Snowflakes

Christmas decorations were a little lacking around our house this year, so I decided to make some snowflakes. When several girlfriends came over for a Christmas party, it turned into a snowflake-making class—who knew! But as I showed friends how to cut and where and we discussed “Snowflake Theory,” I realized that snowflakes carry a lot of spiritual truth.

• You can’t hurry a work of creation. If you cut too fast, or too far, or without thinking, the whole thing will fall apart in your hands.
• The more the Creator cuts away, the more delicate and beautiful the final result will be.
• It’s impossible to tell what the final product will look like until it’s completely finished.
• The completed work of art will never look exactly how you expected it to.
• In order for it to look right, a lot of stuff has to fall away.
• I made a lot of snowflakes in the past few weeks. Never once did two look the same—even when I tried!

I feel like God wants me to be more like a paper snowflake in His hands—willing to be cut apart, trusting my Designer, waiting for Him to unfold me and see what I look like!

Cooking Improv

In an effort to build the Christmas spirit in the land of 90-degree days with a hot wind blowing and no chance of rain, let alone snow, we decided to have a Christmas movie marathon. We watched a different Christmas movie every night, ending with a "Jingle All the Way" and "It's a Wonderful Life" double feature. And what better meal to make it feel like Christmas, even if it doesn't, but chili and beans? I knew we didn't have corn chips, so I had Jesca make cornbread instead-- no biggie. I went to the grocery store to make sure I had everything I needed. A friend who owns a supermarket had given me several cans of stewed tomatoes, so that was taken care of. No canned tomato soup, but I can use tomato paste instead. Ground beef, check. Chili seasoning, done. All I needed was the beans. And there was the problem. I've never cooked beans from scratch, and I definitely didn't want to start now. I've bought canned beans in Arua before, but the day I went, there were none to be found. Anywhere. The only canned beans I could lay my hands on were baked beans. Oh, well, I guess it's better than nothing. And what's chili and beans with no beans??? So baked beans it was. Fortunately for me, the chili turned out great! I'm just glad my mom taught me how to improvise!

Immanuel

Therefore the LORD Himself will give you a sign: the virgin will be with child and will give birth to a Son, and will call Him Immanuel. Isaiah 7:14

This Christmas season, the idea of “Immanuel” keeps coming back to me. I can’t leave it alone. I am struck by the mystery that surrounds this word. I just can’t let it go.

“God with us.” The very idea of it is pretty ridiculous. I mean, isn’t the whole point of being God the idea You’re bigger than al of these puny people, greater, set apart? God can do anything He wants. He created this entire universe just for His good pleasure. He definitely doesn’t need me.

And yet this all-present, all-knowing, all-powerful God chose to limit Himself to human form. He chose to become like me. And the part that I still can’t wrap my head around is the why—because He loves me and wants a relationship with me, and the only way to do that was to pay for my sin, because I can’t.

God with us, because He is for us. He wants good things for me. Around the world, in all the other religions, none of the other “gods” ever came to earth and took on human frailties, just to bring good to people. To test them, yes. To punish them, yes. To simply play mean tricks on them, absolutely. But to do good? Never. Only Jesus. Only this one “God with us” can be called “Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.” (Isaiah 9:6) He is the ONLY good God.

Only Jesus. “The Word” of God—the very essence of Who He is—“became flesh and lived among us. We have seen His glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.” (John 1:14)

He still dwells among us. He is still Immanuel—God with us. We must simply invite Him into where we dwell. We can choose to follow Him where He calls us. I can’t understand it. I am awed and humbled that the Mighty God, my Everlasting Father so desires a relationship with me. I can’t wrap my feeble brain around it. But I love Him, and I trust Him, and I am so grateful for my most precious Christmas gift—Immanuel, God with us.

SIncerity

I just had an amazing vacation. Kelli and I went to Tanzania for a week, spending 3 days in Zanzibar and the rest of our time in Dar es Salaam. After a year and a half with no vacation, this one was badly needed.

Many of the locals in Dar and almost everyone in Zanzibar is Muslim. I’m not sure if I really processed all the ramifications of this before I got on the plane. But once you’re on the ground, it’s impossible not to notice. Mosques and masjids were everywhere. Children play on the streets in caps and veils. Women even go to the beach fully covered.

Today as we sat waiting for our flight back to Uganda, there was a large group of men in very traditional dress. White tunics, caps, beards, the whole bit. After a few minutes, they all picked up their prayer mats and went to a corner of the terminal to conduct their midday prayers. We could hear their praying all around us. When prayers were finished, they returned to their seats. One of the younger men took out his Koran to read, chanting again as he did.

It struck me that so many of these precious people, being so kind, generous, and welcoming, are truly sincere in their faith. They are genuinely trying to find God and pursue Him. They are trying to follow. They are sincere.

