Tanzania, June, 2026

It is a cool and balmy night as we leave our last plane of the day. The sweet, moist Tanzanian air fills my lungs as I am welcomed by the Kilimanjaro International Airport sign lit up bright against the dark sky. The iconic palm trees join the illuminated chorus. I am weary but smiling.

As I enter, the first sign to greet me is an electronic public ad. In large print is the word EBOLA. I guess the public health department trumps public relations.

To my understanding, the ebola outbreak is 1000 miles away but education, well, I guess it is right that it is everywhere.

Day One, Friday
The Road from Arusha to beloved Ketumbiene.

The lush greenness of the post rain season surrounds us in Arusha. My heart is delighted at every turn.  The farms of bright yellow and red flowers are blooming beside the fields of sunflowers following the sun. A tree flourishes with both white and purple, delicate petunia like flowers. Its branches are dotted with small, singing birds. The hills are alive with their new verdancy, the eclectic greens spanning the continuum. My spirit bursting with the vibrancy and beauty. It is God speaking life to my soul.

There are families of giraffes, children and goats along the dusty road to Ketumbiene. The familiar thorn forest crowding the roadside as evidence of the rain, welcomes us home.

We arrive at our Ketumbiene Motel where we will stay for the next two weeks. In the late afternoon, we visit the New Hope campus where once I helped plant fruit trees and attended Sunday service in its rocky field. What was formerly the stuff of imagination can now be seen. The pavilion is newly finished and we will attend its dedication on Sunday. Tomorrow, we will hold clinic here for the first time. It is an open air building with a red roof and floor and an expansive view of the mountain. Ketumbieme Mountain is lush and majestic against the blue sky; its peak hidden by clouds as it gathers the greenness of the valley hills to itself. It is a spectacular display.

Before heading home, we fuel our imaginations once more with a tour of the construction zone that is the lodge in progress. It is located just north of the pavilion.  Next year, we will stay here!

Day Two: Saturday, First clinic day

We are treated to a soft start to our first day of clinic. The sun, rising over the eastern horizon, spreads its golden hue on our porch as I sit and listen. There is the distant singing of multiple voices joining in… a hymn in Swahili perhaps? I join them with my spirit and we welcome the new day together.

It is a cool but warming morning at the pavilion today. Fresh breezes further awaken my senses as we work out the configuration of clinic. I greet Rachel, my interpreter. She is a single mom and student who attends college in Tanzania’s capital, a 12 hour bus ride away. She is on a break and has come home to join us. She speaks English well and will be my beautiful asset all day.

Dr. Maria sits with me at our assessment table. We worked together last March and it is so lovely to see her again. She has a gentle, inclusive way about her that welcomes me in as a trusted colleague and friend. It is so affirming to be welcomed by her.

These trips stretch me, especially in my Nursing self. I sometimes struggle with feeling like an imposter and need frequent reminders that God does not call the equipped; He equips the called. I trust Him to know what He is doing even when I feel like I do not. He promises that my weakness will be a canvas on which to display His strength.

With that in mind, I had a patient with an intermittent eye problem. He had the wisdom to take a picture of his eye when it flared and he showed it to me. The photo alerted me to a course of action that I initiated and sent him on his way. Later, I saw that Kelly had intercepted him and was in hot pursuit of a fuller plan of care. Though I am often afraid I will miss something, God is not. He accomplishes His plan through the whole family and I am blessed to be included.

Next, Dr. M receives an Uncle and his 10 year old nephew. They tell her that they want to be seen by me. They say that I  come highly recommended.  A laugh escapes my lips as, in my surprise, I wonder who in the world would think I was the most qualified in the room? My answer is, of course, God does. He has given me something they need and here they are to receive it. The thing is, He has also given them something I need and so, here I am to receive it. I love His circle of giving!

Sunday

We gather at the Pavilion for church. The center wall is decorated with colorful silk and ribbons. The podium shares the theme. There is a festive table at each side for distinguished guests and rows of chairs to fill the room. The DJ/Worship leader is elevated on the side bleacher seats. We are ready.

At the left side table, the distinguished guests gather. They are government officials who have come to celebrate the dedication of the pavilion. There is even a Muslim section, I find out later, who are welcomed and included seamlessly.

We spend the next several hours singing with various choirs and dancing with them all. The dancers are of every age and arrayed in the fantastic colors of life here.

I am my usual self so I sing and dance with my hands. Today my feet and shoulders join as I try to embody the Maasai way. My movements seem chunky and foreign to me. Though I am working hard to pop my shoulders and neck in the rhythm of those in front of me, I am well aware of my disconnect. Could there be some subtle trigger or skill I am missing? I stop trying to procure movements and let my body take me, much the same way my hands take over when I sing. If a joyful sound is pleasing to God so must be my pitiful attempts to absorb the unabsorbable.  It is as intangible as it is sacred.

I am off to the side, taking comfort and courage in being noticed only by God. That is, however, until I am popped out of my reverie when Pastor Yonah, a pastor I do not know well, makes an announcement from the pulpit. With a microphone, he announces   how delighted he is that ‘Mama Anna’ is dancing like a true Maasai. This makes me yank my head up just as the whole team and congregation look my way… swallowing my tongue and feeling a rush of blood to my cheeks, I feel like I am caught on the jumbotron being naughty. So much for being noticed only by God!

It is the church style here to spend the majority of the celebration time worshipping with movement and song. I marvel at how they express their love to God through their whole selves. They get their heart out, as my Pastor back home says. Focused on Jesus, they offer their whole bodies to Him. It is as truly marvelous as it is freeing.

The service is paused and we move outside to gather around a curtained wall. There is a red ribbon enclosing the small area that reminds me of a photo booth. It is here they reveal a plaque behind the curtain. It declares the glory of God on a plaque dedicating the pavilion to His work. This pavilion is now:

THE GLORY JO PAVILION
ESTABLISHED 2026

“NOT TO US, LORD, NOT TO US BUT TO YOUR NAME BE THE GLORY BECAUSE OF YOUR LOVE AND FAITHFULNESS
PSALM 15 NIV


Back inside the sermon eventually comes. Pastor Peter speaks from Isaiah 43:18-21.

18 “Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old.   19 Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.   20 The wild beasts will honor me, the jackals and the ostriches, for I give water in the wilderness, rivers in the desert, to give drink to my chosen people,   21 the people whom I formed for myself that they might declare my praise.   (Isaiah 43:18-21, ESV)

“God says “I will do a new thing!”
The Israelites were once in slavery and could not imagine God doing a new thing but He did!
He is the same God today! He is doing marvels! When God says it will be done, He does it!

Here at New Hope, we did not imagine God would do such big things. This was the bush BUT God has done a new thing! God brings New Hope!

I remind you today, God can do new things out of your difficulties! When you believe, God can do it! Even if you are passing through the wilderness, God can bring water!

