Empowering Love or Enabling Love, Maybe Both???

She smiled so much. Her big grin looked almost too noticeable as it contrasted to her little bitty 19 year old body. She stood below 5 feet tall. She would be lost in a crowd, but I kept noticing her. I knew that I had seen her in clinic, but the rest including why or when was forgotten. But day after day I saw her sitting on the benches outside of the hospital. Then I realized one day that she was sleeping outside on those same benches. She began to catch me as I walked by. The pain, constantly present, was worsening. Medicines weren’t helping. Blood wouldn’t stop coming, always dripping, then gushing, then dripping more. The story was the same from day to day. I kept giving her medicines to help, hoping things would change while we awaited the surgery date. But, I didn’t realize that the surgery date had already passed until she appeared again in the office. Turns out that she didn’t have enough money to have her surgery, so apparently she was turned away at the door. All emergency cases get performed regardless of ability to pay, but since she was a scheduled admission, she had not been considered emergency status. Week after week she had been staying at the hospital. She joined the ranks of others who lined the hospital benches and floors. Her family was to bring her the money, but they hadn’t come yet. She was too weak and in too much pain to leave without surgery. So, she waited.

Until I realized her condition. Then, we moved to operate. She required blood transfusion before she could withstand surgery. But she did well thereafter. I discharged her routinely on post-operative day three. She stayed outside the surgical ward for a few days waiting for her family to bring payment. It seems strange and harsh from outside of the culture, but that is what almost everyone does. The family takes care of their members, but it takes a little time to go collect the money and bring it back. So, I thought nothing of it.

But then I saw her a few days later, and then again, and again. Until Christmas Day. I greeted her warmly with a “Merry Christmas” and asked what she would be doing to celebrate. Well, that was an absolutely stupid question. What in the world did I think she would be doing – feasting and drinking in mad celebration? Of course not. She was back on the bench every night, still waiting for the money to come. No money for discharge, no money for chicken to feast on, no money for anything. I asked when the family was supposed to come, two more weeks was the reply.

Well, finally (it takes me a while), I decided that it wasn’t going to be okay anymore. I realized that I couldn’t help everyone, but that I could help her. So, I brought her home for dinner. Honestly, what I had cooked wasn’t so good. I felt kind of bad for that. But compared with hunger in the chilly air, it was tolerable. Her pain was still pretty strong, so I made her a hot water bottle out of my Nalgene and told her to lie down on the couch. And then, you know how things like this end up…I told her to go get her stuff because she was going to stay with me for ONE (1) night.

She thought that was great. It is warmer inside than out. I thought it was a great idea because she was bleeding too much and wincing from pain throughout dinner. I didn’t want her lying uncomfortably on that bench when she already was in bad shape. So, I drugged her up (with only ibuprofen and tylenol, don’t worry), made her get in the hot shower thinking it might help her pain, and then sent her to bed. By the next morning, she was getting a bit better.

I realized the next morning how different the lives of the two of us are. I mean, it’s obvious to everyone that we have lived our lives in different spheres, but it really becomes practical when you let someone in the house. You can’t imagine how funny, or how difficult, it is to teach someone to use a flush toilet or a shower. I did really enjoy the humor of the toilet and shower stuff, but it hit me when I looked at her bed. It was not unmade, it was never turned down. She had slept under that same piece of dirty cloth that she had been sleeping on outside on the bench. Though I had made her shower, the washcloth and towel still sat folded on the bed, untouched from how I left them.

I told her to come back before dark the next evening. Again, she didn’t like my food. She wouldn’t say anything of course, but she just picked at it a little until it was gone. The bleeding was still there, and the pain, but improved a little. I started to tell her a story, the story of a similar woman centuries ago. She bled so much, for twelve years. And then one day she saw Jesus. She was too ashamed to tell Him her problem, but knew that if she could just touch the edge of His robe that she would be healed. She did and was, but surprisingly, He knew immediately that she was there. She looked up to Him and told Him everything. She came empty, but left filled. Came sick, but left healed. I told the young woman in front of me that I didn’t have any other good options to help her, that we needed that same Healer to work in her.

Two nights later I came home too late. It was already dark and I hadn’t been there to let her in. I looked at the hospital on my way back home, but couldn’t find her. Next night, again I arrived late. I went to the hospital to find her. I looked from bench to bench, called the surgery ward, had the hospital security officers take me to places I had never been. But I couldn’t find her. I fell asleep wishing she were in the next room. Finally the next day I found her.

