What does the President of Liberia, Gender Based Violence, A New Book, HIV-AIDS and a Monkey Have in Common?

UPDATED 12/11/06
They were all a part of a very busy Reed week. On Thursday, the Reeds were invited to attend a Presidential launching of a new effort to combat the significant gender based violence problem in the country. In partnership with several UN agencies, this effort will hopefully be a major step toward bringing peace and justice to the country.

At the launching, the President also announced a new book put together by my dear friends, Grace Boiwu, head of the Mother Patern College Women's Program, and Barbara Brillant, Dean of MPC. Grace and Sr. Barbara both spoke at the event.

On Friday, we all joined MPCHS as it celebrated World AIDS Day. School children from ten or so Catholic schools put on a great show, and the day ended with sports and games. We brought a few neighborhood kids along with us. It was inspiring to see these kids speaking out on the subject. 9 out of 10 kids with AIDS are in sub-Saharan Africa.

And the Monkey? She was a major part of our week. On Tuesday, some neighborboys brought a monkey—specifically a “white eyelid” mangabey (Cercocebus fuliginosusto) to us after their uncle delivered her to them from the interior. I had mixed feelings about taking her, but she apparently has been with people for a while and the boys did not want her. She quickly endeared herself to all of us. She is affectionate, responsive and playful. You ought to see her torment Nikki and Pinky.

As I say, I’m feeling ambivalent. On the one hand, the kids and dogs are crazy about her. They love playing with her—although one gets the feeling that actually she is toying with them and they are just trying to keep up. She appears completely in control, happy and adjusted. On the other hand, I have not fully fleshed out my position on the “primates as pets” issue. I’ve done some research and we are figuring out the most resposible course of action for her. We are leaning toward releasing her up country.

So how was your week? Finally, we are able to upload some pics. The internet has been very slow for a week. Here goes:

First stop, the Gender Violence meeting with President Sirleaf. These are the women from the MPCHS women's program, with the staff behind.

The President, sitting next to a UN official and our own Sr. Barbara Brillant.

Two pretty great women trying to rebuild a nation. Present Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf and Grace Boiwu, head of the women's program and the catalyst behind the book, One Pain Touches All.

Sr. Barbara, ever the opportunist, gets the President to sign some of the books. She'll sell 'em to the highest bidder.

Next day, the Reeds observed World AIDS Day with children from the Catholic Schools. A brass band leads 300 school children through the streets of Matadi, a Monrovian suburb.

The Reeds seated behind the Sisters of Charity (Mother Theresa's order), and the other organizers as the program begins.

Lots of traditional dancing...

...and songs about preventing HIV infection.

...along with some original poetry. All in all a great day.

Now on to the Mangabey. Say hi.

The lil' lady is a load o' laffs.

You haven't lived until you've been groomed by a monkey.

ReedNews Update

Due to deaths, ponderings, and general busy-ness, we have not given you a news update in a month or so. The hot, drier season is upon us which means it is time for some of the government-sponsored road work to begin. We have seen some of these plans, which include resurfacing and widening roads, as well as creating new paved roads in the interior. Have yet to see much around Monrovia, but watch for it daily. More power continues to be restored in Monrovia. Mother Patern College is powered 22 hours a day. Street lights are now extending out of town, inching their way toward us. Here is what else is happening.

Item- Renita has just ended her third twelve-week class on business development for LEAD. More businesses are requesting loans, and the next class is being planned. LEAD is getting to be quite the "Little NGO That Could."

Item- Mid terms are over for my class at MPCHS. Most folks are doing well, but a couple are really struggling. I hate the idea of anybody flunking.

Item- I've been asked to create an all day workshop on behalf of the ministry of health for a bunch of mental health organizations. This will be a report on the work our task force has been doing to establish mental health training standards for Liberia.

Item- The Foster Town Community Development Association is busy working on its next project, and its a big'un. They are working to establish a community market. This would be a huge boon to the Foster Town/Thinkers Village area. Currently people have to travel miles for daily food. This would put all they need within walking distance. The benefit would be to thousands. Thanks to a Madison Square family for the money to secure the land. The community meeting are a thrill to behold. Neighbors that hardly talked before working together to make the community healthier, happier, and more close-knit.

