The Red Truck

by Anne O’Neil

Five brothers, one truck, and me; it was quite a dilemma in my young mind. I was the eldest child in a family of six children, with five boisterous brothers at my heels. My parents, now deceased and gone on to their heavenly reward, bless their souls, were godly and raised us in a home filled with laughter, love, and prayer. Money, however, was often short. Ever since I can remember, principles like sharing, faith, trust in God, and giving were often-practiced virtues. “All too well-worn,” I often brooded to myself. As if having a large family and a low income weren’t enough, my parents made a habit of helping other less fortunate families.

Back to my dilemma … Christmas rolled around too soon that year. Times were difficult, and Dad and Mom hadn’t been able to set aside much money toward the yearly treat of colors and lights and special desires fulfilled. We had a nice pine tree, which Dad and the boys had chopped down and brought home. We had food, our home was warm, and we had health, but there was no money for gifts, or at least not enough for all six of us children.

One day, coming home from work, Dad had spotted a beautiful shiny red wooden truck on sale. It was just right for the boys, a gift they could enjoy together. He could probably scrape together enough money to pay for it, but he certainly wouldn’t have any money left to afford a doll or any other girly gift for me. So that was how I came to be presented with my dilemma. Dad and Mom left the choice up to me. They wanted to give me a gift, and if I would agree to let what money they had go toward giving the boys this gift, they would save up to get me something later. They knew it would be disappointing for me to have no gift on Christmas Day. I’m sure under normal circumstances they wouldn’t have asked it of me, but I think they must have seen this dilemma as an opportunity to teach me about the joy of giving.

Somehow, in spite of a few sad tears, I mustered up the courage to tell them to get the truck for the five boys. When Christmas Day arrived and I saw the joy on my brothers’ faces as the truck zoomed back and forth, chased and pushed and cuddled, I realized that I had been given the best gift—a chance to make my siblings happy.

As the years passed, though, I grew weary of all the sacrifice and slowly forgot the joy I had experienced that Christmas morning long ago. As I grew into adulthood I lost sight of the value of my parents’ happy, sacrificial giving that went beyond what I thought should be expected of them or what I thought was fair. It took a special experience in my life to fully understand this priceless lesson.

By the time I was out of high school and had begun working, I was weary of the thought of living in meager circumstances. I determined to build a comfortable life for myself and to worry about my own needs instead of the needs of others.

Before I knew it, I was raising two children of my own. My husband held a steady job and we lived in a small but cozy home. I was frantically learning the art of juggling meals, caring for crying toddlers, cleaning up spills and broken glass, and nursing bumps and bangs. My little boys were my pride and joy, and I was determined to give them everything they needed.

I didn’t forget my Christian upbringing entirely. I did have faith in God. I prayed and read the Bible, and tried to be a good Christian example as my parents had been, yet I was determined that my needs and my family’s needs must be my main concern. Once we had what we needed, then I would worry about caring for others. If we had extra, I would definitely share that, but not to our own hurt. I took clothes and toys that the boys had outgrown and gave them to poor families. I knew in my heart that there was more I could do; maybe there was more that God wanted from me, but I wasn’t ready to go that far. I didn’t want to give that much. I was afraid of the hurt. I was forgetting the joys. I was forgetting the fact that I had never lacked for anything important while I was growing up. God had always cared for us, and always provided enough. Little did I know that Christmas that year would hold some valuable lessons for me and for my family.

As the days of summer faded, so did my plans for prosperity and financial security. My husband was let go from the job where he’d worked for nine years. His company was downsizing, and in one short day our lives began to swerve out of our control. Our savings would tide us over for two to three months, but if he couldn’t find a good job by then, we would be in a tough spot.

My upbringing had honed my skills of living with less. This almost instinctive reaction immediately kicked in. I began to reduce spending and guard every bit of our precious reserves. I was determined to make the money last as long as possible so that my husband wouldn’t feel too much pressure. Every day he went out to look for work. Some days he got temp jobs that helped to extend our lifeline inch by inch, but the hope of prosperity was slowly slipping from our grasp. We tried not to despair, we tried to pray and remember our faith, but slowly the days drained our finances. My boys were three and five years old, so I couldn’t get a job myself.

Whenever I was met by a need or request from others, I would shake my head sadly, telling myself that if we were better off, I’d gladly help. The once familiar concept from my youth that “you can never outgive God” was long forgotten.

Five brothers, one truck, and me; it had been quite a dilemma in my young mind.

Christmas was just around the corner when a knock on the door brought back those long-forgotten memories. My youngest brother had come to visit and brought my boys a gift he had dug out of the attic of our parents’ home where he still lived: the once shiny red truck. My mind was flooded with memories of that Christmas: the tears and the smiles and the warm feeling of deep contentment that I now realized I hadn’t felt in a long time. My brother sported a toothy grin as he handed the well-worn truck to my eldest. “Robbie, this truck brought your five uncles so much happiness that I thought you might enjoy it too.” Then he hugged me and rushed out, late for work.

My thoughts were still being pulled back to those memories of that Christmas long ago as I drove to the local grocery store later that afternoon to buy what things we’d need for our Christmas dinner.

On the way I passed by the home of the Thomas family. Dave Thomas had worked with my husband and I had met his wife a few times at the local park. Dave had been let go a month earlier than my husband, and they had four small children. He too was looking for work, but his wife was barely holding up. Things had been tough for them, and with four kids they hadn’t been able to save much even when he was working.

I felt bad for them, I really did. But how could I take away from what would be the food for my two sons in order to help them? How could I give them what we needed? It had been three months now since my husband had lost his job, and our savings were nearly gone. Yet, without a doubt the Thomas family was worse off than we were. We could somehow manage to skimp for a few days and help them out. I weighed both sides, with my mind moving swiftly back and forth, trying to decide between my heart and my head. I was in turmoil as I entered the store and distractedly roamed about, trying to decide what to do. My eyes landed on the toy shelves, and I spotted a bright red truck.

Slowly it began to dawn on me that the spirit of giving of that Christmas many years ago had survived the test of time; it was still in my heart. I had a chance to find that contentment once again. I couldn’t shake the memories of that red truck going back and forth, and how it had made everything else feel right inside. I thought of how happy Robbie had been to receive the truck that morning, and here I was, presented once again with the chance to give a little more than I thought was comfortable, to give even though it hurt me personally, and to dip into what I thought I needed.

