Sometimes Love Looks Like a Bowl of Soup
My friend Tracy's words will forever echo in my mind: sometimes love looks like a bowl of soup.

Every couple of months, a Saturday Faith in Action Day, a group of people prepare frozen meals to share with people who need one less thing to think about in times of crisis.

A few weeks ago, someone asked if they could take some of those freezer meals to a coworker. This coworker's husband was hospitalized after suffering severe medical trauma. She had also recently lost a son (due to a drug overdose) and is caring for two elementary-aged grandchildren. The kids were super excited about the meals, and the coworker was grateful they were delivered with a hug.

Someone took the opportunity to love someone else like Jesus - and it brought excitement to kids, melted this parent's heart, and made them feel seen and loved.

Indeed, sometimes love looks like a bowl of soup.

More Stories

Staining Neighbor's Fence Brings Unlikely People Together
A middle school student saw that his neighbor's fence needed some TLC. He asked some friends to help stain the fence and make it look like new. Afterwards the student shared, “I saw God at work by doing something for someone else without a reward”. They also discovered that one of the friends who helped with the project knew the family who was served. The relationship continues today.

Gardens Help the Poor and Homeless
Last summer, a student wanted to learn more about gardening. So, he jumped into a Faith in Action Day to work side-by-side with other adults in the Abundance Garden. He shared, “I saw God working by helping make a garden to help the poor and homeless”. He now knows how to better pull weeds, care for growing vegetables, and work the soil to serve the neighbors around him with his time and newly learned skills.

Neighborhood BBQ Uncovers a Deep Need Among Neighbors
Last fall, a student noticed that her neighborhood needed to get together and have a good laugh. So, she chose to host a neighborhood party complete with a cookout dinner. Reflecting on the experience, she said, “it was powerful to hear our neighbors say ‘why haven't we done this all these years?’”. She now feels confident to be a change-leader among her neighbors, friends, and school by bringing people together to build deeper friendships and laugh together.

Tacoma Police Officers Encouraged by Middle School Students
In January, a group of 16 students were bothered by the negativity their local police officers were experiencing. They know law enforcement work is challenging and they wanted to encourage them in a practical way. They chose to apply for a Thrivent Action Team and assembled Care Packages for Duty Officers and ordered breakfast for their mid-morning shift workers. It was a delightful and unexpected surprise delivery for the substation workers and officers who were at the substation that morning. Three students chose to boldly and powerfully pray over the officers and the community they patrol. The students received a full tour of the facility, shared stories and tears of gratitude, and left with a feeling of mutual joy that God is with all people.

Winterizing Homes is More than What Meets the Eye
After working on a Faith in Action Project last fall, a project team member followed up with the homeowner to make sure she was ready for the winter chill. She shared that she needed help installing a slider door to finish weather-proofing her home. Thanks to the ongoing generosity to our General Fund, we were able to provide the finances for the project. The team member completed the project right away and the homeowner enjoyed a warm, cozy winter. The homeowner and team member regularly connect about their kids and grandkids as well as pray together.

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You might have heard that there is something going on at Asbury University in Kentucky. And that something has spread to other places, too.

People have described it as an awakening, a revival, and a movement of the Holy Spirit.

Like with most things today, there are also critics, pundits, and loud opinions mixed into the narrative.

Whatever you might think about the Kentucky events, we know at least three things for sure. 

      1. Jesus’ Spirit there… and here! 
Jesus promises to show up whenever God’s Word is present. Much like any other time when people read the scriptures and respond, the chapel service which led into the ongoing event was just that - an invitation to respond to Jesus’ invitation to repentance.

The question is - so why is that event considered different - a revival or awakening, and other times seem so “ordinary”.

My personal opinion is that we’re trying to explain a spiritual (dare I say, miraculous or supernatural) experience in human ways… and our human way is limited, finite, and can only explain what we see - not what we can't see.

