iguana love?

What is wrong with the local news? What is wrong with me? The lead story tonight is:

“THE TOUCHING REUNION OF A BOY AND HIS MISSING IGUANA!”

Worse, so much worse, I am watching it. In my defense, my mouth is hanging open, perhaps never to be shut again. Now, true, the iguana, named (seriously) “Fred Green,” had been missing for several days, causing, I guess, much hand-wringing in the hopeless weirdo community, but, c’mon, people! It’s a hideous, scaly, soulless reptile!

This is our Top Story. And yes, I guess I am touched, watching that boy take Fred into his arms, watching Fred return the embrace with those ghastly, clicky claws. I am feeling feelings.

Right now, they’re interviewing the boy’s mother, who is thanking everybody for their prayers. What? Did I miss the vigil? I’m sorry, lady. Forgive me. I did not pray for Fred Green. I do not pray for critters. Perhaps St. Francis interceded on ol’ Fred’s behalf. But I did not, because I’m a selfish, heartless, practical shrew.

Now the interviewer breathes this last question:

“What is going to happen to Fred Green now?!”

Hm. Perhaps he should be punished for running away. Teach that mini Godzilla some personal responsibility.

Iguana Parmigiana sounds good to me. I hear it tastes like chicken.

your worst nightmare: a pop q-q-q-quiz

Oh, no! Miz Quizmo strikes again!

But this is Friday and I like to do my quizzes on Friday. Plus, this is a truly useful, instructive quiz. As a former English teacher, well, let’s just say I drooled a little when I found this one at NRO.

And because I’m feeling ornery today, I’ll say this: Score lower than 70 and we can’t hang wi’choo anymore. All right. I’m kidding. Sort of.

“My score was 100%” ….. is what I would say if I were hopelessly egotistical. (But unfailingly honest. He he he.)

Ready, class?

1) Define the terms “independent clause” and “dependent clause.”

2) Find the subject in the following sentence: “Many of my friends drive to school.”

3) What are the three principal parts of the verb “to bite”?

4) “Jane has been dating John for two years.” Is that sentence written in a present tense or a past tense?

5) “Jane has been dating John for two years.” Change that sentence to the corresponding past tense.

6) What three parts of speech can an adverb modify?

7) What is the main use of a semi-colon?

8) “Jane invited John and me.” “Jane invited John and I.” Which is correct?

9) “He should of told me that I wasn’t invited.” What’s the error in that sentence?

10) “Every person is entitled to their own opinion.” What’s the error in that sentence?

Okay, pencils down.

Each question is worth ten points. If you scored below 70, you failed. More to the point, your teachers failed. They’ve failed you, miserably, for twelve years. Those hundreds of hours spent in classrooms with posters of William Shakespeare and Alice Walker on the walls, those hundreds of hours spent as your teachers prattled on about the joys of creative writing — those hours are worthless, utterly worthless, and you can’t have them back. Those A’s you received for free-verse poems, those stories you wrote to explore your feelings, those papers returned to you without a single grammatical correction — they’re worthless too. You didn’t learn what you should have learned, what you needed to learn.

Answers: 1) A clause is a group of words, acting together, with its own subject and verb. Independent clauses can stand alone; dependent clauses cannot. 2) Many. 3) Bite. Bit. Bitten. 4) Present tense. 5) Jane had been dating John for two years. 6) Verb, adjective, adverb. 7) To separate closely related independent clauses. 8) John and me. 9) “Should have” or “should’ve.” 10) “Person” is singular, so use his own opinion or her own opinion.

All right. How did you do? Come on. Tell me. Don’t try to hide it. I can see you. 😉

his mother was a mudder

Here’s something you don’t yet know about me: I have picked 4 of the last 7 Kentucky Derby winners. It’s true. It is a singular, extraordinary gift. Since Saturday is Derby Day, I thought I’d share that with y’all.

So, naturally, comes the question:

“Well, Miss Smarty, have you bet on any of these winners?”

Ah, that would be a no. (Because that would be wrong, right?)

So it seems I’m gifted — but Stupid and Good. It’s an idiot-savant thing.

For anyone curious about which winners I correctly picked, my record looks like this:

2004 — Smarty Jones (yep)
2003 — Funny Cide (yep)
2002 — War Emblem (nope)
2001 — Monarchos (nope)
2000 — Fusaichi Pegasus (nope, I can’t pick you if I can’t pronounce your name, horsey)
1999 — Charismatic (yep)
1998 — Real Quiet (yep)

And in case any of you are poo-pooing with “Oh, well, I bet she’s been doing this for a long time, so her real percentage is a lot less.”

