Rest

We need to find God
and he cannot be found in noise and restlessness.

God is a friend of silence.
See how nature—trees, flowers, grass—
grow in silence.
See the stars, the moon, the sun,
how they move in silence.

Is not our mission
to give God to the poor?
Not a dead God, but a living, loving God.

The more we receive in silent prayer,
the more we can give in our active life.

We need silence
to be able to touch souls.
The essential thing is
not what we say,
but what God says
to us and through us.

All our words will be useless
unless they come from within.
Words which do not give the Light of Christ
increase the darkness.

These truths spoken by Mother Teresa of Calcutta were reflected in the way she lived her life. Although counter to what our fast-paced world values and teaches, is it possible that our greatest peace, our only strength, is found in the moments where we are still and know that He is God? I long to live in the awareness that God is with me, but I confess that I too often resist the silence that is required to hear his voice and know his love. We need silence to be able to touch souls. As a New Year approaches and the dream of Living Room becomes reality, I am reminded that, more than anything, the world needs the Light of Christ. May Light pierce the darkness for those who are suffering and walking in the shadow of death. May it shine brightly and bring hope to all who are disappointed and broken-hearted with grief. We must never allow ourselves to be fooled—as children of God, it matters how we live and how we love! I pray that 2010 will be a benchmark year where we, through silence, grow in trust and compassion.

Let it be to me...

“Let it be to me according to your word.” I have been pondering these expressions made by a humble teenage girl. She accepted what was being asked of her while she was still confused and afraid. What would people say? What would people think? Unconvinced that she was the best choice for the job, she responded with a willingness that stirs my heart.
In so many ways, she was alone. And yet, there was a child within her, a baby that would forever change the world. With open hands, Mary accepted to be this child’s mother. Her calling required patience as she waited for his coming. Although she could not possibly understand why she was the one chosen, she grew in trust while she waited. With awe, she proclaimed to Elizabeth(Luke 1:46-50):
My soul praises the Lord; my heart rejoices in God my Savior,
Because he has shown his concern for his humble servant girl.
From now on, all people will say that I am blessed,
because the Powerful One has done great things for me. His name is holy.
God will show his mercy forever and ever to those who worship and serve him.
There was joy and hope arising from within her, but there was also great sacrifice required. Her being expectant was not only bad timing and controversial, but it also caused discomfort and pain. But one great day, in the midst of animals, her waiting gave birth to hope. Being a mother, especially to Jesus, cost Mary all of her heart; but with love, she gave it freely as an offering.
As we prepare to celebrate the birth of Jesus, I am grateful that Mary gave room for this miracle to grow from within her. I desire to become like Mary—ever growing in trust. I appreciate that she was not an obvious choice to be the mother of God. She was not perfect. She was poor, too young, uneducated, and unequipped. And God used her inadequacies to demonstrate his sufficiency. As I consider all of this, I am humbled and amazed that He still chooses us to give birth to miracles; and my heart resonates with Mary’s response. Let it be to me according to your word.
The vision of Living Room is to create a community of compassion that honors life and offers hope. For this dream to become reality God is required; but I wholeheartedly believe that He desires to use us, as His children, to accomplish this purpose.