Item- On the Reed home front, our hands are full keeping our car and generator running. In the last month, we have replaced bushings, balljoints and shocks on the Pathfinder, and diodes, a capacitor, and other maintainance on the generator. As I write, the generator is still under repair and the Reeds have been without power for four nights. We are seriously considering buying a smaller backup, thanks to a gift from my big brother, Don and his wife Carolyn.

Item- Some of you read our update from Friday, November 4 of 2005 on the death of our next door neighbor's dog, Survivor. Survivor was hit by a car with ten barely weened pups. The Reeves' gave away all the dogs--including one to us we named Pinky-- except one, which they named Survivor. Six weeks ago, Survivor II gave birth to six pups, and two weeks later, in front of Hannah and Renita, was herself hit and killed buy a car. So now we are trying to give these pups a chance. One has already died. Needless to say, none are named Survivor.

Here are a few current "around the house" photos.

Each morning, after some individual quiet time, we start the day together over coffee. Rarely missed, it is an important time to connect and plan. Noah usually accompanies us. I look at my toes and dream of Michigan.

As we sip and talk, we also watch the birds-- egrets, doves, kingfishers-- and these little guys, weavers. The males are bright yellow with a red eye peering out of a black head. They move like a wall as they devour the rice we toss out for the chickens.

Extremely skiddish, the weavers take off at the slightest movement. We can feel the blast of air from their wings from our chairs on the porch.

Last Saturday, the boys asked us if our yard could be part of their "cleanup campaign." They were attempting to raise money for the new "younger kids" football team. There were about fifteen kids in all.

One of Survivor's pups, Blackie, became very sick because of a worm related problem. We brought him home for some intensive care, but it proved to be too late. Blackie died that night.

Next day, Eastman and the Reed kids buried Blackie. Blackie's owner Trokon was off playing football. As always, death is never far away, so it is taken in stride. As always, only Hannah and Noah shed tears.

On a lighter note, Noah and Yers T. are introducing an exciting new game to the neighborhood. Its called "softball." The kids are loving it. They dig the helmets too. A gift from the Ammons'.

Day is done, and the generator is acting up. Yers Trooly lowering the idle so we get the proper amount of watts. Nobody want to see anything blow up...

... like Noah's head for example. Just before bed, a bit of barbering. The great thing about Noah is his multi-tasking ability. Here, he gets his hair cut while at the same time plays "The Sims."

The all-important family septic tank shot. We're always looking for a nice backdrop.

Mother Patern Visits Foster Town

The newly created "Foster Town Community Development Association" is off and running.(Acronym FoCDA, which is also Bassa word meaning "rest." Most of our Foster Town/Thinkers Village neighbors are Bassa.) In three months, they have offered three fine workshops, with over a hundred community folks attending each. The first was on neighborhood security, and was presented by reps from UNMIL and the Liberian National Police. Out of it, a neighborhood watch is being formed. The second workshop was offered by some medical folks from our nearbye hospital, and it was on HIV/AIDS. From that, four community members are being trained to offer more HIV/AIDS support and teaching for Foster Town.

Last Saturday, my pals at Mother Patern came out here to give a three hour workshop on general hygiene and eye care. It was led by Mr. Beyan and some of his senior nursing students. We had a great time, and the jollof rice served after was "too fine." Some of the photos we took follow.

(Technical note: I recently switched to a beta version of Blogger, and it does not let me upload photos the way I used to. Which means I had to learn a new way of uploading and inserting captions again. I think I have it figured out, but for this group of shots, I inserted the captions in the photos. They are not easy to read, but the next group should be much better. Sorry about the snag, folks. Those of you who know me well know how much this kinda thing drives me up the wall.)

What Happens When Counter-Culture Goes Cross-Culture?

