Lindi Loo

This is my beautiful Lindiwe, the face that lights up mine in the morning when I walk through and she just laughs with joy at the sight of her "mama".

This is a small part of my family, three of the four who are "my children". Lindiwe is my beautiful little girl, Trevor is my small 6 month old godson (baptized end of Nov.), and Thulani is my special little buddy.

The Sky-Soother

The sunsets in this country are amazing. The colors mix and morph before your eyes as light to dark the sky becomes. Sometimes it is as though a fire has been lit in heaven, as the warming glow crosses the field, consuming all in its fingertips. Then the softer tones of pink and purple and peach clothe the field and (if your lucky) the room in the soft tones of baby colors.

But today I realized that it’s not the colors of the sky alone that hold my stare. Whenever I look and really see the beauty of the sky, it grasps me because it is the same sky. Everywhere in the world it is the same. And more importantly, it is the same sky that touches my homeland. The same sun that rises and sets here is seen by my mom when she walks in the morning and my dad when he drives home from work. Yes, it is beautiful, but its beauty is enhanced tenfold because it is shared by those I love in the places only the sky can reach.

In Queue at Bara

The things that can become "normal" in this strange world sometimes hit your reality quite hard. Today I sat in Q at Baragwanath Hospital in Soweto, South Africa. Besides the now-very-often occurance of being the only white in the hospitals, today the stares went to a new level.

First, a lady walking through stopped and said that I shouldn't have a baby "that" colour (the baby I had was of mixed color) and that she would take him. I told her this was my child and she couldn't have him. I held on tight, fought for him and she eventually went away in an huff.

Then there was a sight that turned my stomach. It takes a lot to do that, but this was more than enough. A man so skin-and-bones that you thought he would break under his own frail weight was waiting in the corridor. Then he shifted himself and I saw an extremity that was gangrene, which is a difficult sight alone. But there was an organic growth coming out the bottom of his stub.

Outside the hospital I saw a man park his combie bus, get out and take off his rims. He proceeded to put them under his seat, leave and return within an half hour. He put back on the rims and took his passengers. Apparently beauty really does come before pain. I wonder how many stops he makes a day....

All in a day's work.

The Various and Sundry

Stories, that is.

* Last month some of our older children came to me, beckoning me to the kitchen where there was a woman waiting. When I had a chance to break away from the orphanage, I went to find that the older kids had opened the gate for a needy woman who now sat at our table eating our dinner. I walked in and gave the only greeting I know in her language, and without a response she greedily grabbed my sweatshirt with food-covered hands and started tugging, and then my pants. With the language barrier I wasn’t sure I was understanding her correctly, until one of our workers came in and told me that she wanted my clothes. I looked at this woman and saw no plea, no petition of any sort, just a demand for the clothes I had on. For some reason I’d never learned how to respond in like situations and was a bit baffled. We did send her away with a few sweaters and a roll, and without the slightest thanks she hurried away.

* The family that began the orphanage, as I mentioned before, has adopted 21 children themselves between the mum and two of the daughters. There isn’t one of the children that doesn’t have an amazing and encouraging story, so here are a few more of them. Murphy, 4-5yrs, was actually not born. Her mum went in to have an abortion and though she was aborted God would not allow this little one to be murdered. The doctor knew she was still alive, took the dustbin outside the room and got in touch with TLC, who immediately took in our Murphy. Reuel is twelve and a good buddy of mine. He was heard screaming from inside a sack in the gutter on the side of a road and a passerby picked him up and brought him to us. His adopted brother Joshua, who is the same age, was found in a public toilet, umbilical cord and all the rest still attached – abandoned thankfully where someone would find him.

* The Local Soap Opera. One of our premature babies, Nikita, has a white mother and who knows what for a father. The mother gave birth in an hotel room, and someone convinced her to bring the child here. She did but with the hopes of taking her back on day. Of course the mother is an alcoholic who lives in a shanty and will, therefore, never be allowed to care for the child now that social work is involved. A few weeks after we got this very pale baby a black man showed up named Frank claiming to be the father. Though obvious to all that this child was not his, he insists that she is. Then the mother came the next week, said we must feed her girl bottled water because she’s thirsty and doesn’t like milk, and left her out naked on the changing table “to air her out”. She is not going to be able to take Nikita but she also will not see her in the arms of another, so the poor child will remain family-less with us. I am the lucky one who gets to supervise the mother, Laura, which also means that I get to hear her trying to figure out who the father might be when she comes to visit. There are six options.