One Friday morning, like so many others days that I have spent treating patients in the HIV clinic, young men and women and children filled the corridors, waiting patiently to be seen and treated. Although critically ill, most had walked for miles or were carried on the back of bicycles to reach the clinic.
The human emotions that fill this little clinic, every time the doors are opened, are impossible to capture in statistics or words. Each person possesses their own story, their own struggles. They are so much more than the labels that have been placed upon them. Terms like orphan, child-headed household, widow, commercial-sex worker, AIDS patient tell their story merely in part. Within every patient, there is brokenness and beauty that is difficult to describe. Children of God, created in His very image, sit before me. Many are unaware of their worth; but underneath the disguises of poverty and disease, I catch glimpses of what is holy.
This is what I witnessed when Lameck was carried into the exam room. Child-like and totally dependent upon others for his existence, his body was wasted and his mind confused. I cannot estimate how long it had been since he had been bathed; but with a smile on his face, he kept repeating the name of Jesus. A neighbor had carried Lameck to the clinic and reported that he had been abandoned by his family and was left to die alone. As I discussed Lameck’s situation with another provider, I was struck by the hospital referral note that was written: “Abandoned- in need of a home.” My heart was, and continues to be, dissatisfied with this suffering and injustice.
I was reminded that there was no place that Jesus was not willing to go for the sake of love. Subjected to poverty, suffering and death, he chose to come to this broken world and for living out the answer to these questions: Shall I ransom them from the power of Sheol? Shall I redeem them from death? Jesus proved forever that love is as strong as death. And with the mystery of the cross, death was swallowed up in victory. One day, God will wipe away all of our tears; but until then, he catches each one. My prayer is that He will show me the salve that will heal the gaping wounds which cover wasted bodies. With each word and touch, let wrecked hearts be made whole by the power of His love. As St. Francis of Assisi prayed, I ask:
LORD,
Make me an instrument of your health;
where there is sickness, let me bring cure;
where there is injury, aid;
where there is suffering, ease;
where there is sadness, comfort;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is death, acceptance and peace.
GRANT that I may not:
so much seek to be justified, as to console;
to be obeyed, as to understand;
to be honored, as to love…
for it is in giving ourselves that we heal,
it is in listening that we comfort,
and in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Prayer of St. Francis (Modified by Charles C. Wise)
Thank you for being a part of this journey.

Together in loss

There are moments when the loss that surrounds this village, that fills our hearts is indescribable. We are currently living one of these moments. On Friday, we received a phone call in the middle of the night. It was one of those calls you never want to receive as it carried the message that tragedy had struck. John “Bush” and Veronica Busienei, directors of our Children’s Home in Kipkaren, had taken their nine year old son, Kelvin, to the doctor earlier that evening as he had been sick with fevers and non-specific symptoms for several days. He had been treated with antibiotics and covered for malaria with little change; but no one, including his doctors, expected Kelvin to suddenly fall critically ill. To our great loss, at 1 am, while in his father’s arms, Kelvin passed away.
At 3 am, Bush and Veronica arrived to Kipkaren from the hospital. I witnessed a beautiful expression of community as a group of staff had assembled together to receive them. In the middle of that dark night, all were in shock but none were alone. We prayed. We sang. We sat silently in disbelief. We cried bitter tears. By 5 am, over 30 people had gathered to support one another.
At 6 am, as the sun was rising in the distance, we went to the Children’s Home together to share the news with Kelvin’s 97 brothers and sisters. Painful is the only word that seem s appropriate to describe the moment. I watched Bush, brokenhearted and completely exhausted, scramble to find the words to tell these children that Kelvin was not coming home. These kids, all too familiar with death, were faced with another loss to grieve. As we stumble through this valley of the shadow of death, there are many questions without answers; but I have been reminded and am deeply grateful that God has promised to be near to the brokenhearted.
This morning, as has been constant throughout the weekend, a large group of friends and family members traveled with Bush and Veronica to the mortuary to bring our child home to be buried. In a few hours they will come to the Children’s Home and allow the children to say good-bye before burying Kelvin tomorrow morning. We are very aware of our need for God this day. We are weak and dependent upon His sufficient grace to cover us. Although I do not pretend to understand it, I am grateful for this promise of Jesus: “My strength is made perfect in weakness.”
In the last week, Kelvin was the third death from this village. Each was young. Each deserves to be grieved. As a community, we will continue to sit together and weep what has been lost. We are hoping for the day when death will be swallowed up forever and our countless tears will be wiped away.

