This week we headed downtown to attend a noon-time Messiah sing at a cathedral. Toting our own musical scores like the classical geeks we are, we enter through the back door and follow the signs to the alto section. My husband sings bass, I sing soprano or alto and our daughter just sings. So we compromise.
As the orchestra warms up, we drink in the beauty of the place - the sculptures, the dark,gleaming oak, rich brick and cool stone. Stories from the gospels shine through vibrant stained glass windows - the annunciation,the worshipping shepherds, the gift-bearing magi.
The gothic architecture, with it’s towering pointed arches and cavernous ceilings, seem more fitting to contain the greatness and glory of God than the school auditoriums we have worshipped in over the years. But I’ve experienced the glorious presence of God in Chinese underground churches and grass structures without walls in the Mikea Forest of Madagascar, so I do know that architecture has nothing to do with presence. But still, it moves my soul.
Beauty in form.
The orchestra begins, a tenor stands to sing, and I start to cry.
Beauty in sound.
In these days of the musical style less-is-more, when Sufjan Stevens and his friends are la-la-laing their way through “It’s Christmas! Let’s Be Glad” - and grandma gets run over by a reindeer on every radio station in town (except NPR, God bless them) - such a magnificent work as Messiah seems overkill. (And please don’t stone me. I like Sufjan Stevens. I listen to Sufjan Stevens…once in awhile.)
But when I listen to Messiah, my gaze and my soul rises to God. And I suppose that’s the whole point.
The soloists take their turns singing scripture, word for word. As a matter of fact, the entire libretto (the text) is from the Bible - OT prophesies, and nativity accounts,stories of the death and resurrection of the Christ.
Beauty in Word.
As the contralto soloist sings - “He is like a refiner’s fire…” my mind wanders to the story behind the music….
In 1742, when George Frideric Handel was commissioned to write an oratorio on the life of Jesus, illiteracy was high and copies of the Bible were rare and obscenely expensive. The stained glass windows and carved doors and sculptures of the day had a purpose beyond beauty, as they told the Bible stories in a language that could be understood. Oratorios, such as Messiah, did the same through music.
And this is, no doubt, why Handle wanted to take on the project. But he had other reasons as well. For a start, he was broke - as the vast majority of classical musicians and artists have been through the ages. Handel was a brilliant composer, but his share of failures had left him deeply in debt and, some say, on his way to debtor’s prison. With his health also failing him. I can only imagine that his heart and courage may have been failing him as well.
Beauty in brokenness.
The story of how Messiah was written is the stuff of legend and probably some myth. But we do know that Handel wrote the entire score in 24 days. 20 big choral masterpieces, over 30 instrumental and solo pieces - 260 pages of manuscript in 24 days.
“In a small London house on Brook Street, a servant sighs with resignation as he arranges a tray full of food. he assumes will not be eaten. For more than a week, he has faithfully continued to wait on his employer, an eccentric composer, who spends hour after hour isolated in his own room. Morning, noon, and evening the servant delivers appealing meals to the composer and returns later to find the bowls and platters largely untouched. Once again, he steels himself to go through the same routine, muttering under his breath about how oddly temperamental musicians can be. As he swings open the door to the composer’s room, the servant stops in his tracks.
The startled composer, tears streaming down his face, turns to his servant and cries out, “I did think I did see all Heaven before me, and the great God Himself.” George Frederic Handel had just finished writing a movement that would take its place in history as the Hallelujah Chorus.”
Beauty revealed.
The bass sings “The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light; and they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.”
I remember that the first performance of “Messiah” in Dublin, Ireland was a benefit concert - the proceeds being used for orphans, a charity hospital and to free 142 men from debtor’s prison. After this it became a tradition to raise money for London orphanages and support the poor in a variety of ways through Messiah performances.
Beauty in action.
I’m brought back to the moment. It’s our turn to sing.
“For unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given, and the government shall be upon his shoulder; and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, the Might God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.
Beauty.
*Excerpt - Spiritual Lives of the Great Composers by Patrick Kavanaugh (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zondervan, 1996 p. 27).
*Photos:
Stained Glass Window by Bev Lloyd-Roberts, Great Britain
St. Paul by Nicolas Demars, France
Music notes 3 by Am y, Singapore
Susan’s Snow Angel by Debbie Schiel, Australia
Modern Stained Glass by Stephen J. Sullivan, USA
I grew up in a church that didn’t observe advent. Because it began as a radical counter-church movement in the 1800’s, the Salvation Army didn’t observe any of the high church rituals - including advent.
