Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                       August 29th, 2023

It is almost noon on a Tuesday.  While our house is being cleaned we can hear the voices of many singing children from a nearby Secondary School close by us here on the Mountain.  It is cloudy and sound is staying close to the surface of the mountain to spill softly into our open doors and windows.

Praise music from the mouths of children woven into birdsong.  As healing as nature itself.  Each voice is an eternity of stories in the making.  So much to pray for.  So beautiful to pray for.  To be prayed into, unknown by those voices and their families, times, and places. 

Do we believe that our prayer is heard?  Do we believe that our prayer is valuable?  It is.  Even the prayers that slip out through The Spirits groaning for us, unnoticed by us.  To perceive beauty we may need to already have the gift of beauty within to touch its reflection in the world around us. 

Please trust that The Spirit houses its perfect character within each of us who cherish the beauty of creation and her occupants.  The Spirit challenging and growing us stronger in our shared bodily housing as we appreciate more than malign, as we revere more than resign, as we eagerly anticipate our next moment more than worry and fear what comes from living in this creation so very dear.

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Yesterday, I was frustrated.  A dearest precious one who is mothering the children and grandchildren of her deceased sister jumped in the truck Saturday and together we finally went and found wood so I can build a staircase up to the floor beneath the metal roof of the house we are in. 

We also bought a bed for another woman wonder working under the caring gaze of that dearest precious one.  Both the boards and bed parts got tied onto/into the stupid little truck.  The bed lets yet another mother, and solution for other women and children, now find rest nearby her overfull home of living responsibilities.  It is in use. 

It was sunny and dry, yesterday was my chance to get going on that staircase.  My layout lines were wrong.  I needed an eraser.  I have purchased many and yet none were anywhere in the house.  Every tool, every carefully picked and watched over, while being planed and edged, board had to be put away.  I had to drive off the mountain to find a pencil eraser. 

I found pencil erasers and got three good sized ones for about 40 cents.  While off the mountain, I can get three whole cooked chickens for five bucks each.  Hilda has been sick so, that’s what I did.  We had chicken soup last night for three people and have plenty still for multiple meals this week.

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On the way back up the hill, after getting erasers and chickens, I sucked it up and said thank you for taking away all the erasers and making me remember that I am not here to get comfortable doing what I already know how to.  I resolved further to try to write about Hilda’s illness and some head-shaking awesome discovery only made visible by our need in her regard. 

Yes, Hilda has been sick.  Very sick.  Missing Sunday worship and Sunday school multiple weeks.  Only this morning has the smile truly returned to her.  That after putting on her shoes and marching up out of the hole, the house is in, to test and see that her breathing is returning, her cardiovascular response to physical exercise and stress is no longer severely debilitating. 

Last week I took Hilda into town two days in a row for clinic and hospital visitation required by her failing health.  I shared every medical test and each visit with our adult children and asked them to pray.  They and those nearby us had their prayers heard and answered. 

The mother of three, yet another woman of this mountain, and the next mountain over having been born of that tribe, who cleans and washes for us, came sick to her duties today.  So Hilda has been nursing the diligent one while that diligent one is cleaning and washing our clothes.  No, we would not take her work from her now.  Her efforts for us lets her keep those three children in school.  Her efforts for us, even when sick or beaten badly, keep her strong in her self-reliance and reliance on God who supports her through some terrible things. 

This house she cleans, these dirty clothes, are not just work to overcome but are markers of a safe place she comes to twice a week to earn her children’s futures.  We did not understand that we would be used in this way.  We can still learn.  We are trusted now by many precious ones to see, to listen, to learn, and to appreciate. 

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Where we live the precious ones we serve are mostly diligent women, mostly Christian of one flavor or another.  But, not all are impoverished yet diligent women. 

Friday is the weekly Islamic day of prayer.  I was in town a rare second day, without Hilda, hoping she would rest.  Around helping my young Confirmation student gather things for boarding school, I went to our Islamic pharmacist to hopefully collect any medications.  Medications required after testing and the prior day’s consultation with the recommended young Islamic physician we had been immediately sent to on Thursday. 

Instead of any medications I was instructed to get Hilda a chest x-ray ASAP.  Blood testing showed high levels of inflammation markers.  That and symptomology demanded expeditiousness in further testing. 