I thought as I searched for her both of those nights about how God had searched for me. He took me from darkness and cold and put a Warm Light in my soul. I wanted her to have light and warmth, temporal yes, but eternal more. But I couldn’t find her to help her. Maybe it doesn’t make sense to anyone else why, but I wanted to find her so badly. I knew that she was still in pain and not doing very well. The whole time I was going about looking for her, I thought of the parable of the lost sheep. I thought of it with regard to myself, and with regard to her – those sought so hard by a loving Father. There’s a song about that parable which I’ve only heard once, but I love the words to. It says:

There were ninety and nine that safely lay

In the shelter of the fold,

But one was out on the hills away

Far off from the gates of gold

Away from the tender shepherds care

Away from the tender shepherds care

Lord Thou hast here Thy ninety and nine

Are they not enough for Thee?

But the Shepherd made answer

“This of mine has wandered away from Me

And although the road be rough and steep

I go to the desert to find My sheep

I go to the desert to find My sheep”

But none of the ransomed ever knew

How deep were the waters crossed;

Nor how dark was the night

That the Lord passed thro’

Fore He found His sheep that was lost

Out in the desert He heard its cry

Sick and helpless and ready to die

Sick and helpless and ready to die

Lord whence are those blood drops all the way

That mark out the mountains track?

They were shed for one who had gone astray

Ere the Shepherd could bring him back.

Lord whence are Thy hands so rent and torn?

They’re pierced tonight by many a thorn

They’re pierced tonight by many a thorn

And all thru the mountains, thunder riv’n, And up from the rocky steep,

There arose a glad cry to the gate of heav’n

“Rejoice! I have found My sheep!”

And the angels echoed around the throne

“Rejoice for the Lord brings back His own!”

“Rejoice for the Lord brings back His own!”

 So, she stayed a while, and a bit longer, and longer. I talked to the social worker time after time to try to get her some help financially. Eventually, they let her do some work at the hospital to help earn money to pay her bill. She got better physically. Then I had to go away for a meeting for a couple of days. I told her to take all of her stuff with her in case her family came to get her while I was gone (since she wouldn't be able to get back in to get it). But alas, when I looked, she had left her bag of things there. Then I understood, that what started as need had become want. She had grown to enjoy my house a bit too much, and had made it her own semi-permanently. That hadn't been the initial agreement, or the course offered her. But I found out that she had notified her family that she was staying with me, so they knew that she was well cared for, and lost the initiative to come get her (and pay the rest of her bill). When I came home, we had to set a deadline for when she would leave. It brought some sadness for me to tell her that she wouldn't be able to stay longer, but at the same time, I didn't want her to lose her desire to get back to her own home. Who knows how to do these things perfectly. To navigate through people's needs, and yet not make them more needy. To empower them to live instead of empowering them to take. To love them well without making them dependent on you. We are all learning that - every culture and every family. May God grant us wisdom to know how to love others and yet to teach them how to rise up and walk on their own. 

Prayers Offered

 I walked up the mountain today to rest my mind. I watched the white puffs of dust rise as each foot stepped upward. I thought of those I loved, and prayed for them. My mind wandered to a young cousin who I only get to see once in a while. I thought of how his road had been rough in some spots along the way. And how those roads have left some callouses. And yet I laughed aloud to think of how much I enjoy being with him. He almost never smiles, if he does, he tries to hide it. But to me, that is merely a challenge. I watch as the pumice stone of love wears down his callouses. See, those who know me well say that my love language is violence. They are just joking, but they are pretty much right. Well, with this young guy, it works wonderfully. My heart delights as I go toward his room, see him through the crack in the door, and then jump on him to tickle him. He writhes around, in joy and yet pain, trying to hold back the smile and laughter. But he can’t do it. And, boy, do I love it when he gets to laughing. I thought of him, and prayed for him. Wished I could be closer. Wondered what God would make of Him as he grows up into a man.

As I reached the place I had been walking toward, I leaned against the fence and watched the grass. I love to watch it sway beneath the wind. This area is so green, it is fenced off so that the cows cannot eat it until the other grass is dried up. I could watch that lush gentle dance for a long time with contentment. But, I figured it was time to head back. I turned my headphones to the next song. In the second long break before the song began, I heard moaning. I thought maybe it was just artifact, so I turned off the music to listen better. Nope, it was really there. A woman moaning and talking.

