Travels

The disaster relief projects continue! A few weeks ago, we delivered supplies to 200 families who live alongside a river. The dam of a nearby hydroelectric power plant had collapsed, dumping incredible amounts of water on an already flooded area. The result is that entire villages lived on their roofs or in their rafters for three days. When the waters finally subsided, the families climbed down to find that most everything they owned had been washed away.

Orphan Voice helped by giving blankets, mosquito nets (to protect against dengue fever and malaria which are especially dangerous now), cooking oil, fish sauce, rice, noodles, soap, toothbrushes, and school supplies and treats for the children.

As I write, Enoch and Duc are on a three day trip via motorbike to rural areas south of Danang. The are surveying to see how we can help in upcoming weeks. Please pray for their protection.

More travels are ahead. In just over a month, Enoch and I will be on a plane headed for the States. We arrive in Kentucky a few days before Christmas (yay!) and we will return to Vietnam at the end of February. The plan is to visit family and friends and, as God allows, speak in churches and small groups interested in hearing about our work. If any of you know of a church, Sunday School class, etc. that might enjoy learning about Vietnam, please let us know.

Thank you for the continued love and prayers.

Marissa

More Blessed

It has been almost three weeks since Ketsana hit central Vietnam and Enoch and I are still busy with disaster relief. During the days following our noodle delivery along the banks of flooded rivers, we hiked deep into the mountains to bring food to those who had lost everything. Last week, we delivered tin to 25 families whose roofs had either blown off or collapsed under powerful winds. Our organization is funding repairs on a vocational school in Danang whose focus is underprivileged and orphaned children; we hope that their classes will resume next week. Tomorrow we head out to investigate another area to see what the needs are and how we can help; we've been told that the entire village was wiped out by flooding. Three weeks after the storm, the needs are still great.

On our trips into the mountains, many broke down in tears describing their experience--how they hid under furniture as the roof and walls crumbled and how they despaired when their supply of rice was ruined by the rapidly falling--and then rising--water. One lady cried when we gave her a box of noodles, but the tears were from a joyful heart. We were the first to help her, she said; we gave her hope. She related how her husband had been away at his mother's funeral since before the storm, and she had no one to help her rebuild. Each night, she covered her bed and her children's bed with tarps, and they huddled under the plastic to keep dry. The typhoon may be over, but this is the rainy season in Vietnam.

One of the most touching experiences happend on our visit to an ethnic minority group in an isolated area. Though we were delivering noodles to typhoon victims, this ended up being a very different sort of trip. After huffing and puffing through the jungle up the side of a mountain for a good hour, we reached the top. Enoch and I were the only two westerners in our group--and for most of the village, we were the first white faces they had ever seen. Probably the most affected by our visit was a 116 year old woman. A family member gently lifted her from the hammock where she lay and carried her to the door so that she could meet her unusual guests. Enoch showed her the box of noodles, and she investigated each packet carefully. The elderly lady watched us, smiling, asking questions in her native language (which wasn't Vietnamese). When it was time for her to return to the hammock, she refused. First, the lady said, she wanted to touch the white girl...and she wanted the white girl to touch her. So I crouched closer and held out my arms as the lady gently rubbed and squeezed and felt each one, then ran her fingers through my hair. After a moment, she rolled up her own sleeves and motioned for me to do the same. When she was satisfied, the tiny woman smiled broadly, laughed gently, and nodded her head toward me in a Vietnamese gesture of thanks and respect. The encounter was precious.

Lessons learned years ago take on new meaning with the experiences of life. Truly, it is more blessed to give than to receive.

Typhoon Ketsana

Well, we have had an interesting week. On Monday, things got quite stormy around here. We lost our electricity and water and moved into the Brewer house about 1/2 mile inland. The situation escalated throughout the next 24 hours, and a powerful typhoon named Ketsana hit on Tuesday. The high winds and heavy rains destroyed homes and claimed lives. As of October 1st, 5,800 homes in Vietnam have collapsed as a result of Ketsana and another 163,000 have lost their roofs. 92 people have been confirmed dead and 19 are still missing. In other countries affected by the storm, hundreds more have lost their lives and hundreds of thousands are homeless.

