Spring lodge

Theara is a close friend of mine - though he calls me "father". And his life - his sheer perseverance - inspires me to be a better person. Theara has lived a bitterly hard life, especially after losing both parents by the age of 10. One night, soon after the death of his parents, the tiny shack he lived in with his two siblings burnt down in a slum fire - deliberately set by government agents seeking to evict the community. Theara and his siblings lost everything, including the only remaining photos and keepsakes of their parents. But soon after this photo was taken, we helped Theara move into a new community with a small Christian presence. Though it was a poor slum community, Theara was chosen as a "little brother" by a young Christian man who became his "Alongsider". This faith community, by God's grace, has made all the difference in Theara's life. They prove that LOVE, not physical possessions is the most essential ingredient for a re

The human brain is extremely complicated. Some research suggests that mental health problems may be linked to a variation in certain brain chemicals (such as serotonin and dopamine). But no one really understands how or why. Arguments that someone's brain chemistry is the cause of mental health problems are very weak. But even though there's no strong evidence to say that any mental health problems are caused by a chemical imbalance in our brains, you might find some people still use brain chemistry to explain them. Reasons for this might include: Some psychiatric medications work by acting on chemicals in the brain, and there's lots of evidence to show that medication can be effective in treating some symptoms of mental health problems (although drugs don't work the same way for everyone). Mental health problems can feel very personal and be hard to understand, so the idea that there could be a distinct physical cause for difficult thoughts, feelings and behaviours

Mental health problems can have a wide range of causes. It's likely that for many people there is a complicated combination of factors – although different people may be more deeply affected by certain things than others. For example, the following factors could potentially result in a period of poor mental health: childhood abuse, trauma, or neglect social isolation or loneliness experiencing discrimination and stigma, including racism social disadvantage, poverty or debt bereavement (losing someone close to you) severe or long-term stress having a long-term physical health condition unemployment or losing your job homelessness or poor housing being a long-term carer for someone drug and alcohol misuse domestic violence, bullying or other abuse as an adult significant trauma as an adult, such as military combat, being involved in a serious incident in which you feared for your life, or being the victim of a violent crime physical causes – for example, a head injury or a neurolo

Abstract This paper examines the psychological effect of orphanhood in a case study of 193 children in Rakai district of Uganda. Studies on orphaned children have not examined the psychological impact. Adopting parents and schools have not provided the emotional support these children often need. Most adopting parents lack information on the problem and are therefore unable to offer emotional support; and school teachers do not know how to identify psychological and social problems and consequently fail to offer individual and group attention. The concept of the locus of control is used to show the relationship between the environment and individuals' assessment of their ability to deal with it and to adjust behaviour. Most orphans risk powerful cumulative and often negative effects as a result of parents' death, thus becoming vulnerable and predisposed to physical and psychological risks. The children were capable of distinguishing between their quality of life when their par

My entrance into widowhood was an extreme shock. No one expects a young husband to die suddenly. We had been married for nine years. My son Devin had just turned six when Ken died. He started first grade the day after the funeral. August 29, 2001, the day my whole life changed, started normally with us talking and laughing as we got ready for the day. I was getting dressed when I heard a crash. My 32-year-old husband had fallen and couldn’t get up. At the hospital, I was eventually told that Ken had suffered an ischemic stroke. There had been no warning signs and he had always been healthy. About 15 hours later, we were informed that Ken was brain dead. I left my house that morning thinking that we would have to sell it if Ken was paralyzed. I returned home that night a widow. God’s supernatural peace descended on me and allowed me to get through the early days. It certainly wasn’t me. I was able to be thankful for so many things. I was thankful that Ken wouldn’t be in a nursing ho

Mom, why are you crying?" he asked his mom. "Because I'm a woman" she told him. "I don't understand," he said. His mom just hugged him and said, "and you never will." Later the little boy asked his father, "Why does mother seem to cry for no reason?" "All women cry for no reason" was all his dad could say. The little boy grew up and became a man, still wondering why women cry. Finally he put in a call to GOD. When GOD got on the phone the man said, "GOD, why do women cry so easily?" GOD said: "When I made women she had to be special. I made her shoulders strong enough to carry the weight of the world; yet, gentle enough to give comfort. I gave her an inner strength to endure childbirth and the rejection that many times comes from her children. I gave her a hardness that allows her to keep going when everyone else gives up and take care of her family through sickness and fatigue without complaining.

