I busied myself with the last tasks. I buttered bread and made tea and handed out lotion, and after a surprise fire drill, we gathered in a circle to pray. Hassan sat on Sarah's (our administrative assistant) lap, and to every sentence I spoke, he added an emphatic amen.
We headed out into the cool morning air, huge bundles of dressing supplies balanced precariously on heads as Hassan's mama and Grandma Groundnut swayed down the gangway. We held hands as we walked out to the gate, and after one last hug they turned and headed up the road towards home.
There are times when other people's words work so much better than my own, when someone else can speak my own heart better than I can. This is one of those times. I love her thoughts on the end of the outreach, on the way it feels to get here so close to the end. So I'll just let her speak for me.
Coming in for the last leg of the race has been a blessing to me. We care when something ends because of the significance it had throughout its course. And, as it turns out, experiencing the end of something significant can be just as moving as being part of its beginning.To quote our friend Hassan, Amen.
(Quick update on Sia: I spoke with her uncle this morning who had just been in touch with the hospital in Guinea. Sia, her mama and her baby sister have arrived safely after a journey of several days. Keep praying for the continuing treatment to be successful.)
