Through Orange Colored Glasses

Sacrifice. It means that you give up something. But it means that you give up something that you miss. If I don’t really suffer a loss–it may be a gift, but it isn’t necessarily a sacrifice. Emmanuel makes sacrifices.

If you have ever heard me talk much in the past couple of years or read my writings, you have heard of Emmanuel. I first met him in Kisumu after he walked two days to see me without knowing whether he would even get to talk to me. He told me that he was a teacher living on a very small pension. He told me that he was a farmer in a famine (the first I had heard of what became the historic famine of the Horn of Africa). Then he told me that he had 126 AIDS orphans on his farm. It was true. But not for long. He later had 319. Now he has over 400. And he has a second place now where he takes care of another 300 war orphans. He has the right name—God with us.

One of the greatest regrets of my life was not helping him on his initial visit. He merely thanked me and gave my country and me a prayer of blessing. But things change. You can always repent. And people who have heard the story of Emmanuel have been moved to help his children.

When I first went to his farm, I realized that they didn’t have hardly any food. They didn’t have water. They didn’t have electricity. The children were sleeping in the open on the ground. They had a makeshift school. Their clothes were tattered at best. And there were children everywhere.

Emmanuel can truly leave no child behind. If an orphan is abandoned or without hope, Emmanuel lets him come to his farm. There is not enough, but shared food and the spirit of Christ somehow are better than loneliness and despair. And people have responded to the story. They needed food, and you have sent food. They had no water, but you drilled a well. They had no place to sleep, but you gave them dorms and mattresses. They had no place to learn, but you gave them classrooms. And on and on it goes. It sounds like Matthew 25 to me. As you have done to the least of these, you have done to me. And it is a little bit easier to make the connection when his name is Emmanuel, isn’t it?

But Emmanuel is sick. He has diabetes. He has lost probably 50 pounds since I saw him six months ago. I couldn’t figure out what was happening. Then I realized that there was still such a shortage of food since he was bringing in all these famine victims, and Emmanuel was giving up his medicine and his own food to help give more food to the children. That’s sacrifice. I don’t know how to describe someone with that kind of passion for children. He wears the right name, doesn’t he?

I made a covenant with Emmanuel. I told him that I would make sure that he got some more funding for his personal medicine and food if he would eat his food and take his prescriptions. I told him that we needed him alive. I told him to train his 16 personal children to help him with the load—they are an army of teachers. I told him that we would try to help get more food and lodging there.

It seems to me that we really needed him to not make such sacrifices. It seems that his sacrifices were too much for the common good. But then again, I don’t often comprehend sacrifices and why they are needed if not essential. I pondered the cross. Emmanuel.

Where are all the orphans? You read about the millions of orphans. You hear statistics on how they are going to die for various reasons. But you probably never see them. So you wonder if they really exist. If you are wondering where they are, I found them.

I’m in Kitale now reflecting on orphans. I’m at an orphanage that is our oldest CRF work in Africa. Two of my old friends and their family run it—Jason and Amy Beagle. There is nothing like being with an old friend. I was Jason’s professor. I performed their wedding. I was their preacher. Jason was my son’s boss. We just have a bunch of shared experiences. And I am so proud of how they give their lives to helping orphans. They just don’t come any better than them. And I have seen how with a long-term plan of help and some gifted leaders like them, there really can be some hope for these children. But so many others are not getting the blessings that Jason and Amy give.

Why are children orphans here? I have seen three reasons in the last couple of days. When I got to Turkana, I saw the biggest famine that I could imagine. There was simply no food. Many people live in this desert, and others have made a pilgrimage here from Sudan, Ethiopia, and Somalia living as refugees. After dedicating a well in one of the worst areas, I walked with the tribal chief to a big tree that had somehow survived. Under the tree were about a hundred little orphans. I didn’t understand why they were there. But he told me that CRF had been feeding them. I asked who they were and why there were here. He said that they were orphans, and their parents had died trying to get to a place of relief. So they community just dumped them here because it was close to the new water. People figured they would have a better chance of surviving if they were near the water. There was a woman in front of the children. She thanked me for buying her a blackboard. I didn’t know that I had done so. But she was teaching all these orphans on the blackboard about vowels as they sat there without parents hoping that CRF would continue to bring food. The chief thanked me for what we were doing for them. He asked me if some day they could have a better school. He asked me if some day they could have a church. Seeing our generosity, he thought it would be good if all of them would become Christians. We really didn’t do that much. The needs were so much greater than anything we had done. But I saw one way orphans are made. Their parents starve to death.

