the thanks starts here

Over the last few weeks it's been building. The sun has been scorching. We've watched the green that remained, wilt and fall to brittle brown. And, more importantly than my sweat, is seeing, hearing, and watching the people's anxiety level raise as they await the rains. Which, at the end of the day determines if/when they'll have enough food in their bellies again or the opportunity to feed their children.

Last night it happened. We watched the clouds build throughout the day, then we enjoyed the lightening dancing across the sky showing a better display than the finest on 4th of July. And then, then the heavens opened, our windows shook and the tin roof of our "tiny" house screamed! We could no longer hear each other to talk. We were guaranteed no sleep if it kept on in this fashion. The sound of heaven throwing all it's marbles on our house deafened-- Nede in my arms, all of us praying in our hearts.

I felt insecure through this storm. Still not confident of the screws holding on our roof, unsure if water wasn't going to start rushing in. But, soon after, you start to realize-- our house is sound, we know SO MANY whose houses are not. My mind then went to our little one who's not in our arms. I think of all my patients that I care deeply about. Then there's our friends and workers who live in the village in mud burned brick homes. Their roofs may have a bit of black plastic covering them, then, if they're so blessed they may have a bit of dried grass holding that on. That's it. That's all that protects them from the elements-- next to nothing. They are getting wet and I'm sure they wish they were in a home like we're blessed with. I can't help to feel a bit guilty and very concerned.

Eventually, it did let up. We did get sleep and we praised the Lord for the nourishment to the earth but we waited to hear how all our friends held up.

The next morning our workers arrived. I greeted "the boys" (two brothers that work regularly for us doing agriculture, cutting the grass, helping wherever they can). I asked with concern how their night was, how their houses held up?  And, almost before I could finish I was interrupted by one of them saying, "We were worried about Nede having to climb into her loft bed with all that noisy rain" (only a couple feet from the ceiling).

There is great magnitude in this dialogue.

Do you get that? Do you realize that this young man, in his mud house, was laying there on his grass mat with his wife and children thinking about Nede who was safe with us, in our well constructed home. He was concerned for her comfort being near the roaring tin ceiling. (Which by the way, she wasn't in. We let her fall asleep on a lower bed.)

And that, dear friends, that is where my gratitude starts this Thanksgiving. For the people I know and work with, the place I am blessed to call home, and with the people God has given me to be my family because of his GREAT love for me. I am grateful beyond words.

My heart sings thanksgivings.