The non-denominational church I “grew up” in as an adult didn’t celebrate advent either. We decorated the lobby and put on an extravagant Christmas program every Sunday before Christmas, but advent was not part of our church culture for the best part of 20 years.
So it’s only been the last couple of years that I’ve begun to explore outside the lines - and I’ve discovered riches there.
For instance - the Jesse Tree.
Though I’ve seen photos of the stained glass versions, I never knew about the home version of the Jesse Tree. This old custom seems to be great way to tell and re-tell the ancient stories of our faith. Each day a new symbol is hung and an old story is told. Some people create a felt version, while others use tree branches. There are pages and pages of ideas for creative Jesse Trees and handmade ornaments and stories and devotional books online.
We had our own creative traditions, our own ways of telling stories when my children were younger. But perhaps it is time to establish some new traditions. My first grandchild - a little girl - will be born in just two months now. I think there will have to be a Jesse Tree at Nana’s treehouse. Old ways to tell ancient stories to a new generation.
During these December days, I’ll keep exploring advent and share some of what I’m thinking about and reading. Like this vibrant passage that tries to capture the feeling of advent - from “Whistling in the Dark” by Frederick Buechner.
“The house lights go off and the footlights come on. Even the chattiest stop chattering as they wait in darkness for the curtain to rise. In the orchestra pit, the violin bows are poised. The conductor has raised his baton. In the silence of a midwinter dusk, there is far off in the deeps of it somewhere a sound so faint that for all you can tell it may be only the sound of the silence itself. You hold your breath to listen. You walk up the steps to the front door. The empty windows at either side of it tell you nothing, or almost nothing. For a second you catch a whiff of some fragrance that reminds you of a place you’ve never been and a time you have no words for. You are aware of the beating of your heart…The extraordinary thing that is about to happen is matched only by the extraordinary moment just before it happens. Advent is the name of that moment.”
Photo Credits:
“Stained Glass Nativity” by George Bosela.
“Heart on the Snow” by Kriss Szkurlatowski.
Used by generous permission
Click here to listen to a track from our new instrumental Ancient Path CD, “Still Waters”, which is set for release on January 17, 2009. This not-yet-mastered track entitled “Stillness”, is an arrangement of an old hymn - “For the Beauty of the Earth.”
The Word
Give thanks to the Lord, call on His name;
Make known among the nations what he has done.
Sing to him, sing praise to him;
Tell of all his wonderful acts.
Glory in his holy name;
Let the hearts of those who seek the Lord rejoice.
Look to the Lord and his strength; seek his face always.
Remember the wonders he has done…
Be still and know that I am God.
Psalm 105 & 46
The words of the hymn, For the Beauty of the Earth , were written in 1864
by a 29 year old man named Folliot S. Pierpoint. A prolific poet and a renowned nature lover, Pierpoint was particularly overcome one late spring day as he was walking the countryside near his native town of Bath, England. Suddenly overwhelmed by the beauty of his surroundings - the river, trees, flowers and sky - he expressed his heart by writing these words.
For the beauty of the earth, for the glory of the skies;
For the love which from our birth, over and around us lies;
Lord of all, to Thee we raise this, our hymn of grateful praise.
For the wonder of each hour, of the day and of the night;
Hill and vale and tree and flow’r, sun and moon, and stars of light;
Lord of all, to Thee we raise this, our hymn of grateful praise.
For the joy of ear and eye, for the heart and mind’s delight;
For the mystic harmony, linking sense to sound and sight;
Lord of all, to Thee we raise this, our hymn of grateful praise.
For the joy of human love, brother, sister, parent, child;
Friends on Earth and friends above, for all gentle thoughts and mild;
Lord of all, to Thee we raise this, our hymn of grateful praise.
For Thyself, best Gift Divine, to the world so freely given,
For that great, great love of Thine, peace on earth and joy in heaven.
Lord of all, to Thee we raise this, our hymn of grateful praise.
Prayer
A Hebrew Blessing
Blessed are You, O Lord our God, Eternal King,
Who feeds the whole world with Your goodness,
With grace, with loving kindness, and with tender mercy.
You give food to all flesh,For Your loving kindness endures forever.
Through Your great goodness, food has never failed us.
O may it not fail us forever, for Your name’s sake,
Since You nourish and sustain all living things, and do good to all,
And provide food for all Your creatures whom You have created.
Blessed are You, O Lord, Who gives food to all.