Next I went to Mt. Elgon. You cannot imagine the road up it. We had to have a special 4-wheel drive vehicle to make it, and then I wondered if we would. It is one of the most beautiful places you will ever see. Seeing the little grass huts scattered all over the side of the mountain made a breathtaking sight. But Mt. Elgon has not been a pretty place. It has been a place of war. It was not a tribal war with one tribe fighting against each other. But it was one tribe fighting with each other. So yesterday I met with a bunch of war orphans. There were 3000 war orphans just in the community where I was. CRF feeds about 300 of them. I’m not sure what the others do. They wish they had a school. They wish they had places to live. They wish they had their parents. But the stories that they tell are horrific. The psychological damage to their lives is beyond description. So many of them saw their parents killed. Their stories tell of what happened after the deaths. The bodies of their fathers and mothers were often cut into pieces by machetes right before their eyes. How do you get over this? I told them my message of “hope” as I do everywhere. But you wondered if they could believe it. It seems when a child is orphaned because of famine or disease that there is not much you could do about it. But the reason for these orphans seemed so senseless. War is so avoidable.  And if you are an orphan from famine or disease, it doesn’t make you fearful of people. But when you are an orphan from war, it creates an unhealthy distrust and fear of people. Maybe this type of orphan is the saddest of all. But what is even sadder, they are also living in the famine and surrounded by the diseases.

Then there are the AIDS orphans. This killer is still huge. I think people have heard about it so much that they don’t get moved as much anymore. But we still have a new AIDS orphan every 14 seconds. There still is not a cure for AIDS. Progress is being made. But unless we go the course over the next decade, we are going to go backwards on this pandemic. Samson and Ruth invited us late in the day to visit with their work. And at their little place in Marofu, we encountered a bunch of AIDS orphans that they were helping. They had to be the sweetest kids that you have ever seen. About 140 children met us at our vehicle singing. Over half of them had lost their parents through AIDS. Only about a third of them would be HIV positive themselves, but how were they going to make it through life. Where would they live? How would they eat? How would they go to school? And then you saw loving people like Samson and Ruth doing everything in their power to just keep them going one more day.

I’m overwhelmed with orphans. CRF was started to help them. I can’t believe the numbers. I can’t believe how helpless they are and yet how wonderful their spirits are. I am thankful for the people here like the Beagles, Francis, Emmanuel, and Ruth and Samson who give every day of their lives to do everything they can in their lives to help these kids. I’m thankful for donors who read blogs like this who give to save these children’s lives. Orphans are there. They are more than pictures on late night cable channels. No, you can touch them.

You always want to see things done right. And they were today. I love CRF. I love the way it helps people. And I have never seen it work better than today. I thank God for our Famine Relief Director, Francis Bii, and Maxson Kiptisya, our minister in Turkana. They don’t get any better. But you have to hear the story before you will understand why I am so thankful for them. So here it goes . . .

How can you not be a little bit afraid? It’s the worst famine in my lifetime. I have heard the stories of relief workers being kidnapped and the perils on the road, but we went anyway. Our trucks started nine hours before I left. I flew over the desert and joined them in Lodwar. As I peered out the window of the aircraft, I could see the scenery changing–it just kept getting more barren with each mile.

Getting out of the airplane, I could see the orange. All of our relief workers were lined up on the outside of the runway fence wearing shirts that said—“Orange is the Color of Hope.” I knew all of them with the exception of our new Turkana minister, Maxson. His shirt was a bit different. It was bright orange with a big white “CRF” on it.

Turkana is in the northwest corner of Kenya. Because of its remoteness, some don’t even consider it a part of Kenya. It is where the Turkana tribe lives, an extremely primitive and colorful people. And Turkana and Dadaab are two of the very worst areas in the whole Horn of Africa famine. The trip there was a journey into the middle of nowhere. I don’t know how our driver made it. There were no roads, and because of the drought the land is like sand. At times I wondered if our 4-wheel drive truck would sink in the sand, and we would have to push it. And it just kept getting drier and drier. I knew we were in trouble when we started passing the camels. I’ve been to Africa before—but this is like in the movies. This is where lions run wild. This is where you see the people in bright shades of dress and undress. As I got nearer to my destination, I saw their bright colors on the horizon. And you couldn’t count them. They were everywhere. And they were starving. And they had no water. The nearest water was a day’s journey. These were the world’s ultimate survivors.