I have been struggling with a dilemma that has been increasing ever since I got here. It vexes me. The dilemma has to do with how involved I get in Liberian cultural issues—especially those I think are unhealthy.

On the one hand, as a Christian, I know I am supposed to critique and even challenge the surrounding culture. The great leaders of my faith from Abraham to Moses to the prophets, on to Paul, Augustine, the Desert Fathers, Francis of Assisi, all the way to modern leaders like Teresa of Calcutta or Martin Luther King spent their lives testing, confronting and even defying convention. They lived and died speaking out for culturally unpopular issues like justice, holiness, faith, and self sacrificing love. Jesus Himself blasted those involved with the worldly poisoning of the truth of God.

On the other hand, I am a visitor in a foreign land. Everything I have been taught, told, and believe says to be slow to speak regarding areas of Liberian culture that seem unjust or unloving or in some way wrong to me. Respecting the culture and avoiding ethnocentric reactions are at the core of effective international development work.

So now I have been in Liberia sixteen months. In the beginning, keeping my mouth shut was easy. When I saw something that seemed morally or spiritually suspect, I could avoid speaking up on the basis of “cultural sensitivity.” I liked the arrangement. It kept me from sticking my foot in my mouth and making a fool of myself. It also kept me from getting involved, which is always nice for an underachiever. Lately, I’m getting nudged from several sources—Liberian, American, from outside my head and inside—to speak up more, to get more involved, to “be more prophetic” in my work with Liberians. At Mother Patern College, from the folks of our new Foster Town Community Development Association, from my neighbors, I hear that I have shown the requisite respect for Liberian culture. Now it may be time to challenge certain aspects of it.

It makes me nervous. I enjoyed the honeymoon. What will being a prophetic American Christian in West Africa look like? I do not want to make the mistake of saying too much, of sounding like another American blabbing like he owns the place. But now I can no longer use that concern to justify silence. It is time to be willing to speak, and I am afraid of saying too much or the wrong thing.

Not that there is anything specific on my mind. It is not like I have a sense I am supposed to tell so-and-so that I think he’s being bad, or stand up at some meeting and rail against a particular injustice. I’m just supposed to be open to speak up more. I’m supposed to pay attention, and He will do the nudging at the right moment. And trusting anyone else’s nudging, even His, really makes me nervous.

Anyway, while I ponder my next steps, here a few shots around town.

Otiero

I’ve been meaning to write an update for a few days now, but things have been a bit busy. And I just can’t seem to get Otiero off my mind. So the update will wait until next time.

Otiero Reeves, formally Samuel Reeves, son of the late Deacon Samuel Reeves, nephew of Pastor Sam Reeves of Providence Baptist Church, came to live next door in June. I was not fond of the nine year old, in part because he was in my space more than usual, trying to get me to buy or give him something, and nine years old or not, I need people to hold back and get to know me a bit before I am interested in acting like pals. He was in love with Hannah from the first week, and in typical boy fashion he showed that love by continually annoying, teasing, and hitting her. He was relentless, and a few times I had to come out of the house to tell him to lay off. He would typically run away and when I had gone, return and start up again.

As the months passed, I noticed Hannah laughing with Otiero more and as he gave me required space, I began the inevitable process of softening up. He began regularly getting books from Renita and hanging out on our porch, reading them. I knew it was just a matter of time before I would begin letting him in my heart a bit.

Just a matter of time.

Last Saturday at around 5:00pm, Otiero’s sister Patience gave him an errand. She needed to return an article of clothing to a friend who lived near the beach and she wanted him to take it to her. Otiero and the friend did not know each other, and likely passed one another on the road. Otiero apparently used the missed opportunity to do some swimming at the local rain-fed lagoon.

At 9:30pm, the Reeds received a knock on our gate from one of the neighborhood boys. Otiero had not returned. This was serious, because after dark in Liberia means everybody is at home. More ominous was the news that his clothes and the clothes he was taking to Patience’s friend, had been found at the edge of the lagoon. I felt sick, because this almost certainly meant something terrible had happened.