Thankfully gathering for boarding school was done for the day and we very nearly flew back to Mulala.  We being my Confirmation student, a young married head-man in training, whose Uncle’s funeral I attended seated next to his father and for whom I have become a trusted one who helps and gets helped without any money changing hands.  If I try to pay for his time I get told no.  And me driving.

The same dearest precious one who is mothering the children and grandchildren of her deceased sister, was contacted immediately to find us a place to get Hilda’s chest x-ray.  By the time we had collected Hilda we had a place back in town for that x-ray.  We dropped off the student with his things and took off heading back into town at the posted speed limit, I usually go 10 under the limit. 

Traffic police waved me over but after a few tense seconds of me demanding that I get my sick wife to the hospital for an x-ray and pointing to her in the back seat, they relented and waved us on.  It seemed like a long time but probably less than an hour later we had the x-ray and were on the way to that young Physician’s office from the day before yet again.  

Remember that this was Friday.  Islamic day of prayer.

Also this is not North America and we are free to share x-ray images and test results by phone message with anyone.  No signed paperwork needed.  We are still adults here where self-care is king and necessary as physicians are too few. 

We get to the young Islamic Physician’s office and receive a text that he will be on his way to join us soon.  After joining us at his office he looks at Hilda’s x-ray and asks her about it.  This young Islamic man has already clued in that Hilda has a lot good going on even when sick.  She points and explains that there is no sign of infection and that the x-ray is clear. 

This young physician agrees.  Then we hear the rest of the story..

Mohamad, our pharmacist, who took his training in the U.K. and chose to return to serve among the poor in TZ and who I have been trusted to listen to and care about since his father’s death this year.  This young physician who took his training in the United Arab Emirates yet returned to serve in poor TZ. 

They both chose to be available to guide me before, then went to prayer. 

They then gathered other older Islamic physician specialists at the Mosque immediately after prayer to discuss Hilda, her test results and plan further testing and treatment.  Somehow no cost to us for this kindness is expected.

The fact that we have done what we believe have been told to do by scripture and the person of our Lord and Savior.  The fact that we sold home and came, even after the death of both my contacts here, to try to serve has permeated the overtaxed and overworked Islamic medical professional community here. 

They too have chosen to take possession of us as their own just like these precious impoverished diligent women of the mountain.        

Do you believe that our prayer is heard?  Do you precious ones believe that our prayer is valuable?  It is.  Even the prayers that slip out through The Spirits groaning for us, unnoticed by us.  To perceive beauty we may need to already have the gift of beauty within to touch its reflection in the world around us. 

Please trust that The Spirit houses its perfect character within each of us who cherish the beauty of creation and her occupants.  The Spirit challenging and growing us stronger in our shared bodily housing as we appreciate more than malign, as we revere more than resign, as we eagerly anticipate our next moment more than worry and fear what comes from living in this creation so very dear.

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August 25^th is another step towards Theological training here.  August 25^th came and went with a bounce back into the governmental process yet again..  Word is that the University is ready for any final steps but the government needs something more.  Pray please.. 

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Yes please …

Relationships here on the ground in addition to my imperfections and mistakes are being used to try to drive us away from our striving.  Each day is a sincere struggle.  Hopefully that means we’re on the right track.  Please pray for those around us.  Please pray for the local faces which fearlessly now smile and greet us as we walk.  

Please keep crumpling us up and throwing us at God.  That is where we need to be.  God will sort us out.

One day at a time.  Just like how you each live.  Just one day at a time. 

Thank you, each of you.

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What to Pray for:

Our armed forces families, our leadership, our people, whole world round, all of Gods kids -

All the tough and blessing expressed above –

The love of folks –

Whatever is on your hearts and minds for us –

For our children and grand-children who miss us.. 

For Makumira Secondary School looking to share stories and partner in some way with a foreign school, Great leaders, teachers, students, programs, strong backs, minds, and hearts –

For our health to stay ahead of whatever is before us –

For those who have braved the donate button to discover Kajun Crofton, our daughter who helps getting each one of your donations to us and every blogpost to where you can read it -

For each and every one of you –

Each and every one of your prayers, your precious conversations with God –

Prayers, Your Prayer, Even your groaning prayers makes all the difference..

Vern W

May life be as Music to your Heart – May Music be as Heart to your Life – May Heart be as Life to your Music

 Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                         August 22-24th, 2023

We lost power early this morning.  Because of that and the weather being warm and sunny, we pulled out the sewing kit. 