Jones

This morning I stood in a room filled with people from our community living with HIV/AIDS. They gathered to support their sister and friend, a lady named Jones. She is a widow and mother of two sons. In 2005, Jones was diagnosed with HIV and has been receiving treatment since that time. She has also battled cancer for the past three years. It has caused her left eye to be removed and is now threatening to take her right eye. Generous and compassionate doctors, working in the nearby HIV clinic, have been moved by her story and have, against odds, made arrangements for her to travel to Indiana University for the extensive treatment she needs.
Life for this kind and simple lady is hard. She struggles to pay her monthly rent of $5. Without a steady income, she works daily to feed her children. She has never traveled outside of this local community. Packing for her journey will be very light; before today, she did not even own a suitcase. In three days, she will board a plane for a land that is far away and foreign to anything she has ever experienced. She will enter a hospital where she won’t be required to share the bed with other patients. She won’t be denied necessary treatment because she is poor. When I think of this, joy resonates within my heart. It is not about her opportunity to travel to America. Rather, it is that, beyond what she owns or lacks, she will be treated as a person of value.
Critics may say that it is not cost effective and question if this is the best use of funds. But for today, I am grateful for the miracle that Jones has received. Standing in the middle of a circle, she was surrounded by twenty others who understand what it means to live with a virus that steals so much; and yet, there was such a sense of hope as they sang, in Swahili, about grace that has been given to them. As we committed our dear friend before God in prayer, I was struck by the words of Jesus that are written on the wall of the Tumaini na Afya Center (Hope & Health) which say:
“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. 35 For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36 I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’
37 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38 When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’
40 “The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me’” (Matthew 25:34-40).

Thank you for your continued prayers and support. I am deeply grateful.

Hidden under dirt.

“None of us, I am sure knows the pain of hunger,
but one day I learned it from a little child.
I found the child in the street and I saw in her face that
terrible hunger that I have seen in many eyes.
Without questioning her I gave her a piece of bread, and then
I saw that the little child was eating the bread crumb by crumb.
And I said to her: Eat the bread. And that little one looked at me and said:
I am afraid because when the bread is finished I will be hungry again.”
-Mother Teresa
I have been looking into the eyes of children who are experiencing “terrible hunger”. Whether their hunger is from lack of food or from lack of love, their eyes tell their stories of pain and emptiness and they ask questions about the hope of their futures. Two weeks ago, a desperate grandmother stood before me asking for help. She was holding a chubby baby that, upon first glance, appeared to be approximately six months old and healthy. But when she gave me the child to assess him further, I was shocked to see that his mouth was full of teeth. I quickly asked the age of the baby; and the grandmother responded: “fifteen months”. I was moved as she told me of her struggle to care for her grandson, Kevin. Close to the time of Kevin’s birth, his father passed away; and when he was merely four months old, his mother left to try and find work. She has not returned.
Kevin has been surviving on a diet of only cornmeal porridge. Amongst the poor, diets often consist of single staples, such as maize, which have a low protein to energy ratio. His “chubbiness” was, ironically enough, the result of severe malnutrition that caused his body to swell. His growth was stunted, and he was significantly delayed developmentally. Unable to crawl, stand, walk, speak or play; this little one rested in my arms. I asked God for help, for wisdom.
Kwashiorkor, the form of protein and micronutrient deficiency Kevin suffers with, was termed by the Ga tribe in Ghana for being “the disease of the displaced child”. It was originally given this name because it was a condition typically seen in young children prematurely weaned from their mother’s breast milk after the birth of a subsequent child. In today’s world, the consequences of HIV/AIDS and extreme poverty have brought new meaning and significance to these “displaced” children. Their vulnerability is not only from losing the nourishment of their mothers. They have lost their mothers themselves. Their struggle for survival, for hope is great.
Kevin arrived to Tumaini na Afya’s Kimbilio Center (Hope & Health’s Refuge) weighing thirteen pounds. He was irritable and weak. Within one week of receiving a special formula and lots of love, Kevin has stabilized. He has been eating well and has gained a pound. He has begun to laugh and play; and quite unbelievably, he has gained enough strength to stand up by himself and is trying to walk. When I think about Kevin, I think about a powerful promise that Jesus gave when he said: “if you receive a child in my name, you receive me.”
I recently held another little baby so beaten by this world. She was covered in filth; but as I held her frightened body, I was struck by the thought that our value has nothing to do with what we possess. It does depend upon our appearance or by what we do. Washing the child was not going to make her worthy of affection. Her value was hidden under dirt and rags, and this is what caused us to bathe her.
When I think about the suffering of these “displaced” children, there are so many questions that I do not have answers to. Sometimes the circumstances that surround are so overwhelming I do not even know what questions to ask. But my prayer is that God will give me the grace to keep looking into their eyes and the compassion to give a cup of water, a piece of bread, or whatever may be required in Jesus name.

