Monthly Archives: October 2017

Small Steps

By | Jerry’s Reflections | No Comments

Kristi Yamaguchi – not your average Yankee name. But America’s Olympian gold medalist in figure skating nailed it for people of all cultures with her take on ‘small steps’. I learned to put 100 percent into what I’m doing. I learned about setting goals for myself, knowing where I want to be and taking small steps toward those goals. I…

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Just Do It

By | Running Life's Race With A Limp | No Comments

As a foreigner in a region where locals had rarely sighted a light-skinned being, I knew the feeling of different. During one season of discouragement, when my best efforts to connect with the Kuria seemed frail, I knelt on the concrete floor of a back room in our house. The prayer was brief, sincere, and seems as clear today as…

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Removing Stones

By | Running Life's Race With A Limp | No Comments

“See this stone in the path? Now this one too, here in the picture on the same trail. . .” I sat with half a dozen men, some a decade or more older than me. The hut we gathered in each week was roofed with long grass. The floor consisted of smooth, hardened dirt. A semicircle of dark benches carried…

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TEE Time

By | Running Life's Race With A Limp | No Comments

“Now, Jerry”, My friend’s voice hinted at mischief as we started across the church parking lot, “tell me about tee-hee-hee.” To know Van Gill was to treasure the sound of a rolling chuckle. And take in a pair of grinning eyes, coaxing response to his merriment. Everything about the Texan pastor was large. Large frame, large mind (among the keenest),…

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Survival

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“Sir. . Sir, Hello. . . Hello! Can you come sir? Hello. . .” Waking a doctor from a drink-induced sleep called for persistence. We had transported the machete-attack victim the five miles to the government clinic, only to learn an aged, slow-moving male nurse was the only person on duty. “The doctor for this work”, he said, eyeing the…

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In The Name Of A Friend

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The young pastor strained under the weight of the bleeding man he supported. “He is my brother.” He labored to keep the wounded man upright. The machete blade had gone deep. “How did it happen?”, I asked, as my nurse-wife entered from a side room and approached to lend aid. “My brother has a friend. The friend sent my brother…

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Urgent Care

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Klak. Klak. Klak. Klak. The sound of an archery bow thumping a bedroom window deep into the night is one not easily forgotten. Our watchman’s smokey voice joined the klacking sound outside, pronouncing my surname as best he could, “Bwana Lauti, Bwana Lauti.” At Nyamahanga’s second or third call I stirred. The bedside clock read 1:30 a.m. “Bwana Lauti. ….

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A Matter of Taste

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I never grew a warm place in my heart for serpents. Never acquired the taste. “Good morning, Bwana.” The man labored up the slope, evidently with merchandise. Not that snakes were uncommon on the farm where I grew up. Water Moccasins (Cottonmouths) and a few non-poisonous varieties often found their way to our pastures and watering ponds. A pleasant summer…

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BOOM in the Night

By | Running Life's Race With A Limp | No Comments

“Bwana, Kuja! Ona nyoka kubwa sana!” The African voices clamored – yelling attention to the white men of Bukuria station. “Sirs, Come see! Very big snake!” Art Dodzweit leapt from his chair. Reaching for his rifle and a fist full of shells he shouted. “Bud, come! Seems a cobra or python has paid us a visit.” In the mid 1940s,…

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