To that I say:

No, you poo-pooers! You neigh-sayers! 1998 was the year the Lord chose to raise me up as a horse prophet, thereby ushering in The Era of Equine Prophecy.” (And yeah, yeah, true prophets are 100% accurate and all. I didn’t say I was a “true” prophet; I said I was a horse prophet.)

So next comes the plea:

“Oh, Good Horse Prophet, we are but mere mortals. Impart to us your methods.”

To that I say:

No, you whiny beggars!”

Besides, I can’t. There is no method; that’s the beauty and purity of the gift of Equine Prophecy. No method. I don’t know about any of the horses in the race, ever. I don’t know anything about horses. They are intimidating creatures with piano key teeth and manhole cover hooves and they scare me. That aside, they somehow manage to be majestic and beautiful and I admire them. From a distance. I simply tune in to the race, look the horses, and choose. Given that these credentials fall a bit short of blue ribbon quality, we must therefore surrender to the utter divine inspiration of the Equine Prophecy. There is no other explanation.

Annoying, ain’t it?

So finally comes the weary demand:

“Look, lady. You gonna tell us the winner or not?”

Okay, okay, already.

Prediction: The winner, ridden by a wee hobbit in white tights, will be unable to run fast enough to shake that startling, upsetting resemblance to Camilla Parker Bowles.

You can bet on that.

(Extra credit to the person who can tell me where the title of this post came from.)

the sound of music, yo

Well, I may try to live blog “AI” tonight anyway. Why not make this blog all-craptacular, all the time? Scoffers can lump it. I know there’s some sort of fracas with Paula Abdul, but I’m not really up on it. But Greg over at What Attitude Problem is. Guess he’s come over to the dark side.

Tonight, two themes/two songs each. Yippee. “Any song from this week’s Billboard charts.” And “Any song by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller”?? (I don’t recognize the names, but maybe I’ll recognize their songs. If they’re not butchered, that is.)

Blonde Harry Potter: “Poison Ivy.” Don’t know it at all. But it is genuinely contagious, in that itchy, creeping, painful sort of way. Dreadful. Gag. It’s musical seppuku. Randy: For me that was very out of tune. Wasn’t amazing for me. Paula: Well, it showed versatility. (Hmm. Singing while dying is not “versatility,” Paula; it’s opera.) Simon: You’re very lucky you’re singing two songs. That was an insipid, amateurish performance. Sorry, Harry Potter. Better go backstage and work yerself a singin’ spell for the next song.

The Domestic Abuser: “On Broadway” Love this song. He’s singing this because Simon said to pack his bags last week, so he’s singing for spite, I guess. Ooh, he’s imploring us to “Get uuuppp!” (Better do it; don’t want to get him riled now.) He’s basically having a singing hissy fit, which doesn’t look good on anyone. I just can’t stands him. Randy: Some bad notes in there. But every week you seem to come up with just enough. Paula: Have you ever hear the word “moxie”? You have moxie. I loved it. (Yes, yes, Paula. The big boxie oxie has lots of moxie. He lumbers onstage and cries, “I roxie!” Just don’t make ‘im mad or he’ll clean your cloxie.) Simon: You’ve had more escapes than Houdini, but, that aside, that was probably your best performance. (Oh, Simon, how could you? I feel so … so … betrayed. Take your too-tight T shirts and go. Just go.)

Vonzell: “Treat Me Nice.” She starts off with a big “Wooo.” I’m not a big “wooo” fan, personally. “Wooo’s” usually make promises they just can’t keep. Song is kind of … I don’t know … sigh …. Big finish, etc. Lots o’ cheers. Randy: I’ve had a great record career , but I’ll say that was one of the best performances of that song. That’s how to win this. (Huh? That entire comment is mush to me. I don’t get it.) Paula: Any musical producer would snap you up to be on Broadway. (Too bad it’s not “Broadway Idol,” Paula. A compliment the girl may not really want to hear.) Simon: Um, Randy, we need to have a chat. Over all, I thought it was a bit of a mess. Childish and cutesy. (My sentiments? Woo.)

