Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                         April 28^th 2024

It has been a very busy, nearly first world, almost, two weeks.

Edited the book, being published by Covenant out of North Carolina, through Hilda, for the third time.  Sent that on to the publisher.  Blessed to have willing hands, working with us right here, that could stand in, photographically, for hands of major characters in the book.  Organized a photograph and description and sent that on too, for Cover Art direction.

Everything is done for that now, to date, turned in, and successfully received back in the States.                            Praying, Praying, Praying..

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

Fundi found a part for the stupid little truck up in Nairobi.  Part was held at the border for bribes.  Fundi sent friend to collect the part.  Part was wrong part.

When I last found my amazingly diligent fundi, and new father, he had traveled to Nairobi himself.  And he was still there with the old part, looking for the right one.

I am ever reminded of my grandmother’s letters describing the Islamic men coming to talk with my Christian Missionary Uncle, at nearly any hour, about work they were undertaking together.  That was 1950’s Cameroun. 

This is 2020’s Tanzania.  There is something deeply and surprisingly compelling in our work, with and for Jesus Christ.  It stirs willing partnership regardless of temple, mosque, or church. 

I pray that, in spite of the choices of the selfish and jaded of any faith, God uses any willing to serve our strivings after life, together.   That is what Jesus sacrificed for.  That is what God creates.

Mind blown!..  Here we are as part of that?

Your praying hearts and minds faithfully work miracles, as part of that!

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We have not missed a week delivering Sunday messages to both the Mama’s on the mountain, and the children at Makumira Secondary School.  They get taken when we can get there either Sunday or before.

I walked the messages to Makumira Secondary School Friday or Saturday morning early, each week, again these past two weeks.  Sometimes Hilda goes for the walk too.  It is a, closer, bush walk with none of the Big Five, but full of monkeys, birds, cows, crops, flowers, trees, bugs and people.  So, in a marvelously non-virtual, truly-actual way, stopping to sip water here and there, it is tremendously enjoyable.

Without transportation, we have sent the messages to the Mama’s on the mountain twice now through our loving house help.  No matter the horrors in her precious life, those messages have gotten there each time.

We have missed worship for two Sundays now.  This too is a result of no adequate transportation.  Especially at the time necessary to get to English service at the Cathedral. 

We got a phone call from Mchungaji Daktari, between services there, this morning.  He insists to collect us next week if we remain, truck-less.

Hilda filled her church bag with Bible and local lutheran church worship book and walked onto campus to attend 10:00 chapel.  She has never been told not to be on campus, only her husband.  So, I can’t wait for her to tell me of the worship there.  Worship that I miss more than I can say.  

Your prayer again.  Thank you.

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

The book, which is completely the fault of, and doing for, local Mama’s; is being edited in two languages and we pray that it will be affordably printed here before we, likely, head back to the states.

I know, absolutely crazy to think we can afford a printing, but we have to try.

MORE update on this:  I was up early and working on this again this Sunday morning, like most mornings with power.  I get woken up often around 2-3 AM to work on the messages for this book.  This is identical to the time, Dad and I would get up, to go take care of the dairy and get them milked. 

Today, after Hilda arose, I found her to weep briefly into the hair on the top of her head. 

The final scheduled readings have been worked into message.  All Sunday messages for 2024 have been completed.  As has the last message for the scheduled readings, this for January 1^st 2025.

There is no more, local Sunday lectionary, to write for. 

Our editors struggle so diligently to greet their own demands for my English, and their local Tanzanian vernacular for Swahili.  They often get to the end, of the only 4 days a week we work, eyes bleary, laughing crazily, so mentally taxed in their beautifully willing, linguistic struggling. 

Yes, this local book will have a glossary of terms, from and of, both languages.  These are terms from the messages that the editors have chosen as most problematic to understand.  One of them is still in her twenties, the other is in her early thirties.  Both are brilliant polyglots with hard earned degrees and hearts for God. 

They are consistently reminded to question me on everything.  And even as they discuss and argue, like devoted and loving sisters openly challenging each other, every word and mark of punctuation in both languages, the glossary has but one directive.  If, either of them, thinks a term needs to be included, it is included.  No discussion necessary.

Long way to go.  Your prayer deeply sought for this work too.  Thank You.

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

There is one, among the many, touched by Hilda’s walks and talks to gather perishables for our daily consumption.  This is another young woman, pregnant without the father’s continuing participation, in her life.  Hilda has nursed and taught both this young mother, and that young mother’s mother, in such trusted sincerity, a surprising question came to us last week.