So, we see an event, a mass of people, and activity - but can we see the broken spirits and contrite hearts of people who are responding? Maybe… perhaps… and only if they share it (which many have!).

Here is what I do know. I know that God sometimes shows up and moves people to respond in masses (think Billy Graham). Other times, people respond loudly with singing and dancing (think David in the Bible dancing naked in the temple). And then there are individuals who respond as they sit in their cars with silent tears (or no tears at all).

My point is, how people respond isn’t the point. Psalm 51:17 emphasizes what matters is a broken spirit and a broken and contrite heart. And that’s what we hear from people at Asbury and what we don’t always see when we, ourselves read and respond to God’s Word.

In a way, everytime we (or anybody) reads God’s Word and responds is a revival or awakening.

That’s how I know that Jesus’ Spirit is both there and here.

      2. There is so much that we don’t know.

I do wonder why it seems like sometimes we see God work in big ways and other times we don’t see God work at all. I know that’s a very self-centered question resulting from an American cultural worldview. But, I think it’s an honest question.

I (personally) return to resting in the truth that there is so much I don’t know.

I’m reminded of Psalm 55:8-9 when God responds to the psalm writer, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,". Then, God explains why by saying, "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”

I find it interesting that it seems as though everyone feels like they are entitled to an opinion about the Asbury events.

For me, the Asbury Revival reminds me that there is so much we don’t know… and that’s OK because we know the God who does.

      3. You and I can experience revival.

Revival isn’t fabricated or manufactured. It’s not manipulated responses or a forced emotional response.

Revival is an awakening to who Jesus is, who we are, and a turning away from ourselves and toward Jesus.

Our thoughts can be awakened as we turn our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith (Hebrews 12:1).

Our feelings can be revived from not feeling anything to feeling something - sadness over our sin or the relief and “lightness” of the forgiveness we have in Jesus.

Our lives can be moved by the Holy Spirit when we stop, reorient ourselves to God’s way - not our own, and take our next steps with Jesus.

This is the revival or awakening that is happening in hearts and lives everyday.

Afterall, the true fruit of revival is the love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, faithfulness, goodness, and self-control (Galatians 5:22-23) seen in everyday life.

What do you think? Shoot me an email or let’s find a time to catch up.

If the blog helps you, share it with someone you think would appreciate it.

“Keep Your Lamps Trimmed and Burning” is a bluesy spiritual first sung by slaves on the plantation and then later while fighting the Civil War.
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Take a listen.

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The message continues to echo today.

• Stay alert.
• Help is on the way.
• The end of being used, abused, and enslaved is coming.
• Freedom and safety are near.

Matthew, one of Jesus’ disciples, records Jesus saying the same message in Matthew 25.

There is a wedding. As the bride walks in, ten bridesmaids are waiting for the groom with torches lit. They don’t know when he’s arriving, but they know it’s soon.

Five bridesmaids brought extra oil for their lamps, not knowing how long they might be waiting. But, unfortunately, five of them didn’t get any excess oil.

So, the bridesmaids without oil asked the ones with oil if they could use some of theirs. The answer is that there is not enough to go around.

Midnight comes, and the groom arrives. The bridesmaids without oil are out trying to find some. The bridesmaids who had the extra oil meet the groom, and the wedding goes on.

When the bridesmaids without extra oil arrived back at the wedding, the ceremony had begun, and they could not participate in the marriage.

An interesting story.

Here’s the point: Be and stay ready because Jesus is coming soon.

Keep your hearts trimmed and burning… for Christmas… and His final Christmas.

• Stay alert by reading God’s Word because Jesus is coming.
• Hold onto hope that the best is still to come - help is on the way because Jesus is coming.
• Live lives of continuous and humble repentance because Jesus is coming.
• Keep your eyes fixed on Jesus’ arrival because Jesus is coming.

This is Jesus’ Christmas wish for us.