It was so much like a scary movie except that it wasn’t a movie. When we got out of the truck, they surrounded us. Then they started singing. And I mean singing. It was that eerie kind of sound that you expect in the jungle. Only there was no jungle here—just desert.

All of us were excited about the same thing—water. They had none. We had just drilled a well there. But they waited until I got there to dedicate it before a single drop was going to enter anyone’s mouth. And they were prepared too. They had a big orange ribbon for me to cut on the pump of the new well. Where did they find an orange ribbon in the middle of nowhere?

The suspense was killing everyone. They couldn’t wait to taste the water. I was to be the first to pump the well. And I pumped. And I pumped. And no water came out. I had already been introduced as the one responsible. Would I be held responsible for no water? Surrounded by the crowd, I wondered what was going to happen to the giver of a dry well. But the tribe was cordial. They waited patiently as we disassembled the well to figure out what the problem was.

Since they were going to have to wait, the Turkana people decided to use the time for making speeches. They continually thanked CRF, contributors, and me for the water—even though there was none. They wouldn’t stop thanking us for what was yet to be seen.

Well, after the speeches, they were all reminded that even though there was no water, there was still food. Tons of it. So I got the privilege of handing out the food. We gave them heaping containers full of maize—no stingy portions.

And then to celebrate—it was a first-class, major dance. Have you ever seen movies where the Maasai dance? They yell, laugh, make funny noises but mainly jump up and down. And they jump up high! I don’t know exactly how it happened, but a group of the women grabbed me and pulled me into the dance. We jumped up and down for what seemed like a lifetime. I was hoping someone in the desert knew CPR. I was hoping that no one was filming this on video to blackmail me. And then they laughed and laughed and laughed. It was an event like no other in my time.

Do you remember when Jesus needed a second touch on the blind guy? Jesus touched him once, but he didn’t get all of his sight. He saw men as trees walking. And then Jesus touched him again, and all was well. Our well needed a second touch. We changed a part and put it all back together again. And when we pumped this time—water!!!!!

It was a free for all. People were diving and stretching and crowding just to get a drop of this precious water. Everything in their lives had changed in that moment.

It was a great gift to give to them. Our water projects in the Horn came from CRF, students, individuals, and churches—in other words, ordinary good people. But what a gift! They told me to tell all of you “Thank You!”  We read together part of Psalm 107 that tells us that we have a God who can turn scorched land into flowing streams. And they raised their hands and shouted praises to our God.

I’ve decided that there is nothing better than giving. It is the essence of the gospel. It is John 3:16. It is the essential in a response to the gospel. But it is not only the pivotal part of a walk of faith; it is also the source of your own personal enjoyment and purpose.

But I don’t think you can ever understand giving if you are not willing to receive which is also John 3:16. So now it was my turn.

They brought me their greatest resource—a goat. In a barren land filled with starvation, how can you give up your goat? But I took it and put it in the back of the truck. I took it because I understand sacrifice. I know that the only way they will be whole is by also giving. And they wanted to give their best and most costly possession. Then they gave me their greatest product—a broom. It is what they are famous for—they make beautiful and effective brooms. It is their mainstay economically. They wanted to share what they were gifted in producing. And if that were not enough, they wanted to give me their greatest honor—the position of elder. They couldn’t make me a chief, but they could designate me to be their elder that is a position of esteem, honor, and favor. I was given the elder’s stick and declared an “elder” of the Turkanas. My great friend Audie also received the same position.

If all this were still not enough, they gave CRF land. Certainly it is desert land, but it is their land. We are going to let them farm our newly acquired land since we have water and can make a good start now with drip irrigation. We will pay them with food that they are helping produce themselves. Some day when the famine is over maybe we will produce a crop that is greater than their needs. Perhaps it will be sold. Maybe then there will be enough funds for their children to have a school.

What can you say? They gave their best. It’s not their fault that they are experiencing the worst famine in fifty years. They don’t want to be dependent on our gifts. But they are at the moment. I left wondering how we could do anything less than help these people. I love these people. They are now my people.

