much to process.  To think that just a few mountain ridges away from my comfortable home are tribal group after tribal group experiencing all of the above and so much more.  Please pray for wisdom for us, that we will know how to help most effectively.  Pray for laborers.  Pray for funding and supplies.  Pray for the health and safety of the brave hearts that are serving. 

I can’t imagine sitting in any first world hospital board meeting and hearing a medical report that was so moving, compelling, full of need, and pregnant hope.  Through their eyes I saw great need.





Tuesday, March 28, 2017

The Struggle

Wow…..I’m really not sure where to start….except I think so often in missions we/I portray the mission glamor and not the struggle.  I hadn’t really thought about this until today.  Today has been a STRUGGLE.  With ALL CAPITAL letters.  Actually for me, personally it hasn’t been to bad.  I awoke at 5 a.m., had a great quiet time with Jesus, did the whole get 4 boys fed, supervised lunch making, filtered about 40 different messages from them and sent them out the door by 7:05.  Then I ran for about 30 minutes on the run way, made some scones (comfort food), bathed, gathered last minute teaching material together, greeted my house helper, sent some emails and ran out the door by 8:45. At the International school I mentored a high school girl for 45 minutes, and then taught a class 4th period on what Seniors should expect in the medical world upon returning to America.  Yep it was a 45 minute fire hose of information on everything from deductibles, co pays, HIPPA laws, 911, power of attorney, Emergency rooms verses walk in clinic verses family doctor verses Walgreen pharmacy and so much more.  ALL things that we do not have to think about here.  Oh and they consumed about 80% of the scones.  Now its 11:00.  Time to zip home because friends are coming for lunch.  Meanwhile my mind does wander to Darron. He has been gone since 2:30 a.m. Sunday morning, when he left to go on an exploratory trip down the crocodile infested Nambramo River.  My friends arrive by noon. We enjoy a simple lunch and great fellowship and prayer until 1:45 when it is time to head back to the school for our weekly Mom’s prayer group.  See, its a nice day.  Not too much of a struggle.  A bit busy, but really special in many ways. 85171CED-E96A-4AD9-803A-FE2004F5F13D

(Photo by Pastor Jasper)

Three quarters the way through praying for the school my phone becomes very active.  Messages keep pinging in and someone keeps trying to call.  I give in and glance down to catch a glimpse that Darron is trying to get a hold of me and so is his secretary. Something does not seem right.  I excuse myself.  This is the first that I have heard from Darron since he left and I could tell right away that there was trouble.  Through a broken connection and texting the story begins to unfold (sort of).  Apparently, Darron and 3 other pastors he is traveling with, took a smaller boat today on a side excursion, asking the larger boat to wait for them and then they would continue down river.  Upon returning to where the larger boat should be waiting, they discover it is GONE.  With all their food and drums of fuel.  Big problem.  A real struggle.  And then begins the communication between the pilot, Gary, and I and them…….to come up with a plan.  At first they feel they just need to abandon the rest of the trip.  With no fuel or food, how can they go on?  Yet by the time the sun is beginning to set new plans are emerging in their struggle.


A boat has been located that will continue to take them down the river.  Could I send food and cooking pot/utensils plus 20 kilos of rice?  Why, sure I can. One of aviation planes will swing by tomorrow in Dabra, where the guys are.  Pastor Jasper will be picked up.  He is there, filming and wanting to capture not just the glamor but the STRUGGLE in missions.  HAHA.  Glad we could drum some of that drama up for you Pastor Jasper!!!!!   And food will be dropped.  I mix up a batch of granola and put it in the oven.  I put supper on the table and inform the boys that I need to go shopping for the guys.  To town I head for the third time today.  I wade through the Asian colorful plastic dishes….looking for cheap plates, cups, bowls and a cheap cooking pot.  I then head to the grocery store and try to find non perishable things to send that are also light and not super heavy (like Ramen noodles not canned goods).  Finally I am home by 8:00 p.m.  The kitchen has not been cleaned from supper and the granola is not finished baking because the oven was accidentally turned off.  My KP duty boy gets into gear with a not so gentle reminder from the beginning to struggle Mom.  The oven is relit and more messages flood in from the sporadic struggling with signal communication by the crocodile river shores. 


Conflicting messages.  As the team that has been violated with their fuel and food stolen grapple with what is the wisest plan.  Maybe now they should just go down river and fly home on Thursday, don’t send food.  Really?  I question.  More messages.  At last at 9:00 p.m. the plan is that they will stay in Dabra and await the plane from here.  They will make sure Jasper gets on the plane to return here and get the food that I will send in.  Great.  I message if their plans change to let me know. 