I immediately headed to the Oceanside lagoon with our flashlights and about twenty five family friends and neighbors. We debated for a bit about what to do, but when Renita arrived, we both knew we had to at least try to find him. If it had been one of ours, no one could have kept us out of the lagoon. Most of our neighbors are afraid of dark, moonlit water, so only two joined us. The four of us waded through the chest high waters, feeling for signs of a body with our feet, but we knew we did not have enough people, so after twenty minutes, we called a halt to the search.

At sunup Sunday morning, Otiero's father Othello found the body of his son, which had returned to the surface after resting on the sandy bottom all night. On Monday we buried him in a cemetery that lies between his home and the place he died. Children are buried quickly in Liberia.

I have been thinking about Otiero and his last moments. The lagoon varies in depth because of the rains, but usually returns to wading depth quickly. Otiero was an active boy who loved the lagoon. He could not have known that what was a few feet deep last week was now well over his head due to recent rains. The water gets deep quickly; eight feet out is waist deep, but twelve feet out it is five feet deep. In my mind’s eye I see him, a naked little boy rushing out with expectation, finding the water warm but refreshing, happy to be away from older kids telling him what to do. But just ten steps out, an alarm sounds in his head. The water has never been so high before at this spot. He reacts instinctively to stop, but his forward momentum has already taken him over his head. And he is all alone. I imagine his surprise evolving in an instant to shock, then panic, then terror. I imagine after a few frantic seconds coughing and trying to shout at the surface, he disappears. The water settles down immediately and becomes smooth. A bird calls from the bushes. A passer-by notices some sort of clothe and flip-flops on the sand and nothing registers. He enjoys the ocean breeze and moves on.

Later on Sunday, Renita and I were asked to be a part of a "community coroner's panel," a custom that asks a community jury to examine the body and give its observations about the condition of the deceased. It was a sad task. There was no mischievous smile, no hopeful glance. Just the naked body of a little boy. Already gone. I am having difficulty getting around it.

It is interesting to watch his family go through the grieving process - life seems to go on so quickly again, probably because it has to. Maybe it is because tragedy is more a part of normal life here. Drowning happens a lot. There were two in our area last weekend. The children who lived and slept with Otiero seem to have moved on. By the next day they were laughing and playing like normal. A week later, nobody says his name. Already gone.

As a Christian I do not grieve for Otiero as those who have no hope. Deacon Reeves probably greeted his grandson upon his arrival and then introduced him to Jesus. The soul that we named Otiero is fine. But he is gone from this place, and already passing from thought, soon to pass from memory, except for a handful. I think about how long it was taking for me to let him in, and that he never quite got there. I wonder who the next one will be, and will I have let him in by then?

A Lil' Visit from Some Homeys

So the Tigers lost. Enough said about that.

We had the opportunity assist in hosting a group from the Pebbles and Stones ministry, which includes three friends from Madison Square Church—our home base. Mary Springer, Cheri and son Jeffery Niemeier, along with P&S founder Kathleen Trock, came to do some children’s ministry workshops for Providence Baptist Church. While here they visited our neighborhood and local schools and orphanages. Later in the week, we all went up north past Kakata (about and hour and a half on decent roads, then off road a bit) to see one of LEAD’s businesses, a new plantain/banana plantation. Zhaye and Emmanuel Garpue were our Liberian hosts. Emmanuel runs a church in Kakata and a taxi business in Monrovia, while Zhaye teaches in Monrovia. They hope the Kakata business will provide them with enough income to focus on one sustaining activity.

Here are a few images from the West African bush.

This part of visit begins just north of Kakata, with Emmanuel showing Renita, Jeffery, Cheri, Katleen and Mary the church. Zhaye is on the right.

Always, there are spectators.

After the church visit, on their way to the plantation, Cheri Niemeier, Kathleen Trock and Renita Reed.

Off road now, driving through the bush. Whenever possible, let somebody else lead on these trails. This is the Providence Baptist Church car. Note the clouds ahead. We met up with those rains just as we arrived at the plantain/banana field.