Bo: “Stand By Me.” Ahhh, love it. But started waaay off key, I think. Oh, dear, Bo. Find that key. Okay, he does. Can’t say much other than he’s good. Randy: You know what I love ’bout’choo? You know how to pick the right song. (And he referred to “bein’ in da dog pound,” again, as he did last week. So we learn that a place that sucks for dogs is great for “American Idol” wannabes.) Paula: (Well, I don’t know. She talked about colors or something. It was very Pebbles Flintstone. Gaba da bada ga.) Simon: You chose the best song by a mile.

Carrie: “Trouble.” Well, she showed some life for a few seconds and kicked that mic down. Wow. Who needs ol’ Connie? She sounds great, I think, but she just doesn’t inspire. She’s a kind of blank to me. Or an Etch-a-Sketch with a smiley face. Randy: That was a great song choice and you sahhnng it. Paula: You had a blast. (Gada babba ga …. woo.) Simon: Totally agree with Randy. You have to give your fans what they want and that’s what they wanted.

And then …. they all sang again. (Hey, I got tired. And, frankly, bored.)

Best sound bite? Ol’ Scotty saying he likes having a stylist to make him “more appealing to people.”

Hm. You should fire that stylist, duuuude.

argh

(Note: I’m just ranting and railing against myself in this post. Not recommended reading, really, unless you’re feeling a need to rant and rail against me, too.)

I’m struggling with blogging, questioning more and more why I’m doing it. Everywhere I click, I see the blogs of the powerful, the influential, the profane, the apologists, the mommies in denim jumpers. I’m none of those things. I don’t seek power or influence with this blog. I hope I’m not profane. I’m not an apologist. And if I were a mommy, well, I’d never sport about in a denim jumper.

So in the beginning, I think, was the naive notion that I’d use this to work through some nagging spiritual issues. But then, paradoxically, I haven’t even allowed myself to write about them. I’ve been emotionally dishonest, cloaking my darker self beneath a blog ridiculously called “Worship Naked.” I want to be open, honest, but in truth, I’ve found that recent events in my life have made me hopelessly mistrustful of Christians. I’m petrified that if I shared anything that really weighs on my heart, I’d be judged and rejected. And I can’t take any more of that. I think, too, I’ve used this blog to try to feel like a human again. But that’s utterly stupid. This is cyberspace. Not a place to be truly “human.” That, I do already know.

Back in December I wrote:

Maybe I’ll take the chance and share here anyway. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe the thick facades were wrapped in keep us from growing and stretching as Christians. Or maybe … maybe they keep us cozy and protected in a cold, cruel world. And I do love being cozy. Maybe we don’t have to worship naked. Maybe we can just be partially nude.

That was several months ago and I haven’t budged. I’m raw. Words simply float about in my brain, half-formed and hazy. I’m just hiding behind the crap I’ve posted lately and, in so doing, I’m not living up to my stated purpose for this blog. Someone recently described this blog — to my face — as the blog “with all the quizzes.” That killed me. Maybe it’s true. I don’t know. But that’s not the sum total of all I am. (And if that was you, allow me to suggest, as nicely as I possibly can right now, that you start your own quiz-free blog.)

I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a downer. I’m just frustrated with myself.

Arrrrgghhhh

(Well ….. I told you not to read it ….)

(UPDATE: Oh, drat. I meant to disable comments on this post, but dear ol’ M@ sneaked a lovely one in. I don’t want to seem that I’m seeking, uh, ego reinforcement here, ‘tho I do appreciate it! I’m having a tad bit of circumstantial depression, so I could use prayer most of all.)

what?!

Connie’s out?! Our own Mayor McCheese?! Instead of “Sensitive” Scott?! How is this possible? Forget any other American Idol scandals that ABC might be “exposing” soon, the real scandal is the voting on this season’s show. It’ll be a lot less fun without him. (Sigh) Our cheese is gone; all that’s left now is the grease.

And Scotty boy is just too damn big to keep dodging these bullets.

my advice for american idol

A few thoughts before live-blogging tonight.

About that Scott Savol, who keeps avoiding his just musical punishment: Look. I’m incapable of seeing him rightly or fairly, I suppose. I have no tolerance for abusers of any kind. Given his background, American Idol is the last thing his ego needs. The ego of an abuser knows no bounds and Scott certainly doesn’t need his fed in this overblown, surreal way. I don’t care how purty he sounds when he sings. It’s a character thing for me and his will only suffer further damage by this excessive attention. He needs to be ousted for his own good.