Rain.

The other day I found myself walking along a dirt path and looking across plowed fields that are ready for another planting season. Each year, at this time, there is a sense of expectation all over this land as arrangements are made for seed and fertilizer to be bought and hard manual labor to be exercised within the fields. It is all done with the hope that, in due season, a harvest will be reaped. But when the preparations are complete and the seeds have been planted, we must wait for what we cannot control. Although the sun is hot and the earth remains dry, we ask God for rain. Sometimes it comes.
In the same way, fighting against poverty, disease, and injustice is a journey that requires dedication and compassion. Grace is needed to speak on behalf of those whose cries would otherwise not be heard; and patience must be practiced as we wait in hope and long for what is not yet seen- a Kingdom where there is no hunger or thirst, where there is no selfishness and pride, where there are no orphans or forgotten ones, where there is no more pain or death. Oh, how I thank God for the holy moments and for the glimpses of breakthrough when His goodness compels and empowers us to loosen bonds of wickedness and heavy burdens are undone; when His love moves our hearts to share our bread with those who hunger; when His grace allows us to welcome the broken-hearted into our lives as if they were our own.
In 2003, a 12 year old boy named Shadrack stood beside his brothers and sisters as their mom’s body was lowered into the ground. His mom was a young, single mother of six named Selina whose life was cut short by HIV/AIDS. She owned no land and had nothing materially to leave her children. At the burial, the three grown children, along with other family members, did not feel they were able to take on the burden of raising the three younger children--Jane, Shadrack and Caroline. After the ceremony ended, one by one, everyone left; leaving three children to not only grieve the loss of their mother but to have no clue what would be the future of their own lives. David Tarus, cofounder of ELI Kenya, was at the burial. He saw this desperate situation and was moved with compassion. He told these wondering children, “Let’s go home.” This reality was the beginning of his vision for a children’s home for orphans. Six years later, there are nearly 200 orphans in ELI Children’s Homes and many other orphans and vulnerable children within the community that are under our care. Each has a story of loss and hope interwoven together.
Thanks to friends at ELI, together with his sisters, Shadrack was sponsored to go to school since the 7th grade. He worked very hard and successfully finished high school in 2008. Earlier this month, we received the results from the national exam taken by all high school seniors, and Shadrack excelled with a grade of A- which will allow him to be accepted and go to a national university. Recently, I sat down with this now 18 year old young man and listened to him tell his story. He shared that he hopes to, one day, become a pilot. He also expressed his thanks to David Tarus and to ELI for assisting his family. He explained, “Without the help of ELI, I would have had to dream small. Tarus took the burden to see that I got an education. Now I can help others in the future who are in the same state as me.”
It is amazing what happens when true religion is lived out. The hope and future of orphans are reclaimed. And as we walk with God, we learn to love. There is much work to be done; but like the farmer, we must wait for what we cannot control. We ask God for rain; and when it comes, it is like a breath of fresh air received with great joy.

High Places.

On Sunday morning, as I thought about going to church, I felt led to worship God by going to sit with a dear lady named Helen. Helen is in the painful process of dying from metastatic stomach cancer. Large surgical scars tell of her fight. A massively distended abdomen, as the rest of her body wastes away, shows that the battle continues to rage. Although the cancer threatens Helen’s body, it does not define who she is. She is a wife and a mother. She is a school teacher. She is a friend. Helen is a child of God who bears His image.

As I sat quietly beside her I experienced the Presence of God in the form of peace, and it was a beautiful gift. At one point, I read a passage of Scripture that, for the past year or so, has been within me. Its message confronts me when I am tempted to want God for the things He gives rather than for who He is. It challenges my spirit when I blame God for the things it appears He has withheld. It offers me a choice when the circumstances that surround feel like everything good has been stripped away. Will I trust God or will I walk in fear? Habakkuk 3:17-19 says: “Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails, and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior. The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to go on the heights.”

