As many of you may know, Kurt and Linda Krupp, cousins of somekind, are serving in the the Nigerian mission. They have a blog,
http://thecastleofkrupp.blogspot.com/ which is elightening about their experiences. They also send a family letter home each week. In their last letter they included this story. I was touched by it.
My conclusion to this week's letter is a "Miracle Story". Ray Johnson, my missionary mate from my first mission in Germany, 44 years ago, is collecting African Miracle stories for a Blog. He shared this one with us while we were in Ghana. We share it with you as an example of how closely Heavenly Father is involved in our lives and how much He loves us and does, for sure, answer our prayers.
This story was written by a Doctor who worked in Central Africa
One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all we could do, she died leaving us with a tiny premature baby and a crying two-year old daughter. We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive; as we had no incubator (we had no electricity to run an incubator). We also had no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. One student midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool that the baby would be wrapped in.
Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst (rubber perishes easily in tropical climates). "And it is our last hot water bottle!" she exclaimed. As in the West, it is no good crying over spilled milk so in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over burst water bottles. They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways.
"All right," I said, "Put the baby as near the fire as you safely can, and sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. Your job is to keep the baby warm….."
The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with any of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle, and that the baby could so easily die if it got chills. I also told them of the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died.
During prayer time, one ten year old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt conciseness of our African children. "Please, God" she prayed, "send us a hot water bottle. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, as the baby will be dead, so please send it this afternoon."
While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added, "And while you are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she'll know You really love her?"
As often with children's prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, Amen?? I just did not believe God could do this. Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything, the Bible says so. But there are limits, aren't there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending me a parcel from the homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send me a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the Equator! Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses' training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door.
By the time I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the veranda, was a large twenty-two pound parcel. I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone, so I sent for the orphanage children.
Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children looked a little bored. Then came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas-that would make a batch of buns for the weekend. Then, as I put my hand in again, I felt the…..could it be? I grasped it and pulled it out-yes, a brand-new, rubber hot water bottle. I cried. I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could. Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, "If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly too!"
Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone! She had never doubted! Looking up at me, she asked: "Can I go over with you and give this dolly to that little girl, so she'll know that Jesus really loves her?"
That parcel had been on the way for five whole months. Packed up by my former Sunday school class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God's prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. And one of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child, -five months before in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it "that afternoon."
This pictures makes him look so young. He's had several officers question his age. They won't believe he's 25 until he takes out his drivers license. 
Patrick with his wingman. 
His flight, the 215 Bulldogs
His final Sunday there he had the opportunity to speak in church. Yes, that is him talking, the missionaries took the picture and emailed it to us. It was fun to see all the men and women in their ABUs, praying, playing the piano, passing the sacrament. 
Working on the perfect fort.
Kristan and Branden rolling the perfect balls
Patrick and Kristan, I think they cheated on the Ticket to Ride game. 
Before the dinner a nap is in order, especially since one must patiently wait for the turkey to cook. The turkey was delicious. We did something different this year, we soaked it in a brine.
No dinner would be complete without fingers 
Patrick ate so much he was about to pop. He did dinner with the in-laws first then back to our house for seconds and more.
After dinner a wild game of sorry was in order.
This was followed by Community Train (aka Mexican train or Chicken Feet)
Day two meant another round of food and games. We can always count on Mark to bring the games and orchestrate the activities.
The twins were definite contenders in Train Game
I like my Grandma