Hilda has spent the whole day repairing the hat my Dad gave me when we moved the folks off the farm in 2005.  It is a wonderful hat that is nearly completely perforated to let the breeze whirl around the top of your head.  The brim and the top patch are solid to provide shade.  The rim of the brim has had the worn open areas reclosed to contain the strands that hold the brim out and up.  She is now going completely around the rim of the brim for the second time with bright green thread to give the tan hat a green character.  Somebody loves me.

I’ve been working on the holey back-pack after re-securing the burst from the binding zipper of my Bible cover. 

Why would you care about two hands-on older folks taking advantage of beautiful weather to sit outside undercover on the porch where they can see to stitch stitches?  Well, with the gate open for the whole local throng of ambulatory to walk by and see their wealthy white neighbor’s managing needles and thread to fix rather than just pitch and buy new, we were once again visible doing exceedingly normal things for just folks to do.

I forgot it is Tuesday.  Mchungaji Ombeni and the visitation/prayer team were walking by too.  They saw Mchungaji Kisali and Mama Mchungaji Kisali both heads down over diligent stitching.  Without even a moment’s thought the visitation/prayer team came right on in to watch and use Mchungaji Ombeni’s phone to take pictures of their missionaries from America working together outside in the light. 

Their missionaries were somehow again doing the familiar yet completely unexpectedly normal person thing.  We stitched and read the Bible and prayed and shared insights of the moment and, after being prayed over with laughter, joyfully sent the team along with a sleeve of cookies and a couple bananas for Mchungaji.

Thank God the power failed this morning again.

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The permission came quickly for us to attend the children down at Makumira Secondary School [Mak 2] on Sundays at 4:30.  Requirements from Headmaster include that the message be given in English and that at least three songs be sung in English.

Two Sundays ago was our first time at 4:30 with the children at Mak 2, around two hundred of them.  The message was the same one prepared for the Mama’s at The Children’s Village so..  It was a grown up message.  A grown up message for Mama’s of littles who need them and teenagers at Mak2 [English medium Lutheran boarding school]. 

Two days ago the second time was a jumble of other things occurring at the same time so..  Let go and wait..  4:30 is not firm.. 

We got going about 5:30 and had only about 120 children.  I introduced the Kyrie, which they had never heard of and we sang:  The Kyrie as given in music from Ghana in the blue with-one-voice we brought along.  We also sang ’Gracious Spirit, heed our pleading’ as arranged by the Lutheran Theological College, Makumira, Tanzania [the university I am seeking acceptance into] also from with-one-voice and we sang ‘We are marching in the light [Siyahamba]’ as in with-one-voice and also the red worship book.     

That hour between plan and actual service time had about eight of the girls practicing the three planned English songs.  They then sat around Hilda and I and chatted in multi-lingual joviality about all sorts of things.  Somewhere, perhaps my whiskers, a lions roar entered the discussion so..  

I roared like a lion.  This I do nearly every Sunday for the littles up at The Children’s Village as part of the songs they have.  

That roar was a surprise to these teenagers.  After that roar, the teenage girls around us re-gathered themselves in laughter.  One literally up from the floor where she fell in shock, but arising laughing too.

Extra copies of the message have been left each time in both languages.  This thanks to the computer and internet allowing me to translate English into Swahili. 

Two nights ago, one of the teenage girls, who know us from The Children’s Village and are students at Mak 2, came to the truck before we left to say that all the attending teens in service wanted a copy of the message.  The Girls plan to see to that when the school office opens.   We can’t afford copies like that, thankfully they have a plan.    

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Stupid little truck had Monday to Thursday in town being worked on last week.  Brand new turbo [guts] same housings.  Bushings, ball joints, axle seals, alignment re-strung old-school.  Result is a truck that no longer smokes and climbs the mountain one or two gears higher than before. 

Took the stupid little truck back into town yesterday and will collect it again Thursday.  Praying that four wheel drive and diff-lock can take similar strides for the better.   

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So children of all ages have taken us into their circle of possession.  Many of those children are old enough to have children and, a few, grand-children of either their own, or of deceased siblings, now in their care.  How do I face this responsibility?  How do I face the millstone around my neck?

Every time I give a message, either myself or through a local indigenous voice, I remind myself that this may be the last message I ever give.  Let it be as truthful as God can help me make it.  

Your prayers are beautiful in their results.. Thank You..