“Now thanks be to God Who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and through us diffuses the fragrance of His knowledge in every place. For we are to God the fragrance of Christ.” II Cor. 2:14


South Africa in October


As your weather begins to cool, here in the Southern Hemisphere the temperature gauge is heading north. Summer has officially started, bringing with it the summer rains that give drink to this dry and thirsty land. The other night we had an amazing lightning, thunder, rain, and hail storm that was beautiful. I stood outside in it (until the hail got big enough to hurt) and as the power was out it was absolutely black except for the lightning that split the sky. Whew! I’m still excited about it.


Ministry has been going very well here. We have started a program called “Jewels of Hope” at the orphanage that is blossoming. Currently we have seven girls between 15-17 years old who come once a week to learn how to make jewelry. It is a ten week course altogether, and by the end we hope to have taught them a very basic knowledge of business (adding, multiplying, and profit/loss), how to make the actual jewelry, and in weeks 8-10 they actually begin making some money off the jewelry they make. This week will be our sixth together and it has been a wonderful outlet from the orphanage work. The seven girls are from shelters and squatter camps and are in the program so they can bring in some money for their family. As I teach them how to make jewelry they are teaching me Zulu and more importantly, they are telling me about their lives. I pray each week for an opportunity to be a beacon of light in their dark and Christless lives. With many prayers and financial support we hope to open the program up for 100 children by the end of next year.


Inside the orphanage, as I’ve very eagerly told many of you, one of my children, Lindiwe, has moved her way from being one of the precious ones to being my favourite. Every time I go into the room, her eyes light up and I'm all she wants (thankfully it's reciprocal). She is 1 ½ years old and has “the Virus” (AIDS). There should be a picture on my webpage of her shortly. She looks like a wise old grandmother to me, the kind that would sit around telling stories to her grandchildren – or an old tribal bard, keeper of the ancient stories. I think she is beautiful, many think hers is a face only a mother could love. And though I’ve never been a mother, I cannot imagine a stronger maternal attachment than the one I have for Lindi.


I have also given Lindi a sister, Faith, who has a more progressed AIDS. She is a fighter even when she has no strength to suck a bottle. Many nights I have spent syringing liquids down her every hour in the hopes that God would spare her life just one more day – and He has. She has had a week without sickness and her legs are almost able to support her weight (with a bit of aid). We continue to raise her up in our daily prayers because she can turn in the matter of six hours and lose half her body weight in three days. Needless to say, she gets a lot of my attention. It has been kind of surprising to me that I gravitate towards the sick babies, but am thankful that God has placed them so heavily on my heart.


Though I haven’t figured out how to rightly communicate this, I have found a passion in what I’m doing that I’ve not had before. It’s not just working with children or starting bible studies, driving children around, or teaching – it’s everything. Relationships, people, children, learning, just living and working in the Lord’s service, however or wherever that happens to be has become a wonderful and passionate endeavor for me. I think I owe some thanks to Natali for convincing me over the past few years that emotions are a great part of our humanness, and our Image bearing. But what I’ve found is the more I have this passion (in head and heart) for life, the more things hurt as well. The more I love Faith and give of myself for her, the deeper the pain goes when she gets sick. I’m sure that most of you already learned these things a long time ago, but it is rather new for me and makes me feel very vulnerable. But I see God using this vulnerability to build in me compassion that goes through my works, thoughts, feelings, and prayers.


This update is overdue already, so I am going to close for now. But hopefully the next one will be sooner in coming and some stories should find their way onto my webpage soon. Thank you for your care, prayers, and support of me – your emails and cards (and tape messages) are greatly appreciated. It is such a blessing to know that each day we are unified in Spirit though separated by many miles, and your correspondences always reaffirm that.

Together in the Fight,

Nicole de Martimprey



"May we learn to love Thee Whom we have not seen, by loving our brethren whom we have seen." -Henry Alford

A Children's Story

As I look down at the little ones in my arms I am slowly learning the stories that they have come with. They are so young to have experienced so much. On the one hand I am grateful they are too young to remember everything that happened to them, on the other, their soul is so tender that the wiles of man can still be seen in their eyes. These are not ordinary children.

The lucky ones come to us from an hospital, which does not always mean they have been protected from the cruelty of sinful man, but they have had a blanket and their nappy changed most of the time. Depending on which hospital they come from, they are put in isolation for a month before they are allowed to be near the other children - they could be an innocent yet dangerous weapon in the orphanage. Most of those we receive from the hospital are premature, our youngest since I've been here was born at 24 weeks. The hospital by law must keep them until they are 1.6 kg, about 3.5 pounds, so Nikiwe was born May 22nd but is just now been released (around the time she should have been born). We now have three premi's whom we keep in a fairly quiet and dark room fondly called "The Nest". But, like I said, these are the lucky ones.