Meanwhile, I come to my room to start writing this blog.  I was sure that I had turned the oven off, and left a pan of granola in the oven to just finish off lightly browning as the oven cooled.  Thirty minutes later I opened my bedroom door to discover that I failed to turn the oven off and now I had a tray full of burnt granola.  As I pulled the hot tray from the oven and the smoke poured from the charred oats and nuts, I decided it was a perfect ending to our day of struggle.07024B19-805B-45E8-BA80-58379D72F969

Missions is far from easy or glamerous.  There are so many stories, experiences, day to day happenings that cannot be shared.  But today may you catch a glimpse and know that we covet your prayers.  Struggle is not bad.  It can be very clarifying.  Good and hard can co-exist.  And I am learning that we can find God in the midst of struggle and suffering.  I am anxious to hear the rest of Darron’s story when he returns home……whenever that will be.  Because I have NO DOUBT that he will have seen God at work in the midst of todays STRUGGLE.  I am believing that the same is true for you.  Courage my friend.  Thank you for reading and believing.

Friday, March 24, 2017

Crazy Hospital Pickup

Recently, I was honored to go and pick up my neighbor who had a cyst removed the size of a grapefruit.  She was in a hospital about 45 minutes away.  Her husband, 4 year old and 2 year old sons had stayed with her.  Their only mode of transportation is a motorcycle.  So our mobile was a treat. 

The first funny incident, was my neighbor’s hospital roommate.  She had a sweetly wrapped newborn in a pink blanket laying quietly in the basinet.  As the belongings were being gathered and carried to the car I jokingly teased the mother of the newborn that I would carry her baby to my car too.  And honestly there was this Mommy desire inside of me that desired for just a moment, a snuggly baby and a GIRL too.  Five minutes later, as I was helping my neighbor into the wheelchair I glanced across to the basinet where the grandmother was changing the diaper on the little one wrapped in pink.  To my surprise and humor, that little one wrapped in pink, should have been wrapped in blue.  The “girl” was a BOY.  I was instantly perfectly content with no baby.

The scary part of this hospital pick up was what happened next.  Probably 20 minutes had clicked by from the time I arrived until the patient was ready to transfer from the wheelchair into my car.  Meanwhile the husband and oldest son were carrying things to the car. I didn’t think too much about it when the boy didn’t return back to the room for more things.  I just thought, “Oh, he is in the hallway waiting for his Daddy.”  As my neighbor is sitting in the wheelchair at the curb, I run to move the black car closer.  I see a little head inside the car.  I open the doors and see Mr. 4 year old covered in sweat.  The interior of the car is roasting. Well over 100 plus degrees Fahrenheit.   My heart skips a beat and my stomach flips as I comprehend that he was innocently left in the car on a hot tropical day.  As the engine roars to life, I flip the newly fixed a/c onto full power.  And rejoice that this little boy is still alive.  I make a mental note to have a chat with his Dad at a later date about children never being left inside vehicles.  It makes sense that he would not know this.  Motor cycles are their form of transportation.

To complete this adventurous hospital pick up, I am helping Mom into her home.  She is now stooped over from abdominal incisional pain.  As I wave good bye, she calls out, “Oh Mam, do you want to see my cyst?”  “SURE!”  She rummages around in what looks like a diaper bag and pulls out a plastic IV bottle, inside is revealed the grapefruit smooth size cyst.  I jokingly tease them that they are going to eat it for super. They laugh and laugh. They admit that they will bury it in the yard.  Part of the complete package of care. 

That was life in Papua, in just one hospital pick up.  Surprising.  Always keeping me on my toes.  The unexpected coming out of the expected.  Unpredictable. And loads of fun. 

Saturday, March 18, 2017

Shy Kisses and Canceled Flights

Kathleen is not only a great nurse and teacher, she is also a friend (and now a daughter….keep reading).  Last Fall on a medical outing together we chatted about her upcoming wedding in January.  Unfortunately, for most of us living in Papua, we could not go to Kathleen’s wedding because it was in Manado (a flight away).  Thus was born the idea of a wedding reception, in our yard, upon her return to Papua.



At last we decided upon the date of March 11.  And plans started going into motion.  Borrowed dresses and rented tents and chairs.  Church women cooking and a good friend/neighbor decorating.  Darron was due back that afternoon from an all week interior trip.  Perhaps not ideal, but he was game and so plans continued. 