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The Jewish, former Islamic, father of my Confirmation student has been back in Africa for 3 or so weeks.  He left this morning with his Tanzanian daughter to return to the U.S. and her school.  That father wanted me to know that he will be back in time to attend his son’s Lutheran Confirmation now scheduled for December.   

Pray, pray, pray..  Time for confirmation preparation is so often less than important here too.  Imagine how difficult for this young man whose faith is different from his parents.  Pray, pray, pray..

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August 25^th is another step towards Theological training here.  I can be rejected or accepted at this next step like all the others over the year and a half.  If I get through, if my name is still on the list, there is at least another step.  No further conversations yet with the university as I am not yet accepted.  Pray please.. 

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We have a white board and dry erase markers in the house.  It has rough plans for stairs I need to build if nothing more important appears to take the few resources first. 

That white board has residuals from lessons in Swahili we are taking from a local teacher who comes to the house twice a week.  Glory is competent.  Glory is intelligent.  Glory is curious.  Glory is kind.  Glory is consistent.  We love and are so very thankful for Glory.  

That whiteboard also has a space for names.  Names of books, and names of little ones from the neighborhood.  One shelf below the whiteboard is piled with books, many donated by our daughter Margretta and her two young sons.  Those books are still very valued here where devices and connectivity are extremely rare. 

Little girls appear at the door to see Bibi.  Some are very familiar now.  They come in, pick a book and sit to read.  Now, sometimes, they come to pick a book and watch their name go on the whiteboard along with the name of the book.  Then they go home with the book. 

So far, the books have all come back.  Older girls occasionally take out a book that is much below their own reading level to take home.  That is when I believe they are sharing this opportunity with a younger sibling, cousin, or neighbor.  Being a teacher starts early for some. 

Gratitude is beautiful among these little girls.  They will come and read then go be with Hilda in the kitchen.  They will grab all Hilda’s dirty dishes and clean them.  This all the while laughing and smiling and practicing English through questions and answers.  Their questions, Hilda’s answers.  Hilda’s questions, their answers. 

Your prayers are beautiful..

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Yes please …

Relationships here on the ground in addition to my imperfections and mistakes are being used to try to drive us away from our striving.  Each day is a sincere struggle.  Hopefully that means we’re on the right track.  Please pray for those around us.  Please pray for the local faces which fearlessly now smile and greet us as we walk.  

Please keep crumpling us up and throwing us at God.  That is where we need to be.  God will sort us out.

One day at a time.  Just like how you each live.  Just one day at a time. 

Thank you, each of you.

              -------------------------------------------------------

What to Pray for:

Our armed forces families, our leadership, our people, whole world round, all of Gods kids -

All the tough and blessing expressed above –

The love of folks –

Whatever is on your hearts and minds for us –

For our children and grand-children who miss us.. 

For Makumira Secondary School looking to share stories and partner in some way with a foreign school, Great leaders, teachers, students, programs, strong backs, minds, and hearts –

For our health to stay ahead of whatever is before us –

For those who have braved the donate button to discover Kajun Crofton, our daughter who helps getting each one of your donations to us and every blogpost to where you can read it -

For each and every one of you –

Each and every one of your prayers, your precious conversations with God –

Prayers, Your Prayer, Even your groaning prayers makes all the difference..

Vern W

May life be as Music to your Heart – May Music be as Heart to your Life – May Heart be as Life to your Music

 Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                                     August 10th, 2023

Drove all the way to Kenya and all the way back to Leganga, between Makumira and Usa River.  But for refilling a slow leak on the driver’s front tire, which is ongoing anyway, no additional major mechanical truck issues. 

We brought the German newlyweds along with us as far as Arusha, their next way point on their literal year around the world together. 

At Leganga we took our travel companion/border/immigration guide and fixer home up a short tortured side track.  After getting the truck turned around and pulled as far off to the side as possible I turned the truck off.  We were talking while I was checking the mirrors and listening, all windows open. 

I leaned forward to pull the door latch and no sooner had it popped open about eight to ten inches a piki piki (motorcycle), I did not hear, came flying over the rise behind and past us through the ruts. 

Driven so typically without care for even the piki drivers life it was skimming past the side of the truck and caught the opening door jerking it out of my hand and sending the motorcycle and driver to the dusty hard ground. 