The "Fledglings" are our next group. Joleen is going to be a looker. She has a beautiful round face, alert eyes, and lips that form a perfect circle when she's ready for her bottle. The comic feature about her is her ears, which are as large as mine. My prayer is that she will be a good listener one day and I think she will be because she has a sweet and encouraging spirit within her soft eyes and sweet smile. If you look closely, though, you find that she too has a story to tell those who will listen. It begins with two small and scarcely noticeable scratches beneath her right eye. They are the only pictures left to tell her tale. She went from the cold womb of a mother in childbirth to the warm womb of a black bag in a rubbish heap. Her heated crying hailed the pitiless jaws and claws of wild dogs, from whose mauling she now carries her two little scars. A good samaritan heard the near silent cry, cast off the offenders, and delivered the newborn Joleen into our arms.

We move up to our third group, the "Grubs". Laura, upon first glance, is a normal looking little one, but if your eye wanders to her ears (from which she has received the endearing nickname "Pixie") they are badly deformed, though not by the Divine Hand that formed her. Her hands, her arms, her toes, her legs and her ears look as though they've been put through fire. "Quite the opposite", Doctor now says, "these are not burns, these scars are from frostbite". Though we knew she was abandoned in a field during wintertime, we had not expected that such harsh damage had been caused by the same frosty dew that waters the thirsty African ground in the dry winter months.

Aptly named, the "Creepy Crawlers" are all around 1-1 1/2 years old. Lerato can be quite fussy but when she laughs, her giggle is priceless. She always wants to be fed at the same time as the two boys, and will scream until she gets fed. Though her whole story is unknown, she is the result of a rape. Her mother was 14 when she was raped by her step-father. And yet, somehow, in the midst of the foulness of man, God is able to bring forth life - a life that is now learning to walk and talk.

Beyond the walls of our dear "Nursery" there is the family that began it. They reside in nearby homes, between the mother and two daughters they have adopted 20 children. These are all older now, the youngest is 3, the oldest 17, but they too have a tale to tell. Tommy just entered his thirteen year in a life who's days are numbered. He is on his last cocktail of HIV meds. His mother took him with her as she went to a bar to kill his father's girlfriend. The police came in, took the parents, and Tommy was left out back, forgotten and alone except for the dogs who took him as their own. He ate their feces and whatever else they would bring him. When he was brought to this home he spilled his food from his bowl and lapped it up. God can, and does, use any of His creation to carry out His will, whether it be birds in the desert or dogs in an alley, He will spare whom He will. And today Tommy is a robust and cheery kid with the God-given motivation to fight the good fight till his end.

A few stories I have now told, more than thirty remain to be found. I hear them from the tongues of those much older, more capable of handling such things, but some of them remember, some of them just seem to know. I often wonder if one day they'll be told their stories, if in ten years their new parents will sit them down and have the "talk". Or do you let things like this lie? If they are not one day told, then they may be happier. But what if one or even a few are strong enough to change the lives of others, to reach out to the unloved, to punish the wrongs, because they've been saved from such a fate? One thing is for certain: for now they must only know one thing, which is certainly strong enough to move the mountains of the Devil's outcroppings here in South Africa: The Love of Christ.

Funny story of the day: I got this eye infection and went to the doctor. So I go and say "Well Dr., my nurse friend thought I might have Irisitis or something similar, do you think that's what it is?" He blankly looked at me and said "I've never heard of that, can't figure what that might be." Very reassuring. The examination finished, he sat down and said, "actually I don't know 'tall what you've got, I'll give you two medicines."

Funny story of the day: I got this eye infection and went to the doctor. So I go and say "Well Dr., my nurse friend thought I might have Irisitis or something similar, do you think that's what it is?" He blankly looked at me and said "I've never heard of that, can't figure what that might be." Very reassuring. The examination finished, he sat down and said, "actually I don't know 'tall what you've got, I'll give you two prescriptions."

South Africa, 23 August 2005

“May the God of peace Himself sanctify you completely; and may your whole Spirit, soul and body be preserved blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. He Who calls you is faithful, Who will also do it.” I Thes. 5:23

Our God truly is the Faithful One of the generations. And I am blessed to be among those He has called out of the world to partake of a heavenly kingdom that knows no boundaries on earth. I find comfort in that Hand that spread the waters of the sea and brought the land forth, that He has encompassed me before and behind in all my ways. But I find each day I must surrender myself completely to His able hands, as I rely completely on His strength to carry me through moment to moment in my new work.

