Titchies are the first through sixth grade students at RVA. And from the first day I arrived in Africa, I had been warned about this night. The real title of the evening is called `Titchie Talent Night’ but different staff members had renamed it Titchie Torture Night.’ 37 different acts from the small fry set.

And as in much in Africa, I was naive. Surely it would not be as bad as everyone had said. Surely there would be delightful acts. Surely the staff was being good naturedly cynical.

Surely not.

We have all been to boring events at our children’s school. But this was at a level that was so supremely bad that it became exceptionally entertaining and extremely challenging at the same time. It was almost like thinking of something funny at a funeral, and trying not to laugh. And the more you thought about it, the funnier it got.

After one skit, 11 nearby adults were quizzed. Nobody had any clue what had just happened. One student played the Entertainer with a right hand seemingly powered by 10 liters of Jolt Cola and the left was a weak stump that would occasionally faint upon the keys. Prior to JT’s skit, his dog wandered the stage looking for him. One lip sync group looked like POW’s who had been out of the light for several months and ordered upon threat of death to entertain their captors.

And there were 37 of them.

Somehow, it gave me great comfort. Somehow I knew that if the offspring of 19 different countries could produce something this bad, surely there was hope for peace in the world. How I came to the conclusion I have no idea, but if gives me comfort nonetheless.

Last year I had a detached retina. When I got to the doctor, he said `I can operate in an hour or you can lose your eye.’ On Tuesday, I had the same symptoms in the other eye. So a friend took us into Nairobi. As we were going, she told me the story of when her husband was in a car accident and had to have back surgery. They told him they would fuse some vertebra together. But he would have to provide the bolts. So they told her where to go to buy the bolts, and the surgery took, and he is doing fine.

By the time we got to the doctor, the symptoms were gone and the eye doctor could not find anything wrong. And we are very grateful to our friends who supported us in prayer during that time.

But the experience has gotten me thinking. In the last few weeks, a friend has lost his wife to cancer. A nephew’s wife has miscarried. A friend’s brother’s one-year daughter has leukemia. I keep asking the question I asked when I knew my son only had a few days to live: What do I do with the time I have left? The answer was to treat it like the rarest treasure, and cherish each moment.

Our time here is so short. None of us know how much time we have left. I keep going back to the question: `What do I do with the time I have left?’ Outside the issue of the death of a precious one, the question calls to me in a broader context.

What do I do with the time I have left?

YOP

S