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There was one special family. She had delivered their second child – a boy, but his older sister had problems and had been unable to walk.
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She sat down wearily at the end of a long day and smiled in satisfaction.
She had been in North Africa for four years now, working as a midwife in the small town. Her initial language study was a start but it was important to keep learning, and especially to become comfortable with the local dialect. She was grateful to her new mothers for their encouragement and insistence that she made progress. They were great fun once she got to know them, living lives unknown to the men, and making it possible for her to feel at home.
There was one special family. She had delivered their second child – a boy, but his older sister had problems and had been unable to walk. Twice a week, she sat with the mother and together they massaged the child’s legs. This was having a good effect but it took time.
Meanwhile there was plenty of time to chat; to learn more of her friend and to answer questions about her own life.
Now it was late December. The family had come to her for a meal, and she had welcomed them into her sitting room – filled with nativity scenes on Christmas cards, Scripture verses on the walls, and her well-thumbed Bible on the table by her chair. They asked questions and she was able to tell them what she would be doing at home at this time. She told them about the cards, and why they showed a baby in a manger. They listened and nodded – and finally left.
She continues to pray for them and to watch for the next opportunity to respond.
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