I am in Bronkhorstfontein, South Africa and have just over thirty abandoned newborns and infants to care for. I am at the “Nursery” at 0600 on a normal day and work until 1900 in the evening, with at least an hour break somewhere along the way. The longest day I’ve had so far was 15 hours with an hour lunch break, so there is definitely always work to be done here. For one week a month I go on night shift, so I work from 1800 to 0600 and sleep during the day. Though these sound like very long days, they pass surprisingly quickly and without extreme wear. My only explanation for that is grace.

What exactly do I fill these hours with? Nappies is the first word that comes to mind. In a single day I personally make around thirty bottles (give or take 20), and get the milk back from both directions about double that. But more importantly than the essentials of their daily lives, I am blessed to have two arms to share the love of Christ with the little ones He has beckoned us to be like. Because in Christ we have received all that they have been denied. They have been abandoned, I have been Adopted. They have been unloved, I know eternal Love. They have been beaten, I have been Embraced. And in Christ, I offer them all that I have received. It is the One from Whom I have received everything that I offer them a Life which cannot fade away. For now that looks like bottles and nappies, but tomorrow it could be the leaders of a Christian Africa.

Updates on former Prayer Requests:
- A Church. There is a Pentecostal and a Roman Catholic Church in nearby villages, and after visiting the former, I will be attending the latter. It is, however, a great struggle for me to be without a community and sacramental life. But I trust that God will provide ample sustenance for the time I am here.
- A companion. Loneliness is definitely still a hardship for me, so continue to pray for a kindred spirit and a counselor. We do have some internationals coming in a week, so I am praying that one of them will come alongside me to laugh, cry, pray, counsel, spar, and discuss things with me.

New Prayer Requests:
- Discernment for my parents and I to know a wise length of time for me to be here.
- Continued joy and dedication to the work before me right now.

Thank you to the many of you who continue to email and check up on me. All news from home is wonderful to my ears. Please continue to send me specific prayer requests and updates from your homes and communities. In the Father’s Hand, Nicole de Martimprey

“Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”

And the much-awaited mailing address:

The Love of Christ
c/o Nicole de M.
P.O. Box 990468
Kibler Park
2053
South Africa
Phone #: 011.27.11.948.8095/6

DO NOT send anything by ground, it must go by air to get here under six months time.

If you would like to see where I am staying beginning tomorrow go to: http://www.tlc.org.za I am looking forward to it. Some prayer requests: 1) A friend to laugh with. I have not had laughter in my life for a few weeks now, and for someone like me that is very difficult. 2) Joy and contentedness in God's plan for me right now. Thank you so much for the encouragement you have sent, please send me via email any prayer requests from back there, it helps a lot to close the distance. One with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, Nicole

South Africa II

“I am the Vine, you are the branches, He who abides in Me and I in him, bears much fruit, for without Me you can do nothing.” Jn 16

I cannot explain what has happened over the past week, but I know that all your prayers are being answered and God is truly being faithful to His servant. I don’t know how to express this, so I have put part of my journal entries here that begin to show to what extent I have been humbled on a battlefield with fear as my enemy and have seen our Victor triumph greatly in my life. I never expected that when I became a missionary I would feel hotter than ever before the purifying fire of God’s Spirit ridding me of the dross that has accumulated. But our Father is ever faithful to correct His children, to “purge” them with hyssop that they might be clean.

Aug 4 (Thurs):
“My eyes so oft wander from that Fount which is eternal. One moment I see that my home is in heaven, my Keeper the Creator of all, but the next fear takes it’s hold and grasps at my throat.”
“I say that the Lord is my Refuge, the Most High my dwelling place – and it is here alone where evil cannot befall, where my soul does lat its weary head. When I cry out, You will answer because You are near. You come from no far off place, but from that place that is my home. From within, from without. For I am in Your shadow, so You surround me. But You also penetrate me for my being is in Your shadow. Where can I flee from Your Spirit or go from Your Presence? There is nowhere for You are my God who has set me on high. But why then do now you feel such fear, my soul, why do you dread what may lie ahead? Place your love in Him! Know His name which has sealed you! Dwell in the secret place of the Most High and abide in the shadow of the Almighty. Fear not! For the God Almighty has sworn to protect, to guard, to raise you up.”

Aug 5 (Fri):
“O God, my God, I am in utter confusion, let not your light go out from around me. Leave me not a moment to the vices of my flesh. Spare me from worldly fears and fleshly anxieties. Remove from me all doubt and uncertainty. In your light let me see light, in Your hand let me feel comfort. I am but humble earth, unable to breathe lest you command it. And now I grasp for You. For Your assurance I beg, for Your presence I need. My only hope is in You, let me not continue in despair. Lead me to the Rock, which is truly You. My soul thirsts for You, my flesh longs for You. Let me not away from Your presence, from Your encompassing Hand. I have too much to bear, please, relieve my burden. You are my salvation in this my day of need. I have no other to turn to, but You alone O God.”