On a lighter note, I think the show needs to mix things up. It’s a bit of a yawnfest with the repetitiveness of 60’s music night, 70’s music night, movie song night. How about “Original Song Night”? Require the singers to try their hand at songwriting. Give ’em a few weeks to work on it, of course. Maybe some of them would find a career there. (Scott, for instance, could have a dandy future writing songs about the glories of love and such. Or how he just had to “slap da be-otch.”) At least, though, it would be forcing the singers to diversify a bit. Or how about “Original Lyrics Night”? Give them a melody and have them write lyrics only. Wouldn’t we tune in, even more rabid and bug-eyed, to see these train wrecks and hear Simon’s comments, sick, addicted puppies that we are?

“American Idol” is a Play-Doh Fun Factory of pop music, churning out creations of different shapes, sizes, and colors, but, poke ’em, squish ’em, and they’re all still made from the same stuff. These singers are not truly originals; they’re not multifaceted talents; they’re not talents with staying power, most likely. They sell their souls under the guise of a recording contract and then they’re groomed to belt out ballad after ghastly ballad, teaching all the little chillens about “loooovve.” Just like all the other pop singer/sages.

Well, I say make ’em do something different. Shake things up a bit. C’mon. Make ’em squirm for my entertainment.

That’s all I ask.

(Live blogging follows)

All right. “American Idol” about to begin. My comments will be shorter because I’m a messy typist and spend too much time fixing my typos.

Theme is “Songs from 2000 til now.” And tonight there are precious “Personal Profiles” of each singer. Oooh.

Up first is:

Carrie: (We learn her mom blubbers a lot and thinks Carrie’s “a good daughter.”) Singing something country. Mercifully, has smaller hair this week. I don’t know what to say. She’s good. But kind of off tonight for me. Randy: Wow. You returned to your country roots. Pitchwise, you never quite got on. Paula: Did sound a little bit ... (All right. Sue me. I stopped listening. Let’s just go with “Paula said something. No one listened.” Mmmkay?) Simon: Last week you were completely out of kilter. I think the people who vote for you will absolutely love you after that.

Bo: (We learn that he’s from Alabama and has a girlfriend. That might be right, but I don’t know, people. I was distracted by yet another sign of God’s love for me: The limited edition, dark chocolate Twix bar.) He’s in a psychedelic 60’s tunic and sunglasses, awful, awful sunglasses. He sounds rough to me. Bo, did you eat some dairy before you sang? You can tell me. I won’t tell. Audience goes crazy. I do like this guy. Randy: Yo, yo, yo. American Idol finally has a true rock star. Paula: The crowd loves you. You were incredible. Simon: You got your confidence back. But there is a downside: Do not wear the Lenny Kravitz sunglasses. (Did I not say they were awful?)

Vonzell: (We learn she has a voice teacher named Mrs. Billups. Aww. And she’s the baby of the family.) “I Turn to You,” Christina Aguilera. Which I think is rather a boring song. She looks cute. Nice hair. Okay. The song builds here, I guess. Ahhh—ahh-ahh-ahh-ahhh. “For the will to carry on, etc., I turn to you.” Then at the end, she squeaks “I love you , Daddy.” Randy: Yo, man, check it out. Most difficult song. Welcome to the dog pound. (I’m terribly uncool. This is a good place to be?) I’m proud of you. Paula: Not only did you nail the song, but you connected with the audience. It’s beautiful. Simon: It’s very loud in here. I have a horrible feeling it wasn’t as good as you thought.

Anthony: (We learn that his parents will tape record any sound he makes. And dad says he’s a “dream maker.” Puh-leeze.) He’s going to sing Celine Dion and my head is going to explode. So I might be done here, needing my head for blogging and all. He’s sitting on the stage for the intimate effect. But I feel the need for a shower. Oh, song is “I Surrender.” Remember now, I think he’s musical Tofutti, so what do you want from me here? Oh, okay. Nice suit. Randy: Started a little rough for me. Low notes need work. Paula: I think it’s the first performance where there was a beginning, middle, and end. (As opposed to what, Paula?) Simon: You’re a very brave man. I personally hated it.