The jeeps can go no further, so we hoof it for the last few hundred yards. Jeffery leads his mom and the rest through the undergrowth.

Arriving at the banana field, Jeffery finds a lovely grasshopper he must share with the ladies.

Zhaye and Emmanuel amid their field of dreams.

Looking a bit more damp, Renita and Yers Trooly make it back to the vehicles and head back home.

1968

The rainy season is finishing, as the Liberians say, and life here is going well. The "Foster Town Community Development Association" is hammering out its fifteen page constitution and offering workshops (last week's was on HIV-AIDS and was attended by over a hundred), Renita is providing support there while she teaches a LEAD class and home schools, and I am still teaching at MPCHS and offering input to the Ministry of Health through its Mental Health Task Force. But I'm a bit homesick...

Back in the US, the Detriot Tigers are having a World Series rematch with the St. Louis Cardinals (1968-- a classic series), and I am missing every pitch. I get on the internet twice a week, so all I get is the results of the games. More than simply frustrating me, missing this series is taking me back to that other series so long ago. Kaline, Lolich, McLain, Cash, Horton, Freehan, against the Cards' Wilson, Gibson and Brock--what a series that was. The Tigers came back from 3-1 games behind to win it. What a season it was. And then I find myself going back beyond the '68 series. I find myself reliving 1968. What a year that was.

Remember? Of course you do, if you are old enough. With the sexual revolution in our faces, "Laugh-In" on our new color TV, and the Beatles in our heads, we watched as Martin Luther King was murdered, our inner cities erupted in racial violence, Walter Cronkite reported weekly death tolls from the Vietnam War, Bobby Kennedy was murdered, antiwar students shut down campuses, Chigago police beat protestors at the Democratic convention ("The whole world is watching" they cried amid the clubbing), the Soviet Union invaded Czechoslovakia, Richard Nixon was elected president, Apollo 8 orbited the moon, and the Tigers won the Series. I was a lad of 13-14, and I knew the grown ups had their hands full.

I will never forget those times, or that year. It lives and breathes in me today. The events occurred exactly at the time I was trying to make sense out of life, out of the world, out of myself. Those times informed me, shaped me.

Of course, subsequent events continued to shape me, and shape me still. I spent the next few years searching for the meaning of it all. Much later-- seven years later-- I met the Holy Spirit and believed the Good News of Christ. I finished grad school. I got married, had kids. Liberia. But the sixties, and particularly 1968, remain prominent in my soul. It must be part of His Plan for me to be formed out of the sixties without knowing Him, and then waiting until later to introduce Himself to me. I don't know the why of it, but for some reason I cannot explain, I'm glad He did it that way.

Anyway, I miss those crazy times.

And I hope the Tigers beat the Cards. As of today-- Friday the 27th-- they are 3-1 games behind. Deja Vu, anyone?

Oh, here are a few pictures.

Morning has broken on the Reed's front yard. We know you've seen it, but this view from our porch has come to mean a lot to us.

In that yard, water wars are common. Eastman, Enoch and Trokon with squirt bottles, Noah with a Supersoaker.

I try not to see this as a metaphor for Americans in the developing world. But Eastman never stood a chance.

Truce time. Reading in the yard with Enoch, Trokon and Jackson.

We visted our neighbors the other day and Hannah had to connect with their monkey. Hannah is on the right.

In the Reed house-- the new community development group for our neighborhood meets. Very exciting, and quite different from community development in the US. We are learning much.

On to Monrovia and Mother Patern College. Yers Trooly teaching 13 social work students in the senior class. Yers tells me he is getting quite fond of these folks-- he also taught them in the spring.

A Penny for Her Thoughts x 2

Renita Reed here. Bob keeps asking me to put my “two cents worth” into this publication, so here they are.



First Penny: Looking for Home
As many of you know, we sold our Grand Rapids home and the majority of our possessions when moving to Liberia.

