We are having an identify crisis of sorts in our home.

Every Peifer male has gone through being called Bubba. It’s a Texas thing, and Ben really is a Bubba; just a big old sweet guy. Although most of us call him Bubba from time to time, that is how Katie always refers to him.

The problem is this:  that is how Ben refers to KATIE. He calls her Bubba all the time. I’ve told him that if this continues, we would have to move from Texas to Arkansas.

I hated to threaten him like that, but there ARE limits, you know.

We had another one as a family. We are missionaries, so the presupposition might be that we ENJOY going to church. But we have not been able to sit through an entire service of the African church we attend when school is not in session.

African church services are long, and guests will unexpectedly show up to sing. Last week, one of the groups showed up and performed a song for a long period of time that sounded like the piano and the chorus were having a fight. They both sounded nice separately, but together, it was a LONG battle. In addition, there is no nursery, so the one-year-old dynamic duo have to sit for a long time.

Ben is our book boy, and he is fine reading, until he sees something that excites him in a book, and then he begins to yell whatever that word might be several times:  “Horsie! Horsie! Horsie! Horsie!” Each time he is a little louder.

Katie, on the other hand, becomes rather distressed with life in general. There is no good way to sit, or any good books to read, or anything good about anything at a certain time in the service. She does the logical thing, which is to cry like she has both hands placed on broken glass.

We can handle most of that. This week, in response to the cries, our faithful dog came running into the service to rescue the babies from whatever was troubling them. Nancy, who is as good at keeping a straight face as anyone I’ve ever met, lost it pretty completely and we were forced to leave early again.

Before the twins are in college, I’m sure we will sit though another service again.

We had an opportunity to take two days away and go to a game park. The Ark concept is a little like Jurassic Park. You are escorted into this building in the middle of a wild area, and then locked in for the night. The have lights all around, and natural salt licks, so you can watch as the nocturnal animals come to do what animals do at night. We saw rhino, bushbucks, elephants and a host of animals. They had an alarm system, and your room would get buzzed, as different animals would come.

The next day we went to a hotel nearby for the day. Part of the package was golf and horseback riding. The older boys and I went golfing in the afternoon, and on one hole there were three warthogs, a dozen or so baboons, and several Thompson Gazelles. I wasn’t worried about baboons or gazelles, but warthogs have a reputation for being pretty ferocious, so I wondered how they would react to being struck by a golf ball. This was the actual conversation:

Me: What happens if you hit a warthog?
Caddie: It is a two-stroke penalty.

After golfing, we went for a horseback ride. I’ve mentioned several surreal moments in Africa, but holding Ben on a horse while we went down a trail and as we turned a corner went face to face with four giraffe was about as out there as it gets. The wisdom of bringing one year olds on horses occurred to us afterwards, but it was something none of us will ever forget.

The rooms were very tiny in the Ark, and Katie got fussy around midnight, so I took her downstairs to look at the animals. It was midnight, and no one was awake. As soon as we sat down, a large elephant came and stood directly in front of us for almost fifteen minutes. Katie kept telling me all about the elephant (Big ears, Big nose) and it was such a special moment.

I’m sitting in the dark, holding my baby girl, and the thought goes through me:  I so did not want to get out of bed, and I’m having one of the neatest experiences of my life. How many times has He tried to bless me, and I believed it to be a curse instead?

This has gone long, but it has been an extraordinary week. We have been able to expand the school feeding program from five schools to twelve schools. We will be able to feed about five thousand children a day. My rough estimate is that we will purchase almost fifty tons of maize and beans. Thank you again for what you have done.

Finally, RVA is almost one hundred years old, and has never had a student accepted into the Ivy League. Not one.

Until today.

The young man I wrote about several weeks ago, the one who took the young lady to the banquet, was accepted at Harvard.

Several months ago, when I started the position as the college counselor, one of the students said to me that RVA students weren’t good enough to get into the Ivy League. That haunted me, and I so wanted our students to know that RVA kids would compete with anyone.

Opening that envelope was one of the most fulfilling moments in my life. I know I must sound like a complete wuss, but I just held that envelope and cried and cried and cried.

In Africa, you don’t usually get to see the good guys win one like this.

Steve

The entire fam!