Please know that I, do not know, this young pregnant woman.  Her mother, I greet in Meru, as I travel with Hilda.  I do not attend the more intimate talks and trainings regarding pregnancy and motherhood shared by Hilda.  So this question that came to us, is entirely the result of Hilda’s heart as seen through Hilda’s efforts for this woman’s sake.

This young pregnant woman plans to try, once again, to have the father allow her to use the father’s surname on the infant’s birth certificate when the child comes.  IF the father refuses; the question of Hilda is if she would allow this child to have Hilda’s last name on that birth certificate.  This in thanks, and deep appreciation of who Hilda is, and what she does, often quietly; while speaking joyfully and loudly.

Hilda is not this child’s father.  Neither am I.  But, two street women struggling in life for the sake of the unborn of one of them, want to honor a woman, Hilda, who listens and cares.  I cannot say no, even if I, perhaps, should. 

We may live dangerously, but we are alive.  Thank you for praying us the courage to live this way, if dangerously.  We don’t see it that way.

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

You who read and pray and suffer along with us.  Please believe what we get to see.  Thank you for praying our strength and guidance for each moment with each face.   Folks like you are beyond precious. 

vwilliamson@sprynet.com

Really blessed while deeply under attack..  all of it is spiritual..  I wish I could teach that to everyone so they could truly know it.  I didn’t know it for far too long. 

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 –

Pray for YWAM, YWAM families, Tanzanian families who choose Joy, over and over in defiance of death - 

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

 Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                         April 15^th 2024

Ten or so kilometers out into the bush?  That is where the stupid little truck sat, front end just enough lower than the back that no significant weight remained on the only working drive axle.  It had down-poured all night.  We left before daylight leaving 2 hours to get where we were headed, using wipers intermittently for the first half hour or so.  In theory, we were going only ½ an hour into the bush.  This was Sunday, yesterday.

Week ago Saturday, we had a navigator to get there.  We had been called last minute and asked to be a mobile videographer’s stage.  So, on a dry Saturday, after very long wait for hair, make-up and dress, 4-ish hours, we drove preceding the bride, her parents and driver.  We drove to another new, still being built church so this young Meru Evangelist could marry her young Mchungaji Maasai husband.

That was a challenge.  Water crossings, wash outs, deep saturated mud flows over-washing and burying whole sections of track.  Bride had an almost new four wheel drive to follow us.  They nearly got stuck too.

Ceremony presided over by Bishop.  This is only the second generation of Maasai Bishop.  It makes ones head shake to think that, twenty years ago, here in Tanzanaia, I had sat and talked on the porch of and with the missionary who had baptized the, first, Maasai Bishop.  These precious people have seen unbelievable change while still living bush. 

I sat with students from the Theology program from the university.  Then, insanely, I got out to the truck to leave with the videographers just to find the bed packed full of standing African women in long tight wedding dresses all packed in like sardines and clinging to each other so no one should fall out.

Most of those faces have been posted on our wall next to our door since last November, so we can keep praying for them.  Over seventeen in the bed of the truck alone, another five or six in the back seat of the cab.  Videographers were the second load out from the church to the home of groom’s family.

Too much to write about wedding day but, we absolutely could not leave to beat nightfall, without eating food, without a whole wedding cake to take home with us, without a whole barbequed leg of goat wrapped up in local vegetation too.  And the bed of the truck loaded with bride and grooms things heading to accommodations nearby the university and her church a couple communities over along the big road.  And a full back seat too.

Yesterday I had been requested to preach for young couples’ thanksgiving first official Sunday as husband and wife.  I used the message written months ago as studied from the scheduled readings for yesterday.  I was late to the church. 

But, we had gotten to within walking distance.  Walking distance for local folks.                                             By God’s infinite grace, we’re often included as local folks too.

The groom walked out to an older brother’s, [Maasai extended family is ..  diverse  .. terminology is not the same though we can try to come close], house where the stupid little truck got stuck blocking the track.

Leave the truck right there.  Wait for the sun to dry up the track for a few hours and if need be, oxen and ropes are just two homes over, “right there, Babu, right there, worry not.”  This groom is the young Maasai Mchungaji, who lost family in the big bus wreck that killed, so may foreign, missionaries too.  Life goes on.  Strength comes in choosing to live life in the face of death.

Hilda and I walked with family, bride and groom, grooms parents and extended, about 5-6 kilometers.     

Yes, with the groom translating, Evangelist of the new church directing, I still gave the message.  A hard message about sacrifice and suffering.  Especially challenging for leadership as the message is directed towards those called to shepherd.  Something must have gone well.  The Evangelist, older man, saw the printed copies that the groom and I presented from, and later asked for a copy for himself.    