After being here for fifteen months, and knowing that our ‘term’ is to be three-five years, it is inevitable that we begin to think about, “where next?” What will God have in store for us two years down the road? If we sense a call to stay here for five years, the question will be put off for another two years. But if not, how do we proceed? Bob and I occasionally will have conversations about this over our morning coffee on the porch. And we have come to the realization that no matter where we will end up, we may not have a place on this earth that will feel like home.

That anticipation of homelessness may surprise some, because after all, we have been here long enough to get adjusted, and we both come from deep roots in north central North America. Yet we cannot see being comfortable living in the US or Canada, nations of such great wealth when so many other live in staggering destitution. And we can’t seem to feel at home here, in a nation not our own, especially one with great needs that press in on every side. So, for right now, it is truly difficult to imagine a place on this earth that would feel like home.

We recall the Bible text that tells us this world is not our home, so maybe we are not supposed to feel at home anymore – our home is in the world to come.

Of course, we have no idea where God will lead us and what it will look like or feel like when we get there. We are open to His leading and in the meantime, trying not to think about it too much.


Another Penny, another Thought: The Bad News and the Good News
Those of you who know me know I’m a fairly driven person. I tend to have two predominant, repeating thoughts: “what do I need to do next” and “I’m not doing enough.” A major shift in this thinking happened in 1995, when I realized that I could never do enough to please God – I finally realized it was a free gift and the only thing that could reconcile me to Him was through the death and resurrection of His Son. So I stopped trying to earn my salvation and instead tried simply serving the Lord out of gratitude and love-- but still with the same two driving thoughts.

Now, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I will always be in the company of the “What next?” question. But I really thought that coming to Liberia would take care of the “I’m not doing enough” mantra. Surely I would be doing enough if I immersed myself in the deep poverty and suffering of my Liberian neighbors. The bad news is that I discovered that in a world of overwhelming need, the feeling of not doing enough is actually multiplied. Imagine seeing teenage boys pleading with you to help them go to school, and having to tell them no because there’s just not enough money to help everyone. “Should we have given more?” Imagine saying no to mothers coming to you asking for help because they have no food, no bed, and poor shelter for their children. “Should we buy another mattress?” Imagine watching your next door neighbor and dear friend die from an illness treatable in the West. “Should we have tried harder to get him the help he needed?” I see more clearly that I can never do enough, and I feel it.

But that brings me to the good news. I have come to believe that it truly doesn’t matter where you live; there is kingdom work to be done. No matter where you go, you will find that there is more need than you are able to meet. People in need will be disappointed in you regardless of how selfless you may live your life, because it is not enough. That may not sound like good news, but it is. God is in charge here. He, for whatever reasons, allows the inequity, and the need, and the suffering. He allows me to know I cannot ever, ever do enough. That truth keeps me humble and keeps me going back to Him, reminding myself that He is in control – these are his children, and asking him to let me participate in His work as best I can, and then to rest in that.

I’m not too good at the resting part yet, but if I keep looking to him in the midst of “never enough,” I find myself able to join Him in a “spiritual breather” every now and then.

I’ll take that breather. It is better than the alternatives.  

Church Roof Goes Up, Pastor’s House Goes Down

Renita's mom Marrie Kranenburg has been busy. After she and Renita's dad visited us in April, she decided that she wanted to support one of our neighborhood churches in a tangible way. The church pastored by Augustine Zar and Sam Befolon is the church the Reeds attend most often. It is a woven reed mat structure on the sand, and since we've been here, it had only leaky mats and tarps for a roof. The tarps were vulnerable to theft, and were stolen once. When she returned to Georgetown, Ontario, Marrie mobilized. She got her church and friends involved, and raised enough money-- about 750.00 US dollars, to put corrugated zinc on the roof. The church rejoiced that now its sevices can be held in this very rainy season drip-free. A big thank you to Marrie and the good neighbors of Georgetown.

Then last week, Pastor Befolon's joy was tested. In about fifteen minutes Wednesday morning, his house was gone. He was trying to build a cement structure, but it was still mostly reed mats covered by zinc. A guest left a candle burning and the resulting loss was total. His baby was inside, but he and the baby's mother were out. A nine year old neighbor girl went in a rescued the infant-- literally seconds from certain death. When he arrived on the scene, Pastor Befolon praised God. Of course, there is no insurance for the Befolons, and the church could not afford to pay him a salary. They were poor before, they are destitute now.