A Thanksgiving Day Prayer by Samuel F. Pugh
O God, when I have food, help me to remember the hungry;
When I have work, help me to remember the jobless;
When I have a home, help me to remember those who have no home at all;
When I am without pain, help me to remember those who suffer,
And remembering, help me to destroy my complacency;
Bestir my compassion, and be concerned enough to help;
By word and deed, those who cry out for what we take for granted.
Here’s a slideshow of the children at Hope Village and the volunteers who traveled from the USA this summer to work with WVI’s orphan care program. You’ll see photos of the summer events - literacy and tutoring classes, music rehearsals, the photography project, feeding, making nutritious, homemade peanut butter, game days, outings & the purchase of tons of maize for the months ahead.
The music track is a worship song entitled “Child of God” by Kathryn Scott - from the CD “Hungry”. When I wrote asking her permission to use it, she responded immediately - and generously. ( Thank you, Kathryn.)
Enjoy the beautiful faces of the children of Malawi. ( or for better quality, view it directly on youtube.)
Maize is life in Africa. Introduced hundreds of years ago by explorers, merchants, and slave traders, maize has become the most important crop on the continent. Whether roasted as kernels, boiled as porridge, or stirred rapidly into a stiff mixture - called “nsima” in Malawi - no meal is complete without maize in some form.
I’ve seen it in the faces of the children, as they watch the older boys take turns stirring nsima in the mammoth pot. Or as they sit silently at the tables, waiting for the last person to be served - mentally comparing the amounts of nsima on each others’ plates. Huge, steaming clods of the stiff porridge, usually two to a child, are the main event. They tear off a small piece, roll it around in their hand, and dip it into the “ndiwo” - or relish. At Hope Village, “ndiwo” always consists of chicken, beef, or beans and cooked vegetables of some sort.
The ndiwo is delicious, but it is the nsima that takes away the hunger pains and fills the stomach against the cold, hard hunger of the night - and perhaps even the next day.
Malawians take their nsima seriously. In what might be called the most culturally insensitive blog post I have ever read, a western student working in Malawi recently called nsima “the most disgusting and pointless food in the history of the world.” Some Malawians who read the post defended her right to free speech but many others called for her immediate deportation. One man threatened that he knew where she lived and another man accused her of treason When this naive young woman touched nsima, she touched the stuff that keeps millions of Africans alive.
Personally,I love nsima. Especially when my friend Fally makes her green beans and tomato dish, or fresh peas for the ndiwo. I always say I could eat that every day - and maybe I could. But I have a choice. The children - and the villagers - don’t.
Their ndiwo usually consists of a small bowl of boiled okra or boiled greens. An extended family sits on the ground around one plate of nsima and one bowl of greens - and they share.
That’s why it is such an amazing thing to our children that they get to sit at table, with individual plates and cups. They love having a defined amount that belongs to them alone. They eat huge clods of nsima, more than you would think possible - and raise their hands for seconds if there is some left over.
Sometimes the children tuck chunks of food away in little pieces of plastic to save for the evening - or to take home to a hungry relative.
Since this is a home-based care program, the children are not always at Hope Village. And they are not the only ones in their extended family who are hungry.
The Malawi government insists that there will be no food shortage this year - that even though the rains were disappointing, there is still plenty of maize in storage. Of course, the people in the villages don’t believe it - they’re worried. And they’re not just worried about whether or not the maize will run out, they worry about whether or not they can afford to buy what is there.
Maize prices have nearly doubled from last year and they’re still rising. Last year a 50 kg bag cost 1800 kwacha - about $13. This year the price is at K3500 - or $25. This is a steep increase for a typical villager who makes less than that in a month and has a large family to feed.
And this is why we recently purchased 4 1/2 tons of maize, stocking the storeroom at Hope Village to the ceiling. Now, every Saturday morning, the older girls will carry basins of maize on their heads to the nearest maize mill for processing.
They will then return with basins of snow-white “ufa” - or maize flour, ready to be made into porridge or nsima. And a portion will be sent home with the children weekly - for those in-between days when they are fending for themselves in the village.
In Africa, maize is life! Baba, Lloyd, Missi and all the kids of Hope Village say “thank you”!
Thanks to a friend who has just given me me a heads up, I realize my error in not writing an update on my 13-year-old daughter’s recovery after her illness in Malawi. Sorry! Here’s what happened…..
The last I wrote about this, Hana had just been on anti-biotics for 24 hours and we were hopeful for a quick recovery. Unfortunately, she got much worse before she got better.
