Whoa, Hail!

Man alive. You've never seen anything like it before. Well, at least I never have.

The day had been so pleasant. The grands and I had played a little soft ball (well, practiced some hitting) and had ever such a good time.

But within a few minutes of fun outdoor play, this storm blows up. Kayla, Levi, Trinity, and I were looking our my bedroom windows toward the backyard, watching the horrific wind stirring the trees. If this had been in Iowa, we'd have been ducking for cover. The sky was blackish-green. In the midwest this is a sign of tornadoes! But here in Swaziland, we've only heard of one tornado in its history. So we weren't concerned about a tornado.

Suddenly, five or six huge (softball sized) white things come slamming into the yard. My first thought was they were blossoms from a nearby tree, then I realized blossoms would flutter, not slam. As we were contemplating whether they were hail stones that size, the next batch came. Then the next. And for 20-30 minutes we were battered and beat with hail stones ranging in size from golfball to baseball. Crashing onto the roof and smashing into a zillion little ice chunks. Destroying everything in its path.

Leaving the gutters full of holes. The vehicle we have been driving with a broken (completely shattered) back window, cracked and near-to-broken windshield. Huge pock marks all over the top, hood, and sides. Some hail even taking the paint off.

The kids were somewhere between awe and excitement and terror. (The excitement won.) It was LOUD. There was a lot of lightning further up the mountain (from the later reports we heard) and 30 goats on the hillside were killed by a strike. Newspaper said five people were killed. Multiple homes totally destroyed. Thousands of cars ruined. Windshields broken.

I'm sure there are dazed cows everywhere--still wondering what happened.

And some of the newspaper photos of uprooted trees makes me wonder if there hadn't actually been a tornado touch down...

Ben and Susan's fibreglass veranda roof is full of baseball-sized holes. Their gutters are like sieves.

Kayla said it reminded her of the Egyptian's plague. Right on. I'd never imagined that particular plague as such a nasty thing.

Now I know.


(I let Kayla go outside and collect this golfball sized stone after we knew for sure the storm was over.)

The 2006 Children's Cup CarePoint Christmas Party!

There were 2500 to 3000 kids (who can get an accurate count when they are running around hollering and laughing and playing!) gathered for our 2006 CarePoint Christmas party. Inflatable jumping things and tug-of-war games and painted faces and sack races made the day such fun!
It was SO hot that Charles and Pat got a loooong hose, turned on the water and played like a fountain for the kids to get cooled off in the drizzle.
The entertainment was precious. Each CarePoint had their own presentation of scriptures or carols or skits. Each one centered on Jesus, whose birthday we were celebrating. The main skit, presented by the Dynamite Kids (a special group who are learning servanthood), acted out the nativity. Well done!


Cute thing was the pregnant Mary: Her costume consisted of a bit of cloth for a "robe" draped over a huge beach ball!

Special speaker was a 13-year-old evangelist who laid out the plan of salvation as clear as you can have it. "I cannot see inside your heart," he said. "But God can. And you know what's there. God is wanting to clean it all up. He's waiting for you to ask Him to come in."

The food was fabulous. Fried chicken, rice, gravy, salads, and ice cream for dessert. Who could ask for more? This picture gives the "bucket of chicken" order at KFC a whole new meaning...

One little 11-year-old girl touched our hearts. She's dying of AIDS--and looks like she's only six. Someone went to the trouble to see to it she could be there. Although she couldn't participate in the running and jumping and racing, she took everything in with her eyes. She was delighted to be amid all the fun and games and excitement. Last I saw her, one of our dear ladies was carrying her in her arms, up the hill...

Thanks, everyone who prayed, gave, encouraged and prepared. It was a time the kids will never forget.

Swazi Christmas

I recently interviewed our housegirl, Martha, to get information about Christmas traditions in Swaziland.

These are some of her comments.

"Oh, the Swazi's tradition is not with Jesus. We learned about Jesus from the missionaries.