So, somewhat in concern and somewhat just plain nosy, I walked toward it. There, in the other direction from the way I had come, was a grove of shady trees with deep grass beneath it. I came right up to the barbed wire fence to peer over, but couldn’t see into the grove. I thought that maybe I should just turn and go, but then I saw a little inviting break in the barbed wire. So, I ducked under the broken portion of wire and headed toward the trees. As I walked, I began to realize that it wasn’t really painful moaning, it was praying. A woman was pouring out her heart before the Lord. As I reached the top of the little hill, I could finally see down in. A couple of women and a child rested in the tall grass. This woman cried out before the Lord, vulnerable in her pleading. It was as if I got to see inside someone’s heart for just a minute. Somewhere I shouldn’t have been, seeing what only the leaves of those trees were supposed to know. She cried out for a family member’s marriage, asking God to make it right. She begged for change and direction. I turned away, ducked beneath the fence again, and headed back down the dirt road.

I thought on the way back of how people all over the world are crying out for their loved ones. We are interceding for them, bringing them to the attention of God and asking for His provision. People far and near are reaching out to know God’s presence themselves, and make Him known to those they love. And it is amazing to see how God does move on behalf of those who seek Him. How He is longing for people to trust Him, and ask Him, and follow Him. His love is moving all over the world on behalf of their prayers.

For the One

Years ago, when I first came to follow the Lord, I looked back at so much wasted time. Regretting the past doesn’t really change much. But I determined to not waste more time. As days and years past, I continued to walk the paths he led. Then came medicine, then obstetrics and gynecology – things that I was called to do. I really wanted to pour my life out into others. To see womens’ lives and children’s lives changed. To see Christ imaged through medicine as I work with others to bring healing to bodies and souls. I used to pray that God would allow me to have a job like this – one where I could see lives changed, bring hope and healing, be poured out completely.

But now sometimes I think maybe I ought to have been a bit more specific in my prayers. Like, “Lord, please let me be poured out between the hours of 8 am and 5 pm”, or “please let me carry the burdens of others while I’m at work, and then let me relax and enjoy the time after work”, or “please let me bring healing to easy, manageable problems”. Sometimes patients are an absolute pleasure to serve. But regardless, in the middle of the night, I hate to hear that phone ring. I hate drunkedly, sleepily throwing on scrubs and rushing out into the dark. I hate finding myself in the middle of an operation which I know is beyond my ability to comfortably manage. The whole pouring out one’s life seems more pleasurable when it can be done at intentional times and in circumstances that I can control. But that isn’t what God has called me to for the moment.

It isn’t really what He has called any of us to – serving Him when we are good and ready. No, he wants us all the time. That isn’t to say that we shouldn’t try to keep some healthy boundaries (which I very much attempt to do), but so many times the work He has for us isn’t what we planned or when we planned. I was thinking today of how many times this work, “important” as it may be, does not satisfy but instead leaves me frustrated. How many days differences may be made, but it is in a fury of what seems like useless toil. It starts to be overwhelming when I take my eyes off of Him and His purposes. It can be a big let down if our great hopes are put into the change we can bring by careers, the relationships that we can engage in, the money we can make, or the thousands of other things with which we fill our lives. A thousand hopes, and a thousand opportunities for disappointment. But there is one thing that always satisfies. He can move in every circumstance. He can fill us with His purposes on seemingly purposeless days. He moves in our sorrows that we may then be empowered to relieve other people's sorrows. He gives meaning to the most mundane. He increases the greatest joys and pleasures. He is the One thing stable in all those thousands of circumstances that can easily go one way...or the other.

I still don't want to waste anymore time. I still want to be poured out. I mean, I still don't like getting woken up frequently at night. I still don't like being out of my comfort zone so frequently. But I'm His wherever He puts me for today, and tomorrow, and every day until He brings me right to the place where He is. Because He is worthy of a life lived. So, I encourage you too to serve Him in the things that compose your life. The most important, and least important, all for the glory of the One. 