Those of you who know part of my story know that I have a long association with motor vehicle, highway and off-highway trauma.  My earliest childhood friend outside my cousins was killed in third grade by a drunk driver.  I’ve lived and am still living through some horrendous mistakes of my own.  As the boss of many professional drivers I’ve been to accident scenes and cleaned up messes that still haunt.  As a professional driver myself, I’ve seen things, felt things, heard things, recovered from things that still haunt and violate peace even when they aren’t violently jerking a door from my hand.

Piki piki driver is sore.  Good.  Driver was checked out at the hospital.  Driver is fine.  Good.  Piki piki is fine.  Too bad, wish it was trashed.  Door of the truck is not good.  Two weeks later and I am still closing the door with a full body block from the outside.  Another thing on the list for the stupid little truck with no working four wheel drive, low range or even diff lock. 

Stupid truck that went nearly eight hours, most at significant highway speed, on only half a tank of diesel. 

The speed, the violence, the noise of impact after the silence leading up to it.  All after the successful trip to Kenya and back.  This tough stupid old guy is still shaken and angry. 

That is what spiritual attacks do.  Sometimes it is a piki piki that you did not see, hear or predict no matter how diligent the striving.  Sometimes it is silence from a person when what you expect is something different.  Screaming, anger and defiance is easier to take.  Not knowing and being unable to predict is normal. 

To my eldest grandson with his learners permit this very week..  I still don’t like much of what is normal.

Why do I call it a spiritual attack?  Because, even if it is only my reaction.  My spirit is attacked for failing to avoid being the means of someone else facing death, near death or pain.  After seeing the faces of the parents of my childhood friend even a decade after my friend’s death, I know that I have failed miserably to successfully avoid inflicting suffering. 

Thankfully, I suppose, my spirit is not so hard that it is incapable of being wounded in the failing too.  That dark stuff I ask you-all to pray me/us through has been deep and affecting for these last two weeks. 

I have been asking God, what I am doing here?  I have been asking God, how I can do anything?  I have been asking God about my complete lack of certified training? 

Thank you for your prayers.  Thank you for your faith..  I know you are taking this often paralyzed man and dropping me down through the torn open roof into the presence of Jesus.

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Hilda’s tiny little, now fixed and fully recovered, mother cat just made me laugh by jumping over a hedge the height of my shoulder trying to snatch a bird.  Another failure.  This one humorous in its determined contortions and complete fullness of failed effort.   She’s now inside resting and sulking on the rug about two yards away.

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Another of my first year Sunday worship helpers at The Children’s Village had a still living Grandmother of his ask if I would help him prepare to be confirmed in the local Tanzanian Lutheran Church.  We have about three weeks before he goes back to school.  Yes!  As usual I don’t feel qualified.  Too bad.  The answer is Yes! 

We plan to meet two times a week.  He is reading his Bible, the bi-lingual one we gave him last Easter.  Found a local Luther’s Small Catechism two days ago in town around another medical transport.    Commandment one through five discussed.  Questions and comments from his reading discussed too.

Given that the precious people who adopted him are Jewish, one a Jewish convert from Islam, we discussed right away his [responsibility and Joy] to honor his parents regardless of how they see or understand Jesus. 

Jesus the brilliant and loving radical Rabbi who died and stayed dead?  Jesus the Prophet of God who did not die on the cross and hence did not rise from the dead?  Jesus the creator with God and The Spirit who chose to be born of Mary, a woman and mother like each of us has.  Jesus who then lived the common ground we share much of with other Abrahamic traditions.  Jesus who takes all our sin to the cross and grave to leave all that mess we make behind in his death there only to rise from death like the Son of God we Christians know him to be.      

This is particularly important for this student of an impoverished Tanzanian Grandmother who is herself a Lutheran Pastor living another mountain over.  And son of loving Jewish parents through whom he now has a Jewish grandmother and Islamic Grandmother and Grandfather too.  His prayers, his faith are important for all those around him.

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Yesterday..  It had rained early and so we could not get the stupid truck up the hill out of the house to get to a long awaited meeting at Makumira Secondary School.  A meeting to plan Hilda facilitating teaching there again.  We called a huge piece of our hearts who then called a taxi we know.  

Hilda has missed two weeks of Sunday Worship and, last Sunday, she missed Sunday school too.  After the patient she attended on Monday, she had a consult with our pharmacist.  She was dragging on the way to the meeting yesterday morning and could not have walked to 2-3 kilometers down the mountain even if we had the time.