Somehow, I found the strength to make the right decision, and as I shopped that day, I carefully picked out twice as much as I would have bought for our family. As I arrived at the checkout, it dawned on me that we had only four mouths to feed, but the Thomas family had six. So I slowly moved over some of what I had intended to buy for my own family into the second pile. I paid quickly, not wanting to change my mind. On the way home I stopped just around the corner from the Thomas’ house. I could see Mr. Thomas in the backyard watching the children play, and I could hear his wife humming a hymn in the kitchen as she fixed their supper. Being careful to not be seen, I quietly carried the boxes of food one at a time to the porch, setting them down silently beside the front door. Then, giving a sharp knock, I dashed behind some nearby large bushes where I could peek out but not be seen.

I heard Mrs. Thomas call to her husband to please answer the door, as she was busy. It took a minute, but soon the door opened. There stood the figure of a man. He walked with a slouch, and the lines of despair were visible on his face in the afternoon light. The look turned to shock, then disbelief, and then a smile crept across his face. He bent down, shaking his head slowly as he gathered up the two boxes of food. Then he began looking around to find who had put them there. Finally he turned and hurried back into the house, and I heard a resounding, “Oh, my Lord!” echoing from Mrs. Thomas.

The contentment had returned; it was more than worth the sacrifice. I slipped back to my car and headed home. That night when I prayed, I felt like my prayers were being heard. I felt a contentment in my heart. I felt peace of mind, and I knew without a shadow of doubt that we would be okay.

One week later, my husband came home with the happy announcement that he had found a job. He was overjoyed as he hugged the boys, and then hugged me with tears streaming down his face. I finished preparing dinner, and as we sat down to eat, with the initial excitement now settling, I asked him where he was working and how he had found the job.

He grinned, happy to tell me the story. “Remember Dave Thomas, who used to work with me? He’s married and has four kids. Surely you remember them, Hon.” He paused as he took another bite and waited for me to respond. I nodded, unable to say anything … as my heart began to beat harder.

“Well, he got hired a few days back. They’ve had a rough go, much tougher than us. He told me that last week, he’d reached the point where he couldn’t go on. He started looking for work a whole month before I did. He’d paid his bills and bought the last box of milk he could afford that morning. Then God just dropped them a couple boxes of groceries ‘right outta the sky,’ he says. Imagine that, Hon!”

I could feel tears welling up. I nodded with a feeble smile, and my husband continued. “Well, those groceries gave him a surge of faith and strength. He said he stood there thinking that if God cared enough to do something like that, then He must care enough to give him a job. He recalled a sign he had seen the day before for a new food distributor. He went right out and applied for a job there and was accepted. At his new job a few days later, his boss told him they were still hiring, and he remembered me. He was parked outside our house waiting for me to come out this morning, and took me with him to meet his boss. You know what I kept thinking of as I came home today, Hon? God bless the person who gave them those groceries; unbeknownst to them, they dropped blessings right outta the sky into our lives as well.”

Tears were now streaming down my face. My husband stared at me in bewilderment, not understanding where the tears were coming from. Then he reached out to hold me. “I thought you’d like that story,” he said, his voice trailing off quizzically.

My tears were ones of joy as I realized that you really can never outgive God. When you give even when it hurts, then God has a new opportunity to give you a blessing. It took me a minute before I could bring myself to reply to my husband. “I do, I do. I loved that story. The thing is, Honey, I bought those groceries.”

 

   

If sometimes you’re discouraged with the world and the way it is, don’t give up! We read that usually governments and armies and wars and great powers, great empires, change history and the face of the earth. So sometimes we’re discouraged and think, “Well, who am I? What can I do? It all seems so hopeless and impossible!


“It looks like there’s nothing that one person can do to change things for the better, so what’s the use of trying, what’s the use of doing anything?” And we’re tempted to just give up and let the world go to hell, which it seems to deserve!

You may not be able to change the whole world, but you can change your part of the world.
If you have changed one life, you have changed a part of the world, and you have proven that there is hope that it can all be changed! If one life can be changed, it shows that there’s a possibility that more lives can be changed and many lives can be changed and whole areas can be redeemed and the world can be changed, starting even with one person, just one person—maybe you!

You say we can’t change the world? It’s too late, too bad, too big, too difficult? Well, why don’t you just try changing your part of the world?

Why don’t you start with you—your own heart, your own mind, your own spirit, your own life. If you even change your life, you’ve changed a whole universe, the universe of your body, and the sphere in which you live. The place and the very atmosphere around you will be changed if you change yourself by the power of God’s love!

You can start individually, personally, just you, maybe only your little family, planting seeds of love and truth, one by one, heart by heart, day by day, wherever you may be.

Day by day constantly, faithfully, diligently, patiently plant seed by seed, heart by heart, life by life, dropping that little seed of the truth of God’s Word into that empty hole of an empty heart, then covering it up with the loving warmth of God’s love and trusting God’s Spirit, God’s great warm sunshine of His love and the water of His Word to bring forth the miracle of new life.

It may seem only a tiny little bud at first, just a little sprig, just one insignificant little green shoot. What is that to a great and mighty land? What is that to the forest that’s needed? Well, it’s a beginning. It’s the beginning of the miracle of new life, and it will thrive and grow and grow and become great and strong into a whole new tree, a whole new life, and maybe a whole new world! So why not try it?

You say you can’t change the world? Well, why don’t you try? Why don’t you try changing your part of the world, change your world, the world of your own life—your family, your home, your neighbors, your town, and let’s just see what might happen!

You say, “What’s the use? I can’t do anything; I’m only one person. Who am I?”
Let me tell you, you can begin today to change the world!
You can’t change the world? Oh yes you can!
I know this much: I have changed the world in which I live! Are you changing yours?

Change the world! Start today! Change your own life, change your home, change your town, change your country! Change the world!



 

Volunteering for Home Start

Face painting at Barnet council event for children. The mayor of Barnet, Councillor Anthony Finn looks on.