I was bought three offering of eggs, and one of okra from ‘third-offering’ outside at the close of service.  They were all dutifully, and with laughter, presented to Hilda by elders handling the auction/offering.

Hilda fell only once.  It was not bad at all.  But, the fall to one knee, was in one of the water courses rushing and full, we had to cross to and from the church.  Of course, smart phone video of our almost-baptism, was happily shared to us.  Eggs, okra, Bibles and worship books are all fine too.

A Maasai Angel, we know at this church who teaches confirmation and feeds people, greeted Hilda and the young lady Mchungaji accompanying us, in her typical manner.  She threw her arms around both at the same time; and smiled in that embrace so hard her eyes leaked.  This Angel got the copy of the message I had presented from as soon as I had left the sanctuary.

This Angel is also a Bibi, grandmother, but as a bush woman is decades younger than us.  Still, to watch her leap, dance and sing with the choir of little ones, or big ones; well, amazing is too small a word.

I got a couple more kilometers in, collecting the truck later and bringing it to Gather Hilda, fill the bed with the couples’ things, like last Saturday, and the back seat with people.

I have to crawl under the truck today to verify, but I believe the driver’s side front quarter shaft is blown loose at the hub end.  I nursed it home, slowly, after bombing out of the bush like a maniac so as not to get sucked into another predicament without momentum enough to, bounce, fly, plow, through.

Navigators have taken me different ways, each time, to this place.  Our scheduled navigator for yesterday morning was ill and did not arrive.  We got turned around and in the wrong place while negotiating tracks moving with mud-waters and debris from saturation of overnight heavy rain and run off from higher elevations.

We found a church-school and beautiful young lady pastor went to ask directions.  Yes, she is now wearing new, good, shoes.  Pray-God, a young student, got his head master’s permission and climbed in the front seat to direct me.  Turns out, Pray-God’s sister went to school with the groom, and Pray-God’s father was joyfully known to the presiding Evangelist.  We kept him close to us all day including him with all ‘mchungaji-evangelist-churchleadership’ activities. 

His favorite part of the day’s activities, though, was obviously the insane bush driving.  He was grinning like a joyful madman with every impossible foot conquered by speed and God alone.

Thank you for praying us into such use, over and over.

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

Blown CV joint driver’s side front hub.  Sent a Picture, and, my amazing Islamic fundi’s only response was that he is coming to get the truck this afternoon.  He has to drive out from town, likely in the rain, likely on his motor scooter, with tools.  Just to lay in the mud, like I did to take the photo, and take loose bits free.  Then drive back into town.  Town driving is a type of crazy that I can do, but strive to do only as rarely as possible. 

I was just in town with Hilda, one of our precious editors, and the beautiful lady pastor who got good shoes, just Saturday.  I spent part of Saturday with this fundi, mechanic, working-together on the truck.  We got all the lights working again, the HVAC control panel re-anchored into the dashboard, the tailgate to open and close again, and the engine cover re-fastened with found hardware.  This after he had to go to the hospital for stitches to his head.  No, he got the stitches fighting flooding in his shop.  He insisted I come to do the work anyway.  His wife and he also had a new baby 3 days before.

Your faith in prayer works wonders, always.

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

We have not missed a week delivering Sunday messages to both the Mama’s on the mountain, and the children at Makumira Secondary School.  They get taken when we can get there either Sunday or before.

I had the good walk to Makumira Secondary School twice this week.

Hilda came home, from her walk for fresh produce, with a student from there on Monday last.  She, a student known to us for the full time we have been here.  We have watched her grow and matriculate to church secondary school, boarding.  She is one of the ones who would sit with Hilda and I in the Mulala mountain church.  She had been waiting on the big road for collection since early in the day but had missed the bus. 

We called headmaster.  After feeding her and getting her rehydrated, she let me carry her large backpack of supplies, all her worldly possessions, and walk her the few kilometers to school.  I returned her backpack to her when we could see the gate to the school so she could be seen bearing her own burden; and not be seen letting her trusted old one carry it for her.

I watched her safely enter the gate then turned and started walking home.  Along came head master with a truck full of people who made a large hole for me to squeeze in so they could take me a short distance to where I take a short-cut across the university campus I was told to stay off of by those embarrassed by their choices.

Friday I walked again, before breakfast in the cool, to deliver the messages.  The guard, who gets a copy of the message for himself each time, took them for the children and went back to work with school mechanic on the generator.  I left.  Not long after, here came the guard and mechanic smiling hugely to collect and take me to where I cheat across the campus.   