The hallucinations increased - she heard voices in the attic and thought people were hiding under her bed. She was disoriented and confused to the point of being unable to take a shower. She kept turning on the water and walking into the living room, unsure what to do next.
And she was afraid - which is not like Hana. She was very afraid. She started having heart palpitations; she thought she was losing her mind. And her behavior was erratic, to say the least.
One day at Hope Village, as the choir sat in a circle during a break, Hana suddenly crossed the room and dumped a bottle of Fanta on the head of one of her friends. Something was going on in her head that had nothing to do with reality - she was convinced the boy had done something to her and she was retaliating. But a healthy Hana, while entirely capable of wrestling, chasing, spraying with water, tickling - would never waste food or drink in Malawi when thirsty kids are standing outside the gate. Of course, the choir kids thought this was hilarious, and the little boy was very gracious - promising to get her back, but they were all worried about her too. They knew she wasn’t well and in their world, people just die.
The days were difficult, but the nights were worse. For three nights straight, I didn’t sleep as I applied cool cloths to her head, read scripture to her, and prayed over her. Every hour or so, she would spring straight up in bed, and start singing every worship song she could think of. This was was how she battled the fear.
I couldn’t understand why she wasn’t improving. I went on the internet and googled Cipro to see if some of the symptoms could be side effects from the anti-biotic - that in itself scared me to death. But I still had no idea what was happening to my child.
Day after day, we continue working with the children and Hana came with us to the village, but she couldn’t function. Then one day, while we were at the immigration office, waiting to talk to the boss about a visa problem, a miracle happened.
There was one other man waiting in the office, an East Indian gentleman. He stared at us for a few minutes before he asked, “what’s wrong with your daughter?” I told him that she had been very ill and we were just trying to get home. He said “She’s badly dehydrated.”
Amazed that he could tell what was wrong by looking at her, I said “yes, that’s what the doctor said.” The man then asked me if she was on ORS - oral rehydration salt therapy. I told him we didn’t know about this, the doctor had not prescribed anything but Cipro and drinking.
But the man told me to run to the nearest pharmacy and start Hana on it immediately. He said ” it’s a Malawian thing” that saves children’s lives. When you get this badly dehydrated all of your electrolytes - potassium, sodium, chloride, bicarbonate - are depleted.
I thanked him and started her on ORS within the hour. I went back online and did some research on dehydration and electrolytes - and there were all of Hana’s symptoms. I also found out why she was completely paralyzed that first night when she woke up, burning with fever: potassium depletion. Apparently, when you reach this stage, you’re in danger. They recommend calling 911.
Slowly, but surely, Hana began to improve as she sipped the salty tasting solution throughout the day. And every time she said something loopy, I gave her a banana. I don’t know if that helped, but it made me feel like I was doing something. On her last day at Hope Village with the children, she was finally able to run around with them for a bit - but not long. She just didn’t have the strength, but at least she was coming back to her senses.
The trip back to the US wasn’t easy for her - Malawi to Johannesburg to New York to Washington D.C. to Cleveland - alot of airports. As she clutched my hand tightly, I carried both of our backpacks, guiding her on and off of the various planes. When we finally landed in Cleveland, her Dad met her with a big bottle of Gatorade, the first of many waiting for her in the frig. Over the next several days, as she hung out with her brother and sisters, she cried with both relief and sadness. Relief to be in her own home, recovering, her mind beginning to function again. Sadness because she was so sick the last two weeks in Malawi, she was unable to do the things she wanted to with the children. Sadness because she already missed her Malawian family and friends.
Looking back, I realize Hana had been righting dehydration on and off throughout the summer. There were a couple of other times when she became disoriented and nervous and complained of dizziness - she just wasn’t herself. I just didn’t know what was happening and Hana is such a strong girl - a healthy eater, an athlete, and a big water drinker. But as the doctor explained, the African sun in winter is deceptive and there is zero humidity. You don’t even realize the moisture is leaving your body.
It took about a week, for the heart palpitations, nervousness and dizziness to completely go away. But now Hana is Hana again - swimming two hours a night with her swim team, reading non-stop, and pontificating about what she reads. She has just finished two C.S.Lewis books - The Screwtape Letters and the Great Divorce - treating me to a rousing discussion I could barely keep up with.
She’s baaaaaack - and I am so very very grateful.