Keep your heart ready like you have this advent season because Jesus has promised to come again, not only at Christmas but again very soon (Revelation 22:7).

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Sometimes it’s hard to put your finger on what is changing in real time.

In countless ways, the past two years have been difficult, thanks to COVID. A lot has changed - including human attitudes.

Six years ago, my friend Marilyn taught me to have an “attitude of gratitude”. Even though  she had a terrible time physically moving around because of her severe arthritis, she was grateful for everything and everybody around her. That was her heart. It’s how she lived. It was beautiful.

This past week, I spent several hours working at a local coffee shop. Person and after person came through. There were a few smiles. But more often than not, baristas were met with scowls, grunts, and even some words that would make Richard Sherman blush. I saw two baristas leave in tears, a manager lose it, and at least three customers storm out.

Maybe it was just a bad day. . . and everybody is normalizing new levels of stress, anxiety, and tension.

But as we move into the holiday season, I would expect joy and cheer coupled with selfless thoughts, thankful hearts, and grateful words.

So much for moving into a season of selflessness, thankfulness, and gratefulness.

I did go and encourage their staff and offered to buy them a mid-afternoon treat.

STU is a deadly combination.
Selfishness. Thanklessness. Ungratefulness. STU.

STU is like cancer. It starts small. It spreads quickly. It kills everything in its way when it becomes out of control. 

The scary part is that it hides in places people cannot see (like our heart) until it’s too late.

So what do you do if you notice you or people you know and love are suffering from some STU?

Let me share three ways you can be good news to the STU-infected.

1. Find time to “just be” with people struggling with STU.
   

I get it. We’re all busy. But, perhaps, that’s part of the problem.

Busy-ness contributes to stress and anxiety. Stress and anxiety builds up and without friends, it just bottles up. Sure, we all have our coping mechanisms, but self-care and self-coping is not enough.

STU’s need to not be “on”. To sit and not be the professional, the parent, the worker, the responsible one. With all of the demands of life today, we need to just be who we are (and who God created us to be) - human beings.

• If you’re a guy looking for a good place to “be”, check out the Men’s Breakfast tomorrow morning (Saturday, November 12) at 8:30am. Learn more at oslc.com/men.
  

• If you’re 50+, check out oslc.com/yah to learn about the upcoming potluck and Singing Christmas Tree outing.
  
• And if you’re a woman, check out oslc.com/women for ways to “be”, each week.
  

1. Focus on Worship
   

I’m not saying add something new to your weekly schedule (unless you’re not already gathering for worship somewhere).

I am saying to reframe what is happening when we worship.

God chooses to meet us in our STU moments.

Through Jesus, God forgives us with simple words; washes us in the water of baptism; feeds us with bread and wine in communion; melts our STU-infected hearts with His Word, and then says, “you can be selfless, thankful, and grateful like you have just experienced me being that to you.

“Go and do likewise.”

God does this to us everytime we gather together.

We will take this truth further when we gather for worship on Thanksgiving Eve (Wednesday, November 23 at 7pm).

All of worship is for those who know STU all too well.

1. Remember that STU doesn’t define you.
   

There is always help for those with STU.

In fact, Jesus himself says that he didn’t come for the healthy, but for those with STU of the heart, mind, and soul.

STU is not who you are, it is what you choose to do.

If you struggle with STU or know somebody who does, here are some simple truths to remind yourself about who you are, today.

I can have a selfless, thankful, and grateful heart and attitude because…

• I am a fully accepted child of God.
  
• I belong to God’s family.
  
• Jesus is everything I need.
  
• My worth comes from God who unconditionally loves and forgives me.
  

• I am free from all eternal accusations and condemnation against me.
  
• Jesus is always with me.
  
• All things work together for God’s greatest good.
  
• I am but a stranger here - heaven is my home.
  

And may who you really are shape what you will do.

And What Happens? Our Hearts and World Changes
Think about how much stress can be lifted off of your shoulders by reframing just “being”, focusing on worship, and being defined by Jesus, not STU.