Hilda got to her meeting and after bouncing around to different locations and returning to the school to collect her from her meeting I discovered that they had given her an office with desk & chair and wanted to keep her the whole day.  Praise God!

I left and got our taxi free to make a living after dropping me and some supplies back up the mountain at the Mulala house.  After one in the afternoon I had still heard nothing from Hilda.  Not surprising as internet, airtime, etc are things that work only when they do. 

It had dried enough I was able to get the stupid truck out and went to find and collect her.  My turn with the bug had come upon me with some intensity.  My teeth were chattering even with scarf, sweater and hat..  at the equator, how ridiculous is that!  Other sucky symptomology well entrenching itself. 

I walked onto campus to find her.  She managed to text that she was in the computer room.  Students, calling me pastor, directed me.  Crossing the open gathering area before the offices next to the computer room the computer room door opened and Hilda came out surrounded by girls in school uniform.  One precious teen girl bobbing left and right behind a crude column to peek at me with such a huge smile.  Others calling for Babu, that’s me, and packing Hilda’s bag. 

For our adult children, that is the green ‘Brentley’ diaper bag that we had in Bellingham for mostly the boys diaper times.  They are long out of diapers, one is busy with two littles of his own now.  That bag is still going strong.

Those brilliant teenage girls, who know us from The Children’s Village and who attend this school, rushing forward to ask that I come for them on Sunday too.

After discussion it was agreed that we would ask the head of school for permission to share what I prepare for The Children’s Village Mama’s on the mountain each Sunday morning.  Share that same message with the students at Makumira Secondary at 4:30 Sunday afternoons.

Please pray, we have permissions to seek.  We do not want to let them down.  We have been consistent now into our second year of their young lives.  We do not want to let them down.

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Tough little kids here where the median age is 19.  Taking Hilda home we got an astonishing number of smiles waves and greetings by name.  Littles calling out to Babu, me.  One really tiny one, still all head, running down the side of a horribly washed out and steep section of road across the mountain fell face first into the rocks disappearing behind the skirts of the barely bigger girl ahead of him.  We saw her gather up his shoes that had gone flying and we expected real damage as we got close but instead about five were jumping up and down yelling Babu, me.

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This morning, early, between quarter after one and quarter of three, I was texting with Central America.  T is a former medical school, former member of our US military, former truck driver.  We met T, here.  T has turned her deep unjustified suffering into powerful empathy. 

After travelling much of the world she chose to reach out this morning for advice about how she might continue to proceed turning her vast gritty empathy into reality for other women, with other women.  This is not someone we spoke overtly about faith with when we shared a few meals in Tanzania, but I have been sending greetings for this last year.  Greatly good conversation across the equator from two sides of the earth. 

Please pray for T.  She was born in 88 so fits right in there with our birthed ones.  Even more so now as the two sons by marriage we have are either active or recently former US military too. 

T wants to work with women.  Abused women and children.   Like the awesome warrior she is she wants to find land and bring safety first then community and training for sustainable tomorrows.  God’s heart lives in this one.  Please pray..

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Yes please …

Relationships here on the ground in addition to my imperfections and mistakes are being used to try to drive us away from our striving.  Each day is a sincere struggle.  Hopefully that means we’re on the right track.  Please pray for those around us.  Please pray for the local faces which fearlessly now smile and greet us as we walk.  

Please keep crumpling us up and throwing us at God.  That is where we need to be.  God will sort us out.

One day at a time.  Just like how you each live.  Just one day at a time. 

Thank you, each of you.

                -------------------------------------------------------

What to Pray for:

Our armed forces families, our leadership, our people, whole world round, all of Gods kids -

All the tough and blessing expressed above –

The love of folks –

Whatever is on your hearts and minds for us –

For our children and grand-children who miss us.. 

For Makumira Secondary School looking to share stories and partner in some way with a foreign school, Great leaders, teachers, students, programs, strong backs, minds, and hearts –

For our health to stay ahead of whatever is before us –

For those who have braved the donate button to discover Kajun Crofton, our daughter who helps getting each one of your donations to us and every blogpost to where you can read it -

For each and every one of you –

Each and every one of your prayers, your precious conversations with God –

Prayers, Your Prayer, Even your groaning prayers makes all the difference..

Vern W

May life be as Music to your Heart – May Music be as Heart to your Life – May Heart be as Life to your Music