Your prayer again.  Thank you.

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

The book, which is completely the fault of, and doing for, local Mama’s; is being edited in two languages and we pray that it will be affordably printed here before we, likely, head back to the states.

I know, absolutely crazy to think we can afford a printing, but we have to try

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

You who read and pray and suffer along with us.  Please believe what we get to see.  Thank you for praying our strength and guidance for each moment with each face.   Folks like you are beyond precious.  vwilliamson@sprynet.com

Really blessed while deeply under attack..  all of it is spiritual..  I wish I could teach that to everyone so they could truly know it.  I didn’t know it for far too long. 

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 –

Pray for YWAM, YWAM families, Tanzanian families who choose Joy, over and over in defiance of death - 

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,                                                                                         April 2^nd 2024

May we start off with a Miracle?  Just a little one?  A very important one, yes; but like most miracles that happen every day, could be easily not seen nor acknowledged.

Today was second treatment day for a beautiful young lady pastor from campus.   

Last week I took her up the mountain to Nkoaranga Hospital, the Lutheran hospital founded by German Lutheran missionaries over 100 years ago.  X-rays were taken, no surgery was required.  Treatment was to last, at least, three weeks. 

This morning, cortisone shots scheduled to accompany treatment, were dropped, un-administered, and treatment, with shots, scheduled for next week were also cancelled.

Nope..  real miracle.  X-rays were taken, viewed by at least two local doctors last week.  X-rays still available today with visiting medical student from North Carolina, fresh from America today, to see the miracle for herself through hands-on examination of most affected foot.

Young Lady Pastor’s ambulatory has been rectified with unbelievable healing in just one week.               

One Holy week.  I love God’s humor.  Young Lady Pastor had traveled the length and width of Tanzania during Holy Week with her choir too.  All jammed up in bus seating.  Still wearing only the poor shoes she can find.  We did find a neoprene foot brace, we had brought with us, and made her wear that. 

We still need to find and acquire good, supportive, shoes for beautiful young Lady Pastor whose feet are nearly as out-sized as mine. 

We have tentatively scheduled a trip to town for two Saturdays from now. 

As moved, please pray for shoes: 

My feet are European size 48-49; beautiful young lady pastor’s feet are European size 42+.

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

Our faith is no mistake.  Please, let’s use that faith here too.  Thank you! 

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

A crowded open-air hospital on moist mountainside slopes, of deep green growing things, started over 100 years ago.  What does that look like? 

Busy..  very busy..

Aside from that medical student from Carolina and myself, there were two other European types on site this morning.  One must be a doctor I have seen there several times now.  Always on the run but happy to acknowledge my paleness, and perhaps Cross, with a simple low key nod without stopping between urgencies. 

The other was a tiny older woman in traditional Meru dress.  Her only yielding to vanity at all may be the coloring of her elderly, thinned, white hair.  Henna is local and inexpensive so her stern solid narrow glasses over unsmiling lean European features had a close cropped halo of red neatly combed over top.  This long-time white one was as brown, from exposure to equatorial sun, as some of the biological Meru present.  She stood strait, refusing to sit, waiting her turn patiently alongside others in wheel chairs or seated on benches or seats probably as old as she is, or I am.  I do not know her but to me that stoic refusal to be catered to but instead, quietly be with, makes her a hero.  She too simply nodded at me, or the cross hanging around my neck.

Other, Heroes, are little ones with malformed legs from malnutrition of one form or another.  Barely big enough to walk on their own, they hold mama’s hand and saunter painfully like miniature elderly people. 

One waiting little one was throwing up, feeling completely miserable.  He saw the other little ones moving around, like tiny well-worn rodeo champions, and jumped off mama’s lap to run around with his fellows.  All in pain.  All feeling bad.  All running in circles together playing, joyful in each-others company. 

Pain management is still nearly not a thing here.  Hence, beautiful young lady Pastor coming to us to express concern is something that indicates deep trust and should immediately be attended to.  She is not an alcoholic, like me she doesn’t drink.  She does not have money nor access to pain meds.  She doesn’t smoke pot. 

This is the same for most here.  Broken limbs endured without pain management.  Surgical recovery often the same.  Doctors may prescribe, but who has the money? 

Still, waiting covered atrium, is full of all ages suffering deeply but nearly none showing any of it.  Humor behind scarves, draped humbly to hide it, is far more common. 

Staring at the big white guy is far more common.  When a little one decides to get close and gets rewarded with a smile and, surprised, runs away laughing to run back and try again?  That is pain reduction for nearly all. 