All of this can change our hearts. 

It can also make selflessness, thankfulness, and gratefulness contagious in coffee shops and everywhere we live, work, learn, and play.

And that would be a great change for everybody.

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After five days of teaching in Sidi Ifni, we are traveling up into the rugged terrain of the surrounding countryside.  Our fearless and skilled leader Jeff, covered in the prayers of many, drives us all carefully along narrow bumpy twisty curvy roads.  We are immersed in land of Biblical character, as if we coul d expect to see Jesus and his followers gathering together on one of the nearby hillsides.  

It is harsh land.  There is very little water, and where the water is, a surprise of green blesses us.  The donkeys, dogs, sheep and goats somehow find sustenance amongst the rocks, sand, and thorny plants. 

The primary livelihood of this area is the gathering of the fruit of the prickly pear cactus.  It produces fruit but once per year, so the opportunities for financial success are quite limited.  Added to that has been the death of much of the cacti over the past few years.  When we traveled here three years ago to see and celebrate the new beginnings of the center in Sebouya, the plants were prolific, green and as lush as a cactus can be.  Since then, however, something has happened to their crop, and most of the plants are withered, shrinking into strange shapes that resemble people in odd positions or strange animals posing weirdly.  It’s a surreal sight.  

I did a little research and found that the prickly pear is not indigenous to this area but was introduced as a potential food and income source.  It proved to be well adapted to the area and soon took off too well.  Other areas of the country did not want the intrusive prickly pear invading their agricultural spaces. The government set upon a plan to limit the spread by introducing a small insect from South America that feeds on the cactus.  The meddling of man can sometimes produce more trouble, and this proved to be the case here in southern Morocco.  The insect continues to work its way through the region, which is also suffering from a prolonged drought. We have also learned that the government of Morocco is very interested in obtaining these lands for the development of potential mineral resources. Where that leaves the people who somehow find a way to survive in this barrenness upon barrenness of land remains uncertain.  While they are here, though, we know that we have been called to help.  

This is the center that was started only three years ago, when we were last here, the one with the motto of “Do Something.”  They work in a very small space for classes and another that measures less than 200 square feet for therapy, and they serve 47 children weekly.  It seems they are doing a lot of something. 

Because the spaces are too small for teaching, they have moved us into another building for the day.  It looks to be a type of community center with a large open area, two smaller rooms, and a room that doubles as a storage space for rolled up rugs and at times perhaps a kitchen.  There is stone everywhere, and the larger room where we are to be teaching and working with our students is loud.  The sound reverberates.  We wince with the cacophony of people coming and going.  People are there to see Dr. Ellen and Lori here as well, so there is coming and going, crying, seeking.  Even the murmurs of people in need echo across the space. This simply won’t work for the noise-sensitive children with autism we know will be arriving.  

We gather our students together in the space of the rolled-up rugs.  The workers there eagerly spread a few of those rugs out for us on the floor.  The dust in the air shimmers in the warm golden light coming through a grated opening in the roof.  Our interpreter Souliman sneezes and struggles to breathe.  Allergic to dust, he continues on because the needs of the children that day are more important than his discomfort.  We all struggle with the dust a little, but the space is quieter, much quieter.

Our first little girl of the day takes a shine to Molly. She’s a mover, a climber, a delightful seeker of squeezing, bouncing, climbing, joyously exploring the space. The jumble of rolled up rugs is just part of the fun.  Molly invites the student who is most familiar with the girl to enter into the play, and she moves from one to the other, developing trust, the kind of trust that leads to relationships and not isolation.  Her father joins the fun, and the delighted little girl uses her daddy as a tree to climb, a rock to stand upon, a horse to ride.  It’s beautiful to watch.  