 I have started the 9 week training programme for Home Start, Barnet, a local Charity. Home Start is a charity that offers support, friendship and practical help to parents with young children.
It is a unique service. Trained volunteers who are usually parents themselves visit families with at least one child under 5 at home to offer informal, friendly and confidential support.They help any family that lives in the borough of Barnet, who has at least one child under 5 and is going through a difficult time. This can be anything from feeling isolated, being new to the area, suffering from post natal depression or finding it hard to cope with twins or triplets.
Volunteers visit the family once a week and support them in a variety of practical or emotional ways. They may accompany the parent on outings, shopping trips or to keep appointments, play with the children while the parent gets on with something else at home or has a much-needed rest, or simply sit and chat if that is what is needed. It’s simple, but it works!
They also offer:
Group support
Teenage parents programme
Parenting programmes
Family events & activities
My training will finish in November and then I will be eligible to start visiting a family as a volunteer. The prep course itself has been very eye-opening, informative and rewarding. It's very hands-on and discussion oriented with lots of group activities. The group of about 20 other trainee volunteers have as a diverse a background and ethnicity as the borough of Barnet itself! In our group we have volunteer-trainees that originally have come from Afghanastan, Germany, Isreal, Nepal, Kenya, India, America, Pakistan, Turkey, Iraq and oh yes, England! Ages range from early 20's to late 50's. During this training time, irregardless of the differences in background and culture, we have bonded together as a group and have formed new friendships. The subject matter has been very interesting. Quite a few "guest speakers" have attended and we are learning about all kinds of resources available for children in Barnet as well as a review of parenting skills and certain problems that families might encounter such as children with special needs, depression bereavemnet, mulitple births, etc.
I am looking forward to when I will begin visiting my first family and am happy to be involved with such a worthwhile charity.

More Clothes for Needy in Ghana

 

We were able to spend more time collecting and organzing clothes to be given to needy people in Ghana. This time we recieved ladies dresses, blouses and skirts. They are very nice, brand new items, generously donatedfrom the warehouse, to help those in need.

Here is Dawn, sorting and packing them up.

 

Susan and David, in Portsmouth, where we transported them to.

Susan has a small storage facility where she can store them until there is enough to ship over to Ghana again. She also has a quantity of books for children and now is looking for working computers to add to the supplies to be given to Ghana.

Clothes for Children in Ghana

I had the opportunity to collect clothes and organize the distribution to needy families, individuals and organizations. Some of the clothes travelled all the way to Africa, where they were distributed to poor children at a school where several TFI members have an ongoing project. Here are some photos of them being given to the children at the school.

 A boy tries this shirt on for size.

These two children have new clothes to wear  home. 

 Susan (back row, centre) took the clothes to Africa from England where she distributed them to the children in  this needy school in Ghana.

Teddy Bear Picnic

I was able to volunteer at a Teddy Bear Picnic, which was organised by the Barnet Pre-School Learning Alliance. 

The event was to give the families a fun day together, while the staff was able to evaluate the Two Year Old Pilot programme's success with them. It took place at Mill Hill Park and there were various free activities for the children such as face painting, story time, making their own teddys to take home and several play areas. 

All the families that were invited are participating in a pilot scheme aimed at offering 165 two year olds in Barnet from financially disadvantaged backgrounds 10 hours free quality childcare per week.

The Worshipful the Mayor of Barnet, Councillor Anthony Finn attended, although he declined to have his face painted when I offered it to him! 

The weather fully cooperated and it was a warm sunny day. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and was happy to be able to donate my time and face painting skills in this way.



 

June 11, 2010: Kickoff of the 19th football (soccer) World Cup in South
Africa. Generally considered one of the world’s premier sporting events,
along with the
Olympics, this is the first World Cup final ever held on the African
continent. Hundreds of thousands of lucky fans will be able to watch
the games live in the stadiums that were built or revamped for the
event, and billions more around the world are expected to follow
their team’s progress through the month-long competition via
TV, radio, and the Internet. It is the global celebration of what
Brazilian three-time Cup winner Pelé called “the beautiful game.”
Many of us enjoy kicking a ball around with friends, but there’s a
world of difference between that and playing professional football.
What did it take for those men to reach the World Cup in South
Africa? Extraordinary athletic ability, certainly, but that alone
did not guarantee their spot on the roster. No player is chosen to
represent his country in the World Cup final stage without having
first put in a lot of hard work. Each player has endured years of
rigorous, seemingly endless practice, suffered injury and pain, and
had to rise above other obstacles in order to have a shot at the ultimate
prize—being on the winning team at the World Cup. Those
who make it to the final stage have risen to the top of a wildly popular
and fiercely contested sport. Win or lose, coming this far is a
tremendous achievement. Most of the rest of us aren’t
world-class athletes, but we can apply these players’ secret
to success, as many of today’s self-help gurus and guidebooks
advocate. And they aren’t the first. Even the apostle Paul referred
to it. Comparing the Christian life to athletic achievement, he
wrote, “Do you not know that those who run in a race all run,
but one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may obtain
it. And everyone who competes for the prize is temperate in all
things. Now they do it to obtain a perishable crown, but we for an
imperishable crown. Therefore I run thus: not with uncertainty.
Thus I fight: not as one who beats the air. But I discipline my body
and bring it into subjection.”1 Paul practiced what he preached, so as
his life drew to a close he was able to say, “I have fought the good
fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Finally, there
is laid up for me the crown of righteousness.”2  
Perhaps no one exemplifies the blend of talent and tenacity
that mark world-class athletes better than Pelé himself. Growing
up in poverty in Três Corações, Minas Gerais, Brazil, he earned
extra money for his family by shining shoes and honed his gift
using a ball made from a sock stuffed with newspaper. Considered
the best footballer of all time, he dominated the game for two
decades and was named the top athlete of the 20th century by the
International Olympic Committee, even though he never took
part in the Olympics.
And one final thought before I go and check the latest scores:
It’s natural to support our home team, but we should recognize
the efforts of all the players, no matter where they’re from. With
this type of competition, of course there are many more losers
than winners. After the first stage of the World Cup, half of the 32
teams are sent home, as are half of the remaining teams at the end
of each subsequent round until a winner is eventually crowned.
Obviously the players who don’t make it to the end are disappointed,
but they can take pride in how far they went and what
they accomplished.
And we each have a chance to do the same in the game of life.
 Jesus doesn’t say the faithful will be rewarded in heaven with the
 words, “That’s great—you beat the competition!” but with, “Well
 done, good and faithful servant!”1
 He commends us for doing our part; for playing with character
 and commitment, for doing our best with whatever gifts and tasks
 He has given us, and for loving those who He has put in our path.
 That, I think, is the most beautiful game of all.

 Ronan Keane is a member of the Family International and
 an Activated contributing editor.


