A good & long-time friend of mine writes a blog you might like to read. You can subscribe to it through Google Reader or some other RSS aggregator or you can go to A Piece of Me to see what Shanda has offered up.
Shanda's writing reflects her life. She's real, she's generous and she's fun. Shanda invests in others and celebrates or cries with them, as appropriate. Her moves from country to country haven't put her off friendship, but have somehow made her value it more.
Here's a piece of one story that will show you what awaits.
In talking about how little Shanda sometimes feels she has to offer . . . .
Shanda's writing reflects her life. She's real, she's generous and she's fun. Shanda invests in others and celebrates or cries with them, as appropriate. Her moves from country to country haven't put her off friendship, but have somehow made her value it more.
Here's a piece of one story that will show you what awaits.
In talking about how little Shanda sometimes feels she has to offer . . . .
... brought to mind a childhood experience. We were attending a church service in a rural village in Zambia, or, as we would say, a bush church. In those days women and men sat on separate sides of the church. Even if the church met under a tree, there was a dividing line down the middle. During offering and communion, each individual would come forward to the homemade table at the front and either take communion, or leave their offering to God. In this setting, everyone knew who left an offering and who did not.
On this particular Sunday, as we sang, one by one people came forward and dropped 5 ngwee, 20 ngwee and sometimes a kwatcha into the offering basket. One lady came forward, humbly knelt at the table, and put an egg into the basket. We watched, wondering what in the world God could want with an egg. But it was all this lady had.
At the end of the offering, the leader of the church began to auction off the egg. It probably went for more than one would normally buy an egg!
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