Next comes Yousef, a twelve-year old boy brought in by his older sister.  He is tight and twisted to one side, his gaze seemingly permanently stuck to the right.  I bring him onto my lap, encouraging his left hip to relax so that he can sit without pain.  Soon he is moving a little more freely, and the tight muscles of his neck give way to a softness that seems more comfortable for him. 
 
The grated opening in the roof of the space is covered by thick pieces of cardboard held in place by rocks.  There is a gust of wind, and another.  The wind finds an unsecured edge of the cardboard and lifts it, then slams in into the grate.  The noise is disruptive at first, but as I work with Yousef, I’m reminded of Jesus, when his conversation with the religious leaders is interrupted by the sound of a ceiling being opened so that friends of a man who couldn’t walk could lower him from the roof.  There was no way for them to get him in to see Jesus through the door because of the large crowd of people there.  The sound of banging from an opening in the roof became strangely familiar and comforting as Yousef and I worked. 

Joyce helps him to bring his eyes to the middle, his gaze no longer stuck.  His breathing changes, deeper, longer, as his ribs move with the rhythm of each breath.  He is relaxed and nods “yes” when asked if his body feels better.  We finish with him sitting with my legs under his body, his feet quietly resting on the floor, no longer pushing, his hands open and relaxed.

The next day we travel to another village, Tioughza, this one known for its honey. This center has only been open for 20 days!  After working with the students in Sidi Ifni we know this group to be earnest and hard-working.  We find our space and get to work, as do our super docs.  Aurora, Jeff’s wife, and Scott, Ellen’s husband support the medical team and honestly anything that we need as well.  They keep the days running smoothly. Jeff orchestrates, working with the local and regional leaders.  Nora, who started all of this, seems very pleased. 

We see more children and teach as we do so.  Molly, Joyce, and Juanita continue their work of love and skill.  The students are so very grateful. We help them learn how to use some new equipment they’ve just received.  They are tired, the room is hot and stuffy, and it is time to be done. There are promises from the government to build a new and larger center for them in the next year. They have started from scratch just 20 days ago. 

We gather together one last time outside the building on a rough patch of dirt that slopes downhill.  They have set up desks from the center that now serve as tables, and we sit down on plastic chairs.  Delicious sweetbreads are spread before us. A donkey meanders the street just above us, chased away by children trying to play in the same space.  In this most humble of places, words of gratitude flow over us.  We receive certificates for our service.  We feel blessed over and over again.  We part with hugs and some tears.  We must also say farewell to our interpreters.  Souliman gives to me his Moroccan wallet, with which he has traveled much of the world, and tells me that it has meant a great deal to him, but he wants me to carry it now.  

For the past several days we have enjoyed dinners at a beachside restaurant in Sidi Ifni. As we finish the last day, we find ourselves there one more time.  By this time, we know the menu by heart.  The food is secondary.  What matters is the fellowship of good work done with love and grace.  Most of us take off our shoes and walk briefly into the Atlantic.  The tide is returning, and surprises us and brings laughter. The emotions of the days here wash over me like the waves.  My tears have mingled with the dry dirt of this place and now the ocean restores me with joy.

by Guest Blogger, Brett Nirider
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In October 2022, Brett and Juanita Nirider led a team to serve in Morocco. This is the first of two posts from their experience.

​We have now completed four very busy days of teaching in Sidi Ifni, Morocco.  We have one more day here, then will spend the next two days visiting centers in more remote areas, one of which was just beginning when were last here in 2019, the other brand new, full of promise and hope for the children who will be served there.  

Our arrival here was complicated by long flight delays in Seattle, finally making it to Paris too late to board our scheduled departure to Casablanca.  Thanks to the help of a very kind and persistent Air France representative named Lauren LeMeur and a two-hour long wait in line, we made it out of Paris. I looked up “le meur” for its English translation; it means “the great.”  She saved the day for us by booking all seven of us on a later flight.  We arrived in Casablanca later and more tired than expected, but thanks to Lauren the Great we made it.  