I could be convinced that the man in the visa office was an angel in disguise. But, at the very least, he was an answer to the desperate prayers of an anxious mother and father. I’ve seen God heal in many different ways over the years. For us, our miracle came when we walked into an immigration office at just the right time on just the right day at the same time as just the right man who had the answers we needed. Coincidence?
I don’t believe in coincidence.
Thanks to everyone who prayed for Hana during this difficult time.
Those prayers kept us. No doubt.
Technically, it’s called a high performance blender - which is a bit like calling Michelangelo a house painter.
I started using the machine itself a few years back when my dad was diagnosed with cancer. As he suffered through chemotherapy and his appetite waned, we made delicious whole-food juices and hot soups. Next to prayer, it was the best way we could help. According to their website - “Vita Mix processing breaks open the cell walls to release maximum nutrition from whole foods, more than you can get any other way.” Maximum nutrition - that sounds good to someone fighting to regain their health and strength.
This year, the CEO of Vita Mix, John Barnard, donated a custom-made machine for Hope Village Malawi to help the children in our home-based orphan care program. These children come to Hope Village a few times a week. On Saturdays, they eat a hot meal of nsima, chicken or beans, and vegetables.
Mid-week, they eat biscuits, fruit, and peanut butter sandwiches. On the days that the children eat in their villages, food is often scarce. Breakfast is out of the question. Those who are lucky enough to attend school, work on empty bellies. At lunch time, they may have nsima and a small amount of boiled okra for dipping. Usually, dinner is the same. Sometimes the children eat only once a day, other times, not at all. One boy told us that they have gone as long as three days and nights in the village without food. To combat this, WVI recently bought 4 tons of maize, which will be portioned out in weekly amounts for the children to take home. The problem is, there are alot of mouths to feed at home. And as orphans, they are at the bottom of the pecking order.
The other problem is when the children do have something to eat, it is not necessarily nutritious. Some of my Malawian friends swear that nsima is one of the most nutritious foods in the world - and personally, I happen to love it. But the truth is, nsima made from maize flour and water is high in carbohydrates and not much else to grow healthy young bodies and minds. But you make the most out of what you have.
And this is where the Vita Mix machine comes in. To make the most of our midweek meals, we decided to produce homemade peanut butter. At first, the boys were a bit skeptical - groundnuts need to be pounded into flour, putting your whole back and strong arms into it.
How could this little machine do the same thing? But they decided to humor us and give it a try - Malawi style. Which means, everything is done in community, making the work easier - and much more fun.
We started out with a trip to the village market to buy fresh groundnuts. The harvest wasn’t great this year due to disappointing rains, but groundnuts are still easy to find and fairly inexpensive.
Back at Hope Village, some of the kids shell the nuts, and others start the fire. Pan after pan of nuts is roasted, then dumped steaming hot into a flat basket where the paper-thin skins are rubbed off.
Next the boys take turns - under close supervision - using the Vita Mix. They watch with wonder, as the nuts are ground into a thick, creamy butter. They can’t believe it when the peanut butter comes out warm. They really can’t believe it when we tell them that you can make hot soup and frozen ice cream in the same machine.
As they scoop the finished product into clean jars, the boys lick their fingers, the container,and lastly the spoons - declaring it the most delicious peanut butter they have ever tasted. And, of course, wishing that they had nisma to go with it.
They start thinking like the young business men they are - or that they have to be to survive. Let’s see… 4 full jars from one batch of peanuts - how much did it cost for each jar? What else can this little machine do? What else could we make?
They want to start a business. And who knows? They just might.
But for today, we’re just thrilled that children who are hungry - like little Missi - will have a healthy meal, chock full of protein and vitamins and minerals. Thank you Vita Mix Corporation!
NOTE: All pictures, except for the Vita Mix machine, Dorika pounding groundnuts, and Missi with the balloon, were taken by 13-year-old Greshan - a young man in our orphan care program. Greshan participated in the photography project this summer. Like all the children, this was his first time to use a camera. To see more of Greshan’s photos, go to http://www.flickr.com/photos/22877141@N02/sets/72157607293173109/
Greshan, the photographer, roasting corn for his younger brother, Bernard.
Village children are resourceful when it comes to toys and games. Old plastic bags, scraps of paper and tape become soccer balls; rocks become jax, long strips of thin plastic tied together become a jumping game, plastic bottles and bent wire become elaborate cars and trucks. Bottle caps, sticks, mud - all useful from recreation. Of course, kids in the west cut up refrigerator boxes and make forts out of dead leaves - but the difference is the little plastic toy aisle at the local Drug Mart or the huge Toys R US around the corner. Few African kids have any other choice.