The Japanese have been producing wood for 700 years without cutting down trees. In the 14th century, the extraordinary daisugi technique was born in Japan. Indeed, the daisugi provide that these trees will be planted for future generations and not be cut down but pruned as if they were giant bonsai trees; by applying this technique to cedars, the wood that can be obtained is uniform, straight and without knots, practically perfect for construction. A pruning as a rule of art that allows the tree to grow and germinate while using its wood, without ever cutting it down. The technique helped to produce lumber that’s way more dense than that of a regular sugi Japan is an intriguing country (especially for an outsider) that never ceases to amaze and inspire people by striving for perfection. It appears that the pursuit of excellence is something that’s deeply embedded in the culture, and it shows in different areas of life and various ways. The majority of us are already familiar with the

Stone vessels of ancient Egypt. Over 10,000 pieces of vases, bowls, plates etc. have been found in the mastabas around the Step Pyramid at Saqqara, some intact and others broken. This lavish amount of artifacts clearly indicates that it was not one craftsman or workshop making them, but an entire industry. The items show the unmistakable tool marks of a lathe. These bowls and stone dishes/platters are some of the finest ancient ones ever found. They are made from a variety of materials - from soft, such as alabaster, all the way up the hardness scale to very hard, such as granite. Some delicate vases are made of very brittle stone such as schist (like a flint) and yet are finished, turned and polished to a flawless paper thin edge - an extraordinary feat of craftsmanship. Perfectly balance bowls with a bottom that is not bigger than the top of a hen's egg show that the entire bowl has a symmetrical wall thickness without any substantial error. The other pieces turned out of gran

We speak a different language in my grandmother’s house. When the family is alone together or with close friends, our language flows into a southern dialect essenced with my younger brother’s (and sometimes my own) hip-hop of-the-moment idioms — what was once good became fresh and is now the bomb. What was once great was then hype and now phat and so on. My younger brother and I listen to music that plays with language, that pushes against grammatical and linguistic walls. We speak this language to those who understand and then we come home and this language gets blended into the language that is spoken in my grandmother’s house. What is spoken in her house is the language of a long time ago, before we were shipped off to college, before my exposure to Chaucer and James and the Brontës. It is not the stereotypical “I be, you be” that has made its derogatory way into others’ perception of ‘black dialect.’ And it is more complex and less frustrating than the whole ebonics argument, alth

There it was, I pulled up to the driveway and a rush of dread came over me. I haven’t been back home in almost five years. It looked exactly as I left it. The peeling paint and shingles that needed replacing. A place that use to feel so full of love now just looked so empty. I wish I would have come back sooner. I had no idea what I was walking into. As I made my way inside, I was hit with dust and childhood memories. Mounds of things were piled everywhere. These things that used to be everything to my parents are now just… things. Walking through the house was almost like walking through a time capsule. I skipped over all of it and made my way to the kitchen. I figured it would be the best place for me to start because it always held the best memories for me. Memories of so much laughter and singing. Also memories of the many family Thanksgiving’s my mom insisted on hosting every year. It was always such a happy place. My mom had passed away eight years ago now, but her memory is i

Fake. A smile. Fake. A smile. Fake. I’m. So. FAKE! FAKE! YOU MADE ME SO FAKE! Wiping away my tears because no one is going to take pity on me. All the pain I felt is a pain that will last forever. Just pretend it’s not there. I need a place to hide in so no one can see me cry. I just need to pretend that I’m okay. Pretend that my heart’s not breaking. Just fake a smile. All the fakeness I’ve put on just so they would accept me. All the hurtful truths that they have told me when I wanted honest lies. The names they called me, the constant teasing, nearly killed me. I can’t even tell my parents because I don’t want to worry them. The fake life I built is crumbling and the mask I’ve built up is shattering. As my mask fell to the floor, they cackled at my despair and sent a kick to my lower abdomen. I fell to the floor almost instantly. My mind urged me to fight back but I’m scared that this would only escalate even more and I didn’t want that. But I needed to do something or I would re