After 28 hours of very limited sleep, we enjoyed a restorative sleep in Casablanca, then departed early Sunday morning for a long drive south, through agricultural areas, mountains, dry terrain that seemed to grow nothing but rocks, and finally the Atlantic coast.  

Sidi Ifni is a city of about 23,000 inhabitants that sits upon a promontory looking over the ocean.  It seems to be a popular destination for European surfers, and the juxtaposition of the free-spirited surfers, men and women, their hair tousled about all willy nilly by the wind and the waves, with the more traditional garb of Moroccan men and women is fascinating.  

We have been teaching in one of the centers started as an association of families with children who have disabilities of various types.  These families form bonds of encouragement and affirmation as they strive to provide desperately needed services for their children in areas where there have been none.  They usually start by renting a small house. Many of the parents become the staff.  Most of the workers have about 3 years of high school education, but more importantly they have passion and steadfast commitment to their children.  Once they have begun providing services, the Moroccan government will often step in to help provide funding for a larger center and may even help with the costs of hiring staff.  

We are here to help these very neophyte servants grow in their ability to meet the needs of children who would otherwise have nothing.  Three years ago, when we traveled to a remote mountain village to visit their emerging center, the banner on the wall proclaimed in Arabic, “Do Something!”  And so, they did.  And we try to help them become better at that “something.”  

They are enthusiastic learners.  The rooms are hot, and the colorful cloth wraps that enshroud the women, the mehlfas, provide challenge upon challenge for trying to move and to learn movement in ways that create new problem-solving opportunities for us in our teaching. They remain exuberant, clapping with successful demonstrations of a transitional movement up from the floor as if we had just performed a major symphonic masterpiece.  They’re wonderful, and we love working with them.

Molly and Joyce spend their days upstairs helping the students to better understand the complexities of children with autism and sensory processing challenges.  There are many such children here and from the other adjacent communities from which the children are being transported each day.  Our students are eager to learn more about their children.  Their neuronal synapses are bulging at the seams with the new information they are absorbing.  It’s fun to sneak upstairs when we can to watch our colleagues perform their magic of relationship with the children and with the students.  

Juanita and I are working with those who strive to help children with movement challenges. Hence, we are moving up, moving down, moving all around, trying to stay cool in our very light clothing while our Moroccan friends don’t seem to be affected at all by the heat, even in their multiple layers of garments.  Our Scandinavian attributes are not favorable to us in this climate, even in October when it is supposedly 30 degrees cooler than the summer.  

Because the children are being bussed in from some of the other communities in the region, we don’t really know who will be showing up and who might help us in our teaching, being willing to work with us in front of the students.  We pray for good learning opportunities but also that the children may be blessed by these encounters. We’ve been blessed.

Imane is 22 years old. She arrived at the center on Tuesday to see one of our medical staff, Ellen MD, or Lori ARNP, and then bravely volunteered to help us teach the class.  Because Imane is a young woman, and being sensitive to the cultural expectations here, Juanita stepped forward to work with her while I assisted.  She shared with us a little of her life, her sisters, her cat, what she liked to do, and her pain.  Twenty-two years of tightness in muscles that shouldn’t be so tight to make up for weakness in muscles that shouldn’t be so weak had resulted in malalignment and pain in her shoulder, ribs, and in her neck every night and nearly every day.  Yet her spirit was strong, her countenance gentle and open to hope.  

Matching her gentleness, Juanita provided soft encouraging movements that soon led Imane to sitting with more symmetry, to being able to reach farther on her right side than she had before, and to decreasing tightness and relieving some of her pain.  She left as quietly and gently as she had arrived, but we hoped for the prospects of a better sleep uninterrupted by pain ahead for her.  