But they are not devastated. It is almost surreal to a Western guy like me, but Liberians seem to be so adjusted to catastrophe that they immediately pick up and start over with an almost casual matter-of-fact determination. The Befolons are sad of course, and they are suffering. But in a country where suffering and loss are part of the culture, they have learned how to continue.

Yet still, I find myself wondering for Sam Befolon, and seventeen year old Trokon Garway who I mentioned earlier, and so many others in Liberia: "When will the grieving end? When will the 'days of the storm' be over?"

How the local church looks now after Renita's mom raised money for a new zinc roof. It was tarp and woven reed before. That's Noah heading in last Sunday.

The roof from the inside of the church. This is how new zinc looks-- shiny and bright...

... and this is what zinc looks like after it has been ruined by fire. The Befolon home, utterly destroyed. Mattresses, generator, pots, personal effects, everything gone.

Pastor Sam Befolon sifting through what is left of his papers, books and Bible.

The entire Befolon family, in front of their home. Clean up has begun, but what next?

...and Sometimes He Says Yes

Amanda Reeves is our next door neighbor and the daughter of our dear friend, the late Deacon Reeves. We told the story of how her brother Sam preached the Deacon’s funeral, and reminded us that sometimes God says “no” to our prayers. Here is part two of that sermon.

Amanda is about forty years old and has three children, Clarence, Princess and Earnest. However, she has not seen her children in eleven years. During the civil war, her ex-husband took the children, then 10, 11 and 13, to the Netherlands. Several years ago he died, and Amanda lost all contact with them. When we came here, we quickly developed a fond friendship with Amanda and she asked us to do what we could to help her find her lost children. Of course we did not know anything about intercontinental kid-finding, but we thought, let’s give it a try.

As some of you know, Renita's parents' roots "just happen" to be in the Netherlands, so she emailed them on Amanda's behalf and they in turn contacted some family members there. These family members put us in contact with a Dutch television show that looks for missing children, called Vermist. It is something like America's Most Wanted for missing children. After nine months of waiting, Pim Faber of Vermist told us they wanted to fly Amanda to the Netherlands and put her on the show. This would be an exciting but frightening opportunity for Amanda, who had never flown before or even ventured out of Liberia (except a brief traumatic stint as a war refugee across the border in Côte d'Ivoire).

She had to get her visa in a separate trip to Senegal—no Dutch embassy in Liberia-- and then left for the Brussels Wednesday September 27. She arrived Thursday morning and from there she traveled by car two hours to Hilversum, in the Netherlands. What a road trip that must have been.

On Friday, we received a phone call from Mr. Faber, who had a few questions for us (some troubles with Amanda's Liberian English), and then he shocked us with news that they had already found Amanda's children. Her three children "just happen" to live in Hilversum, the city where the TV studio is located. Amanda had not yet been informed and the Friday show, instead of being a plea for help in finding her children, would now be a surprise reunion show.

Imagine the moment, as this woman, this survivor of civil war, refugee camps, abandonment and poverty, who has never been out of the region--let alone flown to Europe-- imagine as she sits in a high tech Holland television studio and comes face to face with children not seen in over a decade, whom she had lost touch with, and who themselves did not know if she was dead or alive.

The newly reunited family called us immediately after the show aired and we had a chance to speak with Princess and Clarence, which was very exciting. Amanda sounded thrilled and was looking forward to visiting Earnest on Monday, who could not attend the television program.

Amanda's prayers of the last eleven years have been answered, and to those of you who joined us in prayer for this as well, we all can rejoice together. He heard you-- He heard us. And this time, the answer for Amanda was “Yes.”

Vermist sent us some stills from the video images of that program, and we are happy to share them with you now.

Here is Amanda's "Before" picture. Taken last October as Renita dropped her off to vote in the presidential elections.