Toy’s story would have been almost laughable had the circumstance not been so terrible, had it not been the stuff of nightmares.  The irony was classic comedy, the kind of humor which makes its way into “B” movies, a bit of over-dramatization that the producer never intended to be funny but is so transparent and self-absorbed that we simply can’t help but laugh.  But this was no joke.  His was reality served up in its most horrific form.   

 Against the odds, he and his family were survivors.  Conceivably, it was shared humanness that spared them, a point of compassion offered by a passing enemy soldier.  Maybe they were simply more cautious then others, or possibly, their survival was mere coincidence, a random event, one small island of life in what appeared to be an ocean of death and destruction.  Perhaps theirs was simply a bit of God’s grace, the miracle of a dream in a place where dreams had been vanquished.  For whatever reason, they had survived and it was enough.  Two wars and an occupation -- they had survived. 

  Yet their struggle continued.  Now the rebuilding began and so Toy and his family moved back into their fields, back into the black dirt that offered sustenance and future, back into the rich humus where hope might once again be cultivated, much like the small tender plants that promised food for the suffering family.  

  And then, one day as Toy walked along the rows of green shoots, there was a flash and a roar, darkness and pain – excruciating and mind numbing pain.  The mine, meant for some passing soldier, meant to maim an enemy who was no longer present, shattered into a thousand pieces as it tore into his unprotected body.  Toy’s arm was destroyed and his left side was ripped to pieces.  But the nightmare was not yet complete.  Weeks later, as he still lay in the bed of the small poorly supplied hospital, he learned that his son had experienced a similar fate.  As he lay recovering from wounds of a weapon meant for someone else, he learned that his son’s broken body was teetering in a delicate balance between life and death. 

 Imagine that. 

 Through God’s miracle of healing, Toy and his son survived, and these days can often be seen working in the fields where both had been torn apart.  They have little choice.   Sometimes, when they have stopped working so that they might take a drink of cool water, one might see Toy place what is left of his shattered arm, around the young boy’s scarred shoulders, and pull him close. 

This is what it means to survive.  This is their reality and it is the same reality that is shared by hundreds of thousands around the world. 

Our United Methodist Committee on Relief is working to remove land mines from places like Toy’s fields and is advocating against the use of these indiscriminate killers.  In places such as Angola, Sierra Leone, Liberia, Kosovo, and others, United Methodists are caring for those whose lives and bodies have been torn apart by some of the millions of mines that continue to threaten the lives of brothers and sisters around the world.

In March 18^th, the forth Sunday of Lent, United Methodist around the world come together to support UMCOR’s ministries through One Great Hour of Sharing (OGHS).  Our ministries through UMCOR are a voice of hope for so many who have little hope.  It is the portrait of life for so many who live in the shadow of death.  UMCOR is our response to such disasters as refugee crises, famine, pandemics, flooding, tornados, violence, and earthquakes.  It is our response of love to a world in the midst of tragedy.  If you don't give on March 18th, you can give any other time during the year. 

OGHS is the major funding source for our response in the world.  Please prayerfully consider a generous gift on this special day.  Remember, it's not simply about programs ... it's about Toy ... it's about love ... it's about you. 

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