Our interpreters have been really and truly wonderful.  Each of them have met the children and staff with as much enthusiasm and loving kindness as we, and they have made us better at what we are doing here.  Our assigned interpreter has been Souliman, or Soul, who is 33 years old and has traveled much of the world.  He has been in business with real estate but decided that wasn’t a good match for him.  He now owns some property outside his hometown of Guelmin where he plans to start an organic farm.  Juanita and I think that’s all fine and good and wish him well in his endeavors to do so. However, he really should be a pediatric therapist.  He engages with the children so naturally playfully, as if he were an extension of us.  He practices the movements with the other participants and helps with the teaching and is really good at it.  He shared with us that he, indeed, is reconsidering his career options based upon his time with us.  

We learned that up until Friday the week before we were to start teaching on Monday, while we were in the air and traveling to Morocco, we had no interpreters.  After much prayer, and unbeknownst to us that there had ever been this potential setback, there they were, our interpreters from Heaven, each of them an answer to prayer.  

The next day we had Yessin come visit us.  He’s a twelve-year-old boy, but much smaller than for his age.  His smile is brilliant.  He wants to be able to walk better and loves to play football (soccer).  We discover all kinds of great things about his body that he didn’t know he could do, and his smile becomes even brighter.  He loves the work, and Soul becomes part of the dance, encouraging, playfully inviting harder work, leading chants of his name with the course participants joining in.  Other children who are there to see our medical staff peer in through the open window or bravely sneak into the room and join in the chants. It is spiritual.  Yessin kicks the soccer ball harder than he ever has before and takes longer steps than he thought he could.  He shares with Soul afterwards that his body feels “Perfect!”  Soul explains to us that the word that he used in Arabic is one that is often used by older people, and truly means, “Complete.”  I love this work.  One of our trainees, a young mom of three, relates, through her own tears, how Yessin’s mother was moved to tears seeing her son walk so tall and confidently, and so different from how he had arrived. 

Our medical super-docs Ellen, MD and Lori, ARNP continue to see and care for countless children and adults who are brought in by bus.  For many it is the first time they’ve ever seen a doctor.  They meet each seemingly insurmountable situation with the most important prescription: loving touch, listening hearts, and smiles.  Because of limited resources here, their toolboxes aren’t quite as big as they would be back home.  Thanks for a generous donation of a local benefactor, they are able to prescribe some medications and other services.  Even though medical resources are few, tenderness is unlimited.  Each encounter is closed with abundant gratitude. 

There was a television crew that came through one day, along with leaders, politicians, and who knows who else. We continued with our work as best we could.  Some of our students who tended to sit back and watch were especially attentive though.  We all want to be seen in the best possible light.  We’ve heard that we were on Moroccan national TV that night.  We couldn’t get our hotel TV to work.  

On the last day Imane showed up again.  She told Juanita that she hadn’t had any pain since her last session.  After 22 years, maybe she had found something that helps.  We tried to help her some more.  It was easier for her to move her body in ways that she had not been able to for 22 years, and she needed less help to do so.  She provided another lesson to our eager class, and to us.  

When I think about how quickly the past 22 years in my life have passed, and how full those years have been, I am grateful for all they have included.  I am thankful that those years have been relatively free of physical pain.  I have enjoyed the freedom of movement and using my abilities to enhance those of others.  Imane’s situation has been very different.  Born with challenges, enduring each day, anticipating that each day will bring pain, not freedom, she has continued on.  

These centers, these warm and loving people, we pray will help lovely people such as Imane and Yessin live their best lives, that their movements will be easier, that strength will grow and pain will lessen.  Twenty-two years is far too long to wait.  

We will come back.  There are plans for more multiple trainings per year over the next several years.  We are honored and blessed to be included in this work.  

For now we prepare for two final days in more remote villages where there are even fewer resources.  There are, however, eager learners, caring hearts, and nascent centers just waiting to do good work.  In 22 years, I will be 87.  I don’t know if we will still be able to do this work then, but I hope that by doing so now, we could come back in 22 years and see something amazing.  

For more excitement, check out oslc.com/westcampus.