Times and Seasons by Beverly LaHaye Page A

anything to fix it. But this couldn’t be fixed.
    When Tory was in the hall, she held Hannah close, as if to make up for any slight the baby had faced. The pacifier fell out and rolled across the carpet. Tory bent to get it and slid it into her pocket until she could wash it. Hannah looked up at her with her mouth open. “She didn’t mean it,” Tory whispered to the child. “She doesn’t know what a treasure you are.”
    As hard as she had fought to encourage Hannah’s development, part of her hoped the child never grew aware enough to feel shame over something she couldn’t control.
    Then again, she wanted her to be normal, and be aware of everything.
    She couldn’t have it both ways.
    She heard the group applauding as Sylvia got to the stage. Tory listened from the hallway as Sylvia told about her work in León, first with the orphans, then with the food program for the poor. Then she introduced the slides she had to show them.
    Wearily, Tory went back in. She returned to the back row next to Brenda, Hannah in her lap, hugged back against her.
    The woman operating the slide projector took her cue, and the first picture flashed on the screen. “I want to show you a few slides of the children that come to us for food,” Sylvia said. The face of a starving, malnourished boy flashed onto the screen. He was dirty and had crusty mucus under his nose and greasy tangled hair. Rags hung off his body, as if his clothes had been made for someone much larger. He had a look of hopelessness on his face, and his eyes held a glint of despair. His little belly swelled above bony legs.
    “This is Miguel,” Sylvia said, her voice catching. “He’s my little friend. His father was killed in the hurricane along with two of his sisters. His mother and he come each night hopingthat we’ll have food. We’ve been feeding him for about a month now, mostly beans and rice, since that has a lot of nutritional value and it doesn’t cost very much. We figured out that we can feed a hundred to a hundred-fifty children like Miguel on $400 a month. Think about it, people,” she said. “That’s a little over two and a half bucks to as high as four dollars a day to feed a child like Miguel for a month. What better use can you think of for your money?”
    Tory sat straighter, her arms tightly wrapped around Hannah. Another face flashed on the screen. This boy had bright, alert eyes.
    “This is also Miguel,” Sylvia said. “I took this picture the day I left. Notice the difference. His little belly isn’t as swollen. He has a twinkle in his eye. He’s actually smiling now. He connects. Not only has the food filled his hungry belly, but it’s helped him physically in so many other ways. But that’s not all,” she said. “We had a Bible school last week in León, and little Miguel gave his life to Jesus. His mother brought him to church last Sunday. I have every faith that soon she’ll come to Christ, too.”
    Applause erupted over the crowd. Tory could see that she wasn’t the only one moved by the pictures. She glanced at Brenda and saw the tears on her face.
    Sylvia showed several other slides, equally dramatic photos of other children she knew by name, their mothers and fathers, their baby sisters and brothers. When the slides were finished, Sylvia leaned on the podium, her eyes sweeping over everyone in the room.
    “I know that Nicaragua seems a long way away,” she said. “It did to me when my husband first came home and told me he wanted to go to the mission field there. And these faces, you don’t know them. You’ve never seen them. Chances are, you’ll never meet any of them. But I can tell you, they’re real. They’re my family now. They live where I live, and they’re victims of the hurricane that has just destroyed the economy, taken away their homes and their businesses, ruined their crops. I know that the Lord sent me there to help in the aftermath of Hurricane Norris, and myhusband and I are willing to make