God is transforming the Maasai! Believe big things! The past miracles are nothing like what He will do!

Is it possible? When in the wilderness? God told Israel through Isaiah, forget old, I am doing new things!

He will work in and through the community and individuals.
Let us trust in God. He will make a way where there is no way!

We are here to give thanks to God! He is  reviving our new hope. Let us give Him our declarations of praise!

Hallelujah!”

Hallelujah, indeed!

Monday, June, 2026

The sound of the roosters mimics my prayer today. They begin with a cockle but they really lay into and prolong the doo. It is at times more of a deep guttural, persistent longing, almost a bursting as if they are trying to will the very sun to rise. It is a picture of my own willingness to bid the Son to rise in me as I feel the depth of my longing to be all about His business. On this day two of clinic my cockle doodle doo is  “Here I am. Send Me.”

Wispy fluffs of clouds touch the viridian mountain peaks. The delicate birdsong and insistent twittering fill my ears as the gentle, cool breezes blow strength and vigor into my bones. It is as if God Himself were lending me His Ruach, His breath. It is a fine beginning.

Dr. M is back and, as usual, her smile lights up the room. She asks me if I am cold because she thinks this is coat weather. I tell her I am always so hot here that this fresh cool morning is a cherished reprieve for my expectations.

I am greeted by a healthy looking woman with abdominal hernia symptoms though I cannot find one. Dr. M advises she be referred for an ultrasound but adds the Ketumbiene ultrasound tech has been absent for a month. My patient agrees to take the bus to Longido instead.

This leads me to tell Maria about my ambulance trip to Longido last March. My patient needed a C-section but there was no anesthesiologist here. Maria is surprised and shows me a video of the C-section she recently attended at the Ketumbiene hospital. Go figure…

I am called over by Pat to assess a small darling with eyes swollen shut. She is also malnourished and at 18 months will take nothing but breast milk. As I try to open her lids to see her eyes, there is a thick, creamy gunk preventing inspection. We try to clean some of it away but realize there is just too much ick. I give her an antibiotic shot and eye drops. I teach mom about warm compresses and comfort meds at home and I have her agree to return tomorrow for assessment. It is my hope that tomorrow the swelling and discomfort will decrease allowing a more thorough assessment of all of her needs.

Through my years, I have been known to keep my feelings off my face but today I feel my face contort in a breath holding grimace as it, unbidden, shares my contempt for my patient’s suffering. This is the worst I, and others, have ever seen.

Later, a team member noticed how busy I was ‘saving’ that baby. I found this a rather curious word choice. Was I saving that baby?  I decide it probably looked that way to him. To me, it was not a ‘saving’  but, rather, a privilege to be used as an instrument of God’s peace. It will not be me or the medicine that will heal this darling. It is always Jesus Who brings the healing.

I have multiple others with eye injuries and vision problems which are beyond our clinic’s scope of care. As I take my concerns to Kelly, she sends a text to an Ophthalmologist she knows in Arusha. This doc answers her and may join us next week! It never ceases to amaze me how God uses our giftings in the most wondrous ways.

Thursday, March 12, 2026 To Moshi

Kenzie and I said goodbye to the team last night as they returned home. Today, we leave early for Moshi, a town two hours east of Arusha, at the foot of Kilimanjaro. Our destination for the next five days is the Kilimanjaro Christian Medical Center where Kenzie will offer education to the Neuro ICU staff.

It is really just a drive through the countryside. I am reminded of the road from Delhi to Agra in India and the back roads of upstate New York and Missouri. I love how the trees make tunnels for the road, meeting in the middle above, hiding the sky.
It is pleasant, cool and a bit perilous as passing anywhere can be.

As we enter Moshi, looking for the hospital, the roads change. On one side there is an abrupt drop into a drainage ditch. On the other, a thin margin before life in the city begins. There is not much room for error.  To my eyes, the roads are narrow and barely two-way but to local eyes, there is plenty of room! Nonetheless, I find myself sucking in to make myself smaller to help us squeeze through and don’t get me started on turning around when lost…which we were.

Twittering birdsong and the vibrating cicada buzz brings music to the reddish-brown dirt and rich green landscape as we approach the market next to the hospital. A woman passes carrying a long tray filled with bananas and avocados held comfortably atop her head. The air is filled with the scents of fresh lumber, fried meat with an intermingling of fresh air breezes. 

We will stay at the Doctor’s compound, A14. It is marked by a sign and a charming tree by the garage. Someone has hung red solo cups from its branches and planted a delicate assortment of plants within. In a jungle environment where life is keen on overtaking every inch, it is a lovely, though unexpected, decoration. We will share this home with Cyrus and Francisco who are neurosurgeons on loan from Barrow’s, back home. Our housekeeper, Sia, greets us and settles us in before walking us to the hospital.

There we meet Sr. Magdaglena, Nursing Specialist in the Surgical ICU. She graciously gives us a small report on each one of the 9 patients. Kenzie has a delightful way of bridging the communication and cultural challenges. She asks questions and always relates their practice to hers in an easy, inclusive way. She is here to learn and share and there is no superiority in her manner. It is a pleasure to watch her work with such easy beauty and skill.

Friday

The sunrise sparkles behind and through the trees, the world is alive with bugsong answered by the choruses of birds and a distant rooster. The soft wind breezes through the treetops, drying the midnight rain, still shiny on the leaves below. The smell of the air is rich with its earthy, moist vibrance.

We walk to the hospital through the mud, increasingly taller as the ground becomes one with our shoes. Once on the cement, we stomp and carry on like tap dancers gone wild trying to attain our original height before entering the hospital. 

We arrive early for African time but on time for us. We change into scrubs in the narrow, small room provided and I attempt to hide the residual mud beneath my shoe covers.

We have come for the morning rounds in the surgical ICU, scheduled for 0730. Around each patient, in turn, there is a gathering of ~15 caregivers: Dr. Chrystal, Magdalena RN Specialist,  Night/Day shift bedside RNs, physiotherapy, pharmacy, dietary, and a chaplain praying at the bedside of an adjacent patient.

They speak low and I strain to hear. Dr. Chrystal reminds them to speak English for ‘our guests’. The discussions are detailed and thorough as the team describes much of the patients’ night history, present status, ongoing needs and future goals. This meeting of the minds is unexpectedly lengthy but appears to be patient centered and helpful.

After the fourth patient, I leave for a cup of cool water. I tell myself I have never been made for the  ICU and, this morning my body agrees. I feel like an imposter but take comfort in knowing I am Kenzie’s imposter.

Next, the Neuro team rounds begin and there is a bit more energy in the room. It becomes louder, more lively, smiling and laughter erupt. This has not been my experience with Neurosurgeons. I may need to reevaluate my life.