This little one bravery doesn’t just happen.  Mama’s, and other care-givers, worn weary with patient care, don’t have much patience left and expect a white one to demand preference ahead of them and their loved ones.  None of those whites were present today. 

While we waited for over four hours, in one line after another, an Evangelist ran up to greet me in both Swahili and Meru, then Mchungaji Ombeni, in three languages, then a local elderly Meru man in western clothing, who knows me, joyfully greeted in impeccable English.

A young father came in smiling with his sick, first child, and came straight to me so I can meet the child, and the child can meet Babu, grandfather.  Then a couple nurses, who probably remember me from church somewhere, looking up to beam comfortably, and at least two other local Doctors on their way to serve needs smiling big and greeting with one or two words in passing too.

Little ones see these things.  Little ones are curious, even sick little ones.  Even sick little ones, with worn out care-givers, see these things.  Then, around struggling to move, or between vomiting, their curiosity overrides fear.  That is beautiful too.  That is good medicine too.      

So, overt, almost hyper-cleanliness, as expected elsewhere, does not get energy wasted on it here.  Paint is worn, faded, and chipping.  Tin roofs are rusting.  Medical equipment, I have seen, is mostly older than fifty years in style. 

However, as I had blessing to converse with local Doctor and Medical student from Des Moines Medical School in Iowa; local Doctors here have much indeed to teach as practical clinicians.  Local Tanzanian Doctors who have to use their eyes, ears, hands, intuition, deduction, experience and empathy to make up for, significantly fewer, tests and machine based evaluations and interventions. 

Both of those Doctors are women.  The American one is more used to being acknowledged.  The Tanzanian woman Doctor is not.  A Tanzanian woman Doctor is especially unfamiliar with being held up by anyone for a brilliant young American Doctor to watch, listen and learn from.

But if you give examples and reasons coming directly from the local physicians environment and associated work form.  Work form necessary to provide any care at all with tremendously limited resources, these local professionals working away from big centers in town, just glow.  Perhaps, that is part of why nurses, doctors, guards and janitorial staff smile at me.  Everyone likes to be seen for their effort and work.

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

Yesterday, Easter Monday, we had three young men from where we served children and Mama’s, on-site with them, for over two years.  They had been attending church symposiums and training on a holiday from work in Ngyani, where I preached once, one of the three translating for me.  They came quite a way for food and we stuffed them good.  After eating very well, they headed back to church for more education, study and serving. 

We were happily informed that the Mama’s have wept that we are no longer allowed to be with them, heart-breaking.  We were happily informed that the children have wept too, heart-breaking.  We were also informed that the children continue to shout and cheer in prayers of gratitude like we gave them permission to learn and do while with them.  Humbling, infinitely hopeful and hugely wonderful..

Keep praying please: for those serving them who are most full of, only what they know to be best.  Our faith is on purpose.  All need eternal hope, especially when financial resources and programs dry up; and locals get fired sending ripples of desperation out from a place that was once a beacon of hope and service.

Trust the local ones.  They continue to come and find us.  I was able to send next Sunday’s message with one of those hungry young men too.  Apparently, it is awaited for quite expectantly in our absence.  Humbling, infinitely hopeful and hugely wonderful.. 

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

The book, which is completely the fault of, and doing for, local Mama’s; is being edited in two languages and we pray that it will be affordably printed here before we, likely, head back to the states.

I know, absolutely crazy to think we can afford a printing, but we have to try

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

April 3^rd --

Got a message this morning at 4:AM from the honest mechanic given to us by another rare honest one.  He has found a water-pump for the Lister-Peter diesel gen-set located at an Evangelist training College at Oldanyosambu, bush country on the way to Kenya.

The only part, found on the continent, is in South Africa and costs, with shipping to us here, $632.00.  You are right, that is expensive.  We live and work where there are no NAPA nor other like suppliers. 

This bush College, for older people serving, their own bush people; has no power and local power authority could care less. 

I ordered it, asking this diligent Islamic mechanic to get it coming before going to Prayer this morning.

Do your awesome praying thing you-all.  Thank You!!

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

You who read and pray and suffer along with us.  Please believe what we get to see.  Thank you for praying our strength and guidance for each moment with each face.   Folks like you are beyond precious.  vwilliamson@sprynet.com

Really blessed while deeply under attack..  all of it is spiritual..  I wish I could teach that to everyone so they could truly know it.  I didn’t know it for far too long. 

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 –

Pray for YWAM, YWAM families, Tanzanian families who choose Joy, over and over in defiance of death - 

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