Part IV
The story, songs and memory verses come to an end and, following a heart-felt prayer, Natasha invites her class to come look in her big bag. I watch with wonder as she pulls out children's Bibles and hands them out to each child, followed close behind by Bibles for the adults.
"These are so familiar," I think to myself.
Then I realize that these Bibles were those supplied by our team. I am thrilled to witness their arrival to their destination, something we are rarely privileged to see. I silently praise our Risen Lord that such gifts may be offered and so joyously accepted. I also pray that they may truly develop a relationship with the author of this great book. Once again I find my eyes scanning the room I'm in and realize that I cannot do anything to change their physical conditions, but I am, at least indirectly, able to offer them the Good News of what lies beyond the squalor in which they must live.
It's time to go, so we say warm good-byes and get back into the car, which is to take us to our next stop. Natasha is sober. She tells me that the man I saw was Svieta's husband and that he'd had an epileptic seizure that morning. He has them frequently and is unable to work. His seizure explains the injuries to his face. I feel ashamed that I jumped to the conclusion I did. But then Natasha continues, explaining the sobriety of her mood. She tells me that she has discovered that many people who usually come to her lessons were not there today because they received some food and money from another source the day before and they sold the food and used the money to buy vodka. Having just left some of the poorest conditions I've witnessed in my life, I'm nearly in shock at the very idea.
Our next stop requires us to walk along wooden planks between houses packed together on swampy ground.
"Be very careful here," Natasha warns me.
I don't know exactly what I'm to be careful of, my health or my bag. We arrive at one of the small cottages and are greeted by a tall nearly emaciated man of about 50, I judge. He seems happy to see Natasha and invites us into the house. I ask her whom we are to see now.
"You remember Lena, the one I told you about when I came here first time?" she asks. I remember . . .