And they are sincerely wrong. I think that’s the most humbling part of the whole thing. I watch these people, who pray more, study more, try to do right more than I every thought about, and I know that they’re so lost they don’t even realize it. And I’m so grateful to know that my eternity doesn’t depend on the sacrifices I make, how many prayers I say each day, the clothes I wear, or whether or not I make my pilgrimage. My security isn’t based on anything I’ve done… which is good, because I am definitely not good enough. It’s ONLY because of Jesus, and His love for me, His death for me.

How I pray that these sweet ones who are so earnest in their pursuit of God, whether in Africa, Asia, the Middle East, Europe, or even America, would see, would understand that they don’t have to do anything but receive. And then be grateful for grace.

Things I learned in Dar es Salaam:

~ Tanzania is sandy as Uganda is green.
~ White Sands Beach Resort is paradise. Praise Jesus for day rates, taxis, and cheap guest houses.
~ Big cities are NOT all they’re cracked up to be.
~ When you live directly above hell, you don’t need a water heater—the water heats itself!
~ SPF 30, twice a day, is not enough.
~ It’s weird to eat ice cream sitting on a tropical beach while listening to Christmas music.
~ Sand creations are always fun.
~ It’s a great thing to be chin-deep in the ocean and still be able to see your toes.
~ It’s not a great thing to get stung by a jellyfish or sunburned or knock a huge gash in your knee… especially not all in the same day.
~ It’s an odd feeling to see a Masai warrior, an Asian Hindu, and an African Muslim on the street and know that you’re the one who doesn’t belong.
~ As bad as I thought the Entebbe airport was, the Dar airport is worse.
~ My mom wrote a book of African proverbs—who knew??? Pretty sure she had no idea!
~ Fish and chips are that much better when you’re sitting by the ocean the fish came from.
~ If you’ve never had Krest Bitter Lemon, you’ve missed out on the best soft drink ever!
~ It’s hard to function in Dar if you don’t know Swahili. Which I don’t.
~ Some people are so lost, they have no idea how lost they are.
~ I’m grateful that my salvation isn’t up to me.
~ Prepaid electrical service isn’t a good idea. Especially when the service runs out at 11:45 at night when it’s still 90 degrees outside.
~ The end of vacation is a sad, sad thing.

Things I learned in Zanzibar:

~ There are more shades of blue than anyone can count.
~ Every now and then, we all need to escape from reality.
~ Whoever invented open-air markets was a genius!
~ No matter where you are in the world, teenage boys are all the same. Give them a body of water and an audience, and they’ll wind up jumping in and turning flips.
~ I NEED to live near water.
~ God created Zanzibar to whet our appetites for heaven.
~ Africa is much more interesting than America. Not nearly as convenient or reliable, but much more interesting.
~ Hole in the wall places are tons of fun to explore.
~ Freddie Mercury was born on Zanzibar. Seriously.
~ The underwater world we rarely see is so much more beautiful than the world we spend most of our time in.
~ I can’t begin to imagine how creative God must be to dream up coral reefs, zebra fish, sea urchins, angel fish, tube coral, and starfish.
~ Recipe for a perfect day: Hire a private boat operated by Khalid and Khalid. Snorkel in the Indian Ocean. Play with 100-year-old giant tortoises. Explore Prison Island. Stop for a light lunch in the prison that was never a prison. Sail back to Zanzibar. Jump in the pool for a quick dip. Wander through Stone Town and find really cool doors. Watch the sunset over the Indian Ocean from a rooftop.
~ Mango just tastes better in Zanzibar.
~ It’s really difficult to communicate with a deaf woman who only speaks Swahili in the middle of a rainstorm.
~ I don’t understand why the only men willing to pursue me are the ones I’d never be interested in.
~ Everything tastes better when you’re sitting by the ocean.
~ Vacation was definitely God’s idea.
~ On top of all the ways He surprises us, God scheduled sunset every day just so He could show us His God-ness every single day.
~ Names like Eyebrows, Happiness, Rabaju, Felidah, and Michael the Masai just make me smile.
~ Vacation within vacation is a brilliant idea.
~ Zanzibar doors are amazingly creative pieces of craftsmanship.
~ Island life is just better.

Happy Thanksgiving!

As I write, I am sitting in a (nice) hotel in Jinja, Uganda, overlooking the Nile River. The Baptist Mission of Uganda has gathered here for our annual prayer retreat, and I am so grateful to be with our mission family for one of the "big" family holidays. It doesn't feel like Thanksgiving. It's 85 degrees and steamy. We had pizza for lunch. And my family is on the other side of the planet. But, in spite of all this, I am reminded that I am called to give thanks, regardless of where I am or where I wish I were. So, in an effort to "fake it til I make it," here is the list of the Top 10 things I am thankful for.