My Life in Hiding

Perhaps some would say its paranoia. But it’s not. It is the real deal. They are everywhere waiting for me. I thought of it when I was taking the back way home yesterday. When I say the “back way” it indicates walking down a construction board, over the grass, through a carpenter’s workshop, and onto the road that leads to my house. I just wanted to steal away for lunch. But I knew that if the clinic staff or patients saw me, lunch would definitely be postponed. That is why I didn’t go the front way. The sound associated with the front road is this one - “clop, clop, clop” – getting ever faster. It’s flip flops hitting the pavement. Why wait in clinic when you see the doctor walking down the road? Why not just chase her. But when I hear that noise coming, getting more intense as it gets closer, there’s only one thing that comes naturally. Run. I hold back, but that is what I want to do – outrun the patient. Now a good doctor would turn around, smile, and ask how they could help. My approach, however, is to walk quickly and steadily and do not turn around. Maybe I will be lucky and it will be only a school child running home. I wait until the more direct “Doctor” starts ringing out behind me. Then I turn around just as she shoves her outpatient booklet into my hand. These women can be pretty aggressive. So, that is why I took the back, more obscure route.

As I reached the house it continued. I came inside and locked the door behind me. Paranoia again? No, in my old life I didn’t care about locking doors. But here I’ve had patients and children just let themselves in and make themselves at home. Some are more appropriate and at least knock from outside. For those who just show up to visit, culture demands and you are expected to give them something to eat. The American in me wants to say, “you know, I didn’t actually invite you here, and I don’t have any food ready”. But that isn’t the way it works here. I walked in the kitchen to begin getting lunch for myself. Flipped the light on to get rid of the dimness. But never open the curtains. Because then they can see you. And they just wait for you and watch you, knowing that if they keep knocking you will have to come out. It’s better to just keep the windows covered.

There are a bunch of silly ways like these that I’ve seen life change here. The other day a super sweet missionary lady told me I was paranoid.  But I’m not paranoid. The discussion that day was on being taken advantage of financially while in Africa.  Nope, honey, that isn’t paranoia. People actually are all trying to take any money that they can get ahold of. And that includes yours too. I had to break it to her. From the children asking me for money as I walk to church on Sundays, to the thieves that cut your purse in the big cities, to every market price increasing when a white woman walks in. They surely are trying to take advantage of you. 

Now, I do have a tendency to focus on these issues a bit. They gnaw on me a bit. But I'm not consumed. And certainly not paranoid. :)

Cameroonian Christmas

So, Christmas at Mbingo. It doesn’t feel like Christmas in the typical, American sense. It’s 80 degrees, the Christmas carols have not been going since Thanksgiving, I haven’t bought a single gift in the past month. And yet there are a couple of things that remind me of “home” this Christmas.

I asked Ben, the guy who works in most of the gardens around here, if he could get me a couple sticks of evergreen off of one of the trees. I was just going to stick them in a vase for my “Christmas tree”. But here came Ben, dragging the entire top of an evergreen. Now it’s no Frasier Fir or Cedar, in fact it has thorns all up and down the branches, but it is green and works well for a Christmas tree look-alike. Since I’ve nothing to put it in (aka – tree stand), I keep it propped up against the wall in an old oatmeal can to keep its water in. I also have no ornaments or lights to decorate with. I considered making a popcorn strand, but then thought that it may draw rodents. So, it is just a naked tree, but it stands (or leans as the case may be) as a reminder of Christmas to me.

The next thing is Christmas carols. They’ve been doing carols in the chapel in the mornings, but I am always rounding during that time and so have not been involved in that. However, last night the missionaries all got together to sing. And this evening, the plan is to carol in the patient wards. That is kind of fun.

Leg after leg coming out of that door - how many legs can a cow have?

But otherwise, Christmas celebrating is just a bit different. Take feasting for instance, it happens all over the world, but this is unlike any Christmas dinner preparation I have ever done. The first thing is the Christmas slaughtering of cows. Some of the hospital cows are butchered and sold. This meat is better than the ordinary beef you can find. Each ward sends around a sign up sheet to tell how much meat you want and which cut (cut meaning first cut, second cut, etc – not like you can order T-bones or ribeyes). Then you go stand in line on your assigned day during the days before Chrstmas. Everyone is gathered and pushing in on one another. They carry the very, very fresh cut meat from the slaughter site over to the next door down, the selling site. There are small piles of meat, with little papers saying who has ordered them. Turns out, you are supposed to bring your own bag. But how was I to know this? So, they were gracious and squeezed a big bunch of meat into a tiny, thin little bag for me. As I walked back toward the house, I cradled the meat to keep the bag from breaking. The blood squished into my shirt.

