by Randal Matheny

[NOTE: This is on my weblog also, but since it has to do with our work as well, I thought it bore repeating here.]

Four teary friends this morning at our weekly first-day meeting must be a record.

First, Valeria tells me after my message that I must have been inspired; the lesson made her cry. She promised to tell me later why she found my words so fitting. So my curiosity hangs in suspense.

Then her husband Otavio makes a few announcements at the end and, when he mentions that Marcel and Marlucia will be returning to Fortaleza next Sunday, gets choked up. Otavio and Marcel go a long way back.

During the always-animated chat afterwards, Marlucia can't hold it back and weeps as various ones kiss and hug her as they file out.

Tomorrow Robson enters a clinic for two months to help him overcome an addiction problem. His wife Luciana is content to see him finally making the effort. His mother Margarida, on one of her rare visits to our midst, had asked for prayers for her family and sons. As the group encourages them, her face contorts in fear and concern and her eyes, ever searching for comfort, pour out streams of tears.

Intelligent, observant, and inquisitive, four-year-old Rafael isn't crying, though. (When Vicki and I would go to their house, he was always tell on his parents when they had been fighting.) I call him over, sit down to talk man-to-man, and tell him that if he ever needs anything while his dad is away, to call me.

"Here, let me give you my card," I offer, as I zip open my fanny pack.

"Is this your home phone number?" he asks.

"It's got both numbers there," I point out. "If you need me you call, all right?"

"Okay, I will." He hops down and off he goes. He's already missed out on a lot of play with the other kids.