Unsure about who I can touch and talk to, I leave Kenzie to her strengths and go in search of the mountain. Kilimanjaro is just northeast of our location and I can get a limited view from the parking lot.  Its snowcovered, towering top remains protected by the fluffy white clouds of the morning. As I try to find a path towards it, for a clearer view, I am soon scallywagged by the constant underbrush and trees that seem to step in front of me at every turn. The mud seems to swell around my shoes and soon I retreat before I am swallowed up into the landscape.

It is clothes washing day at the compound and I have not remembered to put my scrubs out. As I enter our yard, there are newly washed clothes hanging to dry and I wonder with dismay if I have missed my opportunity. There was no water during the afternoon yesterday which means I can’t do my own. I decide to acknowledge my defeat and admire the colors of the clothes instead. It is with sudden surprise that I recognize they are my clothes hanging in front of me. Our sweet housekeeper, Sia, has come to the rescue again.

It is humid. I would love a shower but the afternoons appear to be water resistant, not a drop to be had. I discover that the best way for me to deal with the life sucking heat is to lie immobile. This allows even the slightest of breezes to be fully appreciated. I am feeling some congestion build in my chest as well so lying down is a win-win.

Francisco returns briefly and lets us in on a little secret before he is off to the hospital again. He tells us about the Courage Cafe. It is a small cafe that caters to the non-Swahili, supports saving children from trafficking AND it delivers! This is a game changer for us. Ready as we were for canned chicken salad again, we welcome pizza and french fries instead.

Saturday
Today, I stay in bed when Kenzie leaves early for a day at the SICU. My cough is worsening so I decide to live vicariously through Kenzie and keep my cough to myself.

When she arrives back in the early afternoon, she regales me with tales galore. Routine care with teeth brushing and bed baths, skin care and tube care and time for morning tea. Everything stops for tea…now that’s an idea to bring home!

I tidy up my journaling and photos before a rousing game of Golf, the card game, though I hear there is an actual nearby course with a notable golf pro in residence. Cyrus joins us. This Golf was my favorite game in Haiti. I remember hours of raucous fun though I can’t remember any of the rules today.

Our boys, the neurosurgeons, take us into the market for a late lunch at their favorite, safe place. They warn us it is a hole in the wall but the rice and chicken is good, that is when they have rice and chicken.  I order rice and vegetables since there is no chicken. The waiter returns to say there are no vegetables and he’ll see if they have rice then he brings me rice and vegetables. It is a lovely lunch with friends. As we walk to the car in the pouring rain, I feel like the coolness is washing away my fatigue. My hands begin to dance as they sometimes do when I am feeling myself inside. Watch out cough, my sense of well being is coming to conquer you.

When we get home, there are Swahili lessons at the kitchen table that hardly pause when the electricity goes off. My doodling, however, is hindered so I switch to writing. The rest of the night is chasing after the power, whether it be the electricity or the power within me. It is a la la salaam night indeed.

Sunday

K and I walk over to the hospital chapel in hope of catching a service but not knowing the timing, if any. We encounter a crowd of fancily dressed church goers just leaving but we swim upstream anyway. The chapel is a freestanding, round building with windows for walls nestled in a courtyard of gigantic trees of ancient growth. It is a beautiful garden setting. The shade is delicious. 

As we sit at the foot of one to the trees, a small group gathers inside so we join them. A young lady dressed in beautiful floral yellow sits next to us and becomes our guide. She brings out the order of service book and finds each hymn, pointing to the words, in Swahili. I try to sing in Swahili but lose my way and resort to singing ‘watermelon’ which makes me look like I’m singing. Some songs are familiar: My Hope is built on nothing less than Jesus and His righteousness; or Hapana rafiki kama Yesu: There is no friend like Jesus. She also directs us when to stand, sit and kneel.  K finds her Google translate app and it translates the sermon for us. It is the passage of the loaves and fish and I am instantly taken back to the heat of Texas and the Chosen where we filmed this scene. I close my eyes and envision it.

As service ends, the congregation file out singing in Swahili: On Christ, the solid rock I stand. We form a Whoville circle around one of the magnificent trees and end the service there, together.

After service, Chaplain Johnson greets us. He tells us the history of the church and makes our final hymn all the more connecting. The founding bishop came to this spot looking for God’s direction in building a hospital. When he saw the random, lone boulder here, he knew this was the place. He climbed on top and prayed for provision. On Christ, our solid rock we are still standing.

We are invited into the big city for lunch by our neurosurgeon hosts. We take a tuk tuk to meet them and relish the cooling breezes that come with it.

It is a bustling Sunday in the city. Tour groups gather, local Maasai dressed in Maasai grandeur, gather under a tree awaiting tourists in need of a guide. Among them, to our mutual surprise, is Alpha. He had helped me translate at Longido hospital after a patient there recognized me from clinic in Keteumbiene. The patient needed my help getting a ride back home and both she and I needed an interpreter. I apparently have a memorable face for a munzunga.

When I left Longido, I regretted not getting his info as his kindness, English and heart of service could be an asset to our team. Remarkably, 😉I have his card now.

Back at the compound, K and I go to the hospital in search of the view of the mountain. After many attempts and only one passable success, we return. We meet Cyrus and he takes us just past our house to the money shot. He calls the mountain Kili and its lesser peak, also spectacular, mini Kili. It is a brilliant, fresh sunsetting wonder!


Monday
It is Paparazzi day for me in the SICU. I am shadowing K with her camera. In the dispensing of my duties, I am cautioned to not photograph patients. This, of course, is already in my RN DNA but how delightful that it is in theirs as well.

We are sent off with warm gratitude on both sides and invitations to return. Walking through the busy  Neurology clinic, I think of the crowds of people who gathered around Jesus seeking His healing touch. They are here today as well.

This may seem like a neverending story. It can burden a soul who doesn’t look up. But thanks be to my God Who also has a neverending story and He invites us to look to Him. He has never called me to cure  the world. He does call me and each one here to touch the lives He puts before us and leave the rest to Him. If I do not trust Him for this, it would not be faith.

We leave on the 9p plane for home. After 16 days,  I think I am ready to go.

Kwaheri,
TanziAnne and Moshi Mackenzie

Today, I stay in bed when Kenzie leaves early for a day at the SICU. My cough is worsening so I decide to live vicariously through Kenzie and keep my cough to myself.

When she arrives back in the early afternoon, she regales me with tales galore. Routine care with teeth brushing and bed baths, skin care and tube care and time for morning tea. Everything stops for tea…now that’s an idea to bring home!

I tidy up my journaling and photos before a rousing game of Golf, the card game, though I hear there is an actual nearby course with a notable golf pro in residence. Cyrus joins us. This Golf was my favorite game in Haiti. I remember hours of raucous fun though I can’t remember any of the rules today.

Our boys, the neurosurgeons, take us into the market for a late lunch at their favorite, safe place. They warn us it is a hole in the wall but the rice and chicken is good, that is when they have rice and chicken.  I order rice and vegetables since there is no chicken. The waiter returns to say there are no vegetables and he’ll see if they have rice then he brings me rice and vegetables. It is a lovely lunch with friends. As we walk to the car in the pouring rain, I feel like the coolness is washing away my fatigue. My hands begin to dance as they sometimes do when I am feeling myself inside. Watch out cough, my sense of well being is coming to conquer you.