So when a group of women from Minnesota decide to make dolls for each young child and every girl in the Chifundo’s Basket program, they are giving a gift of joy.
Sue Berglund - an RN who has previously served as a WVI volunteer in Malawi - was the mastermind behind the doll project. One year she arrived in Malawi with dozens of handmade fleece jackets for the school children - and dozens of handcrafted Chichewa coloring books. She also gathered a group of talented women to create a stunning quilt that now hangs in the Hope Village church, stretching from ceiling to floor.
This year, it was dolls. Beautiful, hand-crafted dolls - boy dolls and girl dolls complete with babies on their backs, decked out in brightly colored clothing. Each doll has beads threaded into tufts of hair - beads that have meaning. These black, red, white, gold and green beads represent the colors of the wordless book - a tool that is used around the world to teach the truth of the gospel to children and adults alike. And tucked inside a hidden pocket on each doll’s tummy, is a colorful laminated booklet, written in the local language, that tells the whole story of God’s love for them.
The day comes to distribute the dolls and Naomi - a team member from Minnesota - does the honors. After the raucous clapping, screaming and bouncing subsides - she begins to pass them out, one at a time. The kids’ faces are priceless - a combination of joy and utter disbelief. You can read their thoughts: A doll of my very own? I can take it home? It’s mine?
Of course, the older boys can’t take a doll. ( And “older” here is 13) They tell us that they wouldn’t make it out of the village without getting beaten up if they were seen carrying a doll. Thankfully, we have something for them - a little ninja-looking tool thing that they seem delighted with.
As the kids prepare to leave for home, the younger boys hug their dolls tightly and the girls wrap them onto their backs. The give them names (Edwin names his “Uncle Ken”) and carefully brush the ever-present dust off of the black cloth.
Some of the children who participate in our summer photography project bring back pictures of themselves with their dolls at home - a splash of color in a dreary mud house.
I hate to shop. It is a special challenge to shop for my 13 year old daughter who knows exactly what she likes - which seems to be anything I don’t like. Shopping for one adolescent overwhelms me.
But recently I went shopping here in Malawi -for 41 kids. Thankfully, I wasn’t alone - Loveness, Wapu, Hana, and Ken shared the joy.
Early one morning we invaded the Pep shop - which is sort of a mini-Woolworth’s - armed with a list of estimated shoe sizes, and some very suspicious measurements for boys clothing. For hours we counted, and re-counted kids on the list. We spread shoes all over the floor, organized by size. (The sizes are European, which is more than a little confusing.) We made our best guess and then moved on to underwear and socks - as Wapu and Ken tried to find pants and shirts to fit 22 boys.
This shop doesn’t have all the sizes that we need, but helpful employees offer to run to another shop to plunder their stock. We decide to buy backpacks for all 41 kids, sorting them by size, color and design. At the end of our shopping trip, a huge, overflowing box is stuffed into the van and a grateful store manager gives us a blanket and two plastic food storage sets as thank you gifts.
That evening, we clutter the floor as we sort through the piles. The longer I stare at the 41 pairs of shoes, shoes, the larger they become in my eyes. I soon convince myself that nothing will fit, that every shoe is too big, every pair of pants too small. But nothing can be done right now, so we begin to stuff items in the new bags. I’m glad that we bought and distributed the dresses for the girls a couple of weeks back - that makes our job tonight a bit simpler.
But at the end of the night, bulging backpacks lean against the front door, ready for the next day.
That’s the shopping part - now for the joy.
We arrive at Hope Village with two huge boxes and when we show them what we brought, they explode - yelling, whistling, clapping, stomping their feet. None of them have ever owned a backpack before.
The boys dash to one of the schoolrooms to try on their new clothes, while the girls excitedly try on their new shoes. Unbelievably, everything fits. every shoe, every pair of pants.
Though “guesstimate-shopping” for 41 kids is not easy - these kids are easy to shop for. If it almost fits, they are grateful. If it is warm, they are grateful. If it has no holes or stains they are grateful. And today they are much more than grateful. Unable to contain their joy, they dance joyfully around the room in a large circle.
Wapu, Hana and I agree - this is one of the sweetest moment of our lives. And if you have ever given to Chifundo’s Basket (WVI’s orphan program fund) you are part of this moment. This is how your money is spent - on food, clothing, shoes, blankets, soap, medical care, school supplies, education - and moments of joy for children like Chisomo and Baba.
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