I have been thinking a lot about my maternal grandfather over the past couple of months. A number of unexpected and unrelated occurrences have reminded me of him, and the beloved figure he was in my childhood, and have made me wish afresh that I had known him as an adult and had been able to have more conversations about his life and experiences. He and my grandmother were missionaries in the Congo from the mid 1940s until 1960, caring for and serving thousands of lepers. They had to flee the country with their seven young children in 1960 because of political unrest, but my grandfather returned to the country and was captured by rebels during the Simba uprising of 1964. He was missing for many months and was rescued by mercenaries. I have known this outline of the story all my life but I find myself craving more details, more understanding of what he accomplished and what he went through. Online, I found a copy of pamphlet written in 1949 (shortly after my mother's birth) which includes a chapter wonderfully describing my grandparents' ministry and I have been ordering out-of-print books written about the events of that time. It is a thrill to find old books in beautiful condition; it is painful to read about the terrible things the people of the Congo, and those who loved them and helped them, suffered during those years. And there are hints, clues, mentions of my grandfather, tantalizing and yet elusive. I hope I will be able to fill in the gaps.
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