Gratitude

Friday was the last day for me as "volunteer professor." It began with a morning meeting of the anesthesiologists and technicians, presenting the emergency cases from the night before and discussing the complicated cases for the day ahead. One of the emergencies had been an exploratory surgery in a five year old boy with a distended abdomen. When the surgeons got inside, they found dead worms surrounding his intestines. Apparently they had perforated through his bowel and had gotten trapped in his body. This case is one we would never see in Hillsboro!!
I had the opportunity to give each of the three senior residents an "oral exam" practice session, followed by explaining my comments on their monthly evaluation. This was particularly gratifying because they did remarkably well with the hypothetical patient, and seemed to have retained a lot from our academic lectures. Even the resident who did poorly on the written exam did well with the oral exam. So I felt like my efforts have made an impact. They all asked if I would come again, and seemed truly grateful for the time I spent with them.

Saturday was the party for the technical school graduates. About 100 people attended, mostly orphans or extremely poor kids. The students each had signed a letter drafted by an American college grad who volunteers for PFR. She had interviewed them and wrote down their feelings for their supporters. We will enjoy giving copies of this letter to our friends and family who contributed to the school fees for the kids. After formal presentations, thank yous, photos of awarding their certificates etc. everyone ate a huge lunch of rice, beans, spinach and boiled bananas--the kids ate with their hands! Then Doug and I were given plates with slivers of cake to pass out to the kids. A few pieces fell on the ground and we had to act quickly to prevent the kids from chowing them down.
After the huge lunch and cake, which I'm sure some of the kids had never seen before, they were on a sugar high...we danced, they rapped, they posed for pictures, hung on Doug begging to be twirled upside down, and generally had an amazing time, all in equatorial sun. We were exhausted by the time it ended, but very happy and had many hugs and handshakes. Seventeen year old Victor came up solemnly and shook my hand. "I remember you from last year. Do you remember my name?" I certainly remembered him, as he was the one who was worried about Doug after the marathon and came down to the seats where we were resting and held Doug's hand. Victor has grown a few inches and put on some muscle, but still has the same tender heart. "I pray for you and Douglas every day," he said. What a gift!

Today we went with Pastor Deo of Prison Fellowship Rwanda to visit a small congregation in the hills north of Kigali. About an hour on pavement, plus an hour on a rutted dirt road, crawling up a hill into the clouds. Small children waved and cried "Muzungu!!" as we passed. I think they might never see white people and rarely see a vehicle. Finally we reached the tiny church, just a roof, four walls and a concrete slab floor. About 15 adults and 25 children filled the place with songs and prayers as we arrived. About the same time the skies broke open and a heavy rain storm beat on the tin roof, punctuating the songs and sermons with thunder and darkening the interior until we could barely see. I say sermons because there were more than one. Peter, the pastor of the flock gave a warm up, followed by introductions and greetings, followed by Doug giving the most sedate of the talks, followed by Pastor Deo.  His theme was Rise up and Walk, directed to encourage this poor congregation to use their energies to improve their situation rather than being passive.  He was remarkable, dancing and shouting Alleluia, acting out the story by getting a teenaged girl to play the part of the lame man whom the disciples Peter and John healed in the book of Acts.
After the two and a half hour service we walked back down the muddy hill and were welcomed into the pastor's small home. He and his wife live there with five children, the youngest of them a four year old boy named Danga. As we chatted, his wife disappeared into the kitchen. Pastor Peter excused himself and came back in a few minutes with a case of bottled drinks and a fistful of straws. We sipped Fanta Orange and asked him questions about his congregation, about their challenges. He is not salaried, but grows some crops and sells them to make ends meet. The children have to walk about 6 miles to school, so the youngest ones can't go. They have inconsistent demand for their produce because they are so far along the dirt road that buyers sometimes give up before getting to them. About 10,000 people live on this hill without a health center or market.
Peter's wife suddenly appeared with pots of beans, rice, boiled potatoes and a delicious tomato based sauce with lovely chunks of tender meat. These people who had so little were sharing it with the city folks and the Muzungus who had arrived in a sparkling Toyota 4WD truck. They were so gracious. Peter said he had "big joy" to have guests in his humble home...
So tonight the theme of this blog is gratitude. Ours for the Africans who have allowed us into their lives and stolen our hearts, theirs for the help and encouragement of retired Americans who visit, the students' gratitude for help to get training, and all of our gratitude to God for His faithfulness to care for us and guide our lives.