Let us give thanks for the mobile phone.
This small piece of plastic and metal - that has become a second heart for us. For which should leave the house without the reassuring weight of the mobile in my pocket - I inevitably notice within 15 minutes of being out the door. I think I have a greater chance of walking out without my trousers than sans mobile.
Over these weeks - whenever the fine talk-machine starts vibrating I look double quick to see whether the caller or message-sender is my beloved Sheba.
Here the kids and I are - near the Arabian sea - and there she is - off on the border with Nepal. Plunged in head-first in a large mission hospital where there are very few doctors at this point.
If Sheba had any thought that her time there would be mainly observational, that idea has quickly evaporated. She is up to her elbows in work.
In a hospital where 25 or so kids are born every day - there is a lot of birthing to be done! Sheba worked through the night yesterday. She was on-call - which basically meant that she was in the labour room or theatre the whole time. Talking to her this morning on the blessed mobile Sheba told me that she had lost count how many kids were born. Was it 10 or 11? Sheba had to do a difficult ceasarian section on a woman whose child had turned to a breach-presentation. She did it on her own. With the help of chief surgeon Jesus of course.
And so it goes. My darling off on the border of Nepal. Delivering kids. Doing lumbar punctures. Counselling women in depression. Being salt and light.
The word from Bihar comes via our little black and red hand-set. Crackling across the 1000+ kms that lie between us. Linking us in love and prayer.
Blessed are the mobile-makers.
This small piece of plastic and metal - that has become a second heart for us. For which should leave the house without the reassuring weight of the mobile in my pocket - I inevitably notice within 15 minutes of being out the door. I think I have a greater chance of walking out without my trousers than sans mobile.
Over these weeks - whenever the fine talk-machine starts vibrating I look double quick to see whether the caller or message-sender is my beloved Sheba.
Here the kids and I are - near the Arabian sea - and there she is - off on the border with Nepal. Plunged in head-first in a large mission hospital where there are very few doctors at this point.
If Sheba had any thought that her time there would be mainly observational, that idea has quickly evaporated. She is up to her elbows in work.
In a hospital where 25 or so kids are born every day - there is a lot of birthing to be done! Sheba worked through the night yesterday. She was on-call - which basically meant that she was in the labour room or theatre the whole time. Talking to her this morning on the blessed mobile Sheba told me that she had lost count how many kids were born. Was it 10 or 11? Sheba had to do a difficult ceasarian section on a woman whose child had turned to a breach-presentation. She did it on her own. With the help of chief surgeon Jesus of course.
And so it goes. My darling off on the border of Nepal. Delivering kids. Doing lumbar punctures. Counselling women in depression. Being salt and light.
The word from Bihar comes via our little black and red hand-set. Crackling across the 1000+ kms that lie between us. Linking us in love and prayer.
Blessed are the mobile-makers.
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