By 8:00 a.m. on Sunday morning, the preparations were well under way with dress alterations, food preparation, and silk flowers being arranged.  Early afternoon Darron flew in on the bush plane, tired but satisfied.  Dirty.  Happy to be home and take a hot shower.  Along with him were Steve and Verna (Bob’s sister) also Gary, Wendy and Cherise.  They had spent the week with Darron building the jungle chapel.  Verna exclaimed, “It was wonderful” upon exiting the plane.   I tried to listen to a few of Darron’s stories and deal with the flow of reception preparations in the house and out in the yard.  The main story I caught from Darron in between chairs being set up and candles and pumpkin bread muffins and cinnamon rolls was that the jungle chapel was not finished and he would be returning interior the following day.  I pondered how we would get his weeks worth of muddy smelly laundry washed and dried in that amount of time (with no dryer) and food prepared for my, “I don’t want to spend time cooking” kind of guy????!   But those thoughts were pushed to the back burner as we had a wedding reception about to start.



As the sun began to loose its steam the guests started to arrive.  I must say we are blessed with a lovely yard and it looked beautiful.  I have an obsession with tropical flowers and I am learning how easy they are to cultivate into more plants.  Around 200 guests gather.  The Indonesian children moved the trampoline to the back of the house, out of adult view, so they could keep jumping through all the formalities. 

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The girls and I had fun helping Kathleen with her final touching preparations.  A tiara and a bouquet of flowers.  And at last the ceremony began with singing and prayers and a little sermonette.  Then the ”parents” were called forward.  Lui’s parents have lived here a long time and were present, but because Kathleen’s were far away, they spontaneously announced us as the parents to Kathleen. So up front we go… what???!  We were fed cake and hugs were given.  Then it was announced that the newly weds could watch the parents kiss and learn from us.  Well kissing at Indonesian weddings is a funny thing.  The crowd gets very involved with their ooohing and awwwing and clapping and laughter.  Also whoever is “kissing” is usually very shy.  So the boys parents went first; meanwhile, I’m watching all their social clues closely.  The father places a shy kiss on the mothers forehead.  The crowd laughs and it is made known that they want more.  So then with much blushing and more shyness they kiss on each others cheeks.  The crowd laughs and claps, they are satisfied.  Now its Kathleen’s “parents” turn.  I whisper to Darron, “Are we going to kiss for real?” He whole heartedly responds, “Of course we are going to kiss.”  And so the un shy Americans kiss on the lips, much to the entertainment and delight of all our “daughter’s” guests.  Then the newly weds are told that they do not need to kiss now, but can practice later.


The food was plentiful.  I am so indebted to the church ladies for all their cooking.  They made my job so incredibly easy.  Around 8:00 p.m. our last guests were leaving and the last few pieces of garbage were being gathered along with chairs stacked.


At 6:00 a.m. Monday morning, I throw all of Darron’’s dirty, nasty, interior clothes into the washing machine.  30 minutes later, they are out on the laundry line.  The sky is cloudy and I am praying for sun shine.  My morning scoots along with putting together food for Darron’s next few days. Granola.  Peanut butter.  Dried Fruit.  Nuts.  Etc.  Also I am busy with lunch preparations.  I call Darron at noon to find out if he had learned when his flight would be.  He notified me that it would be in an hour and a half.  I encourage him to hurry home and get packed.  Darron came as soon as he could, his morning had been filled with many important meetings and questions from people who had been waiting for days while he was out of touch in the land of radio at best communication only, but 99% of the time no communication.  Meanwhile ladies were packing up all the fake flowers on our porch.  I longed for just a few snatches of words of conversation with Darron before our next stent apart……so I counter culturally did not invite all the extra people for lunch and we snuck into the one a/c room and had a 20 minute chat over our lunch. Really important words crammed into 20 minutes.  Clothes were dry.  Darron packed.  Then it was time to get down to the hanger.  There we learned that Gary had been delayed.  Deep breath, the rush was over.

Arriving later into Doyo than Gary intended, the flight got cancelled until the following a.m..  The positive to this delayed flight was we (the boys and I) could snatch some more Darron time.  And Darron could get just a few more details, emails and refreshment before his early morning flight.  I whip up a decadent treat, an English Trifle to celebrate.  And we counted our blessing.  This would also give us some time to practice our shy kissing, because apparently we need to be ready for the next wedding we are called upon to be substitute parents again.  The joy of living in another culture, is being ready to embrace the unexpected, or at least be willing to be laughed at as you muddle through and be ready to flex with ever changing schedules. 


