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Since we moved to Zimbabwe, people have told me not to get stressed. Especially now that I am "with child" people are advising me not to worry/not to get stressed. Trust me - I try. But sometimes it's hard in this country - especially if you have a heart. I can't describe to you how painful it is to see people continually suffering; to see a country continue to get more and more difficult each month. This morning we heard about another officer family who had to flee their home due to political violence and slept the night in the bush. Teachers are no longer going to school in rural areas because it's too dangerous. Of course, many people are still starving. And the economy... well they just introduced 2 new bearer's cheques this morning - $100million and $250million. It's helpful (because I mean, we spent a good 15 minutes at the checkout yesterday as the people in front of us had a bill of $33billion - that's a lot of notes to count out!) but it's just a bad sign! Zimbabwe is very Christian, and everyone says, "we are waiting for God to intervene - it's the only way." So when will He? When is enough enough? You can only shed so many tears; cry out so many prayers. How long, LORD?

I had a powerful dream on Sunday night. I was in a rural area and there was a young girl of about 8 with a worn, simple dress. She had been caring for her mother, and her father had already passed away from AIDS. People asked me to be the one to tell her that her mother and 14 year old brother died. She didn't speak any English, and there was no one to translate. So I had to bring this little girl into the church - where her mother and brother had been laid out. She had no relatives left. I hugged her, but it was awkward, because I'd never met her, and didn't speak her language. She just sat on the floor and stared at her late family - occasionally singing; alone in the world. And I crouched in a dark corner, and felt absolutely helpless. I tried to read my Bible, but I couldn't see any of the words. Then all of a sudden, my best friend was there. She was sitting in her own corner, with her own Bible, and she invited me to come sit in the light with her. It was so good to see Sherri and to sit in the light. So we sat and we prayed and we tried to have hope for this little girl. Then my dad appeared, and it was also good to see him. I gave this big speech, saying something like, "Sometimes I miss being a little girl. I miss the days when you - my father - would protect me from all the evil and the injustice in this world. When I would ask you hard questions and you would answer, 'you'll understand when you're older' or 'just trust God.' At the time I thought maybe you were brushing me off, but now I see that you were trying to protect me for awhile - protect me from seeing all of the hate, hurt, selfishness, greed and pain in the world. When I was a kid, I thought you were my superhero - in your own type of uniform - out trying to help people find God and to help one another. Now I'm an adult, but sometimes I feel like I need a superhero. I see too much evil; too much injustice; too much pain. It's realistic. I need to feel it; to see it; to have it rip open my heart. But sometimes I just want to return to that time when I was shielded from it or when I had a superhero that I knew would save people from it." I woke up crying. It was a very vivid dream.