Today was a day of nicknames. We left Eldoret for what I might call the jungle. They called it undeveloped rural villages. We took off early for an eight-hour journey on some of the worst roads imaginable. Our destination was to be an area called Barwessa. This region has been devastated and ravished by the famine in the Horn of Africa.

And by the way on this little trip, I got to meet with three different chiefs. How cool is that? All of them were petty grateful that CRF had brought water to their village in the last few months—so there were no scary moments being called before the chiefs.

“Medicine.” At our first community, the village elder spoke after the chief. He had an interesting but puzzled look on his face. Actually, I couldn’t understand anything he was saying. But I could tell by the other people’s faces that he was the most important person in the community.  He was an old man. He was the teller of the stories and the dispenser of the wisdom. After the ceremony, all of the people there went to sit under some big shade trees and drink Coca-Colas and fried tortilla-like bread. It seemed like we should have drank the water, but I like Coke (and it is so much better in Africa).

The elder sat down beside me. His name was Luka. He said it was like the author of the gospel. In a few minutes, he stood up and made a big spectacle of what he was going to do next. He shook my hand. Then he shook my hand with some special tribal twist to it. Then he hugged me on one side. Then he hugged me on the other. Then he hugged me again. And again.  And again. Then he made a series of statements and comments to me in such a way that everyone in the village could ponder them.

Luka stated that he doesn’t know how someone like me could come here and find what was always here but nobody knew before where it was. He obviously was talking about water, but I think he was probably on a deeper philosophical plane too. He said that the water was always there, but no one could find it. And they had given up years ago. Then he said you came and told us where it was. And it was there. He thanked me for helping them find what they were looking for but couldn’t find. And he thanked me for saving them.

Then he bestowed on me my new name—“Medicine.” He said that you are Medicine from the sky. He said God sent me. He said that ever since I got them the well, there was no typhoid. In the past, all of them had typhoid and were dying. Now all of them had clean water and no diseases. To say the least, he was thankful. Obviously, he gave me more credit than I deserve. But I liked this man. I think I could have received compliments and hugs from him for a long time.

“Moses.” Well, we made it to our next site, and we were greeted by an abundance of people in bright African clothing singing. In fact, it was just like the last place. All kinds of children were gathered in the front and singing loudly. They were CRF sponsored kids. They were there to make a statement—a statement of thanks. Oh, I was also asked to pump some water from the new well just like at the last place.  I made some comment about not ever being there before, and Priscilla, the chosen spokesperson because of her beautifully spoken English, corrected me and said that they all knew me. Seeing my confused look, she said they had known me for a long time by my works. She said my works got there a long time before my body did. I think I like that analysis. I think it may be profound. I think I’m going to meditate on it a little longer before I comment much more.

And then Francis Bii, our CRF leader in the famine relief effort in Africa, took over to introduce me. Francis is like my son, so I knew it would be good. He introduced me as “Moses.” He spoke of the incredible drought in their desert and how they had been told it was impossible to get water there. Then he said, I was like “Moses” and had struck the rock, and there was a miracle in the desert. Water now flowed. I think Francis probably gave me a little too much credit for the event. But I think I could have listened to Francis all day or maybe even all my life. There is something kind of nice about being complimented. There is something kind of nice about being appreciated. I’ll take a comparison to any great Bible leader. You don’t have to comment. I know the differences. It was just kind of fun seeing people so thankful. You don’t get that enough.

“The President.” Next place. More singing. More children. More water. But this time—they had put a rope around it so I could cut the cord and make an initial start to this dedication and even pump the first bit of water. The chief got up and kept calling me the “President.” He never mentioned my name. I don’t think anyone ever did. It was just the President. Although someone said maybe we should use the term “angel” instead—so I was pretty glad they just kept with President. The chief yelled—“We love Presidents!” I wasn’t sure what he meant by this until I remembered that Obama was from Kenya, and he said that I lived in Obamaland (what a lot of Kenyans call the U.S.). Here is how he described Barwessa: No water. No food. No rain. As a result, the chief was pretty glad that CRF had developed a mango farm, built bee hives, started schools for orphans, brought in tons of food, and drilled a water well for the community about fifteen miles closer than the water that was giving them typhoid. He said he liked sitting close to the President. I don’t really know who he thinks I am, but I think his view is pretty elevated. But to be honest, I kind of liked sitting by the chief too.

