When I posted about Joe's malaria, I mentioned that it had been quite a journey out of Zaire to Nairobi. I have not thought much about it since then; while living it, one simply 'does' it.

 Looking back often brings the past alive in a way that can give us wisdom.

So I share.

The van we drove in was, of course, not air conditioned and we were simply piled in as it was not a passenger van but a cargo van.   Felix, who was Dr. Wanume's 'pharmacist', was a man who also had to flee his country with nothing but his wife and 3 daughters.

 He was a magnanimous man who smiled big and made us feel welcome and SAFE.

He was driving the van as we crossed the border.  He hopped out and told us to leave the windows up and look straight ahead and just wait.

The van was HOT and Joe was SICK and I was putting a cloth I had found to wet with my water bottle on his head and saying, "hold on....you can do it....don't throw up yet."

Because the van was surrounded by young soldiers with guns.

UGH.

It seemed an eternity in that van but I am sure it was only minutes til' out came Felix saying, " We are cleared.  Let's go!"

OFF WE SPED and OUT THE WINDOW, POOR SICK JOE LET LOOSE!

Bless him.

We got to the airport which is just a building in the middle of nowhere and we sat on the roof and awaited our tiny plane to Nairobi.

But, the memory that emerged in all this( besides the gratitude that I expressed in the last blog for Malaria Joe) is what happened as we went through what one might loosely call 'customs'.

Again, there were young men and guns (another blog sometime about that) everywhere BUT there was one older man who was the head guy.

He knew that Joe was our lead also so he kept coming over to where Joe and I were and asking Joe for money. Joe said he did not have any money;  this man would not let him be.  He kept rudely prodding him. Each time, Joe showed him he had nothing in his wallet.  Nothing in his pockets.

Finally, when he came over a 3rd or 4th time, Joe put his hand in his pockets to pull them inside out.  In one of the pockets he thought was empty, his hand came out with something in it.

A. Small. Wooden. Cross.

Joe seemed as surprised as I did that it was in there, left over from one of the items we had given the kids in Uvira.

He looked at the man, shrugged and handed him the cross.

The man looked back at Joe, took the cross and walked away.

Now, I cannot interpret that story for you.  All I can do is promise you that it happened just as I have relayed it.

I do not know what that cross meant to that man.

Maybe he thought he could sell it.  Maybe he thought it had super powers.  Maybe he was just weary of his bullying game.  Maybe he didn't want to get malaria.

So he walked away.

Maybe he knew Who it represented and that there was Something out there Bigger than him.

So he walked away.

That is what I WANT to believe he thought but I will never know.

I do NOT believe if one carries a cross, it will keep them safe from harm.  The cross is not a good luck charm.

I DO believe that the cross symbolizes something BIGGER than ME;  it is a reminder that I am not alone and I am loved.

If I hand you a cross, that is because I want you to know that also.

There is POWER in that.

NOT the kind of power those young men with the guns have....NOT the kind of power that the man demanding something from Joe had....NOT the kind of power we humans seem to need to wield.

   Just a quiet kind of power that can sit in your pocket, 

be pulled out and
passed on.

                                                             
                                                   CROSS-ing borders, indeed!