In a nearby district, flooded roads have left many families stranded. Today, Enoch, Duc and I bought 100 boxes of noodles to distribute. We had some difficulty reaching the families--the first road we tried was flooded, and we had to turn back. Several miles into our second route, we came to a portion of road that had beeen swept away by the waters. Again, we turned back. On our third try, we made it to a river where we were able to rent a boat. Traveling down the flooding river, we tossed boxes up to stranded families. Others waded through knee-deep mud to reach us. Children and adults ran beside our boat as we traveled and crowded toward us in desperation when we stopped. The experience was overwhelming. This morning, I worried that we wouldn't be able to find 100 families in need. This afternoon, I despaired because our supply was not nearly enough.

Tomorrow we hope to try again

August

August was a busy month for us! We had two visiting teams: a group from CBN was in Danang to film some of Orphan Voice’s projects, and a second group from Ohio worked with us at our school in Cambodia and an orphanage in Vietnam. We had a lot of fun with both teams and were blessed by their visits.

We have been encouraged to see the Spirit working in the hearts of people here. Earlier in the summer, a couple of us had the opportunity to pray for a sick girl. The girl was healed, the healing being an act of love that has produced much fruit. As an example, a few days ago the same girl was sick with a headache. She asked her caregiver to call Duc and Marissa so they could come and pray for her again.

Last week, we took several children from the Dai Loc orphanage to an eye hospital in Danang. Though the purpose of the visit was to determine if the children needed glasses, the tests revealed a more serious problem with one child. A teenage girl named Hanh was diagnosed with glaucoma. She has already lost some vision, but we’re praying that it will return. Hanh is taking prescription eye drops and will return in three months to be reevaluated.

During the course of her tests, Hanh spent a night in Danang with Enoch and me. Because she is shy and speaks little English, Hanh wanted her friend Tu to stay as well. The four of us had lots of fun—we took a taxi ride around the city, looked at pictures, painted fingernails, and ate pizza. Over and over, Tu said, “I love it here”. She asked again and again if she could come back. Despite a leaky bedroom, roaring wind, and pounding rain, the girls seemed comfortable and totally content.

That night, I was touched by two especially sweet gestures. Early in the evening, Enoch had to run out. I left the girls in our kitchen and hurried upstairs to grab some fingernail polish. When I returned, the girls were smiling broadly and giggling softly. On our whiteboard, they had written, “I love you. I want to kiss you because I like you.” It is still there, because I just can’t bring myself to erase the board.

The same evening, Tu showed me her rings. On one of her fingers, she had two matching bands. Tu slipped one band onto my finger and kept the other. I wear it constantly—it reminds me of her beautiful smile.

I don’t think the rain has ceased for more than a few hours since the night of the girls’ visit. The monsoon season has started full force, and there has been a considerable amount of flooding in Danang and in the Quang Nam province. I am told that 9 people in our area lost their lives to the rising water yesterday. Please pray with me that the waters recede and that the people of Danang and Quang Nam are protected.

Also, please remember the Brewer family. On Sunday, they headed back to the States for a two month visit. Pray that the Lord will anoint their words as they share about the needs here in Vietnam and about His work.

Thank you all for your love and continued prayers.

Ut, Dat, and the Twins

Ut and Dat have been such a blessing to us. For us, and maybe even more so for the Brewers, Ut and Dat became a part of the family. So it was a bittersweet day when 11 of us, 8 Americans and three Vietnamese, packed into a van to escort them home.

Ut and Dat live in a small home in the countryside. Their house has doorways but no doors, and no furniture to speak of. The main living space is maybe 10 x 12 feet, and part of that is partitioned for sleeping. On the outside, adjacant to the house, is a covered area for cooking over a fire. There is no kitchen sink and no bathroom. To get water, Ut and Dat walk to a community well.

I'm not sure if anyone had dry eyes when we said our goodbyes.

Last week, Tony, Duc and I made a two-hour trip by motorbike back to the same district. The purpose of our visit was to meet with another family in need of help. After bouncing and winding along narrow paths up the side of the mountain, we had to hike the last part of our journey.

At the top of the hill, we met a single mother living in a sparsely-furnished one-room house. With her were twin girls, infants, who she cares for on her own. To make things more difficult, the girls have many health problems. The three of them live on less than one dollar a day.