When we get home, there are Swahili lessons at the kitchen table that hardly pause when the electricity goes off. My doodling, however, is hindered so I switch to writing. The rest of the night is chasing after the power, whether it be the electricity or the power within me. It is a la la salaam night indeed.

Sunday

K and I walk over to the hospital chapel in hope of catching a service but not knowing the timing, if any. We encounter a crowd of fancily dressed church goers just leaving but we swim upstream anyway. The chapel is a freestanding, round building with windows for walls nestled in a courtyard of gigantic trees of ancient growth. It is a beautiful garden setting. The shade is delicious. 

As we sit at the foot of one to the trees, a small group gathers inside so we join them. A young lady dressed in beautiful floral yellow sits next to us and becomes our guide. She brings out the order of service book and finds each hymn, pointing to the words, in Swahili. I try to sing in Swahili but lose my way and resort to singing ‘watermelon’ which makes me look like I’m singing. Some songs are familiar: My Hope is built on nothing less than Jesus and His righteousness; or Hapana rafiki kama Yesu: There is no friend like Jesus. She also directs us when to stand, sit and kneel.  K finds her Google translate app and it translates the sermon for us. It is the passage of the loaves and fish and I am instantly taken back to the heat of Texas and the Chosen where we filmed this scene. I close my eyes and envision it.

As service ends, the congregation file out singing in Swahili: On Christ, the solid rock I stand. We form a Whoville circle around one of the magnificent trees and end the service there, together.

After service, Chaplain Johnson greets us. He tells us the history of the church and makes our final hymn all the more connecting. The founding bishop came to this spot looking for God’s direction in building a hospital. When he saw the random, lone boulder here, he knew this was the place. He climbed on top and prayed for provision. On Christ, our solid rock we are still standing.

We are invited into the big city for lunch by our neurosurgeon hosts. We take a tuk tuk to meet them and relish the cooling breezes that come with it.

It is a bustling Sunday in the city. Tour groups gather, local Maasai dressed in Maasai grandeur, gather under a tree awaiting tourists in need of a guide. Among them, to our mutual surprise, is Alpha. He had helped me translate at Longido hospital after a patient there recognized me from clinic in Keteumbiene. The patient needed my help getting a ride back home and both she and I needed an interpreter. I apparently have a memorable face for a munzunga.

When I left Longido, I regretted not getting his info as his kindness, English and heart of service could be an asset to our team. Remarkably, 😉I have his card now.

Back at the compound, K and I go to the hospital in search of the view of the mountain. After many attempts and only one passable success, we return. We meet Cyrus and he takes us just past our house to the money shot. He calls the mountain Kili and its lesser peak, also spectacular, mini Kili. It is a brilliant, fresh sunsetting wonder!


Monday

It is Paparazzi day for me in the SICU. I am shadowing K with her camera. In the dispensing of my duties, I am cautioned to not photograph patients. This, of course, is already in my RN DNA but how delightful that it is in theirs as well.

We are sent off with warm gratitude on both sides and invitations to return. Walking through the busy  Neurology clinic, I think of the crowds of people who gathered around Jesus seeking His healing touch. They are here today as well.

This may seem like a neverending story. It can burden a soul who doesn’t look up. But thanks be to my God Who also has a neverending story and He invites us to look to Him. He has never called me to cure  the world. He does call me and each one here to touch the lives He puts before us and leave the rest to Him. If I do not trust Him for this, it would not be faith.

We leave on the 9p plane for home. After 16 days,  I think I am ready to go.

Kwaheri,
TanziAnne and Moshi Mackenzie

Enroute

When my last child graduated from High School last May, I found myself considering what I would do now that I’ve grown up, anew.

As I welcomed home a friend returning from Africa, I felt God inviting me to another round of  traveling with Him.  So here I am, traveling with my ZoeHopeGlobal.com team to Tanzania, East Africa. We will be returning to God’s project in Ketumbeine and to our established, beautiful partnerships with our friends.

“Zoe Hope partners with ordinary people to guide children and their poverty stricken communities toward greatness.”  God always uses the ordinary to give and receive His extraordinary. I am so pleased to be back!

Join me as I journal through this adventure.

TanzaniAnne
March 1, 2026

Tuesday, March 3
It is a cool, breezy day. The sky is overcast with the  heavy smell of rain in the air.  Birds are singing, dogs are barking and the rumble of awakening life  surrounds us.

We drive to Ketumbiene today in a 20 passenger van/bus. Sam is our driver for the week. He is  tall and thin with a brilliant smile.

From my bus window, Arusha rushes by. I marvel at the hot tin roofs on the block houses gathered in clusters. They are yellow, black and red, some with a point, others mimic Kilimanjaro with their flat peaks. The driver ahead of us swerves abruptly revealing  a calf sauntering down the middle of the highway unaccompanied much like the children.

There is  a 4 year old child with a red backpack walking alone down a muddy dirt lane adjacent to the busy traffic. Another, slightly older boy, is  running beside the shoulder of the road. It is so curious to me how often the small ones are left on their own, independent.

Further out, I hear the clanging, jingling sound of bells and see a herd of goats living their best lives within feet of our 50mph bus seemingly unaware of the peril.

As we leave the city with its shops, houses and bustle, the roadside becomes lushly green. The overcast sky has broken free into fluffy white clouds and blue skies. White goats and sheep dot the landscape and are brilliantly illuminated by the sun peeking through the clouds. They graze on the soft rolling hills with their natural fencing separating fields of crops and grazing. With my desert eyes, it is a sight to behold.

After a long while, we arrived at the next town, Longido. With a  left turn, we reached the dirt, bumbly road to Ketumbiene as the thorn forest rises to meet us.

There is every shade of green and brown in the soft, sharp, prickly, muted, vibrant, shiny, dusty , light, dark cacophony of foliage that closes rank in dense pockets of brambly tangles. There are few other colors on the savannah floor as far as the eye can see.

Roofs are now thatched as we trade the paved road for the dirt one. We spot zebras, giraffes and Impalas on our way.  I love this place.

My deep fatigue coupled with the mesmerizing scenery has me in  la la salaam (Swahili for good night) mode. So off to la la I go.

Wednesday, March 4, 2026.

As I watch the sun rise, my heart spontaneously calls out “Show me Your glory, God”.  He reminds me that I held His Glory last night as I held Pastor Peter’s new baby named Glory.

The first day of clinic is always a bit chaotic as we all learn our stations and choose our rhythms. I saw a lot of patients of every age today. I gave several shots. My older men with their toothless smiles make me giddy with delight. Most sit down in my chair with blank expressions but when I take their hands and say their names, they are transformed. It is medicine to our souls. There were so many with Sciatica symptoms like my own. Like my sons, Joseph, Thomas, Samuel, and Peter were among them which made us all smile.