 1 Corinthians 9:24–27
 2 Timothy 4:7–8
3. Matthew 25:21

 

Malaria Project--Nigeria

I couldn't resist sharing some of the news we received not too long ago from our son Steve in Nigeria. Maybe if you are thinking about volunteering there, this is an idea of what you might be in for:

First Week Long Malaria Project--Lots of Action.... 
OK, so on Ogogoro Island. We are pasting out malaria nets  and this Chief from another tribe comes into the church where we are doing the project and starts fighting with the chief of our Island ( the one we were on).
Crowds start to grow to watch & join in the fight.  Art and I, the only two white people out of 3000 people on the Island, started making back up plans, just in case things got out of hand. However, while we were  making plans, our boat pilot decides he will join in & off he was in the crowd. So much for our fast escape plan.
So 10 minutes of fist fights & the older chief falls flat on his black...out cold, with  blood running down his face. Some members of the tribe start getting water for him from the bole-hole and cooling him off. Even though he had a bloody head & was knocked-out cold, he got up & went after the other Ogogoro chief. The Islanders put him on a fly boat & that was the end....
The Ogogoro  Chief came to us later & was all happy, telling us everything is under control & that he is a World Class Killer Boxer.  Art and I weren't sure if we should run away or stay & stand our ground & continue giving out nets. In the end we went with staying as we couldn't find the boat pilot at that point in time.
Project ended around 3 pm 24th of May 2010 & we gave out 300 nets & tested around 200 people for Malaria. I think it was 120 positive & 80 negative. Bonus for the day was 240+ Islanders gave their gave lives to Christ including the Ogogoro  Chief.
25th of May 2010   We are going next door ( next Island to Ogogoro  Island) to give out 300 more nets....I guess we will see the defeated Chief.
Updated...Went to the  next Island & didn't see the defeated  Chief. Everything went great... To end the day...got a pig as a gift to fat up & eat later....

The Unsung Heroes

Here is an article from David Siervo, a member of The Family International in Chile:

February 27, 2010. 3:37 A.M.

For two seemingly eternal minutes, Chile is rocked by a massive 8.8-degree earthquake with its epicenter just off the coast, 90 km north of the city of Concepción, affecting a huge area from Copiapó all the way down to Temuco, and is even felt as far north as the desert of Atacama and as far south as Puerto Montt, about 3,500 km away, and from the coast all the way across the Andes to Argentina in the provinces of Mendoza, Neuquén and Río Negro. The cities of Curicó and Talca, with their older constructions and many adobe-made houses, are badly hit. The ensuing tidal waves (three of them) that hit the coastline from Pichilemu to Talcahuano devastated much of what remained standing in the lower areas close to the sea. Some small fishing towns, such as Iloca, are simply wiped off the map.

The city of Constitución lies at the mouth of the Maule River, some 320 km southwest of Santiago. The town—with a permanent population of about 50,000, the main livelihood of which is employment in one of the largest paper pulp plants in Chile, the wood industry, and fishing—is also a tourist resort in the summer.

At the very mouth of the river lies the small island of Orrego, covered with forest and about 250 meters from either shore. The end-of-summer celebrations in Constitución traditionally include an event called the Venetian Night, complete with fireworks, music, and dancing, that was to take place the following night. Had the earthquake hit that night, the death toll would have been much higher, as usually from 700 to 1,000 people camp out on the island to watch the fireworks. As it was, some 150 to 200 (the exact number is still unknown, as there are many missing who haven’t been accounted for) had headed out the night before to get a good spot.

Having lived there all their lives, the townspeople knew that in the event of an earthquake, they only had a few minutes to flee to higher ground to avoid getting caught by the ensuing tidal wave, though nothing as big as what they were about to witness had ever hit Constitución. However, the people on the island had no way of getting ashore quickly. Survivors say that immediately after the quake, the sea receded with such a horrific roar that it sounded like some prehistoric monster, ready to pounce on its prey.

As the people took to the hills, two humble fishermen—one of them accompanied by his 17-year-old son—set off in their rowboats toward the island in a desperate attempt to bring the campers ashore. It would take them the better part of ten minutes to make the trip across, get about 8 to 10 people on board, and make it back.

They managed to make the first trip safely. On the second trip, when the boat was nearly full, the fisherman called to his boy to get on board.

“Father,” said the boy, “take one more person back, and I’ll come on the next trip.”

The father insisted, but the boy would not budge. He kept repeating calmly: “I’ll be fine, father. Save these people.”

The father knew there most likely wouldn’t be enough time for another trip. But seeing that his son was determined to stay, he let another person on, and with tears in his eyes, set off rowing furiously toward the shore.

The other fisherman, Juan Gomez, a gruff man, used to the rigors of the sea, had gone on before him, and having let his passengers off on the shore, defiantly headed out again to fetch another batch just as the tide steadily started to rise.

Then the second wave hit.

A massive 15-meter-high wall of water struck the coast with unimaginable force, completely covering the island and sweeping away everything on its way 10 km up the river, leaving a path of destruction behind it.
Looking at the devastation a week later, I couldn’t help but wonder how anybody could have survived, and yet … miracles still happen in the 21st century.

In a supreme act of heroism, the boy gave his life so that somebody else could live. Incredible as it seems, his father managed to make it through the ordeal, though his fellow fisherman, Juan Gomez, did not.

But there are other accounts of what happened that terrifying night that defy all belief.

Twenty-three-year-old Mariela Rojas and her three-year-old son, Tomás, had been on the island since the beginning of the summer, where Mariela and her sister tended a small food stand. After the quake, Mariela grabbed a small life jacket they kept there, put it on Tomás, and tied it firmly. They survived the initial more gradual tidal wave by holding on to a tree. When the second wave hit in full force, they were swept away. In Mariela’s own words:

“When we were hit by the second wave, I determined not to let go of my boy. I held on to him tightly as the strong current carried us along. We must’ve been in the water for about an hour, though it seemed an eternity to me [it was actually over two hours]. Though Tomás cried throughout the ordeal, that was reassuring, because as long as he was crying, I knew he hadn’t drowned.”

The sea finally tossed them up on the river bank close to the high bridge that crosses the Maule River, some 5 km upstream. There they were spotted by Justo Rebolledo, a fisherman who had fled to the hills and come down after the second wave to see about his boats, convinced that the worst had passed.

“There they were, exhausted and tangled in a pile of rubble. The girl was screaming for help and her little boy was shivering with cold. I took them by the hand and led them up the hill. Three minutes later, the third wave hit.”

