CHAPTER 1

War Stories

"We did not all come over on the same ship, butwe are all in the same boat."—Bernard Baruch

Remembering

(Shane Stanford)

One of my great uncles landed at Normandy as part of theJune 1944 D-day invasion. He rarely spoke of the event, exceptto answer a specific question or two at family gatherings. Whenmy great uncle did answer, his responses were always short, tothe point, and he never allowed follow-up questions.

Of course, those of us in the family were fascinated thatone of our own had taken part in such an important event inhistory. Our inquiries stemmed from our adoration of him, butmy uncle never wanted to open up. I realized later that whateverhappened in those few days on that beach in France was almostmore than my uncle could bear to live through, much less rehashtime and again over the years.

But we persisted, and I can't remember a single family eventthat someone did not ask him about the war. Finally, my aunt(his wife) told him, "Just talk to them. They want to know becausethey care."

My uncle responded sternly, "I don't want to walk downthat road again."

"Yes," she said, "But, how will they ever know what youwent through?"

"They only need to know one thing," my uncle responded."We won the fight."

"But, shouldn't they also know why you fought at all?" Myaunt grinned slightly and then finished, "After all, if they don't rememberthat, does it really matter that you landed on that beach?"

Remembering is an important concept for any generation.Those who fought in World War II told their stories for manyreasons—to recount heroism and warn of tyranny but also toprepare the next generation for the battles to come. Some werepersonal stories about intimate connections and circumstancesthat affected a single life, possibly two. Other stories were aboutentire companies of men whose lives, and the lives of all connectedto them, changed in an instant.

This chapter is about remembering. The Christian communitytreasures the act of remembering. We tell our stories overand over again, as a means of shaping, warning, and encouragingthose who will follow. Some stories are about miracles and love.Others tell our heritage as the family of God gathered aroundhis Table. But some stories are war stories, much like my uncle's,and tell when people ran across valleys of fear and doubt andconfronted giants in battle.

Certainly, no two giants are exactly alike. One person mayencounter the giant of cancer—a deeply personal battle—whileanother battles global giants, such as pandemic disease, poverty,and despair. Regardless the details, we remember, and we valuethese stories. The stories are valuable not because we may findourselves in the same situations but because they reveal lessonsabout the nature of humanity, our ability to overcome obstacles,and the strengths and capabilities that sometimes we forget wepossess. Our responsibility is to listen and learn what we canabout our fellow human beings, and about ourselves, so that wecan apply these lessons to the life that awaits us.

A Child Who Sleeps in Miseri

(Shane Stanford)

Several years ago, a friend of mine left her middle-class lifeand spent two years as a missionary to Kenya. Many were shockedby my friend's decision. Sure, she had always loved working withchurch groups and social organizations at various mission locationsaround the world, but no one could have imagined that shewould actually leave life as she knew it and serve full-time. Herdecision came after one particular trip that changed her forever.

My friend was only supposed to be in Africa for two weekswhen she left on this particular trip, organized through a reliefagency. My friend had always been drawn to children, and althoughshe and her husband had tried to conceive for some time,they had no children of their own. Yet God kept placing needychildren in her path, and she had already made several trips towork in orphanages in Africa. This particular trip was different.On this trip, she would be working in a day orphanage.

When most of us think of an orphanage, we imagine a placewhere children without family live and attend school. In Kenya,as in other nations in sub-Saharan Africa, needs created by theHIV/AIDS pandemic have placed excessive strain on institutionalservices, especially those serving children. For this reason,day orphanages, not residential orphanages, provide basic necessitiesto those little ones who are the most vulnerable andwould otherwise have nothing—truly a last resort for the "leastof these" among us.

Upon arriving at the day orphanage in Kenya, my friendmet a worker carrying a small girl. The child's body was frail andmalnourished, but her face shined with the most beautiful smile.Whereas her body revealed every sign of what is most disturbingand troubling about the plight of children in her country, herface revealed a spirit that was anything but hopeless.

As these contrasting images collided in my friend's mind—thegrave circumstances and the child's beautiful face—shegreeted the young child with the help of an interpreter. Myfriend learned that the child's father had died just after she wasborn; her mother died when she was three. Now she lived withan aunt who also was sick and who could not provide much inthe way of care. In fact, the child told our friend that she caredfor her aunt at night, trying to provide her with as much comfortas possible. Like so many in similar circumstances, this child'slife was a difficult, troubling existence.

However, every morning the workers arrived in a goat cartand took the little girl to the day orphanage. Here she found notonly food and an occasional change of clothes, but also friendsand caretakers with whom she could talk and play. Sure, toyswere few, meals meager, and clothes secondhand, but this placein the daylight seemed worlds away from her bare home at night,and it provided what...