Thursday, March 16, 2017

Medical Care by Youtube videos.

I wouldn’t recommend going to a medical professional for care who learns how to do the procedure you need from a youtube video.  Not wise.  Yet, here is Papua, this was KD’s option.  Her smashed toenail had a nasty smelly infection brewing underneath it. Being in the village for two weeks with days of mud, mud, and more mud…..had pushed KD’s toe to far.  The best way to “cure it”, was to remove it.  She needed a nerve block.  That is where the base of the affected digit is injected with Lidocaine so that the entire digit goes numb. 


Time to roll up the sleeves and run to the science room and watch a youtube video on how to do a nerve block.  Our doctor was out of country.  I had seen her perform this technique perhaps two years prior and she had explained it a time or two.  My learning style is by actually DOING the activity……so up to this point, I was mildly aware, but certainly not “trained”.94176014-F75E-43F1-8C32-59B136F72328

I admire, brave and courageous, KD who knew that I had little clue of what I was about to do and who steeled herself to sit still and trust my care.  The procedure would require 3 different injections at the base of her big toe numbing the 4 nerves that run the length of the toe. 

You know it is a “big deal” when other nurses and friends start to show up in the clinic.  So nurse Paige, nurse Wendy, and want to be something medical (we are almost sure) Cherise, were all present.  I did the first two infections, but not wanting to deny others of this great learning opportunity,  I  encouraged Paige to do the next and Wendy did the last.  We won’t talk about our uncertainty of where to really put the needle and could we do any nerve damage and the medicine that squirted out when we went a little to far accompanied with the nervous giggling that took place.  These are all things that were not covered on the Youtube video. Thank you.

Gratefully our doctor was aware of what we needed to do and had written and described that we clamp down on that toe nail with as many teeth as possible from the hemostat and pull out the toenail like “pulling on a drawer”.  If it was stuck we could wiggle back and forth in a “side to side motion”. I was so grateful for those describing words.  So once KD’s toe was numb I proceeded to remove the offending toenail.  All went well with the drawer like pulling, except for the right side which was still quite fleshly attached.  It required quite a large amount of effort to pull it out.  As I am pulling back and forth my mind wishes I had watched another video on “removing toenails”.  Surely there is one?   And I had questions, mid procedure, like do we really pull this nail completely out, tearing the flesh?  But I was committed to move forward and to act regardless whether it was right or not and so I continued to pull out the nail. Finally it gave way to my persistence.  And bled and bled.  So we help pressure and breathed deep that the procedure was over.  The amount of dirt on that fleshy nail bed was impressive and after the bleeding slowed we washed that toe to reveal a nice clean red bed.  YES!  Youtube success! 


I wouldn’t recommend seeing someone who gains their knowledge by watching youtube videos.  But living in Papua that is one of the risks you take.  Come visit anytime.  We will take GOOD CARE of you!  But beware that one of your traveling risks is the probability that your health care provider may be watching youtube videos to know how to treat you.

Friday, March 10, 2017

From Imagination to Sight

The seal on my freezer door no longer seals.  So the job that used to be delayed for 3 months, now demands defrosting attention every month.  A job I have always procrastinated on, but even more so  the last 3 years.  I can no longer do this icy job without remembering Bob and the day his plane crashed and he died.  Memories that I would rather not remember and reality that to this day is painful for so many, including myself.  Defrosting my freezer is what I was in the midst of doing when the crash happened. Today, once again, I realize that I can procrastinate no longer.  The freezer must be defrosted.  As towels are laid on the floor and the ice begins to thaw,  I reflect again.  My reflecting jarred me into realizing that I need to tell you what is happening right now….because of Bob. 



