As the last three posts mention my coworker Ben had a heart attack. Two vessels were 90% blocked. They added two stints and new medicine. He is in South Africa resting and testing the medicine. February 24th he will have another appointment and at that time know when he can return here.
They live about 2 hours into the countryside. They have three young ladies here working with them for a few months. We have had to move them into the city while Ben and Candi are away. It has taken a lot of time to help get them settled and in a routine here.
I have changed my language program. If you knew anything about me in my education days you know I hate to study. A roommate my sophomore year tried to tell people he never saw me study the year he lived with me. And while that isn't completely true it is sure more true than if he tried to say all I ever did was study. But I survived. Now I am here and again it is tough trying to put in the required hours of study. Therefore I now meet with my helpers everyday. I meet two hours in the morning to learn new stuff and two hours in the afternoon to practice. It is exhausting but will be of great help in my learning.
I told one of my helpers today about the difference between when I love the language and when I hate it. Let me tell the story that led to my telling him this.
He and I spent a couple hours this afternoon at the café I like so much (the one the boy eating dirt was at). On the way back I met five young boys playing on the street. They walked with us for nearly a mile and we talked the whole way. They wanted money...what else is new.
But often I like to play with them and I told them I wanted them to give me money. Of course they said they didn't have any. Then I saw some coins in one boy's hand, his name was Joseph. I told him I wanted him to give me his money. He refused. But one of the other boys, I forgot his name, came and held my hand as we began to walk away...the others followed closely.
We talked about their names and how old they were. I asked if they were brothers. The boy whose name I forgot said all five were brothers. I was clever enough to know their ages made that pretty unlikely. I questioned and Joseph told me that three were brothers and the other two were their friends.
Related tangent: I have realized many of my stories are about the struggles of this place. I share those because they are real and they are forever poignant in ones memory. But I live here because I love this place. I love that the people here have the most beautiful smiles on the face of the earth. I love that although one of my friends is poor as dirt he always begs to pay when we go out. I love that although the majority of people here have next to nothing they live with a sense of comfort and joy. I love that they love me...some because they see me as a source of money, many because they see me as a friend. I love the passion that they have for their country and their people. I love their bravery. They aren't ashamed to ask for what they want or need. I both love and hate that they have a passion for our creator and have ever so slightly missed the point of the gospel. I love that they enjoy trying English (even when they butcher it). I love that they have decided I look like some soccer player in Europe that I look nothing like but tons of people yell the name on the street as I walk by. I love chances like today to visit with five little boys. They love to hold your hand. It is probably one reason why I get the squirts but it is worth the risk to show I care for them. (Let me go wash my hands...I'll be back.)
I have two great desires for my time here. I desire that we can come to a better understanding of the best way to present the good news to these people. I want to see the answers we find put into action and work. I also desire more than I can tell you that you come visit this place. It changes your life. It changes your world. It changes their world. I can't tell you how badly I want you to meet the people here, the girls that work at a favorite cafe, and my friends at the supermarket. I dream of the chance you'll have to talk with so many different friends. Consider it! Ask the Father what he would have you do and be faithful to it. Know from my end that the invitation is always open.
So the five boys started telling me that they wanted to buy a ball. I asked them what it cost and where they wanted to buy it. They told me the price and where a souk was. I began to tease them about how their one birr wasn't going to do the trick. Then I told them that only one of them had one birr anyway, what could the others offer.
They pulled me along with them into the souk and asked the two ladies behind the counter if they had a ball. One pulled it down but clearly the other was the boss. The longer I am here the more I understand you almost never pay the asking price. I talked them down to 16, but the boss lady wasn't willing to break far from the original price. I told the boys I would pay 15 if they would give me the other one to pay the last part. Together we bought them a soccer ball. My guess is they are out in barren field or the street somewhere kicking around a rubber soccer ball. They won't remember in a week that the white guy whose hands they held bought it for them, but they'll have a blast and I'll remember them. More importantly so will my Dad.
In the five or ten minutes I walked and talked with these boys I loved their language. In the four hours I studied it I hated it. Chances like these make long hours of flipping cards and memorizing sentences well worth the effort though.
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