The Man with Dirty Hands

I watched him from afar the first two Sundays he came to church.

He sat all alone, in the front row. Layers of tattered clothes covered his body, a plastic grocery bag was on top of his head.

During the sermon, he would often stand up, or begin to giggle for no apparent reason.

He didn't fit in. He was different than all those around him. Most of the people cut a wide circle around him, because his smell was so strong that it would stay in your nose for some time.

Until the Sunday I sat behind him.

His smell was still strong..his clothes were filthy. His hair had bits of grass and dirt all through it.

As I sang chorus songs along with the congregation, I couldn't help but wonder what brought him back to our little church, Sunday after Sunday. None of the usual draws of free tea and cookies, or even a small parcel of food handed to those in need seemed to even phase him. In fact, I can't remember seeing him for even 2 minutes after he walked out the church doors. It touched my heart to see him carefully guarding his few worldly possessions: an empty match box, a folded piece of paper, a torn piece of cloth. When the offering was collected, he gathered a few copper coins out of his pockets, then when the bag didn't come down his pew, he placed them carefully in the tray at the back of the pew in front of him.

In his world, one where the basic needs of life are found in bits and pieces, does he find peace and hope within the doors of our church? Does he feel the love of God coming from those seated near him? Is it the singing that brings stillness to his obviously troubled mind?

I tried to imagine what his life is like. And to see our church through his eyes. To see me through his eyes.

In the Bible, (Matthew 25) Jesus talks about the differences in those who call themselves His followers
"When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his throne in heavenly glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.
"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'
"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'
"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'
"Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.'
"They also will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?'
"He will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.'

This man with dirty hands, and tattered clothes, hungry and confused is searching for the peace and love found only with the God. Somehow, perhaps instinctively, he knows that it can be found in our little humble building. Am I, and are those around me, going to be the ones to step outside of their realm of comfort and show the love of God to this man, and to those like him who live in the streets outside our church? It may cost me - time, comfort, and maybe more - but what is that compared to what it cost Jesus when He gave Himself, in order to show us God's love. What does it really cost us to offer those different from us respect..consideration..love? What kind of sacrifice is it...really?

The Battle of the Bug

The Germ

A mighty creature is the germ,
Though smaller than the pachyderm.
His customary dwelling place
Is deep within the human race.
His childish pride he often pleases
By giving people strange diseases.
Do you, my poppet, feel infirm?
You probably contain a germ.

Ogden Nash

A wise woman warned me before we left for South Africa that we would encounter an all new array of colds and flues. Taking her word of caution to heart, I bought huge bottles of children's medicine and packed it away safely in my luggage.

It was finished before the first year was over.

Now we are in our third year, and still fighting off all kinds of infections, coughs and fevers.
And of course, being the loving sharing family we are...we share all our bugs with each other, then proceed to fall like a string of dominos lined up on a table.

I wonder if the school teachers, volunteer partners, friends and family really believe that we could possibly be this sick, this often. We are currently on round three of the latest version of sickness, with Allison and Melody run down and feverish today. It seems to morph and twist into a new variety of symptoms as it passes from one family member to the other.

Yesterday, Allison dragged herself (feverish and tired) to her poetry recitation competition. She did very well, despite not feeling 100%. However, it was the recitation of a poem by a cute little boy titled "Germs", that made our skin creep and crawl.

Today, in light of our on going battle with the bug that I will be arming myself with some new disinfectant, and once again wage war on these South African germs that seem to love us so much.

Did I say Adventure?

I was always taught that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line! Well, to the wise man who said that, I would like to have a word...or two.

This weekend I learned otherwise.


Take two women, seriously looking forward to a weekend of pampering, one full tank of gas and one GPS System and you get two very frazzled and rather stressed ladies!


Dean (David's cousin) so graciously treated his lovely wife and I to a weekend away at a Hydro Spa set in the hills of Erasmia. David, being the helpful and concerned husband that he is, loaned me his trusty GPS directional system so that we would easily find this little gem of a place.

We set off without a worry...until "she" started speaking. This lovely little GPS thing, which is now going down in infamy named as "Wrong Way Wilma" speaks the directions as well as shows a very helpful (?) animated map of where you are going.


I should have suspected that Wilma had it out for me from the get-go when she refused to let me get on the highway.

Suzelle and I, being the rational and independent women that we are, looked at each other with a quick glance of confusion, then reasoned that Wilma was going to take us a secondary route to the highway.


Let me just say that we only spent about 2 minutes on a secondary highway - and instead spent much of our time making u-turns at dead ends, gates of military installations, police academys and prisions. A jaunt through Tembisa, a very poor neighborhood of Africans got our pulses pumping a bit, but the thought of trying to turn around and find our way back, or worse, call the husbands and try to explain where we were was even more upsetting to me. I am sure that poor Suzelle was sure that we would never find our way out of the endless left and right turns of every small neighborhood and government installation between Boksburg and the hills.


Being at the mercy of a small piece of technology, no bigger than 1/2 a brick, and knowing that your safety, sanity and much of your dignity are resting on it's advice is enough to make the most relaxed person a ball of nerves.


It was 2 1/2 hours later that we finally turned down the dirt road to the Hydro. Any doubts of whether I really needed a neck treatment were answered by the ball of knots in my shoulders.


I just couldn't figure out how Wilma had so quickly decided to undo me. It wasn't until later that I managed to navigate her many menues that I discovered that she was set to "shortest route" - a mere 68 kilometers. The "fastest route" - the one that would have taken us via the highways - was 85 kilometers. However, it would have only taken us 1 hour 10 minutes that way.


So, know that now I have learned my lesson. 1. Never trust a piece of technology 2. Old school is not necessarily bad 3. The shortest does not mean the fastest 4. Never put aside your own common sense for the ease of something new.

Thankfully, our trip home was much less eventful, despite Wrong Way Wilma's best efforts to take us left out of the Hydro's grounds and smack into the center of a squatter camp.


I may be Queen of the U-Turns, but I'll take that any day over having to listen to Wilma's grating voice one more time!