The chief (I call him that instead of by his name too) said that he doesn’t understand why a president would come from such a long distance to such an insignificant place just to give a gift. To be honest, it really isn’t that much trouble for me–but it is a question that I think about on another plane with God coming here for such an absolutely insignificant person like me (no matter what the people said today) to bring me the best gift of all—the gift of life, His Son.

Truly, it was a day of seeing overwhelming need. But it was a day of seeing how you can really change some lives with a little bit of work and money—and a whole lot of God. And it was a day to start the nicknames. I will get some more this week when I see my friend Emmanuel. He gives everyone a nickname. He usually calls me, “Papa.” But I kind of like it when he calls my friend Jason Beagle—“Dog.” But he calls himself “Hyena” so how can you complain?

I forgot to tell you that I did get some gifts from the people too. The first place gave me a goat. I usually don’t re-gift things, but it wouldn’t fit in my suitcase. Then I also got a watermelon. And then last of all, I received an orange. Finally, someone really did know me.

Wow, it takes a long time to get where you are going sometimes. It took nearly 3 days of travel to finally get to my starting point in Eldoret, Kenya. My main mission was dealing with famine victims, but I had a chance to drop in on the CRF school there. Francis Bii started it about four years ago for some AIDS orphans who lived in the Haruma slum. I picked a great day for a visit. They were having their big awards assembly.

When this school started, it was difficult to imagine that it would have any potential of survival. But when the zone of schools (around 50) devoted their awards today, our school was number two in the entire zone.  Three of our little children were awarded best scholastic achievement in a particular discipline. And one of our teachers was recognized as the best teacher in the zone. And another was number two. Not too shabby for a school that didn’t seem to have a chance other than the fact that the Lord does impossible things.

But my day was made when a widow came up in the assembly giving an impromptu talk. She spoke about the death of her husband and the total poverty that she lived in. With tears in her eyes, she shared the story of her desperation and desire to do anything to get her child in school. And then right when she was about to hit the streets, her daughter was invited to come to our school. And a CRF donor committed to sponsor her child. I wish you could have seen her joy. I wish you could have witnessed her faith. I don’t even know who the little girl’s sponsor is since I’m already in Africa. But I’m thanking God for whomever it is who gave a child a future and a mother a life.

Then I met with our relief workers who carry tons of food to refugees at Turkana and Dadaab. They told of the dangers of the road to Dadaab. Stories were shared of snipers and how the militant Muslims would try to blow up trucks. When they asked me to pray, they didn’t ask for a petition for their own safety. No, they asked me if I would pray that God would touch the militants’ heart in such a way that these terrorists would see Him and be saved. Instead of being fearful of their next trip, they hoped that someone might see the compassion and love of Christ.

Tomorrow I’m headed up a mountain trail in the middle of nowhere where things are truly changing for the better. There was no water there. They said you couldn’t get water there. But they were wrong. I will have the extreme privilege of dedicating a well tomorrow that is bringing not only water but also salvation to a place called Barwessa. It will be a grueling trip. But it will be worth the journey.

Earlier in the day, I didn’t think that I would ever get to my destination. I have to be honest that I was losing my patience. But the people here make my journey worth it. I’m told that Americans have watches, and Africans have time.

I love this picture. It was sent to Barbie from our daughter-in-law, Emily. Some of the most industrious and smartest people whom I have ever met are the marginalized in Sub-Saharan Africa. They have so much fortitude and inner strength, and they just need a break.

I will be leaving this week to go and help in an area that is full of AIDS, famine and war. The people will be some of the most loving and caring people on earth. But many of them will die soon from a lack of basic resources. We will be trying to get them food and water. And we will also be trying to take care of the orphans produced by the disease, lack of food, and warring people.

There is a popular book out called When Helping Hurts. Although it does have some good material, I don’t really care for the book. I don’t like the title. Most people don’t read the book, but they use the title to justify their reasons for not helping. I realize that not everything works when you try to help people. But I’m tired of people justifying their lack of concern or their lack of action. I wish someone would write a book called When Helping Helps. Some economists from Yale and Columbia recently wrote a book called More Than Good Intentions. They studied charitable works around the world and found that some were good and others were not. Their conclusion was to find one that is helping and support it immensely. And don’t support the ones that aren’t doing a good job. I think that is a good analysis. There are so many good efforts that are really helping people who need some grace. Find them and help.  If a work isn’t helping—don’t.

