Make no mistake about it:  the person who will get the largest crown in heaven is the woman who teaches the combined first and second grade class. I get them for 45 minutes a week, and in the computer class they range from “I’m afraid of mice” to “Can’t we upgrade the operating system?” I don’t know how she does it, and I am so glad I am not her I don’t quite have words. It is the longest 45 minutes of the week.

Her class puts out a little newspaper every month, and I was interviewed this week by the class. These are actual questions:

THEM:  Where is the most embarrassing place you have ever had an itch?
ME:  I will get back to you.
THEM:  Have you ever gotten really mad at your sister because she ate the last four cookies and you only got one?
ME:  I’m not sure.
THEM:  What is your third favorite thing to drink?
ME:  Ummmm

The line of questioning continued for longer than I thought possible.

Returning to Africa has offered one surprise:  I am not as surprised by what gave me the shakes three years ago. I can go into the hospital and see the most horrible deformities and not react to them anymore. I never understood how doctors could do it, but I understand it now. You can get used to anything. I don’t want to get jaded or uncaring, but I don’t think that is what is going on. To be effective, you’ve got to move past the shock, and I think I’m past it now. When I was here before, I would leave a room and get sick after I’d seen some of the kids I’ve seen. I can go to the worst cases and hold them now, and I’m grateful for it. I’m just surprised.

The hardest part of being away is when something serious happens to family or friends back home. One of our best friends had serious surgery last week, and we couldn’t do anything for her. It’s a helpless feeling, and I hope that hurt never goes away. It’s a way of feeling attached.

Your pal,
Steve