The biggest and most honored tradition at RVA is the Senior Banquet. The junior class writes a play, builds the sets, puts together the music, cooks the food and serves it. It is a massive undertaking, and we have never been a part of it before this year. It was a wonderful success, not so much in the play and the food but in the unity that occurred in the class.

Perhaps the greatest part of it is how people ask someone to go with them, and how they are escorted. One part of JT’s multi-step “asking” involved a friend donning a wet suit and delivering his date a message by coming out of the pond. One guy had a girl’s roommates lead her onto the soccer field blindfolded. Then he had the lights turned on the field, and twelve of us that were around her knelt and handed her a rose. I was asked to help because I was in the vicinity, but it took me so long to kneel that I probably won’t be asked to help anytime soon.

Then, finally, it is the big day. About 150 guys walk en masse to the girl’s dorms. And wait. Because no one wanted to go first. The first couple came out, and the guys gasped. They knew how outclassed they were. The couples started walking across campus to where the banquet is being held. They have to walk up where the whole campus is watching them, almost like the red carpet at the Oscars.

Except this is a whole lot more work and a whole lot more fun.

The next day was remarkable. All the juniors had to tear down the set at 7am. All the glamour was gone at 7am, but they pulled nails and hauled lumber and they were done by 2 pm. It was a truly amazing experience and another reason to be grateful that we are here, even if JT couldn’t find enough duct tape to repeat his amazing experience of last year.

The drought has gotten worse. At RVA, we are taking 90 second showers, and catching that water to flush with. In fact, we only flush for number two, which makes our house smell like a junior high guy’s dorm.

But it is far worse in the valley. We have a view of two large hills from our house; last Sunday you couldn’t see them because of a dust dorm. All the wells have gone dry, and cattle that once cost two hundred dollars are going for ten because there is no grass to feed them. They look like skeletons.

I visited Longenot School on Friday, and it was worse than I thought it would be. It is so hard to be clean when you don’t have much water; what must it be like to try to be clean with no water? I never think it can get worse for my African friends, but it somehow manages. I am getting calls and visits everyday from other schools who want to be added to our program, so I remind myself that this school is doing better than many; no drop outs at a time when many schools are experiencing huge drop out because the kids are hungry and looking for food

I don’t know how to describe the children, except to say that they are always so lively, and there was such somberness to them. It was like watching the dying of the light.

I saw one little girl carefully count her corn and beans and put half of them in a bag to take home to her family; they don’t have anything to eat right now.

I so hope I am wrong, but I feel like I am like someone on the beach watching the tsunami coming to shore. If we don’t get rain the next few weeks, this could go into a crisis. We need a miracle; please pray for rain.

I trust I am the only missionary who quotes Lenin to you today: `The death of millions, a statistic. Show me the death of one man-now there’s a tragedy.’

Jeff Davis is a third generation missionary. There is a dorm on campus named after his family. He is just one of the nicest guys you will ever meet. He and his wife had their first child last week. Colin died in his sleep three days later. There had been no indication of any health issue.

In a small community like this, it was such devastating news. As Jeff drove his son down to the hospital, he prayed that he was grateful for whatever time he had with his son. When I heard that beautiful prayer, I cried hard for Jeff and Kate and for all of us who have had to say goodbye to their babies.

Do me a favor for Colin; call someone you care about and tell them you love them. Do it today. Don’t wait until tomorrow.

Tell them today.

Your pal,

Steve