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  A letter from Frank and Nancy Dimmock in Malawi  
             
 

December 2002

Dear Friends,

How do I begin to tell you about what God has been doing here during the month of November? Actually it began on October 25 when I was called by the District Social Welfare officer to collect a needy baby from the hospital. Her big brown eyes stared into mine out of a wizened "old-lady" face. Her little body was wrapped in a cloth and she felt feather-weight in my arms. Her father had released her into my care, so that he could concentrate his attention on his seriously ill wife. (The mother had been sick for some time and there had been no milk for the baby.)

 
             
 

"Angelina's death has spurred us on to open our home as a crisis nursery, fulfilling a long-held vision for ministry in this city."

 

Unwrapped, back home, she looked like one of the shriveled apple people of Appalachian-craft fame. Her skin hung loosely over perfectly defined bones. She was a living study of the skeletal system, unhindered by any muscle covering. She was five months old and weighed five and half pounds. Her name was Angelina.

She stole our hearts from the first moment. She spoke with her eyes, following every movement around her, and with occasional squeaks of discomfort or need. She didn't have the energy for more.

 
             
  We washed her little body and snuggled her into a diaper and soft sleeper. She had no energy to suck or swallow, so Dr. Jansen, a missionary doctor friend, inserted a nasogastric feeding tube. We fed her the precious, life-giving milk every two hours round the clock. She lay quietly on Katie's lap during evening prayers. (Alifa said, "She's a good girl. She is being quiet during worship.") She survived her first night with us and we rejoiced. Our 5-year-old Andrew prayed fervently that she would "grow strong and healthy." People were praying everywhere, but it was not to be.

At her 4:00 a.m. feeding time early Sunday morning, I hugged her close, because her hands and feet were so cold. She looked at me again with those big, soft brown eyes. Then they suddenly lost focus. Her breathing became irregular. She hiccupped a couple of times and was gone. Our precious Angel was gone. I hugged her tight and cried and cried. If only we had known of her situation earlier. If only her family and hospital staff had known of our willingness to help. Angelina's death has spurred us on to open our home as a crisis nursery, fulfilling a long-held vision for ministry in this city. While we are not very well organized yet, we are up and running. And the Lord has blessed us with the precious privilege of caring for several more needy infants in this city.

"Why did Angelina have to go to Heaven so soon?" asked 4-year-old Alifa.

"God loved her even more than we did, and wanted her to be with Him." I answered.

"Why didn't she take her suitcase?" she asked, pointing to the tiny rattan bag of clothes at the foot of the crib.

"She left it behind to share her clothes with Baby Darlene," I said, looking at the new 3-week old occupant of the crib.

Since that inauspicious beginning a long month ago, Darlene and Benson and Moses and Selina have come for care. We started with one crib. Now we have four, and a team of five prayer warriors, a staff of three nannies, and a whole community here and abroad actively providing for their needs. Each child has his or her own story. But the bottom line is a story of love and grace and blessing. Angelina's death resulted in hope and the possibility of life for others. Reminds me of another Baby—whose death and resurrection brings us hope and life. The story of Christmas.

May yours be joyful and blessed.

With love from all of us,

Frank, Nancy, Nathan, Moses, Jessie, Katie, Andrew and Alifa

The 2002 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 48

 
             
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