We brought milk for the children, rice for the family, and a commitment to continue our help. We're looking forward to future opportunities to sow blessings into their lives.

Small Gifts

Enoch and I have been staying with Ut for several nights now as she recovers from her surgery. At first, I think she was a little bit skeptical about whether or not we would really be able to help her—after all, we don’t even speak Vietnamese. Slowly, though, I think we’re beginning to win her over.

During our first night, Ut’s feet and legs were swelling pretty noticeably. She had been told to keep them elevated, so she was resting her feet on a metal bar running across the wall—not the most comfortable position. Patients provide their own pillows in Vietnamese hospitals, so Enoch went out and bought two more to use as cushions for her legs. Ut was so surprised to receive the gift—her eyes got big, and she kept trying to hand them back to us. She gestured that we should use them ourselves and get some sleep on the floor beside her. After a little encouragement, Ut finally moved her legs onto the pillows and breathed an audible sigh of relief.

It is customary for Vietnamese people to sleep on hard surfaces; in fact, most sleep without mattresses. In Hue, hospital cots are wooden slats covered by straw mats. All customs aside, when you’re lying in one position for a long period of time, a little padding starts to sound pretty good. We noticed that Ut had folded up her blanket to have something more comfortable to lie on. Two of the patients had brought in some extra cushioning, so we asked where we could find some of our own. We bought Ut a small water-mattress, which she loves. Tonight, she is wrapped up snugly inside of her blanket instead of sleeping on it.

Probably Ut’s favorite gift has been a trinket that we picked up on a whim. Before coming to the hospital one evening, we saw little containers of artificial flowers at a local store. I hesitated before making the purchase—I’m more of a live flower person and, besides, no one else in the hospital had flowers in their room. One arrangement in particular was cute and sweet, so I thought it was worth a shot. Ut’s excitement over the gift was such a surprise! She held it up for everybody to see, then brought it close to her body as if it was precious. Ut smiled broadly and discussed the flowers with her roommates, studying them intently from time to time, even smelling them to see if they were real. One roommate must have asked for a flower from Ut’s bunch, because Ut quickly pulled the arrangement away and started to laugh. From that moment on we’ve been friends.

I’m not a gift person; I guess you could say that gifts are not my love language. Or at least they weren't. I see more and more how receiving a gift can make a person like Ut feel valued and loved…and I want that very much.

The Hospital

I'm writing from a hotel room in Hue. Ut, the Vietnamese lady who had been diagnosed with liver cancer, was able to have her surgery last week. Her recovery has been slow, but she is eating a few bites and can sit up and walk with assistance.

Vietnamese hospitals are quite different from American hospitals. Patients don't receive the same sort of round-the-clock care, so family members stay in the hospital to feed and care for their loved ones. In the case of Ut, her only family is her son Dat. Several of us are taking shifts at her bedside.

Enoch and I arrived in Hue last night. We were a little surprised when we saw her hospital room for the first time. The rooms are small--not as big as a college dorm room--and they have four beds. In each bed is at least one patient and one or more family members who are there to help out. In Ut's room, people were sitting on the beds, on straw mats on the floor, and on a cot similar to a stretched-out lawn chair. I counted 15 crammed in the tiny space.

The longer we stayed, the more attention we attracted. Before we knew it, the hallway was filled with curious onlookers; others crowded around the outside window to peek in.

Meanwhile, Enoch and Jillian Brewer had slipped outside so Enoch could prop up his leg, still swollen from a motorbike wreck. Soon after they left, Jillian came in to tell me that it was crazy outside. In the open space outside our wing, a circle of people huddled together. There in the middle of all the commotion was Enoch, looking a bit bewildered as he was repeatedly questioned about his leg in Vietnamese. Convinced that he was a hospital patient because of his bandages, one woman even tried to give him milk. Our Vietnamese friend Linh laughed and called Enoch a celebrity.

Please keep Ut in your prayers--she is in a lot of pain. Also, remember us as we stay at the hospital each night. The language barrier makes things difficult, and we want Ut to be properly cared for and to feel safe and comfortable.

Thanks for the prayers.

With love,

Marissa and Enoch