Now that is fresh meat

Next animal to be killed was the pig. There’s no bacon for sale in Cameroon. No one knows what bacon is. So, when they said they were slaughtering a pig, I thought, “hey, that pigs gotta have some bacon part somewhere on it”. So, I turned in my order, 2 kilograms of bacon. We looked up a diagram of pork parts, and I had to show the man where the bacon part comes from on a diagram. I am learning so much about livestock during all this Christmas celebration.

Now the gross part of this picture is the pig head. The interesting thing is that the man who bought and is now carrying it is a doctor, complete with white coat and stethescope.

And lastly, the chicken. As tomorrow is Christmas Day, I am the supplier of the main course for the missionary dinner. So, a chicken had to die today. I have been wanting to learn to kill one. I mean, you can’t live in Africa and be too wimpy to kill a chicken. So, I asked Ben (the above tree-provider) if he would show me. He agreed. So this morning, we went to the chicken coop, he rounded up a good fat one, and brought it out of the cage. He showed me how you have to hold the feet under your one foot and the wings under the other so that you can use your hands to slice the neck. As he held the chicken down, he started to pray. I found this odd, wondering why in the world he was praying, and wondering if it was for sure to the same God I knew (I’ve seen chickens sacrificed in witchcraft before). So, a bit later I asked him. “Why were you praying before we killed the chicken?” He replied with what I thought was hilarious, “The same reason that you pray before you operate”. That took my mind in a thousand funny places. I’m not hoping for a successful kill with my patients, I’m actually praying for a good outcome. But it made total sense to him. Anyhow, he helped hold the chicken, while I slit its throat. He explained how you must keep holding it down after you kill it so that it doesn’t sling blood all over the yard. I thought that was a good tip. Then came the boiling water. You’ve gotta pour it on the chicken before plucking it to make the feathers come out easily. Then pluck, and pluck, and pluck. Rinse and pluck any small feathers you missed before. Then cut off the head and feet, eviscerate it, and voila – just like a chicken that comes from the grocery store!

Pluck, pluck, pluck

Ready for the oven

So, feasting is part of Christmas in both American and Cameroonian culture. I may be missing out on eggnog and cheesecake and stuffed mushrooms, but as a perk I’m eating the freshest, most hormone-free meat I think I’ve ever had. There are so many differences all around the world in the way we celebrate. But no matter what the celebration looks like, from near and far, we join as God’s children to celebrate His amazing gift of Christ Jesus.  

The Greatest Story Yet

None of the plans that God had come up with seemed, from a human perspective, to be working out so well. Made man and woman in the midst of the wonders filling creation –only to watch them find greater pleasures in something else. Led His huge hoard of people along, generation after generation, only to be truly honored and loved by a few rare ones. Offered forgiveness over and over to those who turned away from Him. I mean, what kind of God would keep chasing after people so foolish, obstinate, and self-willed?

And then the culmination of it all was found in God putting on flesh to pursue His people. No longer just to guide them from afar or welcome them back with open arms, but to become “God with us”. A strange plan, seemingly full of flaws. He had everything to lose, they had everything to gain. Too risky for people who have failed time and again. Why give so much for them?

And again it looked like few followed, another plan destined to fail. At first a few wise men. Years later a few fishermen, a couple tax collectors. Sometimes crowds would come to see what this Flesh would awe them with, but most would return home without bearing the name of disciples.

And, as in the past, the plan fails again. They turn on Him, turn from Him. He is mocked, beaten, killed. Was this the amazing Promise? But wait a few days… And beyond our comprehension, life comes out of death. Hope comes out of despair. We stand here justified, when we were condemned before. And then we see, that this Flesh changed everything. We look at the baby, lying beneath that bright star. He no longer is just a glimmer of hope, now He is confirmed as the hope of the nations. We look at the man teaching the crowds and realize that he was not just a great moral character, but was fulfilling righteousness for those who could not achieve it. We look at the torn body, sagging on the cross, and realize that He was saving those who He had been pursuing since time began. We look at the empty tomb and see Him as the conqueror and king. It looks like the plan may be working out.