Bob’s older sister, Verna and her husband are HERE.  Here in Papua.  They are here to help build a church in Okyop. A remote tribal village, accessible by bush plane only.  Gary, Wendy, Cherise, Darron and they all flew into Okyop on Monday.  Okyop was the last village that Bob worshiped in before his fatal crash.  Darron and he were together.  A short little video that Verna saw about Bob and Darron’s time in this village, inspired Verna to come and help build this place of worship to encourage the people there.  This is no small undertaking, nor for the faint of heart.  Hopefully they will finish the jungle chapel, worship with the people in Okyop on Saturday and fly home on Sunday.94C60B94-B35B-4DF6-A1C7-BDF07ACC8BC2

The few times I have chatted with Verna she is so so appreciative to be seeing all of the things that she imagined and prayed for while Bob and Jan served here for over 20 years. The aviation campus. The school next door.  The town.  The stores.  The lake.  And the remote tribal villages.  Verna is putting together all the pieces and words that she poured over/ prayed over/ and pondered over for the last quarter of a century. Bob was faithful at writing weekly emails to update family and supporters to what was going on.  During all of those years Verna formed pictures in her mind as to what things looked like and how things were.  Now her imagination is shifting to actual sight.  Often Verna speaks with sparkle in her eyes, mingled with tears.

This is only a glimpse into this precious story, a story that is not really mine to tell…….

All the ice is melted and the shelves have been dried.  The food is all stored away, until it is time to be used.  I’ve got one month to not worry about the freezer and then I will need to face my task and remember again. Meanwhile,  I’m so grateful for hope, for healing, for work going forward, for the people of Papua, and for imagination and sight.


Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Waiting. Waiting. (Tap, tap, tap…..)

My fingers nervously drum on the kitchen counter….tap, tap, tap.  If shouting or screaming would help, I would go for it.  But it doesn’t, so my fingers just tap or my foot.  Waiting for our visa’s since December (but they have been in process since September).  Waiting for news that our passports have been stamped and we are released to travel.  Tap, tap, tap.  Months drag by.  Trips are cancelled.  Suitcases are unpacked from trips that surely we could go on…..because surely our visas would come????  Tomorrow???!  Waiting.

Waiting.  I don’t do it well.  Nor do people from my Western culture. We don’t like to wait for meetings to start or waiting for doctors or waiting on friends.  Nor do we like waiting on slow internet connections or waiting to hear about information that in our own culture we could find answers to right away. Clash that with people from an Asian culture.  Who are happy to wait or are at least really good at it!!!!  They will wait all day to speak to my husband.  They will sit under a tree for several hours waiting for me to come home.  I have much to learn about waiting, patiently. 

Two stories of Asian patience in waiting recently popped out to me.  One being our squatter neighbor.  Twenty one years old and only the opportunity to attend school until about 5th/6th grade in a remote tribal group.  He desires to study and become a pastor.  In order to do this, this young man needs to pass two different tests, to the equivalent of our GED.  One for middle school and one for high school.  He arrived here in January and was told that the middle school test would be in February or March.  So meanwhile he and his fourteen year old bride, wait.  To their credit, they work and wait. Diligently every day, they showed up to Darron’s office seeking work. Every week, Darron’s secretary would check to see if it was time to take the test.  Each week, she was given a similar answer.  “It will be later”.  Or “It will be in March.”  Just last week, the school informed us that the test was given last December.  Stunned, we question what was all that waiting for?   Now, This young man has to wait until when??!  Tap, tap, tap, tap…….




On Sunday a struggling to breath sick man was flown out to get medical help.  They load him onto a rolling cart as we wait for an ambulance.  Waiting.  Waiting.  Phone calls are made.  The ambulance is less than a quarter mile from our home.  Twenty, maybe thirty minutes tick by.  Difficulty breathing.  Oxygen flowing.  Flies being brushed away. The family stands by waiting.  Not upset.  Not frustrated.  They are not expecting anything more than to wait.  Tap, tap, tap……  this is not right. I could drive him myself, quicker, faster.  Finally the ambulance comes.


Yesterday our waiting was over.  The passports arrived.  The 5 year privilege of living here has been granted.  We are so grateful to our friend, Pastor Desmond, who worked so hard, along side the immigration people to obtain this visa for us.  I know that he had to do many many hours of long waiting for signatures, for proper documents, for ……I don’t even begin to know. This is a visa that few foreigners have.  We feel very blessed.  I can only imagine that I will be learning many more lessons on this important topic of waiting in the months and years to come. 



As I was at a special prayer group for our school yesterday we read this, “I waited patiently for the Lord;  And He inclined  his ear to me, And heard my cry.  He also brought me up out of a horrible pit, Out of the miry clay, And set my feet upon a rock, And established my steps. He has put a new song in my mouth.”   Ps 40:1-3  I don’t know about you but sometimes just waiting can feel like a pit and miry clay.  As I stand on this rock and establish my feet…..tap, tap, tap…..I’ve got a new song in my mouth. Pujih Tuhan.  Praise the Lord.