(Watch out, chippies. Constantine is next! *gasp*squeal* Don’t forget to breathe …)

Connie: (We learn that he’s Greek Orthodox and that his dad is Skeletor.) Already with the seductive lean into the camera. Ooh, yeah. Romance me, Mayor McCheese. He’s dressed all in bad boy black. He just did a wee kick, so watch out, Steven Tyler. Vocally, I just don’t know. Seems bizarro to me. Now he’s singing to the background singers, trying to get someone, anyone, on his side tonight. Smacks of desperation. Weird. Randy: Yo, yo, Constantine. You know I’m gonna keep it real wich’you. I felt like I was in a bar — high on performing, low on vocals. Paula: This was not my favorite song at all. But you are the one idol who does every genre effortlessly. Simon: (And I’ll bet Connie’s cheesy little butt is burning already because here comes the spank.) I think when you left your band, you crossed to the other side. It’s welcome to the dark side or something. You’re much better when you’re doing your crooner thing. (Ouchie, ouchie, ouchie. Connie thinks he’s a rocker.)

Andddd ….

Scott: (Will his profile mention the domestic abuse? Let’s listen, shall we? Hmm. Wow. It doesn’t. We learn that he’s “sensitive” and they “always thought he’d be a priest.” Also, “He’s had a lot of curve balls, but he’s hit them out of the park.” Really unfortunate choice of words, Ma.) His song is cloying, dreadful. I think he’s actually sweating syrup. And not only is he an abuser, but he could be the cause of abuse in others, because I just wanna slap him. Or someone. Awful. Way off-pitch in places. Criminally badddd … Randy: The song … that was your weakest performance in weeks. Paula: Song didn’t do you justice. Simon: I’d pack your suitcase tonight. (Let me help you, hon. I insist.) And ladies, I’d lock the door and hide; Scotty’s coming home.

No other predictions except:

Twix has a winner with this whole dark chocolate thing …

we need to be aware

This today from the BBC:
Burma ‘used chemicals on rebels’

An international human rights group has accused the Burmese army of using chemical weapons in an attack on rebel groups in the country.

The incident is alleged to have taken place near Burma’s north-western border with Thailand in February.

The attack left Karen fighters vomiting blood and unable to walk, Christian Solidarity Worldwide says.

The group says it has evidence which suggests that chemical weapons were responsible for the men’s injuries.

‘Yellow vapour’

According to accounts from Karen fighters, who have been engaged in a long-running war with Burma’s military government, the attack took place just inside the Burmese border, around 16km (10 miles) from the Thai town of Mae Hong Son.

They claim that clouds of yellow vapour began pouring from shells fired at their positions and soon after this many of them felt sick, vomited blood and were unable to walk.

Some later suffered from blisters and acute diarrhoea.

The president of Christian Solidarity Worldwide, Australian physician Dr Martin Panter, has since flown to the area and examined five of the men.

He concluded that their symptoms are synonymous with exposure to some form of chemical attack.

The UK Foreign Office says that it is very concerned about the allegations and will be examining any evidence.

The Burmese Embassy in London has so far declined to comment.

You may be wondering why Christian Solidarity Worldwide is involved in this story. Read on. Let me tell you.

The tribe mentioned in this news article, the Karen, is no ordinary tribe. They are no ordinary people. They are courageous, steadfast, and, miraculously, in the midst of a heavily Buddhist Burma, a Christian tribe.

Last summer, I went on a missions trip to Thailand. Our group had an opportunity to send some people up to the border with Burma to visit the refugee camp where hundreds of thousands of Karen live in limbo, but still faithful, still joyful in the Lord. They can and do venture into Burma for food, but they risk rape, torture, death. They can’t live free in Thailand because of longstanding, complicated agreements between the governments of Thailand and Burma. Right now, they live in this muddy camp in the middle of the jungle. It’s called a refugee camp, but it’s no guaranteed safe haven. They’ve been attacked in the past by the Burmese army and, because of that, in the middle of the camp, hangs a large gong that is sounded whenever they are under threat. Unless things change for them, many, many will spend the remainder of their days there. One might imagine that constant fear and disabling depression would dominate these people, but they know a freedom that is not physical; they know profoundly, in ways we Westerners don’t, a true freedom in the Lord.

Allow me to share a bit more about the plight of these stalwart tribal Christians. This, from a letter I sent out before the trip last summer:

The mountains of northern Thailand and Burma are populated by diverse ethnic peoples who have lived in the region for hundreds, and in some cases, thousands of years. The tribes consider themselves non-Burman, since they come from regions as various as China, Mongolia, Cambodia, and India. They do not acknowledge the name “Myanmar,” seeing it as a form of ethnic cleansing. One tribe, known as the Karen (“ker-in”) has lived in these jungles for about 2,500 years. They are known as the “Christian tribe” because upwards of 40% are, indeed, Christians. It’s an astonishing number when you consider that over 85% of the Burmese population is Buddhist.

