I don’t know how it happened to us.

Whenever that is the case, you can usually turn to the usual suspects: the twins. Ben is a very warm hearted kid, and there has been this cat hanging around our home for months. Her owners, our good friends Don and Thelma Steeves, had given her to another family when they retired several years ago.

Always having been a dog person, I’m not actually sure I understand cats. The best we can figure is that the cat did not like to move, so she stayed in the general area and fended for herself for many years. Ben would see her and somehow a bond was made, and we began to offer food to her. At first, she would only eat when we weren’t around, but after some time she would eat in our presence.

After a period of time, she would wander in the house, bolting at any sudden movement. That phase has ended, and now she is staying in the house in the evening.

I have a sister, who is a cat person, and one of my oldest friends Bruce regales us with his tales of his cats, but I certainly never have paid any attention. I thought some things, like being a Cubs fan or a dog person were decided upon birth.

And now, every night, a cat climbs on our bed and sleeps ON me.

I still don’t know what to think about it, but Ben and Kate love Kitty, so now we are cat people. But if you hear me talking about how much I love the White Sox, shoot to kill.

Ben and Kate just turned five, and for reasons we are still unclear about, party hats were VITAL. They might have been more important than cake and ice cream. We had a fun party for them on the Saturday before their Thursday birthday.

However, we have cafeteria duty on Thursday night. Nancy brought a tablecloth and a cake, and so were we festive in the dining hall. That was fine, but hats were required, and so my status as most uncool staff member reached a level that will be almost be impossible for any challenger to best. Seniors who always have an insult for me were reduced to stunned silence as I walked into the cafeteria with my Winnie the Pooh party hat. One senior finally said `Guidance office getting to you, Mr. Peifer?’

I am the Cal Rifkin of RVA. No one will be able to touch my uncoolness.

Today was graduation day, and it always has mixed emotions. There are kids you grieve to see leave, and kids you would pay if they could leave early. I’ve had a tradition for the past few years that I do my final chapel of the year, and pick a song that would best represent the senior class. The first two songs are mocking (Although the first song I played `Take This Job and Shove It’ wasn’t that far off the mark)

The final song I picked was called Days of Elijah by Twila Paris. I promise you it will be the best .99 you’ve spent this week on iTunes. The lyrics just strike a cord:

These are the days of Elijah
Declaring the Word of the Lord
And these are the days of your servant Moses
Righteousness being restored.

And these are the days of great trials
Of famine and darkness and sword
Still we are the voice in the desert crying
Prepare ye the way of the Lord

Behold He comes riding on the clouds
Shining like the sun at the trumpet call
Lift your voice it’s the year of jubilee
And out of Zion’s hill salvation comes

And These are the days of the harvest
The fields are as white in Your world
And we are the laborers in Your vineyard
Declaring the word of the Lord.

I gave the chapel on Wednesday, and on Thursday I went to Kinungi School to count maize and bean bags and make an announcement. They didn’t know I was coming, but they greeted me warmly. I was able to tell them that we would be bringing a computer center to their campus in the next few weeks.

There are so many things I’m glad you don’t see, but I wish you could have seen the faces of those kids when we announced they would get to learn computers. They jumped and cheered and cried and laughed; I’ve never had a response like that.

And then the headmaster asked if they could sing a song. They were almost a thousand children singing in Swahili, and I was doing what I usually do when I hear a song in a language other than English; smile politely and try to remember who played second base for the Cubs in 1969.

And then I thought: I know this song.

They were singing Days of Elijah. I was so amazed, and then they came to the end of the song when they repeat:

There’s no God like Jehovah
There’s no God like Jehovah
There’s no God like Jehovah
There’s no God like Jehovah

A few years ago, when RVA got its first student accepted at Harvard, a little girl came up to me and yelled `Anything is possible!’ At the time I believed it. Africa has a way of knocking that out of you, and a tough year with lots of struggles had caused me to grow weary.

But I looked at those faces, and their excitement, and the thought came back to me: Anything is possible. I was able to pray with dozens of students after my talk.

These are the days of the harvest.

There’s no god like Jehovah.

Your pal

Steve