Unfortunately, Mariela’s sister and brother-in-law did not survive. Neither did two friends of hers and their two young children, all of whom were on the island at the time of the disaster.

Twenty-six senior citizens lived at a small home for the elderly not far from the waterfront, which was run by two nuns. The old house was already badly damaged by the quake, but the nuns knew they would not be able to get the old folks out in time to avoid the tidal wave, as some of them could barely walk. So they instructed them to stand in a cluster and embrace each other firmly. All but two did as they were told, and although they sustained bruises and other minor injuries, they all survived. The two who went off looking for their things in another room unfortunately lost their lives.

Another elderly man was on the island with his nine-year-old grandson. They managed to climb a tree high enough to avoid the full brunt of the second tidal wave. The man kept encouraging the boy to hold on and not give up, until his own strength gave way and he was carried off by the current. For the next four hours, the boy clung to the tree, badly bruised, soaking wet, and screaming for help at the top of his lungs, until he was finally rescued by yet another fisherman in his boat, after the third wave.

What were the odds of Mariela and her son surviving such an experience? God only knows. Again, what are the odds of 24 elderly folks, some of them crippled, others senile, most of them barely able to walk, let alone run or swim, surviving an earthquake and subsequent tidal wave? Statistically impossible to calculate, but no doubt extremely low. And once again, what are the odds of a nine-year-old boy surviving three tidal waves by clinging to a treetop? Surely next to nil.
Such are the miracles that occur in the wake of major disasters. And such are the unsung heroes who help make those miracles possible. The anonymous, humble, noble-hearted, oft-forgotten fishermen who did not hesitate to lay their lives on the line to save others. The dedicated nuns who humbly serve the lonely and the destitute, day in and day out, asking nothing in return. The common folk who have lost everything, even loved ones, and yet are ready to bounce back and rebuild their lives upon the rubble of their former homes.
At Juan Gomez’s funeral, attended by hundreds who came to pay homage to this true hero, a young lady with a beautiful voice, who is a close relative of his, sang a heart-wrenching Spanish version of Amazing Grace. The entire congregation wept until they could weep no more.
And so do I, as I write these lines and ponder the courage of these noble men and women, about the true meaning of life and death, sacrifice and unselfishness, gain and loss, and such fickle things as fortune and fame, so often used as the measure of success.
I presumptuously went down to Constitución as a relief effort volunteer, thinking I was doing humanity a service. Little did I know the lessons of humility, resilience, and thankfulness God had in store for me there, and who I was to learn them from: the poorest of the poor by worldly standards, and yet the richest of the rich in God’s eyes.
May this be a humble tribute to those unsung heroes, who by their shining examples have lifted a powerful beacon to light our way. And mostly, may it be a song of praise to the Creator of all things, who laid it upon their hearts to offer their lives on the altar of sacrifice so that others could live. What a fitting reminder of our Savior’s sacrifice, Who gave His life so that we could freely have life eternal.

Kidnapped and Taken Hostage in Nigeria !

Our son Steve, who is part of the TFI (The Family International) in Nigeria, phoned us some weeks back. "I'm fine, Mom," he told me. "But I do have a prayer request. Today, Simon and Ikumi were taken hostage on their way home. I'm at their house and was planning on going to the Medical Camp site tomorrow. But now I will stay here and help Simon's wife with their children instead. Please pray that they will get released soon, without harm!" Pray we did and following is the official account:

The Story of the Armed Kidnapping in Nigeria

(By Family Care, with collaboration and additions from Josh, Ikumi and others.)

Family Care was about to undertake another Free Rural Medical Aid camp in a remote area of Nigeria, something it has done dozens of times during the past 10 years in 22 states throughout this African country. However, this one would prove to be different.

It all began when Josh, Family Care National Project Manager, received a phone call from Simon and Ikumi, missionaries of The Family International, informing him that they had been kidnapped and were “allowed to call for just one minute”!
[Note: Family Care Nigeria is an independent NGO that has often involved missionaries of The Family International in playing vital roles in the setup and execution of these medical camps, while partnering with dozens of Christian doctors and medical personnel who donate their time and talents to the endeavor.]

After contacting Simon and Ikumi’s respective embassies in Lagos, Josh was contacted by a counterterrorism specialist in Europe who handles hostage situations. She was very helpful and provided immediate tips and counsel on how to talk to kidnappers and handle calls from them, just hours before Josh had the opportunity to speak directly with the kidnapper. The project sponsors also put us in touch with the Nigerian State Secret Service (SSS), which is also quite adept in such matters.

Obviously this development caused many changes in the plans that were underway! Two of the main doctors who are on the management board of Family Care, and who have been participating in medical camps for the past nine years, were already at the staging ground for the medical camp. Meanwhile, another 50 volunteer medical personnel were in various stages of preparation for the lengthy drive to the remote project location. While the volunteer doctors are all Nigerians and therefore not necessarily the same kind of targets as foreigners, we nevertheless felt we should explain the overall situation to them and ask them to discuss and pray about one of three options:

1. Calling off the whole mission, Free Rural Medical Aid project, and the malaria prevention and control project.

2. Only doing the malaria prevention and control aspect of the mission, meaning we could cut back on the number of doctors and other medical personnel who needed to attend.

3. Going ahead with both malaria and medical aspects of the camp, but scaling back the more obvious presence of foreigners while also beefing up security.

Family Care management had appointed Heads of Department (HODs) for each of the teams of volunteer doctors at the medical camp; surgery, dental, ophthalmic, general practitioners, pharmacists, etc., most of whom are General or Active members of TFI. We asked each of the HODs to communicate with the other doctors on their teams and pray about whether they should proceed with the mission and travel to the project site the next day (an 11-hour drive for some of the teams), or call off the project. This discussion with the HODs and doctors involved unanimously confirmed what we had received from the Lord: that we should proceed and try to turn this into a testimony; that even though this evil had befallen us, as Christians we still wanted to follow through with these free medical services; that as an example to the chiefs and people, we were doing this because we loved them with Christ’s love, just as Christ loved us while we were yet sinners (Romans 5:8).

So while plans for the medical camp went forward, Josh remained at home base in order to focus on maintaining close contact with Simon, Ikumi, and their kidnappers.

To provide some background here: Simon and Ikumi had departed from the medical staging area (at 11:15 A.M.) and were en route to Enugu State (a five- or six-hour drive from the project site) to pick up some of the doctors who would be participating in the medical camp. Before the kidnapping occurred, Ikumi had called one of the team to get some information (at 1:41 P.M.). So, based on the timing of her call, we estimated that they were probably somewhere between Rivers State and Enugu at the time of the kidnapping incident.

