12.29.05
Posted in Uncategorized on December 29th, 2005 at 5:00 pm by PatrickMead
by Patrick Mead
I was nineteen years old and sick. They admitted me to hospital where I was poked and prodded for a few days. I was thousands of miles from home (and when you’re Scottish, Alabama is SO not home!) and had no family to even call or check on me during that time. When I finally got out I wasn’t much better but that isn’t what I want to talk about…
The problem was the bill. It was a few thousand dollars and I had no insurance and about a hundred dollars a week income. That had to feed me, pay for school, and take care of a car payment ($97.63 a month. I remember it well). The calls demanding payment got more and more aggressive. Things looked bad. I finally went in to the business office of the hospital, hat in hand, hoping to get a payment plan I could live with.
But… when I tried to hand them a small check as a start on paying my balance they informed me that the account had been paid. In full. I was stunned and certain that they made a mistake. A lot of checking and double checking later — it wasn’t a mistake. Someone paid. To this day I don’t know who. They wouldn’t or couldn’t tell me.
It wasn’t a friend. I had none. It wasn’t a church brother or sister. I wasn’t the kind of person people from a church would run to help. But whoever it was — thanks.
I know a ton of people pray for me, by name, daily. I don’t know who you are or why you have been so faithful in prayer. Thank you.
I could go on, but it isn’t about me. It’s about those people who go about doing good and never appearing on radar long enough to get credit. It’s about people taking the role of prayer warriors, good Samaritans, invisible angels… all for the love of God, all for the sake of doing good and nothing more.
Thank you.
Permalink
12.14.05
Posted in Uncategorized on December 14th, 2005 at 5:20 am by Anthony Parker
by Anthony Parker
About thirty years ago, a seven-month old baby was beginning to learn to walk, pulling himself up from the dirt courtyard, using the wooden benches low tables of his West African home for support. When the baby began to run a high fever, his concerned parents took him to a local clinic, where he was treated for malaria by receiving a quinine injection in his hip. The baby recovered and returned home.
But something had changed. He was no longer able to pull himself up, and his legs stopped developing normally. He learned to crawl around on the dirt floor, but was unable to walk under his own strength. What had happened, which was sadly common at the time, was that the quinine injection had not been administered correctly, and the child, like thousands of others who received the same treatment, had been crippled.
The child, who like other Thursday-born boys was called Yao, came from a family who eventually found the means to pay for an operation on his legs, where the mal-formed bones were broken and straightened, and he was fitted with leg braces. He applied himself to his school work and eventually went to university, but was unable to finish because of lack of funding.
He returned to his hometown of Tabligbo,Togo—which is now and for a few more months my hometown—and found work as a school teacher. Because teachers in public schools are paid only sporadically, he also opened an after-school tutoring center, housed in a grass-covered shelter near his home.
Because of his own handicap, Yao also developed sensitivity toward others in a similar plight, whose families are not able to help them. Last year, he came to me with a photo of a young boy who needed the same operation that he had received. We had just returned from furlough and someone had given us a generous gift, asking that we use it “for the children.†We were able to help pay for this boy’s operation and leg braces. Yao handled all of the logistics and did so responsibly.
It’s just part of our life here that we often receive requests for financial assistance. Yao continues to come to us, but I believe that he is our only regular visitor who has never asked for help for himself. He has gone to different schools in the area and identified the most needy students, and helped them with school fees and supplies. Recently, he was able to take some funds that were given to us to another aid organization to secure “tricycles†(see below), which will allow two handicapped students, Theodore and Gentille, to continue their schooling.
In addition to his school teaching, Yao has started a non-profit organization that he has registered with the government. He is trying to get an office set up. He has managed to install electricity and a telephone line. Right now, he needs a very basic computer so that he can have access to the internet and provide office services to help support himself and his little organization. I’m sure that the more needs he is able to meet, the more new opportunities will arise.
Yao does not attend the church that we work with here in town. As far as I know, he doesn’t attend regularly anywhere. I’ve asked him about his faith and why he does what he does. He just says “It’s all about God.†Indeed, it is.
In keeping with the spirit of this site, I want to acknowledge Yao as a note of God’s grace here in Togo, West Africa.