Anyhow, I will be leaving to help this week. I’d appreciate your prayers. Since I will be going to some refugee camps where relief workers aren’t always welcomed because of some terrorists, my trip will be a bit more dangerous than usual. I’ll try to send some blogs when possible. There isn’t electricity or Internet in some of the places where I will be. But when I get a chance, I’ll try to share a story. So I hope you will check the blog periodically. And certainly I will tell you of some experiences when I get back.

“Hatari.” I think it is the first Swahili word that I ever learned. I remember it because I relate it to the longest line that I have ever stood in to see a movie. Yes, it was the old Ritz theatre in Big Spring, Texas. John Wayne’s new movie attracted so much attention that the line literally went around the block of 4^th and Main Street. For a little kid like me, it was a spellbinding adventure in Africa where John Wayne was in search of Rhinos and other wild animals. I was captivated with the movie and found out that Hatari means “danger.”

Hatari is still prevalent in Africa. I found out about it last week. As Francis Bii, our CRF director of relief in the Horn of Africa, was on the road for Dadaab, he communicated with me about a Hatari situation. CRF brings food to refugee camps in the Horn of Africa. Dadaab was built for about 30,000 refugees and now there are about as many people as in the city of Seattle. So there is simply not enough food and water. Francis was to bring a couple of big truckloads of food into the camp when he asked me if he could turn around. First of all, three other relief workers had just been killed—not from CRF but fellow workers in the effort. And to make matters worse, he had to maneuver around land mines to get there. Yes, enemies were trying to stop relief workers from helping—Hatari.

It is hard to believe that it could be so dangerous to help people. But in this particular effort, relief workers are in great danger of being killed or kidnapped. When you live where I live, it seems inconceivable that you could be in such danger by delivering food. In fact, I usually think of myself as living in a very safe place. Or do I?

Years ago I was teaching a class for some ministers in Uganda. A couple of ministers in Sudan hopped on a bus to travel down for the class. On the way, the Lord’s Resistance Army, or the L.R.A. (a violent terrorist group that kidnaps children and murders adults in Uganda and Sudan) attacked them. The renegade army stopped their bus and started shooting. Two of the people who were on the bus with my students were killed. Persistently, they continued their trek through Uganda and arrived at class about six hours late. They apologized and told their gripping story of why they were tardy.

About a week later, they were leaving to go home. They would have to travel on the same road where they had been attacked previously. As they were talking to each other in Swahili, I heard a word I recognized from my limited vocabulary—“Hatari”. I turned to them and said, “Yes, you are going to a very dangerous place.”

They responded, “No, we said that you are going to a very dangerous place.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Where we are going is dangerous. We might lose our lives. But where you are going it is more dangerous. Because of your wealth, you may lose your soul.”

I don’t think I will ever forget that little reminder. I live in a very dangerous place. Hatari.

My blog usually consists of stories and messages about compassion, mercy and justice. But I want to start this year off with one about Grace—not the doctrine, not the title of one of my books, but the name of an Indonesian young lady.

Barbie and I began our new year with Grace. My oldest son, Patrick, lives in Indonesia. He came home for Christmas. On New Year’s Eve, he introduced us to Grace Go, who had also flown to the U.S. from Indonesia. That evening, he also introduced us to Grace’s parents who had flown to Austin to meet us. We all went out to eat together at the Hula Hut to see the old year out and the new year in. During the meal, Patrick excused himself and walked outside with Grace’s dad. This looked serious to me. When he came back into the restaurant, he pulled out a book with drawings and comments called “Why I Love Grace.” It was quite cute and romantic. But what came next was the big deal. Pat got on his knees, pulled out a ring, and asked Grace to marry him. And she said “YES!” Wow!

Patrick and Grace teach at a Christian school in Jakarta. Indonesia is the most Muslim country in the world, and because of the academic quality of this school, so many of the future leaders of Indonesia will be trained here. It is quite a mission. Jakarta has some of the worst poverty that you will ever see, and yet it is juxtaposed with incredible affluence in the same regions. Indonesia is the third most populous country in the world, and Jakarta has over 10 million people. So you can see the great potential for influence Pat and Grace have there. I am really proud of them.