Ikumi writes of the kidnapping incident itself: “While driving, we heard shooting behind us, and then saw men with guns in front, who also started shooting. We figured it wasn't a good idea to reverse, so we pulled over and tried to lie low. It was roughly 2:30 P.M. on day one.

“Five armed men then commandeered our vehicle at gunpoint, with some climbing in the back of our pickup, and others squishing us between them in the seat as they headed off the highway and into the bush.

“We were desperately praying, and the Lord spoke to me in prophecy and made three things very clear: 1) I would not be harmed. 2) We would be released in a week. 3) I would be able to talk to the kidnappers about the Lord and our work.

“As we bounced down a dirt road, I tried to explain to one of the men (who turned out to be the main boss for that group) about our missionary work, and showed him a brochure so he could see photos of our work, and an Activated magazine, which he took and looked over.

“After driving for some time, they pulled over and looted the vehicles, and at that point we realized that they had kidnapped six people (three men and three women), in addition to us. Just before the main man got out of our pickup, he said, ‘You know, someone gave us a tip that you were coming this way.’

“By this time we had also been given the opportunity to make a call, so Simon called Josh in Lagos.

“After witnessing our kidnappers beat up two of the Nigerian hostages, we were put back in our pickup and driven deeper into the bush. It was dark by then. We got out and walked to where they told us to sit down. We had no idea what was going to happen, and we sat there for about half an hour. Most of us hostages decided to lie down and sleep right there on the ground. By then, it had been about 18 hours since Simon and I had had any food or water. Before we went to sleep, the kidnappers came around and blindfolded the men.

“All through the night, we kept getting a bright flashlight shone in our faces.”

Early the next morning, day two, Josh received a call from Ikumi, on Simon's cell phone, the second call since the announcement from Simon that they had been apprehended. Ikumi said that they had not been harmed, but that the conditions were bad and they were out in the bush.

Ikumi resumes her story: “When day dawned, they brought a jerry can of water, and after everyone drank, they blindfolded the other women. Then they started telling everyone to call their people to demand money, and getting very physical and beating up some of our fellow hostages. Most of them emerged with blood running down their faces, so that by the time each talked to their people by phone, they were in tears or crying out in pain, illustrating how serious the situation was.

“I tried not to look at all this, as that would have severely unnerved me. I don’t like to see people getting hurt or suffering pain, especially at another person’s hands. I knew they wanted to freak us out, some kind of psychological thing.

“When they got to us, one guy tapped my jaw, asking us why we didn't want to call our people. I calmly looked up at him and told him I had no phone. Then he went and got the phone for me. I called Josh.”

When Ikumi called, Josh could hear a kidnapper in the background prompting her, saying in a strong Nigerian accent, “Tell them we want 100 billion!” Because Ikumi did not understand what the kidnapper was saying, Josh asked to speak with him. Josh surmised he was probably in an armed gang, not necessarily a member of MEND* or some other political group that tends to run a more sophisticated operation. When Josh asked him his name, or what he should call him, the kidnapper answered “Killer.” *[Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta, one of the largest militant groups in the Niger Delta region of Nigeria]

Josh had already explained that he was a missionary, and he went on to explain that we were not in a position to offer ransom, which is what they were demanding.

About an hour later, Ikumi called back, this time on another cell phone, and asked Josh to call back the number that showed on his phone. This indicated that this was probably a gang with a pay-as-you-go phone who don't want to have to pay the cost of the call!

When Josh called back and spoke to the kidnapper briefly, he asked to speak to Simon, and reassured him that someone was with his wife and kids, and that they were getting all the support they needed.

Simon confirmed that they were being treated okay, but said that conditions were bad and that he felt he might be coming down with malaria, as they were sleeping in the open. We then added to this and asked the kidnappers if because of Simon's age and the fact that he had multiple serious health problems, was there a way that we could urgently send medication that Simon needed to the camp. This seemed to have worried them, as they obviously didn’t want to be slowed down by having to move a sick or incapacitated hostage around in the bush.

When Josh again spoke with the kidnapper, he said not to call him again until the ransom money was ready to be deposited, at which time Josh was to call this same new phone number. Josh relayed this to the German security officer as well as the Nigerian State Secret Service, to see if they could triangulate the general location of both this cell phone number and Simon’s cell phone, since the kidnappers and our folks were together in the same location.

Josh was then able to speak to the kidnapper for some time on the phone, witnessing and talking about the Lord and TFI’s missionary work in Nigeria, explaining that he had given 14 years of his life and youth as a missionary to support and develop this country spiritually and physically. Two points we made very clear: 1) If our missionaries were harmed at any time, Josh would no longer take his call or call back, and the case would be handed to the police, and 2) Josh would only speak to him after first being allowed to speak with Simon or Ikumi. He agreed and stuck to his word throughout the negotiations. When Josh stopped witnessing, the kidnapper asked in an annoyed tone, “Are you through preaching? I don’t want to hear any more of this … don’t call me again till you have the money!”

Ikumi writes, “I don’t know all the details of the conversations our kidnapper had with Josh, but the main guy toned down his intensity afterwards. Of course, we were praying desperately for Josh the whole time. Josh had also let us know that a worldwide prayer request had been sent out for us, which was very encouraging.”

Meanwhile, the Family Care medical camp was scheduled to kick off the following day.

(At varying times throughout the year, the Family Care Nigeria team gathers 50–60 volunteer doctors and medical personnel—which includes a full spectrum of general practitioners, surgeons, gynecologists, optometrists, ophthalmologists, dentists, nurses, and logistical staff—and they converge in rural areas of the Niger Delta states to host a weeklong free health care program for the local people and surrounding communities.

Typically, people show up by the thousands. One of the first organizational steps is crowd control. Then each attendee is assigned a treatment card, is seen by a general practitioner, and is referred to specific treatment according to their diagnosis. So all attendees—men, women and children—meet with a general practitioner and receive basic medical tests, including a blood pressure test, as part of their medical consultation. And this year a separate malaria screening and treatment program had been added.

After the initial medical consultation, anyone in need of further care, such as eye treatment and/or operations, is then directed to the proper specialist and section, and those with dental needs to the dental section. The final stop for diagnosed patients is the pharmacy, where the pharmaceutical team tirelessly dispenses free medication, filling hundreds of free prescriptions daily during the weeklong medical project.)