I was en route to somewhere else when one of our high schoolers pointed to a door I was passing and, with concern, said there was so much blood in there. Curiously alarmed, I pivoted and found a 6 year old darling on a gurney with a gash on his forehead. I’ll call him Roscoe. He was screaming as the blood poured into his eyes and mouth. His mother was struggling to keep him on the table so I helped her. I put pressure on his wound with one hand and held his other hand as I talked to him in English. We locked eyes and he calmed though he didn’t know a word of my English. The thing about language is that the words don’t need to be known for the intent to be understood.  All through the suturing, my young friend held my gaze and allowed us to help. His bravery and strength of spirit were stunning.

It made me think of the Hebrew word Ruach, God’s breath. How God lends us His courage by breathing His breath into us. I think God used His Ruach today to breathe through my breath into my little friend. 

Back home, a friend’s prayer for me was that  harmony might come through me and add to the  beautiful song God was playing. How lovely a blessing to be invited to infuse His harmony to another in need!  We serve an awesome God!

Thursday, March 5, 2026.

There was a fierce storm last night. The wind whipped and thunder roared and the rain, rain, rain came down, down, down in rushing rivling, rivlets. Even so, it was a mere footnote in my slumber, awakening but not disturbed.

This day held so many profound wonders. My cry to see God’s glory yesterday became so poignant today.  He knows my heart and answers me at the point of my need. He has made each of us to be His radiance, reflecting the radiance of Jesus as in Hebrews 1:3. He knows that more than seeing His glory, I long to be His glory and He nourished my deep places today. I am humbled, emptied out, filled up and stunned by how wondrous God is!

I started in the clinic seeing my precious babies, their mamas and siblings with their waxy, crusty ears, running noses and GI issues. I love the little ones. What a privilege to be trusted by Mama to care for them and her.

It wasn’t long, however, before Kelly came, and with urgency in her voice, motioned to me to follow. In the same room as yesterday, a 7 year old boy had been carried in by his dad and placed on the stretcher. It was immediately apparent that this little boy was gravely ill. I’ll call him Paul.

I unwrapped Paul. He was pale, limp, and feverish. He was in extreme respiratory distress with increased heart rate and was nonresponsive to painful stimuli. I  looked for a place to start an IV and discovered that he already had one.

Paul’s story was slow to evolve but it went something like this…  He had been sick for several days and kept at home as is their custom. He was given tribal remedies and when he began to get worse his family took him to a nearby neighborhood clinic. The clinic began initial treatment but soon recognized that his extreme distress was beyond what they could treat so he was brought to us.

Our local doctors gathered with Kelly and began a series of treatments addressing multiple difficulties as they arose. Our working theory for the core diagnosis seemed to be meningitis but it was clear he had multiple other complications. We gathered what was needed from all over the hospital including borrowing from other patients in less distress. The oximeter, thermometer and blood sugar meter we got from our clinic. The oxygen and suction with tubing along with equipment to drain his bladder we got from the hospital. We tested him for HIV, took blood, gave IV fluids, did old school chest percussion, to name a few…

As his labored breathing worsened, our local docs opted out of intubation because there would be no adequate way to transport him and we anticipated he would need to be stabilized and taken to a higher level of care. We called our medical partners in the US for treatment options. On and on as we desperately searched for ways to reverse this precious one’s troubles.

Kelly and the local doctors were impressive with their creative solutions for wrangling equipment and making procedures work with the spare parts that were available. Their collaboration was a meeting of the minds and their only goal was to give the best care possible.

I was an overseer of sorts, monitoring and assisting as needed but my main job was to be the one constant by Paul’s side. I held his hand, rubbed his head and talked to him in English. I repeated his name and talked to him about Jesus as I prayed over him. I told him how his strength in fighting today showed how he would make a fine Maasai warrior one day; that we were working hard to help him to that goal.

The closest hospital that could provide a higher level of care was an hour away down the same bumpy dirt road on which we had come. We called for an ambulance having no idea what actual services would be provided by it. My time on the Navajo reservation had taught me that an ambulance didn’t necessarily mean it would bring equipment with it.

All the while, our US team rallied around all of us in the room. They wiped my sweaty face, brought water, snacks and prayers.  Our students asked thoughtful questions and excelled at loving this sweet little one and me. Like Moses whose arms were held up by Aaron and Hur in Exodus 17, so were our ‘arms’ held up by this team. 

After hours of fighting for his life with no improvement, Paul went home to Jesus. I closed his eyes and, with my hands on his chest and head, I thanked him for the privilege of caring for him and I thanked God that though our human goal for healing looked different, it was accomplished in the perfect healing of our child’s soul.

How marvelous that we serve a God Who always answers our prayers with His best rather than with our ideas of what might be best. How profoundly beautiful that God brings us just what we need exactly when we need it. He stoops down to, once again, breathe His Ruach through us to others and through others to us.

A few days later, we were told that Paul’s dad gave his life to Christ. He told us that he was moved by the way we cared for his son and he wanted to know our God and bring his whole family to church. Pastor Peter connected him with a Pastor and church near his home.
Your wondrous ruach at work, Father, bring it on!

Friday, March 6, 2026. 

I was tired today and my mind was a bit slow to wake up after my body did. I would look for the highlighter that was in my hand. I’d get in a rhythm and forget I was asked to do something else. I heard rumors that we might see a birth today but I tried to center my attention on the patient in front of me until…

Kelly came and asked me to go with the woman in labor to Longido. The doctors decided it should be by ambulance.  I never saw the ambulance yesterday so the issue of equipment was still on the table.

My dear sweet mama was having her first baby but the birth could not progress because of some tribal customs that were done to her when she was young. She needed an emergency C-section and because we had no anesthesiologist where we were, she needed to go the one hour ride down the bumpy dirt/mud road to the nearest town, Longido. It would take an hour for the ambulance to get to us and then another hour to get to Longido, in theory.

Before they realized she needed a C-section, they had put her on medicine to make her contractions more effective. After realizing she needed a C-section, they didn’t turn the medicine off. When I got there my poor darling was having vigorous, frequent contractions every 1-2 minutes. She had an intense desire to push and was, indeed, pushing. She was also peeing blood which is a sign of distress for both mom and baby. I turned off the medicine and listened for the fetal heartbeat. It  sounded strong despite her current environment.

My mama, I’ll call her Eloise, was lying on an old wobbly, elevated cart without side rails under one thin sheet with her shuka wadded up for a pillow. I asked for a cloth to wipe her brow but it was somehow lost in translation so I found my cooling cloth in my backpack and used that.