Anyhow, I wanted to start the year off with a little personal news for all of you. Can you rejoice with the Jones family? I daily pray for God to give me more grace. I just didn’t know how it was going to be displayed this year. We are so blessed to have a beautiful, spiritual, and kind addition to our family—Grace.

One of my family’s favorite Christmas traditions is to watch “A Christmas Carol.” But we don’t just watch any version of it. Every single year we watch “Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol.” It’s my favorite. We sing the songs together. We laugh at the same stuff year after year. And it really isn’t that bad a rendition of Dickens’ classic novel.

The theme of Magoo’s Christmas is summed up in a song. It is the one about “razzleberry dressing” if you remember it. But the chorus has all the animated characters singing in jubilation—“May your Christmas be more glorious than grand!” And perhaps that is the essence of how we miss Christmas and the Christmas spirit. “I hope you have a big Christmas,” we declare. What do we mean by that? Probably that we get a lot more stuff and food than we really need. But what’s a “glorious” Christmas? Isn’t it one that is filled with the awe of the One who came to save us? Isn’t it the spirit of giving that touches the ones too often left out? Isn’t it the kindness and peace that is simply not expressed at other times? It is hard to describe glory, but it is a magnificence of good that shines in the least expected places.

This Christmas Barbie has been getting into “A Christmas Carol” more than usual. In fact, she went back to the original. Sadly, Mr. Magoo wasn’t in it. But she told me that there was a quote in it that summarized well what I do and want to do in my business. She couldn’t exactly quote it to me though. But last night, I was watching television and the George C. Scott version of the Scrooge story was playing.  Barbie yelled at me from upstairs—“That’s it!” For some reason, George C. Scott actually said the notable quote that Magoo left out.

Let me set you up for it. One of the eerie scenes in this tale is when Jacob Marley’s ghost despairs to Scrooge about the opportunities that he didn’t use well in his life.

Scrooge replied with fear and guilt, “But you were always a good man of business, Jacob.”

Then the ghost screamed out, “Business! Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!”

Barbie was right. Jacob Marley nailed my business. Jacob Marley was telling Scrooge that he had missed Christmas. He had not only missed it in a holiday but also more importantly as a spiritual event. But he had also neglected Christmas in the spirit of a business to help the helpless and to show the glory of the One who came to all mankind. We can miss Christmas by simply neglecting the event. But we can also miss Christmas by missing a person because you are overwhelmed with the “grand”.

Don’t miss your business. Don’t miss the glorious. Don’t miss Mr. Magoo either this year.

What’s the deal with orange? It’s about hope. But specifically orange was designated as the color of hope for AIDS orphans in Sub-Sahara Africa. Over a decade ago, I made a commitment to devote myself to the cause of care for AIDS victims especially orphans.  It seemed like a hopeless cause. There were millions of them. You got a new one every 14 seconds. There was no cure. It was the biggest pandemic in the history of the world.

So is there any hope? As I look back, I have seen Christian Relief Fund build many schools and orphanages for AIDS orphans. Thousands of AIDS orphans have been sponsored and now have food, clothes, housing, health care, an education, and spiritual training. Although there is not a cure, antiretrovirals have been developed that can keep HIV from becoming AIDS. Mothers are given these ARVs and even though they are HIV positive, their babies will not be. President Bush  developed a program called P.E.P.F.A.R. to fund these medicines. Bill Gates and other businessmen started development programs to curtail the spread of AIDS. Educational programs were started to teach children how not to get HIV.  The ABCD plan was taught in Kenya and Uganda (A for abstinence, B for be faithful in marriage, C for condoms as a last resort, and D for death if you don’t do this). Kenya and Uganda were the first two countries to actually see a decrease in new cases of HIV.

Yes, there is hope. I am more optimistic when I visit places where AIDS has been so devastating. But we can’t stop now. I think I see an end in sight. But we must still take care of the ones who are orphaned now. We still need P.E.P.F.A.R. to supply ARVs or the ones who started taking them will get AIDS. We need to continue the course we have started. We are too close to a solution to stop now.

Maybe some of you need to get started. We still have thousands of AIDS orphans at CRF that still need to be sponsored. Do something. On this World AIDS day, pray and do something. For about a $1 a day you could save an AIDS orphan.

“No child should be born with HIV; no child should be an orphan because of HIV; no child should die due to lack of access to treatment.”—Ebube Sylvia Taylor, an eleven year old girl in Africa.