We had decided to really scale down the presence of foreigners, although this forced us to improvise a great deal, as well as lean more heavily on the Nigerian HODs than ever before. They all rose to the occasion, with a minimum of supervision from the foreign project managers and coordinators already on location, who for the first two days of the camp operated under the equivalent of “house arrest” in their hotels, and were only able to communicate via cell phone with the HODs, due to the security lockdown which the local security officials had enforced.

Only when it was determined that the kidnapping had taken place in another state was the lockdown lifted, meaning that the nearby foreigners could travel to the site of the medical camp. At that point, others from the organizing team were also able to join the rest of the team on location. Our sponsors offered to fly us down and arranged armored car pickups for us at the airport, as well as beefing up our security in general. So we were again able to travel freely to the medical camp, though only when accompanied by a heavily armed security detail.

All in all, it was no small feat that the medical and malaria camp got underway, with so much changing from hour to hour.

Meanwhile, back to our dear team members, Simon and Ikumi, who write: “In the absence of an mp3 player, we sang songs that we knew by heart. Just a little note of thanks here to the Memory Book songwriters and singers, Emmanuel Gilligan, Philip Johnson, Ezra Milestone, Jerry Paladino, Francesco and Cryssy, and a host of others. Your songs helped to keep our spirits calm and helped us pass on that spirit of peace and calm to the other hostages, as they later attested.

“We sat around all day, the boredom broken only when someone would make a call out or when calls would come in. Otherwise, the kidnappers were just sitting around, cracking jokes, telling stories, etc. One of the guards started tuning in to what I was saying, laughing at my jokes. More then started listening, as we sang hymns and traditional Igbo songs with them.

“At one point I asked to sit farther from the guys. When asked why, I told the kidnappers that I wanted to take off my shoes and socks to air out my feet, but didn’t want to annoy them with bad odors. They laughed and agreed. When I settled into a spot a little ways away, it turned out to be one of the lookout points. So when the guard came back, I was able to talk to him in depth and pray with him to receive the Lord.

“The main guy situated himself a little farther away from the rest of the kidnappers, about 20 meters from us. I prayed, ‘Lord, it’s difficult to talk to them when they’re all so far away. Please engineer circumstances so that they’re closer, at least within speaking distance.’

“One man had walked off and half an hour later returned with ‘pure water’ and green mangoes. (“Pure water” is a Nigerian product of water in a sachet, known to be anything but pure.) He passed it around and then brought some over to us. We were thankful for at least something to eat and drink. They also brought us a little something to eat for dinner.

“I was allowed more and more freedom as the day wore on, and I walked around gathering leaves and ferns to make our place a little more comfortable to sit on. I could see the kidnappers were watching us very closely, but now with less of a hostile glare.

“Though I can’t say I slept very well that night, I at least had a little plastic bag that I ripped open and lay or sat on. Simon also had something at first, then it was taken from him, so we improvised with leaves and ferns.”

By this time, Josh had spoken with the main kidnapper a number of times, now doing so from an embassy while the calls were being monitored by security people and diplomats. This allowed Josh to get direct advice from hostage experts as well as to counsel with them regarding when to stand our ground and when to relax things somewhat.

By this time, after having received a steady witness from Josh, as well as from Ikumi and Simon, the kidnappers had not only dropped their exorbitant ransom demands but had become very friendly.

Ikumi adds this perspective, “The main guy’s tune changed after talking with us throughout the day, as well as to Josh. He started referring to Josh as ‘my brother’ and to us as ‘my friends.’”

We now hoped that Simon and Ikumi would be released soon. It appeared that ransoms were being paid by the families of the other hostages, and it appeared that the kidnappers were going to let Simon and Ikumi go at the same time. Through the contacts we had established, we arranged for an SSS security vehicle and armed detail to pick them up and escort them home, though this was on a standby basis, given the uncertainty of the situation and the location where they were being held. Finally, when our last call seemed to confirm that we had won their release, Richard, a Family member who runs a business in Port Harcourt, helped us organize a driver and vehicle to retrieve them.

Ikumi writes, “On day four of our captivity, we overheard the main kidnapper telling Josh that it was all a mistake, that we were kidnapped by accident, that he had wanted us released sooner, etc.

“So Josh sent a driver and a vehicle to pick us up. The kidnappers blindfolded the driver so that he wouldn’t know exactly where we were being held, and escorted him to our location.

“Everyone else had paid their ransom, so we were all going to be set free together. The main kidnapper, whom we had now befriended, even gave us each some money to help us get to our destination! He also suggested that he’d like us to sing at his daughter’s christening, but then realized it might jeopardize his security! Simon and I both gave him our phone numbers and e-mail addresses, so he could keep in touch if he wants to.

“As we walked out of the bush, with one man in front and one man behind us armed with AK-47s, they suddenly told us to stop. They cocked their semi-automatic weapons, while our hearts beat all the more rapidly. Then they told us to move, and to move fast. So off we went at a dash.

“Remember that most of us hadn't moved so much in the last four days, so people were easily out of breath and sweating heavily. But they told us to move faster, all the way to a dirt road, where we saw our vehicle and piled in. It was a five-seater, but we crammed in nine people. All of us hostages had to duck down so that we couldn't tell where we were coming from. After driving for some time along rough roads, they left us with instructions as to which roads to take from that point.

“We learned that another band of kidnappers had heard of ‘white hostages’ and were moving into the area to try to seize us! We were warned to follow instructions carefully if we valued our lives.

“We followed closely and ended up at the main road and some form of civilization. They had given us phones so that we could make contact, and we were soon on our way to Port Harcourt, under the protection of well-armed members of the State Security Service.

“As we drove, the other hostages began to tell their stories, focusing on how wicked the kidnappers were. Since that was far from inspiring, Simon and I suggested we pray and thank the Lord for His mercy in getting all of us out of that situation alive, and everyone calmed down. I prayed a prayer of thanksgiving and prayed for safekeeping the remainder of the way.

“After what seemed like a lifetime, we arrived at the airport, where we met up with Jan and Paul (from my mission base) and some people from my embassy. They wanted to greet me and see how I was, if I were whole in body and mind, etc. One of them called my dad, and I talked with him for a few minutes. We then got on a flight to Lagos, where we met up with Josh and then went to our respective embassies for debriefing and medical checkups.

