It used to be so easy.  I would wake up in the morning stiff and sore quickly realizing I was dressed in the clothes I wore yesterday and laying rolled in a blanket on a mud floor, usually finding the resident cat laying on my head, attracted to me because it didn’t often have hair to lay on like mine. Even before I moved, I heard the murmur of almost silent morning prayer around me, and as soon as I moved, I realized how close lay the next woman beside me.  I would decide not to move in a big way.  I would wiggle out the numb places and shift my sore bones, but would let no one in the room realize that I was awake.  I lay in anticipation because I knew that just as soon as morning prayers were over, then the women would share, sometimes in whispers, more often in low murmurs the trials and difficulties of their daily lives.  If anything was extremely private it wouldn’t have been discussed in a room of anywhere from 9-12 women just waking up in the morning and looking forward to a day of Bible study together, so I never hesitated to listen, knowing I would learn what the women needed to hear from God’s word and feeling somewhat confident that I could prepare a lesson that would touch heartfelt needs.   It seemed so easy back there in Kenya, and despite language differences, at times I would feel almost eloquent as I presented a lesson that I had prepared based on those early morning sharing times in the bush, in a mud house, with my Luo sisters in Christ.
          It’s so different here in Madagascar.  The women don’t spend whole weekends together sharing God’s Word.  They are much more private than Luo women.  I rarely hear those heartfelt needs that I long to address using God’s own words.  I teach pampered rich children in English all week long.  I’m on a different rhythm from the Malagasy women.  I often don’t have the right words.  This language is so much more difficult.  I don’t see or hear the needs as clearly as I did on those weekend mornings in Kenya with my Luo sisters.  Most times when I teach here in Madagascar, I feel down right as far from eloquent as one can get, and I wonder how I could possibly be doing any good at all.  The women all sit so politely with hands crossed in their laps if they don’t have a Bible.  That’s a must of their culture.  They would sit politely if I spoke for six endless hours and never let on that I am babbling to them needlessly.  BUT!  It’s my job to teach the women.  It’s my desire to teach the women.  It’s my service to the Father, since I see Him so clearly putting me right here in this spot for this exact reason, so I continue to try, and they continue to sit oh-so-politely.
          It was Sunday morning, April 24th.  We had just started women’s class in the upstairs school room of the orphanage.  We were seated in a circle on molded plastic chairs.  We had already sung two songs.  Tefy’s mom was opening the class with prayer.  As soon as the last amen finished, I looked up to find a woman already on her feet.  She proceeded to speak in typical Malagasy fashion.  She obviously had something important and maybe a bit embarrassing to share. 
          Typical Malagasy fashion.  These folks have a knack of saying so much without saying anything at all.  I remember the day I brought a total stop to a wedding speech because I didn’t laugh at the customary joke.  They repeated the joke more slowly in Malagasy. I understood all the words but had no idea what they were talking about let alone laughing about.  The speaker tried again, this time in French, and I understood every word but had no idea what was funny.  The groom searched around for someone to translate into English.  Again, I had all the words but no meaning.  These people have a gift for saying nothing in words but expressing much feeling couched in nuance.  I haven’t learned to read the nuances yet though I struggle daily to find the key.  That’s just the way it was on this Sunday morning.  The woman was sharing a heartfelt need hidden behind her words.  I understood all the words but had no idea to what she was referring. 
          I’ve learned my Malagasy etiquette well.  I sat with hands folded politely in my lap and looked interested, though try as I might, I just couldn’t catch the essence of her thoughts.  First, I heard my name, and then the women began to clap.  As I looked around I saw tears shining in eyes most all around the room.  I was stumped (usual for me) but continued to try to look interested.  She spoke for more than five minutes.
          As soon as the woman sat down, Tefy’s mom commented, “It’s just like Stacy taught us!”  Heads nodded all around, everyone was smiling broadly.  Tefy’s mom continued, “I think we should stand in a circle with the two women in the middle (I had no idea which two women) and ask Stacy to pray.”
          “Please,” I interrupted, “Your prayers in Malagasy are much better than mine (besides, I still didn’t have a clue what we were praying for, just as I didn’t have a clue what it was that I had taught that brought these two women to the cross of Christ), one of you should pray.”  Rivo’s mom agreed to pray and I let out a silent sigh of relief before I began to concentrate on the prayer.  It was then that I learned that I had taught (exactly when, where, or how, I have no idea because our recent subjects in class have been fellowship and women’s work in the church) about forgiveness and getting along with each other so we could support each other. 
          At the end of the prayer, I sent up a P.S., thanking the Father for helping me to speak, for teaching me what to say, and for reminding me in such a vivid way that I can never take the credit.  He is the One who makes me able, He is the One who gives the words, and He is the one who really teaches the needed lesson, when I am lost and not as eloquent as I want to feel.

Kit is back at school
          He’s somewhere there in my mind and in my heart every day from the time I get up in the morning until the time I go to sleep at night.  Some part of me wants to be with him everyday to make sure he is eating right, getting enough sleep, having an ear to listen and a caring heart to advise, but largely my days are full to overflowing with concerns in Madagascar and I have no time to fret over what may be happening with my teenage son who is a country away. 
          We enjoy so much his month at home and try to provide some fun times and sweet memories.  He gets tired of just sitting around waiting for us to finish work by the end of the month and we see him preparing himself mentally for the return to school.  I get crabby at that time, a little jealous maybe, as I watch him prepare for the separation.  He goes off on the plane and there is a big hole in our family for about one week or so.  He writes home often during this time, not quite settled into school routine yet and missing home, us missing him terribly.  Eventually, we all settle into the routine and the weeks pass with small messages and words of encouragement passing back and forth weekly. 
          Then comes the time or greatest anxiety.  He taking finals and struggling not to be too anxious for vacation.  We, also struggling not to be too anxious, but hardly able to think about anything else by Kit’s return home.  Oh, what joy to catch him off the plane. 
          We are in the middle of the third cycle of this routine and each time gets a little easier.  He’s growing away from us and rightfully so.  He’ll be 18 soon.  For the first time in that last few years, I feel comfortable that he is getting what he needs to get out of school and though my mother heart would like to keep him close, I am proud that he is known as the kid at school who gets along with everyone and who can be depended on to finish the job, whatever the job.  I am also thankful for a school that takes such good care of my child.  Right now we are in the routine part of the cycle where his life goes on in Kenya and ours in Madagascar.  Come July, we will be in that anxiety part of the cycle once again.  Pray for us.  Thanks.

• Please pray for us as we continue to serve here.  Pray that we can reach out to the Malagasy people.  Pray that the Malagasy people can share their heart felt needs with us so that we can address the items that, Lord willing will change the Malagasy people to be His servants.
• Pray for Havilah as she continues to adjust to a new school situation.  Pray that she can be accepted by the other children and that she can use her bible knowledge to help show others the way they need to follow.
• Pray for us and Kit as he is away at school in Kenya.  Pray that the Kenyan school experience can help Kit be prepared for his future life and service in the Kingdom.