There’s a fascinating story I read recently about how the Karen people came to be so (comparatively) heavily evangelized. It seems that for generations before they were ever evangelized, the Karen passed poems amongst themselves that told of one creator God named “Y’wa” who made man and woman. The stories told of a man and a woman who lived in a garden and of a snake who gave the woman some forbidden fruit. The Karen also believe they once possessed a “Book” that told the truth about life. That book was lost, they say, but they believed that one day, a young man from across the seas would come and return it. So when Bible-bearing missionaries arrived in Burma in the 19th century, they were warmly welcomed and the message of Christ was embraced. Compellingly, I’ve also learned that there are those searching for the Jewish descendants of the Assyrian captivity who believe the Karen to be a remnant of the lost tribes of Israel. Just how did they know this story otherwise?

But now, the Karen are among the 4 million Christians in Burma who are part of the persecuted church worldwide. Persecution is both religious and political, extending to the Karen and other non-Burman peoples who’ve struggled for decades for autonomy from the Burmese “government” — really nothing more than a military junta known as the “State Peace and Development Council.” The SPDC sees the expression of even the most basic freedoms as a threat to “national unity”; therefore, any and all attempts at religious and political freedom are violently put down.

What’s happening in Burma does not receive much news coverage, a shameful omission since the current situation is one of the most brutal in the world. But I believe we need to be aware of what’s happening to our brothers and sisters in the Lord scattered across the globe. To that end, I will share with you.

(Be forewarned. Some of what follows will be graphic.)

Under present circumstances, the Burmese army routinely extorts tribal villages for food and money, two things they simply don’t have. Villagers are forced to become human minesweepers; men are sent into forced labor; villages, including churches, are systematically burned down; children are forced to become soldiers. Currently, there are approximately 70,000 children in the Burmese army against their will.

Villagers must take care not to be seen running through the jungle or they will be shot on sight. Once the men are removed from the villages as forced laborers, women and children — some as young as 5 — are raped, and frequently, gang raped. Many rape victims are then killed. Christian children are regularly taken from their villages and put into Buddhist monasteries to become monks. They never see their families again.

Additionally, the Burmese army has a terror squad known as the Sa Sa Sa which specializes in beheading villagers and mounting their heads on poles as a warning to others. Small babies have been taken and ground to death in rice pounders.

Even in the midst of these atrocities, the Karen and other tribal Christians remain faithful and courageous. They watch as their villages and churches are destroyed. They move and rebuild, move and rebuild, all with the knowledge that any new village, any new church, will likely be destroyed also. The Karen tribe has a tiny, ragtag, guerrilla force known as the Karen National Liberation Army that continues to do what it can to stave off the Burmese army — and there are small victories.

Just recently, in August 2003, a skirmish broke out between some Karen and Burmese soldiers. The Karen lost about 15 men, but the Burma Army’s losses were much greater, about 300 men. Later, the Karen soldiers said that the Burmese hadn’t even tried to dodge the barrage of gunfire coming their way. After the confrontation, the Karen went through the soldiers’ bags and found the reason why. The bags were full of amphetamines. The Burmese soldiers had been high. Astounding. (God’s ways are truly not our ways …)

A final story of the character and graciousness of the tribal Christians:

Several years ago, a group of missionaries traveled to visit some believers among the Shan (shawn) tribe. Two years after this first visit, they returned to the village, were welcomed like old, dear friends, and told how the villagers had longed for their return. They fellowshiped together, and as the missionaries were leaving, each received a small envelope from the villagers. As they opened them later, the missionaries discovered they had each been given 1000 Kyat (local currency) from these destitute believers. The villagers had nearly nothing but thought nothing of giving all they did have. They begged the missionaries to please return.

Here is a beautiful meditation composed by a Karen pastor:

They call us a displaced people,
But praise God; we are not misplaced.
They say they see no hope for our future,
But praise God; our future is as bright as the promises of God.
They say they see the life of our people as a misery,
But praise God; our life is a mystery.
For what they say is what they see,
And what they see is temporal.
But ours is the eternal.
All because we put ourselves
In the hands of the God we trust.

Will you please pray for these brothers and sisters?