As I watched Ana turn the corner in the 400m relay I couldn't believe what I was a witness to. Here, before a couple of hundred people, a young lady who was not supposed to live and when she did survive could hardly walk, was gaining on her opponent. She was well behind when the baton was handed off to her, about 30m, due to a difficult hand off at the second leg. Ana was the last runner, the runner who would have to catch up, if they were behind. Well, behind they were, as I watched her turn the corner she was gaining fast on the other runner. Each leg is 100m so the other runner had a clear advantage.
Within 50m of the string Ana pulled up even. The crowd of people were in an absolute uproar. Every person was up on their feet watching this incredible display of determination. I was at the the finish line and looking over the fence, staring straight ahead at Ana. I was yelling at the top of my lungs, "Dig Ana dig, Dig Ana dig." Well, did she ever dig. At the finish she won by a stride and a bit. When I came back down to earth, wiping a lot of tears from my eyes, my eyes met Donna's and we smiled.
Our smile was only a small indication of the joy and thankfulness we had in our hearts and spirits. Our Zambian Speedster was a testament to the Love and Mercy of God. He was the One who gave her strength and determination. He was next to her those many nights when she was so close to the door of death. He was the One that broke the power of the seizures that racked her little body that rainy night in the bush of Zambia. He was the One that gave her the will and the determination to prove every death prediction wrong.
That afternoon, as the crowds cheered and the team-mates hugged and laughed, I was a father with stars in my eyes. I knew that in the darkest night the stars were always there. Even during the storms the stars are still there, and so is the One who hung the stars in space. The stars in my eyes remind me of the Lord, who by His spoken Word cast the universe into place.
Showing posts with label father. Show all posts
Showing posts with label father. Show all posts
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Sunday, October 3, 2010
A Son Dies of Measles
Mr. Ngoma's three year old son had died of measles and the men came to me and asked if I would say some words at the childs grave. The family lived just outside the mission station and it only took a couple of minutes to make the walk. On the way, Harry, a friend and brother, told me the child had come down with the measles and died in the morning. As I walked down the dirt road with Harry I thought about disease that killed people in Zambia that we didn't think much of anymore. Ana's half brother was almost totally blind due to measles, and now a three year old has died.
I arrived at the village and was greeted by Mr. Ngoma and the other adults in the village. I expressed to him and to his wife my sorrow. About 100 feet from the huts was a small grave that had been dug, about three feet deep and about the same in length. In the bottom of the grave a slab of limestone had been placed. It seemed to fit almost perfect, with the sides and edges all chiseled to the shape of a rectangle. As I waited by the grave three of Mr. Ngoma's brothers arrived, each was carrying at least one piece of limestone. I was amazed as I watched the men place the slabs of stone in the grave making a perfect fit of each piece.
After the last piece was placed in the grave, with the cover set to the side, the son of Mr. Ngoma was brought out of the hut. He was wrapped in his blanket and was very tenderly placed in his hand hewn coffin. The perfectly hewn lid was placed on and one of the elder men began to place dirt on the coffin. After a few minutes the dirt began to mound up and another elder came forward with a tree limb about eight feet in length. The limb had been stripped of all small branches and twigs. The elder man began swinging the limb over his head and slamming it down on the mound of rust colored earth. After a minute or so of this compacting of the ground more was added.
The process of covering the grave continued for around ten minutes. When the men were done with the grave the earth had been tightly packed. Before I was to say a few words the traditional means of farewell took place. The child's plastic cup was placed at the head of the grave. It was to be his marker. At this point a tribute by his mother was given that left me deeply moved for some time. She came to the side of the grave and knelt down next to her son. She removed her wrap exposing her breast. And then she expressed breast milk onto the grave of her son. Her farewell to her flesh and blood was the most tender and moving tribute I had ever witnessed.
I spoke for a couple of minutes about the love Jesus had for all peoples and especially for children. After a reading from the bible I prayed and Harry interpreted into Tonga my prayer. I walked away from that simple grave side service deeply moved and comforted in my own soul in the knowledge of Christ and His great resurrection plan.
I arrived at the village and was greeted by Mr. Ngoma and the other adults in the village. I expressed to him and to his wife my sorrow. About 100 feet from the huts was a small grave that had been dug, about three feet deep and about the same in length. In the bottom of the grave a slab of limestone had been placed. It seemed to fit almost perfect, with the sides and edges all chiseled to the shape of a rectangle. As I waited by the grave three of Mr. Ngoma's brothers arrived, each was carrying at least one piece of limestone. I was amazed as I watched the men place the slabs of stone in the grave making a perfect fit of each piece.
After the last piece was placed in the grave, with the cover set to the side, the son of Mr. Ngoma was brought out of the hut. He was wrapped in his blanket and was very tenderly placed in his hand hewn coffin. The perfectly hewn lid was placed on and one of the elder men began to place dirt on the coffin. After a few minutes the dirt began to mound up and another elder came forward with a tree limb about eight feet in length. The limb had been stripped of all small branches and twigs. The elder man began swinging the limb over his head and slamming it down on the mound of rust colored earth. After a minute or so of this compacting of the ground more was added.
The process of covering the grave continued for around ten minutes. When the men were done with the grave the earth had been tightly packed. Before I was to say a few words the traditional means of farewell took place. The child's plastic cup was placed at the head of the grave. It was to be his marker. At this point a tribute by his mother was given that left me deeply moved for some time. She came to the side of the grave and knelt down next to her son. She removed her wrap exposing her breast. And then she expressed breast milk onto the grave of her son. Her farewell to her flesh and blood was the most tender and moving tribute I had ever witnessed.
I spoke for a couple of minutes about the love Jesus had for all peoples and especially for children. After a reading from the bible I prayed and Harry interpreted into Tonga my prayer. I walked away from that simple grave side service deeply moved and comforted in my own soul in the knowledge of Christ and His great resurrection plan.
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