"Now we celebrate by singing carols and acting out the nativity and giving gifts to remember God gave us His only Son, the greatest gift.

"Merry Christmas greeting is usually in the English words 'Merry Christmas.' But if you are speaking to a child who only understands Siswati, you would say 'Mkhulu Christmas.'

She's not sure, nor am I, whether Mkhulu ("mmm KOO loo") refers to God or Father Christmas (Santa).

She says traditional, cultural learning does not include anything about Jesus or God.

She and her family learned about Jesus and Christmas from the missionaries.

"The Nazarenes came to our mountain village when I was just a small child. My grandfather and many members of our family accepted Jesus. I remember him sitting with his head raised up, looking toward the heavens, saying to me, 'My child, God is good.'"

Today Martha is one of the strongest Christians I know.

So basically all Christmas traditions come from Christian missionaries and the western world, because witchdoctors and jungle religions do not know who Jesus is.

It's why we are here.

Dino's Diner?

While recently in Johannesburg, South Africa, with Beano and Sharon, we decided to eat in a certain mall. You can imagine my surprise to find the Rizzos (our HPC pastor) all over the place. Well, in two places anyway, on the same floor. And it wasn't exactly the Rizzos...but rather their namesakes.

Dino's fancy-schmancy restaurant and Gloria Jean's cool coffee shop. (Gloria Jean was Dino's mom.) I never knew Dino could cook (well, he did make biscuits during a sermon one weekend). But here it is. Proof is in the photos.





Uh, we chose to eat dinner in an Indian restaurant next door to Dino's...

Breakfast at Cracker Barrel

My last visit with Bud was in September just before returning to Africa. Just the two of us had breakfast at Cracker Barrel. He took my hand and prayed over the food. We ate and talked about Jesus. Enjoying our coffee together, we were in no hurry. It was probably the best time I have ever had with my big brother. He hugged me as we parted ways. I celebrated that special time with him over and over as I flew back to Louisiana.

And now, as I sit and write these memories at a hotel in Nelspruit, South Africa, I am realizing what a great gift that breakfast was to me. I’ll miss my big brother, but I know eternity is a long time—and I plan to spend it with him along with all our loved ones.

Whatever It Takes

I was priviledged to sing trio with my big brother and his wife, Barb, once in a while.

Hubby Dave irreverently dubbed us the "B-O Trio" for Bougher-Ohlerking.

One of the most anointed and memorable to me was the one we all found hard to get through without tearing up: Lanny Wolfe's "Whatever It Takes."

There's a voice calling me from an old rugged tree, and it whispers, "draw closer to me,"
"Leave this world far behind, there are new heights to climb, and a new place in me you will find."

Take the dearest things to me, if that's how it must be, to draw me closer to Thee;
Let the disappointments come, lonely days without the sun, if through sorrow more like you I'll become.

Take my houses and lands, change my dreams and my plans, for I'm placing my whole life in your hands;
And if you call me today, to a land far away, Lord, I'll go and your will obey.

And whatever it takes to draw closer to you Lord, that's what I'll be willing to do
And whatever it takes to be more like you, that's what I'll be willing to do
I'll trade sunshine for rain, comfort for pain, that's what I'll be willing to do
For whatever it takes for my will to break, that's what i'll be willing to do.

Yellow Linen Suits / Air National Guard Uniform

Bud’s teenage years' pals were Don Reid, David Gannon, and Richard Arrowood. They bought really classy yellow linen suits alike, and snazzy straw hats. Calling each other by their mothers’ first names, (Flossie, Bessie, Flora, and Vera...Why do I remember this?) and would stand on a busy corner in downtown Des Moines on the loop, calling out Richard’s phone number to car loads of girls driving the loop because it was the easy one to remember: 6-1616! (I don’t think they ever got any calls—I always wondered if Richard’s mom intercepted the calls...)

*****

Bud was in the Air National Guard. I was very proud of him—he was so very handsome in his uniform. He was always meticulous about his dress—right down to spit shining his shoes to perfection—which earned him a position in the coveted color guard.