Yao is interviewed by a local radio station
Theodore’s Old Wheels
Theodore’s New Wheels
Permalink
12.10.05
Posted in Uncategorized on December 10th, 2005 at 5:23 pm by Dee O'Neil Andrews
by Dee Andrews
There is a grave in the Quantico National Cemetery, located near the Marine Corps Base at Quantico, Virginia, that has been there five years. It is a truly beautiful, peaceful place. It is a national military cemetery, such as the ones found in Arlington and Gettysburg.
We know these cemeteries well, not needing to give the states they are in or the battles and wars they represent. We know them by heart. In his Gettysburg Address dedicating the grounds of the Gettysburg Cemetery November 19, 1863, President Abraham Lincoln called these "hallowed" grounds, and indeed they are.
The grave I am speaking of at Quantico has a headstone bearing the name "Davidson Christian." It is an uncommon name, perhaps, but as his father later explained to me, the circumstances surrounding his son’s naming were unique. And then, the reason he is buried there is uncommon, as well.
He is buried there because of his father’s, and mother’s, uncommonly strong, deeply felt, love for him. When he died, his father, a military man, was terribly bereaved because while he had two daughters, this was his first son. Further, the son died "before his time," as we measure time on this earth.
How does God consider time and our lives here on earth? What sacred measure does He use?
I don’t know. None of us do.
The father didn’t either, but felt compelled to remember and honor and sanctify his son’s life and death by having him buried in a place of sacrifice and honor and sacredness. So he spared no energy, left no stone unturned in seeking out the means by which he could lovingly have this done.
Unable to go before, when the headstone was placed upon the grave, the father went and left flowers in remembrance of his son. He goes there occasionally still. This resting place for the earthly body of his child.
You may wonder why this is such an unusual story or such uncommon love. In many respects, I suppose it’s not. But there’s more to the story.
You see, the gravestone further reads "Davidson Christian O’Neil, Son of David Patrick O’Neil, Capt. US Marine Corps." He is my grandson. And he did not die in battle or in war. He never even really lived, as many among us would have you believe. But he lived.
He was conceived in love and his life ended only three or so months later in what we call the "miscarriage" by his mother. But he lived long enough for them to know he was their son and for his dad to give him his name. And he lived long enough for his dad to also cherish his life and all it meant. It meant enough that he now lies in a place of honor as lovingly chosen by his dad.
I did not know of his life or death or burial until after it was done. My son David called to tell me how he had had a son, had lost a son and had named this child Davidson, as a tribute to my family name and dad, David’s grandad, Eugene Neil Davidson, whom he loved. He chose Christian because of his deep beliefs and faith and wanted that name on the tomb of his son for all to see.
When he told me of this, I was profoundly moved and wept at the depths of David’s heart to so reverence and memorialize this child in circumstances where some would have done the very opposite without a thought.
This is no child unknown, except to God. His life will be remembered. Maybe not by many, but to those few, and to God, his life and his father’s uncommon love will be remembered for all eternity.
Permalink
12.02.05
Posted in Uncategorized on December 2nd, 2005 at 4:42 pm by DJG
John Dobbs.
The story of a man who was thrust into a situation that no one would chose. A situation that many men would have run from and honestly no one would have blamed him if he too had left. I am sure the thought did cross his mind. I am sure he considered moving away from his once lovely town that Katrina had destroyed. Things were not that great before a hurricane came, maybe this was a sign for him to move on…..
But John did not run, rather he jumped in with both feet. He has spearheaded a great relief effort using his home church as a base. He has sacrificed personal comfort. He has given of himself totally. He has used this medium of the World Wide Web to solicit help, prayers and supplies. He works tirelessly (well maybe not tirelessly) taking phone calls, answering e-mails, meeting with people and helping with all of the work. While I was there, scarcely five minutes would go by without his cell phone ringing. (can you tell he is on the phone in this picture?) Yet, John never complains about his personal situation. Rather he humbly acknowledges that he has received much help and his concern centers around helping the others in his community that need help.
John realizes that the Lord has him here for a time such as this. He desperately wants to reach the souls of people while tragedy has their hearts soft. Many times when you meet someone for the first time you are a little “let-down†that they are not like the person they have portrayed themselves to be. Not so with John. I left his town wanting more than ever to be able to help him, to help his town to recover from this tragedy.
God is working through John Dobbs. Grace is working through John Dobbs.
Permalink
.jpg)
.jpg)