I wanted her to lie on her left side to maximize circulation to both her and the baby but as the time went on, Eloise was too restless to maintain any one position for long. It became a constant dance from one side of the gurney to the other to ensure she would not fall off. Of course, I talked to her like I did Paul but I didn’t know if I was comforting or helpful. I doubted until she sat up and pulled me to her so she could rest her head on my chest. It was then that I understood we were doing this together.

We spent the next 3 hours visually reminding Eloise to pant through the pain. I took the tiny win when the contractions slowed to every 1-3minutes. I had one of our students helping me and keeping track of the timing. He was a priceless companion.

The ambulance came 3 hours later. It was a small van with a stretcher on one side and a small bench on the other. There was a small cabinet up against the cab wall; no equipment. There were two attendants and a driver. I envisioned that my patient would be on the stretcher; one attendant, my student and me on the bench and the other attendant and driver up front.  It is funny sometimes what I think with my American city girl mind.

The van was small so there was no standing up. As I approached I saw the attendant sitting on the end of the stretcher with the patient and two women who brought buckets of supplies with them sitting on the bench. I timidly sat on the little space left on the bench by the back door but soon realized I couldn’t see, let alone touch my patient. I wanted to be sensitive to their cultural ways but I knew this wasn’t going to work. I gingerly stepped over the two while I was bent in half. I was thinking that I’d trade positions on the bench. Ha! I ended up propping myself up on the tiny cabinet grabbing hold of the stretcher rails with both hands while leaning over my patient … and I stayed that way for the entire cacophonous roller coaster ride through the muddy, thorn forest to the hospital. When I wasn’t white knuckling it on the rails, I was smacking my head on the roof and trying to encourage my patient to pant and not push. My Navajo reservation days came flooding back to my mind which was good because that was when I did my delivering of babies.

We were relatively intact when we were delivered to our destination. By this I mean, I had only bruises and our baby was still inside!

The hospital staff were welcoming and kind. Two of our students met us there and had already
charmed their way into the hearts of the staff. We were invited into the OR provided we wore a mask, a hat and a pair of the white Yves St Lauren crocs that were lined up outside.

I was a bit uncomfortable with the anatomy lessons to which the students were being exposed but my only resort was to trust my leaders who initiated it.

Eloise was made to sit straight up on the table that, again, had no side rails. She shivered, uncovered in the cold room, but was impressively able to remain still while the doctors struggled to give her a spinal block. All this while still contracting every 1-2 minutes.

Once the block was accomplished, she was laid flat, arms wide and a screen was placed between her chest and abdomen to protect their sterile field. I wasn’t sure if it was allowed but I briefly slipped my hand in hers and caught her gaze a few times hoping to reassure her.

A C-section (Caesarean section) is a surgical procedure used to deliver a baby through incisions in Mama’s abdomen and uterus. The procedure typically takes about an hour with the baby delivered in the first 5–15 minutes. This said, my students stood in a line, mesmerized by the procedure. It took some strength for the doctors to separate the abdomen layers to reach the uterus. There was a lot of blood but they managed to defy my reservations and stand tall. They asked good questions and listened to my answers. They were curious, respectful and grateful. I was proud to have them with me.

One doctor’s large hand was swallowed whole by the incision and a blink later, out came our baby’s head and body covered in the fluids of birth. It was like a magic trick: now you don’t see her, now you do! It was a girl!

After the cutting of the cord, her small blue body was gathered up in cloth and taken to the incubator where she was vigorously dried off. We held our breath until several minutes later she gave us hers in a weak cry. Needing encouragement to breathe, the Nurse held our tiny, blue darling upside down by her legs and gave her the stereotypical spanking of life. It was evident that she would need oxygen.There was in a 6ft tall canister that weighed 5,000 pounds, give or take, on the other side of the room, standing by for Eloise. It was commandeered and as the Nurse struggled to move it, the students came swiftly to her aid and brought it to our tiny girlfriend. With oxygen and continued encouragement, our blue baby became pinker and stabilized.

Her head was elongated after trying to get out for hours but we were assured that in the miracle process of birth, it would return to round with time. She was wrapped up like a baby burrito and left, unattended, in the warmth of the incubator.

For the next 30 minutes, the staff worked to put Eloise back together. Numb from the block, Eloise was able to rest at last. She was never given her baby to hold or even see. When all was done, the baby was placed between her legs on the stretcher and they were wheeled off. I grabbed her hand one last time and smiled, at last resting myself.

Saturday, March 7,2026

I have always liked that Mary, the mother of Jesus, pondered His birth in Luke 2:19 and as I begin my day, I am in need of pondering myself. I have had to sit with the words my teammates have lavished on me over the past few days.

I was acutely present with Roscoe, Paul and Eloise. My back ached from standing so long but it never deterred me. I was exactly where I wanted to be, not only at the point of my patients’ need but at the pinnacle of my most satisfying desire and gifting.

The extraordinary thing is that my team recognized it as well. At the bedside of all three, I often wondered if I could have been more productive elsewhere. Their many affirmations countered those thoughts.

A couple teammates told me I was like Paul’s mama, caring for him like a mother would. Another told me he admired my work. Another said there was no doubt that I had earned the trust of this team… At the time, this made me pause and wonder.  “I was just doing my job,” was my gut response and though this is true, they saw that by doing my job, I was in the center of God’s remarkable plan.

They have given me the extraordinary gift of speaking out loud and, somehow making visible, that which I have hoped in my heart for years but thought was unseen.

I felt seen and valued. It was like their words were God’s words pouring His Ruach into me to tell me through others: “Well done, good and faithful servant. I am pleased.”

Morning VBS

Today we are going to Ketumbiene Primary School for a Vacation Bible School organized by our students. It is Saturday so there is no school but the students, both our and theirs, are gathering with the signature vitality of children.

The first round is singing and dancing. A large circle of three people deep is formed, with our students intermingled. The kids are ready and responsive. They overlap the English and Swahili songs, teaching each other. It is a good start.

Next, the games begin with a spirited soccer, I mean, football match. Whoops, hollers and shouts of acclamation resound as balls and bodies fly. The intensity of joy is palpable and this match becomes a brilliant universal connection point that is celebrated.Last, we have storytime. The students gather under the courtyard umbrella tree. Here two of our student leaders tell the beautiful story of God’s heart for all us and how His unlimited love can change their lives for the extraordinarily better.

Watching from the side, I see two of my male students notice that a crying, young girl is separating from the group. They grab an interpreter to ask the girl why she is crying. The three of them gather around her and I see one put his hand on her shoulder as they pray. It is the Bible story in action and I can only stand in silent awe. As I was seen, so too is she.

Afternoon
It is a breezy afternoon when we begin our perilous 4-wheel drive trip through the rain soaked countryside in our non 4-wheel drive bus. We stop often to clear debris from the ‘road’ which is really a simple dirt path. We recognize that we are bamboozled in the end and walk the rest of way.

We have been invited to a Maasai celebration of family, community, life…oh yeah and the circumcision of four young men that will launch them into adulthood.