As the plan continues, it starts to get confusing again. These same people, full of failures, who now He has had to give His life to save, He makes as the ones that will carry His message out. They will image Him into the world. Again, He chooses to make Himself known through flesh, but now the flesh of men. Once again, it appears destined to fail. But He sends His Spirit as a guide, comfort, strength. They go, not as perfect men, strong and wise and composed, but frail, broken, and humbled as they take His name wherever they walk along the course of their lives.

You or I wouldn’t have done it this way. We would’ve quit at the garden. Man wasn’t worth pursuing anyhow. A total let-down. At every step of the way we could have found a hundred reasons to stop loving mankind. And if we had gotten all the way down to a Messiah, he wouldn’t have come as a weak, fussy baby. No, he would have been a fearsome warrior. And then, we certainly wouldn’t have made the people who had let us down over and over and over again our representatives. Nope. But God did. He has been glorified by plans beyond human comprehension. He has been and will be glorified by strange things. Strangely, even by your flesh and mine, against all odds. Praise His name for all that He has done. Give glory to God in the highest, from the broken, frail, and tired down here with our feet still dirty on this dust. And thank Him that He became broken, frail, and tired with dirty feet for us. 

The noise

I am a good sleeper. Its one of a handful of things that I am just naturally good at. So, why am I lying here in the dark, finally resorting to grabbing my computer off the floor to type? Well, just like last night, I woke after a few hours of sleep with a strange combination of water pouring out of my nose and the inability to breathe from nasal congestion. Why is that always the combination that comes with upper respiratory illness, clogged up and pouring over? So I blew my nose, rolled over, tried it again. Oh, and then the nurse calls to make sure I knew about a patient (who I had known about since it was very much light outside). The nasal cycle continued until I was having to get up, turn on the light, and go to the bathroom regularly to get more tissue. Finally I just crammed some up my left nostril and laid with that side down so the snot would drain effectively in one direction.

In the midst of this miserable time, longing for rest that would not come, I heard the noise. I knew it. There is something that comes up my shower drain in the night, flips the drain cover off, and then enters freely to enjoy my home. I heard the noise of the plastic cover flipping off. I always liked to imagine it was a lizard. You know, they are kind of solitary, interesting creatures. They aren't really thought of as nasty or germy, though of course they probably are. But as I lay in my bed, it occurred to me that I don't think lizards are nocturnal. I then heard the creature knock over some small item in the kitchen. I couldn't just lay there anymore. Lights on again. Robe on (just in case something jumped on me, I wanted to have an extra layer). I couldn't find him, so I made sure all the cabinets were closed and headed back to bed. On the way, I put the drain cover back on with a heavy bottle of  cleaning solution on top of it so that if it made it out already it would be trapped outside.

But, no such luck. It was trapped inside. I heard it again in the bathroom, this time trying to get out of the drain. Up again. Robe on. Lights on. Aaaaahhh, a rat! Sick, nasty, disease laden creature. I felt very vulnerable to attack with my bare legs there on the same floor as him. But there was nothing else to do but trap him or kill him. So, with all the wisdom that comes in a groggy, foggy state, I went for the heaviest thing I could find. Someone left a broken hand churn ice cream maker bowl here before I moved in. Those things are stout. Since it was already broken and useless, I grabbed it as a double use instrument of war. I could trap him in the bowl, or if that didn't work, I could bludgeon him to death with the weight of the bowl. But as I timidly approached, he knocked the bottle of cleaning solution off the drain, flipped it off, and was down it once again.

I have complained multiple times to the juvenile appearing plumber at the hospital regarding this now known rat (prior lizard). He looks at me like I'm stupid, says something nice that translated into what he means says "you're stupid", and then turns away to talk to his friends. Well, in my current multi-night sleep deprived state I have come up with some other options. First, between cases today I will go and talk to the maintenance departments boss. If that fails to get some kind of non-removable drain cover, I will change directions and head toward the administration building to see if they can get something done. If this too fails, I am going to find some bush-hunter type Cameroonian man, let him stay in my guest room and eat at my house for free, in exchange for his willingness to be woken up by me whenever I hear that rat start to mess with the drain cover. He will be responsible for killing any creature that crosses the limit of that plastic piece. I saw a man who works in the OR walking down the road just the other day with a gun, heading out to get some bushmeat. Perhaps I will introduce the idea to him when I  get to the OR today. He may be the one.