Aug 6 (Sat):
“I am begging for wisdom. I wake up in utter fear every morning – shaking even. All I want to do is go home. Father, please open doors or shut them, show me what to do. You are my only strength and I can’t do this. As David, I cry out for a God Who has forsaken me, Who has clouded the skies to where I no longer see the Son. From the depths I cry to You, O God, attend unto my prayer.”

Aug 7 (Sun):
[Before talking to my family]
“In the card my mom sent for when I miss her she wrote, ‘Stand firm. Trust in God. Excell, Fear Not, Hope Always, love the morning, remember our love.’ That goes through my mind so many times a day. And I actually feel like I have to watch the sunrise to obey her! But the dilemma is that the earlier I wake up the more time I have to think, panic, fear, etc…”
“’Turn us, O God of hosts, show us thy countenance and we shall be whole. For wherever man’s soul turns, except toward you, it is fixed to sorrows’ (St. Aug. confessions). God, my soul, no, my whole being cries out to You in anguish. Do not forsake me in my hour of need. Be with me now and comfort me for Your Name’s sake, do not let me fall. Raise me up to the light immortal, restore the joy that has fled and gone. Remove from me the sorrow that takes hold, and focus my eyes on my one and only good, which is You. Fill me with Your renewing Spirit and as a Father to His child, hold me close. I beg.”

Aug 7-8 (Sunday night – Mon morning)
[After talking with my parents and surrendering]
“My dad said I was just where God wanted me, and that included being tested, tried, and tempted, to be stripped of everything I hold as comfortable and dear – so that I might surrender to Him alone, in the simplicity of His beauty. He was right, and he truly was the mouthpiece of God to me today. I cried out to God, and he heard me, and set my foot upon the Rock that is Higher than I.”
“Surrender means something wholly new to me. I see that I am stripped now of all the clothing I usually wear. Church, family, friends, home, everything. But that’s not surrender. Surrender is being stripped of me. My pretensions, knowledge, security, strength, happiness. Once those things are gone then God is Your only security, friend, strength, and joy. But often His silence teaches your cries to become increasingly stronger, that when He answers He may be fearlessly heard.”
“I am challenged to get back to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I feel like David before the battlefield alone, no men to help, just me and them. At that point knowing the “doctrine” of justification isn’t going to help anything. Fr. Brian emailed and said, ‘you can never allow yourself to believe in justification by faith, you believe in Christ alone.’ What this is causing me to do is be purged. Who am I? I must get back to Jesus, the Author and Finisher of my faith, and I will be purified. But birth is always messy and painful, and that is where I am now. But “I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.””
“’A woman, when she is in labor, has sorrow because her hour has come; but as soon as she has given birth to the child, she no longer remembers the anguish, for joy that a human being has been born into the world’ (Jn 16:21). My new passion is that new child, and though I know not what to do with it or how to use it, and I still feel the pangs of sanctifying childbirth – I look forward to the new life that is painfully bursting through the hardened soil of my heart. I find hope and peace in the Gardener and Keeper of my faith. He will grow what He wills to grow in me and out of me, and here I rest.

SOME FRUIT FROM THE TOIL

I have been trying to get to the abandoned infant home and have had one thing after another stop me. And everywhere else I’ve visited was not where I was supposed to be. After I finished my confession to God yesterday morning, an opportunity to visit it opened up (it’s about an hour from where I am now) and I went. It’s the first place where I’ve had to hand in an application and wait for them to accept or decline me, but I handed that application in with peace, peace that if I was accepted I would go, peace that if I was not He had other plans. The funny thing was that (communication must be very specific here) I forgot to ask when I would find out an answer (which is dangerous around here because everything takes sooo long). I got home and not six hours later I had been accepted by the ministry board, the volunteer coordinator, and the home. That’s it, I leave Monday to train at their facility how to be a mother to thirty abandoned infants. We’ll see what God has after that.

South African Update

"Hear my cry, O God; attend to my prayer. From the end of the earth I will cry to You, when my heart is overwhelmed; lead me to the Rock that is higher than I. For you have been a shelter to me...I will trust in the shelter of Your wings." Ps. 61

Does South Africa count as the end of the earth? I have been three weeks here and find each day that I must cling to the Rock of my salvation, trusting in His shelter alone. It looks like I will be staying in South Africa for a couple months. In a couple weeks I will be doing an internship with a ministry called "Turn the Tide for Children". I will travel with a missionary named Charlotte to various infant homes and orphanages for about six weeks. At the end of that time I will either reside at one of the places we visit, or go to Namibia. Though I am still moving about, the time when I can actually put my clothes in a dresser is in sight, and that is a good feeling.