Several months ago, I had the privilege of spending five days in a beautiful little French town at the base of the Jura Mountains. It was an amazing time of retreat and spiritual direction. In my closing session, one of the counselors quoted Psalm 18:33, which says: “He makes my feet like the feet of deer. And sets me on the high places.” She explained that, throughout our time together, this was how she pictured me: sure-footed as a deer, belonging on the high places. Her words moved me and surprised me as they spoke directly to my fears. You see, throughout my life, I have always been a bit clumsy. By nature, I prefer safer, well traveled routes. And yet, the journey God has me on continues to lead me to places that feel narrow and too steep for me to climb. In this process that stretches me and exposes my weakness, I find comfort in Jesus’ words: “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.”

I recently read this beautiful book called Hinds Feet for High Places. It is the story of a Loving Shepherd inviting a girl named Much-Afraid to journey with Him. He leads her through difficult places and gives her unlikely companions to walk with: Sorrow and Suffering. After she passes through many dangers which confront her tormenting fears, she emerges transformed and is able to go to the High Places for which she was made. The Shepherd gives Much-Afraid her new name, Grace and Glory; and because of the journey, her friends, Sorrow and Suffering, are changed into Joy and Peace. The Shepherd explains:

It was these lessons which you have learned which enabled me to change you from limping, crippled Much-Afraid into Grace and Glory with hinds’ feet. Now you are able to run, leaping on the mountains and able to follow me wherever I go, so that we need never be parted again. So remember this: as long as you are willing to be Acceptance-with-Joy and Bearing-in-Love, you can never again become crippled, and you will be able to go wherever I lead you.”

As I prepared to leave Helen’s home, she asked me to tell her about the Shepherd that leaves us without want, the One who promised to lead by quiet waters and to restore our souls. The One, whose Presence, even in the valley of the shadow of death, is our hope of living without fear.

Thank you for your prayers and support.

Enlarge my heart.

Enlarge my heart. This is my request of God. Beyond my understanding, I am convinced it is His desire for me. It is as David prayed: “I shall run the course of Your commandments, for You shall enlarge my heart.” (Psalm 119:32). Jesus said that the greatest commandments were to love God and man fully. On my own, I am often reminded that it is not possible. Love cannot exist with or be extended from fear. Love suffers long and is kind: love does not envy; love doesn’t parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things (1 Corinthians 13:4-7). My only hope at love is for Love Himself to transform and enlarge my heart. The miracle is He is able and willing.

God has surrounded me with beauty and pain, joy and suffering; and it is changing me. Over the past few months, God has reawakened a passion within me to care for the dying. As I prepared to move to Kenya in 2004, I wrote in a letter that “this is the burden that God has put on my heart: that people should not have to die alone.” By God’s grace, over the past five years, loving those who are in the process of dying and those who grieve no longer feels like a burden, I consider it a gift. It is not easy or glamorous and it is incredibly painful at times, but I would not trade the holy moments I have been allowed for anything. Priorities are in perspective. There is no pretending or pretense. God is present. His Father’s heart that endlessly pursues and lavishly welcomes his lost and broken kids is doing just that. With so much compassion, I hear Him saying: "My child, you were never meant to be alone. I know you and everything that you have done, but I could not love you anymore than I do. You're afraid and so ashamed, but you are safe with Me. I will not turn you away. In fact, I long for you to come, just as you are, to Me. I will give you rest." Imagine, the times He chooses to speak these words through one of our mouths or allows our touch to usher one into His Presence. It is sacred.

For one week, I got the chance to love an 18 year old girl named Faith. Her appearance struck me as she entered the examination room at the HIV clinic. She was beautiful but very sick. She was child-like but experiencing consequences of adult decisions that were very probably forced upon her. Her body was wasted but there was still life in her eyes. She moved my heart; and when I heard she was from Kipkaren, I wanted to be her friend. Tuberculosis had destroyed one of her lungs completely. As we walked out of the clinic, she leaned against me. The look in her eyes as I told her we would take her home in our car caused my eyes to fill with tears. I glimpsed the relief that she felt, if only for a moment, that she did not have to struggle to walk, or ride on the back of a bicycle, the long journey home. On Saturday, I visited Faith at the hospital as she had been admitted the previous day for severe dehydration. I sat with my friend as she struggled for air. I bought her french-fries as she requested and prayed the Comforter would come and do just that. Faith passed away last night, and my heart aches because of the loss. Beyond measure, I am also grateful that God allowed me to encounter His treasure. God used Faith to enlarge my heart.

