The Silver Lining

POP! HISSSSSSSSS….. I felt the pop beneath my feet more than I actually heard it. And by the sound and the reaction of the driver, I knew it was not good. Kofi (the driver) eased the bus to a stop, got out, and took a look. The bus had blown a compressor -- needed to operate the brakes. So there we were, stranded on a muddy, pot-holed road, right beside the Tema dump. Why were we there? Read on…. ******** It rained a lot in the night, and the skies this morning were overcast. An intermittent mist of rain kept the air and everything else quite damp. Our team slept in; our original plans to travel to Keta had to be changed. So after breakfast we developed “Plan B” -- we wanted to return to the dump. Christine & Auntie Aggie packed a light lunch of pb&j sandwiches, bananas, and bottled water. We boarded the bus, and headed off across town. Many of our teammates play soccer -- a couple of them played in college -- and yesterday they had purchased some brand new soccer bal...

2 4 16 I wasn't very good in math. It has bamboozled me ever since the 4th grade when my parents would make me stay in my room and try to memorize the multiplication tables. YUCK. I still hate it. I limped through Algebra 1 and 2, making the absolute lowest grades of my high school career. I almost enjoyed Geometry, though. I could draw pictures and figure out the right answer, many times. My teacher would be provoked that I didnt follow the same steps as those she demonstrated (I'm sorry, Mrs. Randall!), but hey I still got the right answer. My senior year of high school, I was forced to take Advanced Math. According to the guidance counselor, ANYBODY who planned on going to college MUST take Advanced Math. That turned out to be a crock, unless you were going to major in engineering or something. But I sat there struggling through that class, taught by one of the biggest male chauvinists I have ever had to associate with it my life. There were only about 6 girls i...

When I was a kid I was NOT athletic in the least. I was a bookworm, loved to read anything I could get my hands on. When we had spelling bees, I usually won. Classroom games were fun for me. But out on the playground was a totally different story. I absolutely hated it when the teacher would pick two team captains and have them choose their team members because I was ALWAYS the last one chosen. In fact, there were times when the “captains” would actually argue over who would HAVE to have me on their team. I’d feel my face burning flaming red with the humiliation, and I’d hang my head and hope nobody would see the tears in my eyes because then they’d taunt me even more about being a cry-baby. My first big dose of rejection – and somehow that feeling never quite goes completely away. With every form of rejection throughout my life, I still can feel that hurt, deep in the pit of my stomach. Recently I’ve had to slog through what seems like an endless pit of cr...

The dresser was part of a bedroom set. Made of mahogany, it had brass drawer pulls and a larger mirror, and it matched a chest, nightstand, and pencil-post bed. I remember where it stood in my parents’ bedroom, when I was a little girl. Mama kept her things in the drawers on the right and Daddy’s things were on the left. In the 50’s and 60’s, my mama’s jewelry box sat on top of the dresser. It was made of white pearlized plastic, with dark red velvet heart insets. I used to love to peek inside, and look at my mom’s collection of bracelets, necklaces, and earrings. In her top drawer lay her secret stash of makeup. When I got a bit older, I’d sneak in her room and try out eye shadows, or mascara, or lipstick. Once I spilled some of her pink nail polish inside the drawer – the spot still remains as evidence of my furtive explorations! Time passed. My sister and I both got married and moved to other homes. My folks remodeled their home and purchased a new be...

I watched the two men at the door. The small Asian man watched intently as the larger white man inserted the key into the lock, turned it, and opened the door. Neither of them spoke, but when the door opened, the white man pulled it shut, turned the key, and locked it again. Then, he handed the key to the Asian man and stepped back, motioning to him to give it a try. The Asian man held the brass key in his hand a moment. Almost reverently, he pushed it into the lock, turned it, and *click* -- the door opened. A broad smile spread across his face as he nodded to his American friend. He had just opened the door to his own home, in the USA. I looked away, blinking the tears from my eyes. This is just one of many precious experiences we shared with Meh Reh and his family. Our House Church has sponsored this Burmese refugee family, and we’ve spent the past several days getting to know them, helping them settle into their apartment, and assisting them with their adjustment to American Lif...

Easter's almost here! What a glorious holiday -- what victory there is in that empty tomb! One of my all-time favorite songs is "Arise" by Newsong. It is an absolutely powerful drama, set to music. When I hear it, the words just speak to my heart in deep, deep places. This morning as I drove to work, I crested a hill in time to see the beginning of the sunrise as its rays shot upward. Wondrous colors -- golden-hued pinks, blues, purples -- all painted in the sky a magnificent scene. And at that very moment, the radio began playing this song. Right there in the car, I worshipped God from the heart. Tears streamed down my face and I raised my hand as I sang along with the music, in gratitude for the sacrifice made by Jesus. How precious was the moments spent in worship, even as I drove the car..... As the last notes of the song faded, I sort of "came back to earth." There's a bearded guy in a red pickup truck, passing me in the other lane; the lady I see every...