How am I doing? I am learning. A lot. Very quickly. It often crosses my mind to just catch the next plane home and forget about all this. It's not the work or the people, it's feeling as though I am at the uttermost part of the earth, and I'm there alone. But it is also when I am in this state that I read the Psalms and my soul longs for God, for the comfort that must only come from Him because there is nowhere else to receive it. This is also forcing me to take one day at a time, to not even think about next year, month, week, or day – today is the day that the Lord has made for me to walk in, and it is the only day I can think about without being overwhelmed. But this is good, it is a trial and it is hard, but it is good. In that I am stripped of my own strength the works of God are made manifest and my temporal insecurity is overshadowed by my eternal security which is in our heavenly Father and Creator.

I would ask you to continue to pray for me and the ministry that God is opening up around me. I find so much encouragement knowing that your prayers follow me through these times, thank you for your faithfulness in them. I am excited to see how much one pair of hands can be used for the Kingdom, and am grateful for the blessings I see every day amidst the trials. Our God is truly the Ruler of the Universe and the Comforter of the Needy, praise be to Him alone.

“Let your eyes look straight ahead and your eyelids look right before you. Ponder the path of your feet, and let all your ways be established.” Prov. 4:25

This past week we travelled into Northern Namibia, on the border of Zambia and Angola, to a place named Katima Mulilo. There is an orphanage there that I had made contact with and am looking at working at. They have fifty-four orphaned children and only four missionary workers to care for the children, who range from a couple months old to fourteen. It was a good trip, though quick (a day and a half), I ate Ostrich and Oryx, and camped near the Zambezi River.

Muse on the Loire

As I walked down the beach to the Loire River I wondered whether the river was made to fit the beauty of the rocks on the shore or the other way around. I have never seen such an assortment of interesting rocks. I picked up three, one for each of my young siblings - each one somehow reminding me of their characters. I don't know if I can send them now because I accidently put them through the wash and they were thrown out. But the river can't be so easily discarded - it will last for a long time yet. When the castle that now seems to protect the river and fortify it is in a rubbish pile or someone's cottage wall - the Loire will run by, peaceful as ever. The bridge ahead pretends to be it's frame, but it is merely decor compared to the Handmade bed that the river forever rests upon.

My uncle is a birdwatcher and as his quietly excited hand points here and there I see the striking blue streak of the King Fisher dart away. The sun's last rays spread grasping over the stillness. But the water doesn't move for it, not even a budge. The rays cannot even penetrate that expanse, rather they are returned in exact form. So precise that the object and the copy are self-reflecting, its a wonder which is the original. Strangely, I am convicted. How willing the water is to exemplify the image of the sun: unashamed, unabashed, unreserved. Where the sky meets the water I cannot tell, I know they are separate but right now they are bonded together. In the same manner, from that Holy side the water flowed with the blood, mingled but separate, showing not their own glory, but the splendour of their Origin. And this is the Son from which I came and through His cleansing flow reborn, became a mirror of the Rays. But how oft the peace which holds this river still is absent from my soul! How oft that radiating glory finds no imitation in the works of my hands. How oft that perfect Image is marred when reflected on my countenance.

As I rowed nearer the shore the current quickened and I realized that here too the wind would blow and disturb the quiet. Tumults would come and cloud that face that now so clearly shines - but it will always go to its rest in peace. That is what I must do, knowing that troubles will muddy the reflection but also being assured that the One Who stirs the winds with His finger also holds me in the palm of His hand. Thus schooled by the Loire, I learn to surrender and rest each day and each night as the horrors of this world whirl around me.

Pic 1: 14 year old gypsy girl who has been divorced already, though she is scarcely developed. Romania

Pic 2-3: Romanian friends

Orthodox Church by the Black Sea

The team at the Black Sea

Jon Kever, Jonathan Stevens, Me, Dianne & Alan Mezger

Romania
Pic 1: Gorgettia (18) and Nicoleta (15) local Christians (or "Repenters" as their called)
Pic 2: Just a wooden work cart

3: Stale bread that the children put on the bike to eat later


4: Jonathan with my hospital girl "Pina" (look at Romanian update for story)





5: Jaela, a gypsy girl



6: Jaela and her street friends

Kosovo

Jonathan looking over Kosovo







Me taking a moment

New Orthodox Church

Wanderer

July 15, 2004

We were able to talk to Nicole at length this morning. She sounds very well, and she is in good health. She is now in South Africa waiting for God to lead her to her next mission. There are 7 orphanages which are possible candidates to work with over the next year. Five of these are in South Africa and two are in Namibia. She has asked that we pray:
1.) For clarity with Alan Mezger in planning and selecting an orphanage, and
2.) When, how and with whom, to travel to Namibia.