Returning to Kenya.

I arrived safely back to Kenya and am trying to get over jet lag but wanted to take this opportunity to say thank you so much for the amazing hospitality that was extended to me while I was in the States. Honestly, I was so well taken care of. I will never be able to express in words my gratitude for the ways you have surrounded me and cheered for me as I seek to follow Christ. More than ever before, I know I cannot do this alone. It is equally clear that I was never intended to.

In unique and generous ways, love was poured out upon me by my family and friends. I think about the dear lady, who I had never met before, hugging me as she shared that she often wakes up in the middle of the night to pray for me. In one church, I was talking to a man who was standing with his little boy. The father asked his son: “who do we pray for every morning?” Without hesitation, the little boy pointed his finger towards me. His boldness caught me off guard and moved my heart. I had conversations with people who explained that, in spite of their hard economic situations, they wanted to continue to support the health ministry. One moment that continues to make me smile centers around a little girl named Molly. About a year and a half ago, I wrote an update about an orphaned child named Kipchumba. Molly’s mom had read the update in a church bulletin; and one night when Molly did not want to eat her supper, Molly’s mom told her about Kipchumba’s story. Molly left the dinner table that night and went to her dad to explain that she wanted to give all of the money in her piggybank to Kipchumba. Since then, Molly has written letters and drawn pictures for this little boy who lives on the other side of the world. God only knows if Molly will ever get to meet Kipchumba, but her generous love and child-like faith have helped to empower his life.

The night before I left for Kenya, I was laying in bed and thinking about the season of ministry that is ahead. In truth, I was feeling overwhelmed by uncertainties that fill our broken world. I sensed God saying to me: Are you going to believe Me? The real issue is not the world’s economic situation or on-going transitions that accompany ministry. This is about trust. Following Jesus will not allow me to lean on my own understanding. He will direct the paths, but I have to be willing to let go of my expectations of how God must act. I think about John the Baptist, a man whose purpose was to prepare the way for Jesus to come. When he was in prison, he sent a couple of friends to ask Jesus: “are you the Coming One or should we look for another?” Jesus was not acting the way he was expected to; and yet, I love his reply. He answered, “Go and tell John the things which you hear and see. The blind see and the lame walk; the lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear; the dead are raised up and the poor have the gospel preached to them. And blessed is he who is not offended because of Me” (Matthew 11:2-6). This message relayed back to John is what Jesus is still about: rescuing the lost, binding the broken, offering hope to the hopeless. His words about the poor are striking. Jesus did not say that the blind see and the lame walk… the dead are raised and the poor have become rich. No, Jesus said that good news was being offered to the poor. He was telling the worthless of the world: Take heart. There’s hope. I am Yours. That was their healing. It is also ours. While in the States, I was introduced to a man living in the streets of downtown Fresno. His name is Walker, and he explained that he has been clean from drugs for the past year and a half. When I asked him how he has the strength to get up each day and not turn back to drugs. Without hesitation, he answered with one word: "God."

I recently came across a quote that has challenged me greatly in what it means to be a Christian. It comes from a letter that was written in 131 AD, not by a Christian but about Christians, to the Emperor of Rome. It states:

“It is the Christians, O Emperor, who seem to have sought and found the truth; for they acknowledge God. They don’t keep for themselves the goods entrusted to them. They show love to their neighbors. “They don’t do to another what they would not want done to themselves. They speak gently to those who oppress them. In this way, they make their enemies their friends. It has become their passion to do good to their enemies. Everyone among them who has anything gives ungrudgingly to the one among them who has nothing. If they see a homeless stranger, they bring them in under their own roof. They rejoice over that brother or sister as if they were a real sister or brother. For they do not call one another sister or brother because of the flesh, but because of the Spirit of their God. If anyone among them is poor, while they themselves have little to spare, then the whole community will fast for two or three days until everyone can eat together. In this way, they can supply any poor person with what they need. This, O Emperor, is the rule of life of the Christians. This is the way that they have come to live.”

May we, as followers of Christ, continue to seek and find the truth. May we ever be growing in trust and in love.