“That night we stayed at Josh’s home, and the first thing I wanted to do was shower. I washed my hair three times and scrubbed my body at least four times for some semblance of cleanliness.

“Thank you all so much for your support and prayers during this experience. We kept quoting Psalm 91, and prayer and praise really helped too. It’s amazing how many little prayers were answered and how many little miracles the Lord did on our behalf. We didn’t get any bug bites, there was no rain at all, we had a shady place to stay, had some food and water, relative freedom, didn’t suffer any physical abuse, etc.

“Yes, there was loss. Simon and I both had laptops stolen. My camera and phone are also gone. But we thank God for life and for caring, loving friends like you who were faithful to be by our side in prayer.”

Thank God for this miraculous answer to prayer! And to top it off, the medical and malaria camp was a major success as well.

(As the thousands of attendees depart after benefiting from the free Family Care program, they often pause to thank the obviously overworked volunteers for providing them with the otherwise inaccessible or unaffordable medical care.

This is especially true of those who undergo life-altering surgeries, who know full well that if the program hadn’t come to their village, they might have continued to suffer indefinitely, resulting in a difficult and perhaps shortened life. For most it is therefore a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

From the perspective of the medical and volunteer personnel, the overwhelming feeling of satisfaction and fulfillment is indescribable. Seeing crying children now treated and calm, and adults walking away with a new strength and bounce to their step, many having recuperated from surgery, some who’d had double cataracts now with sight restored, and then experiencing those same individuals embracing their loved ones and turning to again thank you, is priceless!

Many of the medical volunteers commented that they took part in order to give, but realized that they’d gained much more in return, so that in the end they could not call their participation a sacrifice.)

Despite the setbacks, challenges and changes, the Lord strengthened the doctors to give their all. The result: Over 2,800 people at the project (as well as one of the kidnappers) gave their life to Christ. The surgeons and theatre team in a converted and sterilized hall, using Family Care’s mobile theatre equipment, operated on 107 patients. Ophthalmologists performed 28 sight-restoring eye surgeries, also in a converted room, using a mobile ophthalmic unit. Optometrists screened and tested 806 patients and gave out 540 free prescription eyeglasses and lenses. Dentists molded dentures, carried out extractions and S&P on 268 patients. The general practitioners consulted 2,782 patients, with the pharmacists dispensing free medication to the same number. In all, 3,991 patients received free medical treatment and medication.

On the malaria control and prevention front: 1,627 members of the community were screened for malaria parasites using “Rapid Diagnostic Test” (DTTs) kits. Some 250 were given free medication and treated for malaria. A total of 6,245 community members received training and malaria awareness lectures or seminars, with 520 state health workers receiving additional specialized and extensive training. Finally, 8,300 Long-Lasting Insecticide Treated Nets (LLITNs) were distributed free of charge, to be hung over families’ and individual’s beds, helping prevent malaria and mosquito bites.

Its All Good

Sometimes I think I'm somewhat old fashioned. Not so much in the way I think, but I don't always know the latest "in" jargon. Part of that might be due to the fact that I spent over 20 years of my life living in a country where I did not fully understand the language (Thailand), although I spent a lot of time studying it and doing my best to communicate in Thai. Although I had a lot of friends from Western Europe and the States, I wasn't watching TV from those countries, so I guess I missed out on some of the trends, etc. Not that it bothers me. But sometimes I won't quite understand the slang or some joke from those places. Once again, I don't count it as loss, as I have had (so far..I should say I am having) so many amazing experieces rich in culture from exotic foreign countries and the people from those places, that far outweigh any loss of being in the centre of the latest trends. OK, that's off my chest. Now to share a little inspiration that happened to me the other day.

Its All Good

I think that is the current term for something that I would say: "All things work together for good" (That is a verse from the Bible: Romans 8:28), or the old saying: "Look for the silver lining" (Which refers to the silver lining of a cloud when the sun is behind it, waiting to shine) or, "Keep your eye on the doughnut and not upon the hole!" ..etc. Anyway, the other day I had an experience to remind me to keep my eyes on the good, as its out there if we look for it!

I recently moved. I went from a house with a large private back garden, to a first floor flat with no garden. Well, I guess you can call it "communal gardens" as they say, and there are some really beautiful flowers next to my building and nice green grass and trees with pretty pink buds. But its not the kind of place that I can be alone in. The weather was really nice--warmish and sunshine and I just had to get outside. I was feeling sorry for myself, thinking that if I was back in my old house I could pop out the kitchen door for a 10 minute walk or run around my garden, or sit down for a few minutes and bask in the glorious out doors, or exercise, etc. It was so easy then. Now I would have to put on shoes, brush my hair, lock up my flat and walk down the stairs. Then I would have to decide where to go. Since I might run into people, I would have to be relatively presentable.

I decided to go for it. The call of the outdoors won and I did the 10 minutes of prep required and set off.

A few minutes into my walk I met three young girls enjoying their school break. They were very friendly and greeted me with big smiles and hellos. One girl asked me if I wanted to buy some flowers. I didn't see any so I asked her where they were. She pointed to a patch of buttercups growing nearby. I told her I didn't have any money with me so she told me it was for free. Not wanting to dissapoint them I told them yes, I would like some flowers and she ran off and picked two buttercups which she gave to me.They were so excited that I accepted them. "You are our first customer!", they told me."We are going to sell flowers to everyone that walks this way!" After chatting a few more moments I walked on, truly inspired by the loving innocence and enthusiasm of those young girls. That never would have happened in my private back garden. Now I am realizing that the encounters with the people that I meet on my walks more than make up for the relative inconvenience of not having a private garden. I am so glad that I am "forced" to get out of my own private world to mingle with others. Its all good.

Fund Raising Charity Event

Recently we colaborated with the Hasmonean Girl's High School in North West London for a fund raising charity event. The school held a fair to raise funds for a school for children with special needs. There were different activities and along with members from other Family International Centres, we contributed face painting, balloon twisting and a children's magic show. Some of the special needs children were there also. I was priviliged to paint the face  of one girl who wanted to be a tiger. She couldn't talk or point, but her carer kept pointing to the pictures and asking her if she wanted that one until she noticed a slight nod of her head. Afterwards, she had such a big grin on her face--it was very rewarding. Later on, while I was painting a boy, another special needs girl who was so interested in the paints, jumped into my lap, in order to get a closer look. She wasn't small and her carer had quite a time trying to get her off! Ha! It was a rewarding day and we were happy to help a good cause.