We arrived at the boma celebration. It is a Maasai ‘neighborhood’ consisting of  several thatched roofed huts with communal outdoor kitchen, areas for keeping animals and for gathering under shade trees; all within a communal Maasai fence made of thorn bushes that deter predators.

The colors of the Maasai traditional dress worn by the revelers among which we are included, pop
against the green and brown of the countryside. The mountains rise in the distance against the cloud streaked, magnificent blue sky making the beauty complete. 

As we enter, there is a large gathering of dancing/jumping Maasai young men in all black shuka attire. This signifies that they have already been launched. Our group joins and soon we are the inner circle, welcomed completely with the vigor of excitement and hospitality. The young men jump, two or three at a time, with a particular rhythm that ends with a bit of a lunge forward. Some of our team take to the dancing/jumping with the electricity of authentic connection. Their delight and exuberance is contagious but my body warns me to stay reasonable and remain immune to the siren song. 

Later, we are told that the jump’s end lunge forward is designed for the young men to choose a bride. It seems that some of our gals have inadvertently agreed to multiple marriages but fortunately, no livestock has been exchanged to seal the deal!

It has been a day of celebration, laughter and beauty. We are no longer they and us. This week has made us ‘we’.

Sunday, March 8, 2026.

2 .

I awakened with avid anticipation for a day at church. My first time here, we worshipped in a small wooden building and gathered under a tree for fellowship. Today for the first time, Church will be held at our New Hope Center’s recently built pavilion! An open air covered space with a sound system, chairs and room for all. There will be a ribbon cutting dedication and party!

I am ready!…until I’m not. My vigor turns to dismay as I begin to be undermined and overtaken by my own body. I spend the day in bed instead… I tell myself it will be okay because I get to return in June…and I believe it.
The team brings back their excitement fitting for the festivities of the day. It is a wonder to see God’s inspiration become reality. Like the Velveteen rabbit, it has become real because of love.

Gratefully, TanziAnne

2 Corinthians 3:17-18
17 For the Lord is the Spirit, and wherever the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. 18 So all of us who have had that veil removed can see and reflect the glory of the Lord. And the Lord—who is the Spirit—makes us more and more like Him as we are changed into His glorious image

Wednesday, March 4, 2026.

As I watch the sun rise, my heart spontaneously calls out “Show me Your glory, God”.  He reminds me that I held His Glory last night as I held Pastor Peter’s new baby named Glory.

The first day of clinic is always a bit chaotic as we all learn our stations and choose our rhythms. I saw a lot of patients of every age today. I gave several shots. My older men with their toothless smiles make me giddy with delight. Most sit down in my chair with blank expressions but when I take their hands and say their names, they are transformed. It is medicine to our souls. There were so many with Sciatica symptoms like my own. Like my sons, Joseph, Thomas, Samuel, and Peter were among them which made us all smile.

I was en route to somewhere else when one of our high schoolers pointed to a door I was passing and, with concern, said there was so much blood in there. Curiously alarmed, I pivoted and found a 6 year old darling on a gurney with a gash on his forehead. I’ll call him Roscoe. He was screaming as the blood poured into his eyes and mouth. His mother was struggling to keep him on the table so I helped her. I put pressure on his wound with one hand and held his other hand as I talked to him in English. We locked eyes and he calmed though he didn’t know a word of my English. The thing about language is that the words don’t need to be known for the intent to be understood.  All through the suturing, my young friend held my gaze and allowed us to help. His bravery and strength of spirit were stunning.

It made me think of the Hebrew word Ruach, God’s breath. How God lends us His courage by breathing His breath into us. I think God used His Ruach today to breathe through my breath into my little friend. 

Back home, a friend’s prayer for me was that  harmony might come through me and add to the  beautiful song God was playing. How lovely a blessing to be invited to infuse His harmony to another in need!  We serve an awesome God!

TanziAnne

Tuesday, March 3
It is a cool, breezy day. The sky is overcast with the  heavy smell of rain in the air.  Birds are singing, dogs are barking and the rumble of awakening life  surrounds us.

We drive to Ketumbiene today in a 20 passenger van/bus. Sam is our driver for the week. He is  tall and thin with a brilliant smile.

From my bus window, Arusha rushes by. I marvel at the hot tin roofs on the block houses gathered in clusters. They are yellow, black and red, some with a point, others mimic Kilimanjaro with their flat peaks. The driver ahead of us swerves abruptly revealing  a calf sauntering down the middle of the highway unaccompanied much like the children.

There is  a 4 year old child with a red backpack walking alone down a muddy dirt lane adjacent to the busy traffic. Another, slightly older boy, is  running beside the shoulder of the road. It is so curious to me how often the small ones are left on their own, independent.

Further out, I hear the clanging, jingling sound of bells and see a herd of goats living their best lives within feet of our 50mph bus seemingly unaware of the peril.

As we leave the city with its shops, houses and bustle, the roadside becomes lushly green. The overcast sky has broken free into fluffy white clouds and blue skies. White goats and sheep dot the landscape and are brilliantly illuminated by the sun peeking through the clouds. They graze on the soft rolling hills with their natural fencing separating fields of crops and grazing. With my desert eyes, it is a sight to behold.

After a long while, we arrived at the next town, Longido. With a  left turn, we reached the dirt, bumbly road to Ketumbiene as the thorn forest rises to meet us.

There is every shade of green and brown in the soft, sharp, prickly, muted, vibrant, shiny, dusty , light, dark cacophony of foliage that closes rank in dense pockets of brambly tangles. There are few other colors on the savannah floor as far as the eye can see.

Roofs are now thatched as we trade the paved road for the dirt one. We spot zebras, giraffes and Impalas on our way.  I love this place.

My deep fatigue coupled with the mesmerizing scenery has me in  la la salaam (Swahili for good night) mode. So off to la la I go.

TanziAnne

Enroute

When my last child graduated from High School last May, I found myself in need of considering what I would do now that I’ve grown up, anew.

As I welcomed an African returning friend, I felt God inviting me to another round of  traveling with Him.  So here I am, traveling with my ZoeHopeGlobal.com team to Tanzania, East Africa. We will be returning to God’s project in Ketumbeine and to our established, beautiful partnerships with our friends.

“Zoe Hope partners with ordinary people to guide children and their poverty stricken communities toward greatness.”  God always uses the ordinary to give and receive His extraordinary. I am so pleased to be back!

Join me as I journal through this adventure.

TanzaniAnne

In my devotion today, I read the passage in Luke 8:26-39 The restoration of a demon possessed man. The devotion spoke of how the presence of evil in the world can be so overpowering to us and to those who see its effects. Not only was the man overpowered but those watching were overpowered as well and possessed by paralyzing fear… but only until Jesus stepped in with His power to overpower the overpowering bringing restoration.

There are darker powers at work
in our world,
but their power pales in comparison
to God’s.

