July 1988
Dear Saints and Aints...
Peace and joy unto you!
"I saw God wash the world last night
as clean as clean could be ...
The summer is ended and the "liquid joy" pouring from the skies proclaims victory again of life over death. Almost overnight that which seemingly was dead, dried up and beyond the realm of aid - sprang to life again, tiny shoots poking their miniscule head out of dried up sticks of wood posing as trees. The brown, abused ground is covered with myriads of tiny blades of grass. Life, life life! Only those of us who passed through last summer with temps touching the 118 F. somehow feel a deep sense of joy and, looking around now, a deep sense of wonder at the miracles unfolding around us.
And with the wonder comes a sense of hope. Hope that that which looks barren in us, that which seems beyond the help of earth or heaven - might not be so after all and that God, in another mighty act of rejuvenation, of renewal will restore the life that seems to have fled, the ability to laugh which seems gone and the vision to look forward to do something new and to explore new avenues of usefulness ... There must be in those acts of nature spiritual lessons which can only be thus conveyed. And that, seeing how "God washed the world last night ..." We perceive and dare to hope - that He can do this in us.
The playground over which multitudes of bugs, great and small, were free to scurry about during the summer without fear of becoming an integral part of somebody's footwear, is packed again with kids. In the pouring rains the kids - play football and, unless I am terribly wrong, soon I will play doctor ... The rains are welcome even though at night I move my bed around to stay "drip-dry" a condition which remains but an illusion. Streams of water flow through my living room and mud is everywhere. For the moment it matters little. Later, when the memories of the bygone summer are also "bygone" we will complain about it, but not now, now we count it all but joy ...
The last summer was a bad one and while trying to survive, a little song I learnt at Jungle Camp, frequently came to mind:
I wish I was a fishy in the sea.
I wish I was a fishy in the sea.
I would swim around so cutie,
Without my bathing suitie.
Oh! I wish I was a fishy in the sea!
Had most of you been here I would not, cutie or not cutie, been alone swimming about.
The dead trees, acknowledged as such by all but themselves, the fatalities of a prolonged siege by the summer, a macabre sight, are witnesses to its fury. Serving no purpose and offer service to none but the odd paranoiac bird that sees a cat under every green leaf and hence prefers an unobstructed view.
But summer and loneliness are gone and in their place coolness and - about 240 kids plus another 30 staff and their families. It does not matter how often we promise ourselves not to take any more kids - we still take them and take them till ... Don't ask me because sincerely do not know. But I know myself well enough that all the promises I make to myself and my staff - we won't stop at 270 - not with a million or ten still going hungry and wanting ... Heroic? Oh no! Just rubber-spine! Afraid? Only during moments of self- aggrandizement - when I believe that all THIS is MY responsibility and forget that underneath me are not only the "Everlasting Arms" but also the "Ever-open Purse".
During the summer a minor electrical fire destroyed an electronic typewriter and damaged the manuscript of the Mawchi New Testament - which we are still in the process of printing. Just a few days ago the air conditioner started smoking, making strange noises and before it could do much more we cut off the power and dragged it outside.
For all I care about the "menace" there it can remain till doomsday. (The thing also caused the first fire). On the way from the village, bringing the staff back, our vehicle's steering assembly broke and the odd 22 people were saved by the skin of their teeth. The vehicle is 31/2 years old, has over 300 000 km on it and most of those with a minimum of 40 kids in it over roads that are not the best.
In another incident one of the crippled boys, whom we had to send by train because there simply was no room in the bus, fell out of the train because of the tremendous crowds that travel at this time of the year, he sat in the doorway. Just as four of our boys were ready to visit the scene of the accident, about 100 km away (the Nagpur police did not believe them), the boy walked in ... He had first fallen asleep and then out - while the train was moving slowly, picked himself up, walked to the next station, caught another train and came home ... What I felt seeing him...
For the past six weeks we have a drilling rig on the premises to drill a hole for water. They have run into endless troubles and it seems they are not over yet. While building on sand might not be wise, drilling holes through it is another experience. I am not sure what will happen and I have the feeling neither is the drilling crew. The funds for the bore well we received from Sunday Line and we are very, very grateful for it as, if it is as successful as it looks, it will solve our perennial water shortage.
Now with the water problem almost solved or in the process of being solved, we turn our eyes to a new bus. Ours had it. We spent every year $5000 just to take the kids home and back; that is what it costs us to rent busses. A new bus, a 25 seater, is about $25.000 - which does not cover the first tank of petrol. From what I was told, "Wing the Word" is broke; instead of cars they will hand out running shoes. I guess it will make for a bunch of skinnier missionaries...
As for you ... A local proverb states:
"Scent clings to him who dispenses roses."
If this is true, and I know it is - I have a great smelling bunch of friends. Thanks for the "roses" you passed on to us.
Thanks! Thanks very, very much.
Love from us all
Frank & Kids... |