We appreciate your prayers and support for our dear daughter. May God richly bless you and graciously keep you.

Chrystal

July 16, 2005

We arrived safely in Johannesburg, South Africa yesterday morning. Now that I am here we are trusting that the Lord will make abundantly clear where I am to be. There are some different options for orphanages in both South Africa and Namibia, but as it is the weekend we must wait until Monday to make any contacts. Please keep Alan and I in your prayers as we travel a great deal in the next week, but primarily for wisdom in my decision. I talked to my family last night, and it was wonderful - family is a wonderfully blessed thing.

Though I sent out a letter called Kosovo I, of course logically implying there would be a Kosovo II, I haven't been in Kosovo for seven days now and at this point only my journal remembers what happened eight days ago. This is very good news for many of you because 7 days ago I walked in front of the OSCE building and leaned on the UN cars that were blown up in Pristina last week. May your minds be at ease on that accord, and thank you for the concern

Kosovo did end well, we saw the Lord use us in more ways than we had hoped, including using us as instruments of reconciliation between a family and the missionaries there. I spent some time talking with two thinking pagans about peace. They are both involved in peace restoring efforts between the Serbs and Albanians. We talked about what peace is and why people would be motivated to make peace with one another, and that lasting peace must be a result of something else changing. This lead into a discussion of Christian peace and how peace works from the internal out, giving a reason to love your neighbor, and if that motivation is not there, why go through the painstaking selflessness of loving the son of the man who killed your father? It was good.
What about Romanian parenting? The short answer is that apparently there is none. The first day after our arrival in Hersova (near the eastern border of Romania, 2-3 hrs from Bucharest) we went to a program that the missionaries have started here for the children. A woman in the church opens her yard/house for the street children to draw pictures, drink water, and eat some bread. Resources are such that they can only be there for two hours, after which time it is back to the streets for them. I went to the "program" that first day, walked in and immediately had the destitute and filth-covered hands of children all over me. One of them shoved her little sister into my arms, she was about 2 ½ maybe, walking though it seemed her tiny body would collapse under her own weight. There were about twelve children between 2 and 15 there, most of them gypsies, but some Romanians. The boys ran to Jonathan because he’s a giant to them (they call him "Hercules") and the girls just longed for a mother’s touch. A 15-year-old girl that I’ve gotten to know over the past week is named Nicoleta, and with her 4’10", 80# body she clings onto me. Through the week I’ve seen the other children on the street during day and night, and they come to my apartment to visit. They just stand outside my window yelling, "Nicoleta! Nicoleta, veno!". Yesterday there were eleven of them waiting out there to play, to talk, to touch. This morning there was a small tapping on the door and a small bunch of flowers on the mat awaiting me.
I visited the Hospital, where they will accept infants and "take care" of them until they are seven years old (at which time they are kicked out). The missionaries here, Marshall and Marta, try to visit these forsaken children every day. There is one family in the church that "checks out" some of the children for seven days at a time, they go back for a day and they check them out again, it’s the only way to get around the system. I went into one room, it had stark white walls without a single hint of colour, 4 white cribs without blankets, and one window. Marshall picked up one of the girls, Pina, who always wants to be held by the men and not the women. Pina is four years old but is contained within that crib every hour of her life, and is therefore the size of a 1-2 year old. When I walked into the room she squealed and jumped in Marshall’s arms, she reached for me. When I took her she just put her arms around my neck and held on for dear life, Marshall said he had never seen her go to a woman like that before. Pina moved until she was in nursing position, and just rested her head in my arms, clinging still to my neck. The time to leave came too soon, she put her dry and peeling lips to mine and I put her in the crib that will be her only home for the next three years, and she just sat there – no cry, she just let go - because that’s what she’s used to. In three years they’ll kick her out of that crib and put her on the street, maybe the other street children will take her in, maybe someone will "check her out" once in a while so she will know what colour grass is. My prayer is that God will provide a family who will take her in without making her a prostitute.
On the positive side, the native’s I am working with are great. The cooks have been my favorites. Every time I go in the kitchen without shoes, they yell at me, "tu papuchka!" because they are convinced that I am going to get sick if I don’t have my shoes on. One of them has taken to spanking me whenever I go in there just for good measure (by the way, they’re both women). Last night the other cook came up to me, grabbed the waist of my pants and pulled up as far as they would go. I was shocked to say the least, but realized that she didn’t like that my pantlegs were dragging on the dirty ground floor, and she figured she would either pull them up or roll them up – unfortunately she chose the former option. These two cooks have given me quite a bit of rest and laughter after the turmoil I find every time I go outside and see the children.