God with Us plan on the YouVersion Bible app

We all have issues as we are confronted with the effects of doing things our own way rather than God’s way. The effects of trauma and fear in our lives have deep roots. The choice is given however. Will we focus on those effects or will we choose to focus on Jesus Who will step in with His power to overpower the effects AND our fear…? Restoration is found only in Him, our Living Hope.

My word for the year in 2025 was Anticipate: to borrow the joy that will come when Jesus restores  applying it, with hope, today.

As it stands, it is 2026 today but the principle prevails. When I am faced with difficult issues and people, as I have recently been, where will my focus be? Fear? Or my Living Hope of Restoration, Jesus.

My word for 2026? Shine.
Anticipation applied equals shining with the light of His power to restore.

“In His light, we see light.”Psalms 36:9
In His light, we are invited to be light.

Here’s to a shiny New Year,
Anne
January 1, 2026

The Sparkle sisters took on the Heraldsburg of Birthdays with their usual panache and style. The twinkling lights of the venue were a radiant echo brilliantly complementing the dazzle of the elegantly inventive and oh so enchanting trio.

The gala surrounded them with the cheer and energy that mimicked their own. The warmth of the red, pink and white sparkling bubbles and mead was second only to the scintillating smiling of the fellow revelers. 

The room was narrow, the ambience magical and it  opened to a lighted courtyard. The water centerpieces floating their delicate flower candles offered a dash of curious delight reflecting the surprise of the chandelier above. 

The black salt hors d’oeuvres tantalized taste buds as the waiter made his purposeful rounds to our Sparkler of honor like a bee to his queen. 

The lights of the camera were, of course, drawn to their inner shining, reminiscent of the puparazzi back home. They donned additional accoutrements that added the perfect whimsy to every outfit. 

Off to the right was a secret door barely noticeable to all but the most whimsical. Lead by their honored  Sparkler, they slipped unseen into the imperceptible realm.

There they found another courtyard of glimmery wonder. Small groups of soft spoken murmurers  were gathering under the stars but as they entered, all eyes turned to the magnificence of the one born this day. In hushed whispers, they beckoned her into the castle. 

Bacchanalians were raising their glasses of shimmer as she arrived. A raucous music joined them as they broke out into the song their hearts had been singing all along ever since the snowy, resplendent day when she had arrived long ago.

The song they sang, even without speaking, was the song of the truth of triumph, of connecting strength, of jubliating celebration. Look how far they had come! Look how sparkling a Sisterhood they had grown up together! 

Their sister of origin, proudly smiling down upon them in her uniquely shimmering way, would be pronouncing the rightness and goodness of this night, of this gathering, of their Sparkling beam of birthday light!

What if their faces stuck this way in the sparkle doodling of celebration? Well, that would be creepy but nonetheless, there would be ibuprofen to pay for the splendour of being inseparable even when apart…

Happy Birthday, Sparkling ones. I love you more than air.

Forever yours,

Faraway Spark, SonomAnne

November 16, 2025

Praise to the Father

 Who provides what He requires.

Praise to the Son, 

Our living Hope,

Who accomplishes all that is required. 

Praise be to the Spirit 

Who completes His work 

Through strengthening, encouraging and correcting.

All for the purpose of making known 

The essence of true life:

 God’s original intention for us 

To live in His presence, 

walking with Him without hiding.

Glory be to the Father

 for His essence is love. 

Glory be to the Son 

For His essence is to claim us 

as His treasured possession.

Glory be to the Spirit

 for His essence is 

 to bring the Father’s work to completion. 

Glory be to my triune God 

Who made us for 

The complete wholeness and delight 

Found only in Himself.

Blessings,

Anne Braudt

November, 2025

Post Romans Bible Study

So I didn’t go to church today. I woke up with some nausea that might mean a migraine was coming but that wasn’t the reason I didn’t go. I sat and prayed beforehand and I felt like I was being directed back to bed. I wanted to argue because I don’t like using my migraines as an excuse to not do things, especially church, but God reminded me that He’s in charge of the migraines and is trustworthy.  I went back to bed.

When I awoke, I took my dogs on their well anticipated walk and listened to the missed Grace sermon given by Pastor Logan McAdams. 

I picked a rock on the path as he tied in his words with the message last week. What is it I am holding onto instead of trusting it to God?  I’d been thinking about this but wasn’t landing anywhere. 

Logan went on. He talked about the beauty of the Hebrew poetry in Genesis 1. He talked about how God was calling us to define ourselves by His image instead of by what we do. How resting is a part of God’s calling as He, Himself, did on the seventh day. 

By this point, I was feeling pretty validated for staying home to rest but God wasn’t done. The rock thing still eluded me. It didn’t seem like the migraines fit.

I had to pause the sermon when one of the dogs, the 2nd most reliable, disappeared. It made me  retrace my many steps back down the path. This always irritates me. The dog was nowhere to be seen and I was beginning to panic at the thought of the trouble he was getting us into now. Feeling powerless, I turned to prayer. 

“You are good, Lord. You gave him to me and You’ve got him in Your plan for me. I trust him to You and relinquish my angst. Help me in my unbelief.”

Abruptly, Usko the dog, his name means faith, appeared and began to trot the long way back by my side. Walking by faith if you will…

I restarted the sermon: Logan continued. Rest means trusting in God’s provision. I smiled at this theme of my day.

God’s Word tells us that He needs us, me, to know that He has accomplished an end to our striving to earn our worth. As we learn to rest, to pause and focus on Him, we remember it is He Who will care for us because it’s what He does. We no longer need to work to earn love. We can now work because we are loved.

Our culture is saying we are only as good as what we can produce, like an obedient dog? I looked at the rock in my clenched fist of a hand as Logan continued.

Aha! These rocks symbolize what we cling to in our own power rather than giving it to God. And when we don’t give to God that which we believe relies on our own strivings, that thing will keep us from living out of the rest secured for us. It also makes us unable to take hold of what God has for us.

It seems clear that my dogs are on top of my rocky list. I put so much pressure on myself to achieve well behaved dogs and I fail every day in one dog way or another. What if I approached each walk with open hands in anticipation of His glory instead of walking in fear that my best effort will not be good enough?

Logan finished by citing the great commission in Matthew 28. If you follow Jesus, your job is to go. If there are things keeping you from going, (on dog walks?) and Logan suggests there may be more than one ( several dogs), it is time to give them up to God.

God wants to work in and through me to make His name and rest known among the nations, even among dog naysayers.

When we approach Him with open hands free of rocks, He gives us more of Himself and His goodness. Oh the wonders He could do and does! He even uses and, I dare say, specializes in, using the relative commonplace like a lost, disobedient dog named Faith.

Becoming open-handed and rock less,

Anne

Sunday, November 9, 2025

Dog is after all, God spelled backwards!

Week 2 https://graceaz.subspla.sh/n9k4j3z

For Pastor Logan McAdam’s sermon