There is so much more to say, but for now I just ask your prayers for Marshall and Marta, Pina, the church here, and for someone to take in the street children. For me, after twelve adopted children, two crazy cooks, 18 marriage proposals, and one case of lice, I say "la revedere" to Romania.
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Subject: Kosovo I
Date: Thursday, June 23, 2005 7:16 AM
Greetings from Kosovo, Kosova, Kos'ovah, and Kosva (those are the different pronunciations depending on who you are and where you're from. We are having an amazing time here, and learning books worth of education every day. This is a country where the most popular conversation and the most common is one about war. We are staying outside the capital city of Prishtina about thirty miles, in a city called Mitrovica ("mit-ro-vits-a"). This city used to be the economic center for the country, having metal mines all over. The mines were destroyed in the war and since the unemployment rate here is around 70-80%. Among the Albanians (who are the people who live here), so many men died in the war that 70% of the people are under 30 and about 50% under 18.
We are staying on the South Side of Mitrovica where the Albanians live, and near the downtown there is a bridge that is armed by French soldiers/UN workers that separates the North and South sides. The Serbs (Serbians) live in the North side and the Albanians in the South, and never the two shall meet. These two peoples hate each other so much that the Serbs have thugs on the North side of the bridge watching everyone that crosses over, and should an Albanian cross they will follow them and then punish them. We met a man yesterday whose son was killed (it's a fairly well-known story, but I'll let you know how it happened). There were four Albanian boys (under 10) who crossed the bridge, and the Serbs sent their dogs on them (one being a pitbull), the children tried to run from the dogs and ran into the river, three of them drowned. One of our translators was near the bridge the other day and saw some of his Albanian friends try to get over the bridge (they remove their license
plates so that they can get across) and the Serbs started throwing rocks at the windows, breaking them. One of the Albanians was a kick-boxer and got out and started to defend himself. At that time the soldiers (aka "peace-keepers") who had watched the entire encounter, came up and forced the Albanians back to the South side. The war has racked this country, and there is noone to turn to.
On a 'eppier note, the people are wonderful. They are relaxed and some of the most hospitable people I've ever met and they're beautiful with dark hair and skin but often light colored eyes - they are quite striking. The first day we walked in downtown we got invited for coffee three times by people who had met someone who had met us. We have had dinner and tea and coffee and cake up to our gills with different people throughout the day, and that is mainly what we are doing here - building relationships that the missionaries that we are working with can continue to grow after we're gone. Beyond that, I think one of my main privilages here is to simply encourage Maria, the missionary we are working with. It is hard for her to be here working as a single woman and so many opportunities to minister and devote her life to people without seeing grand results. She has said that God is using me to give her hope and joy in the medial tasks, you can pray that God will provide
encouragement through the course of her ministry.
There is so much that could be said but not enough time. But since I promised a story in every email, here is one from last night:
It came out that I have done construction work when a family asked if we knew how to make plans for a cow barn, and I hesitatingly said I would try to draw something up. Jonathan and I visited the farm and took some measurements (and for those of you that find my math skills questionable, imagine me working entirely in meters and centimeters to order materials - oh yes....), after the specifics were written down the father Humbdi asked us to stay and have coffee and smoke with him. It is, of course, rude to turn a host down, and so we sat on his porch and began talking. Humbdi started talking about smoking (which they do in abundance - everyone, everywhere, all day) and how Amricans smoke much less than they do, he caringly only offered us one cigarette each. The reason they smoked so much, he said " was because in the 13's the Albanian king smoked fifteen packs of cigarettes a day, and if our king could do it, we try to keep up." About an hour and eight cigarettes later we
bid farewell.
For your prayers I am thankful, they are often a source of assurance and encouragement for me. I have received emails from a few of you, thank you for them. I hope to write again soon,
In the Universal Name of our King, Nicole de Martimprey
A few matters of business:
- Is there anyone that can easily set up a webpage for me to put pictures and updates on (something that is fairly easy on this end to update and things). That would be wonderful
- Jon has put a few on his page that you can see at: http://photos.thekevers.com/thumbnails.php?album=5
To tell you who you're seeing: The "Parents of the Trip": Alan and Diane Mezger, the "Old Married Men": Robby Mezger (pic 2) and Jon Kever (photographer), and seminarian Jonathan Stevens (background pic 1)
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