10. Velveeta Shells & Cheese... comfort food at its best.
9. Jesca. She does all the dirty stuff, so I don't have to.
8. Washing machines and dryers. What I would give to never wash anything by hand again!
7. Living within two hours of elephants, hippos, and giraffes. Who lives like this???
6. Toilet paper. 'Nuff said.
5. Knowing that all I see is not all there is. My Redeemer makes anything bearable.
4. Amazing students who are seeking the Father, even when it's not popular.
3. A niece and nephew who love me and will throw fits to talk to me on the phone. And the fact that I don't have to be there to deal with the temper tantrums!
2. A family who supports me, no matter what harebrained idea I come up with.
1. Friends and loved ones around the world who are lifting me up today and every day. You are all so amazing, and I am truly blessed to have you in my life.

A Bad Day in Africa

I have to admit—I don’t like Africa today. The past 24 hours have not been good for me. So I’m going to vent.

Yesterday afternoon I went to wash the dishes, but there was only a trickle of water coming out of the kitchen faucet. No big deal, I thought. We have water pressure issues all the time. There was water in the rest of the house, and the kitchen water should come back by the evening, or tomorrow morning at the latest. We’ve got plenty of drinking water already filtered, so we’re good.

The power was off all day, which, again, isn’t unusual. We have back-up batteries to run a few lights and for charging computers and phones. This is totally do-able, too.

I went to Bible study later in the afternoon, taking two pans of homemade brownies, since I was in charge of snacks this week. When I got there, I cut into the brownies, which were perfectly fudgy and gooey… and also firmly cemented into the pans. How on earth is it possible for brownies to be perfectly cooked and still not come out of the pans??? I still don’t get it. My friend Cathy helped me dig the brownies out and put them on plates. But seriously-- why?!

Kelli and I got home from Bible study to find that we still had no power and no water. Arggh! I set out to make my amazing corn chowder for dinner in the dark (the batteries don’t run the kitchen light), using the only 2 clean pots left in the house—since we can’t wash dishes, since we have no water. I started sautéing the onion too early and scorched the pot. Lovely. About this time I tracked down our night guard to check on the water in our 1000-liter reserve tank… and found out that it was empty. Evidently, the water pressure from town had been too low to push the water up to the second-story tank for the past couple of days, so we had been using water and the tank wasn’t refilling. Now none of the pipes in the house had any water. No toilets, no sinks, no nothing. Great.

(We do have a 2000-liter rain tank outside that we can use for washing, mopping, etc., but we have to draw the water outside and bring it in by the bucket. And it was dark and mosquito-friendly outside by this time. And my mood was already sour.)

I came back inside and realized that my soup had started boiling too high and was scorching. Fabulous. I turned the eye down as low as it would go and stir… no major damage done, just another frustration in a series. When the soup was ready, Kelli and I sat down to watch a couple of episodes of How I Met Your Mother before we put in the Harry Potter DVD we borrowed from Cathy. But when we put the disc in the DVD player, it wouldn’t read the disc. It worked the night before with no problems… but it is a pirated disc (don’t turn me in, please!), so maybe that’s the issue. We put it into Kelli’s laptop, and it work just fine. Some much-needed smart humor came our way… praise the Lord!

After How I Met Your Mother, it was time for Harry. I put the disc in, and the DVD player wouldn’t read it, either. Now, we knew this disc worked. But not in our DVD player. Which we just got last month. After 10 minutes of trying, unsuccessfully, to get the DVD player to work, I finally just gave up. I sat down with a book and a brownie to try to make things better. Surely, some chocolate will help.

A few minutes later, we hear someone at the gate. The visitor, a friend’s watchman bringing something by, was knocking, and the dogs were barking like crazy. We heard them… but the watchman didn’t. For five full minutes. Finally, Kelli went out to answer the gate, since Godfrey obviously had no intention of doing so. As soon as she walked out the door, I dropped my pen—my nice, American, great-writing pen—and the end broke off.

Fine. I quit. I’m going to bed.

I got up this morning and there was still no water. (On the bright side, power was back.) We still had plenty of filtered drinking water, so I made some caramel coffee and finished off the last of the brownies for breakfast.

Finally, the water tank started to fill, and my supervisor offered to let us take showers at their place across the street. Jesca came to wash the dishes, make tortillas for tacos tonight, and clean the house. And I got to shave my legs.

I hate that my frame of mind is so determined by what’s going on around me. And honestly, none of these things was really that big a deal. But put them together, and pile on a bit of homesickness, and you get a really bad day in Africa.

But it doesn’t matter how bad my day is. It doesn’t matter how many things don’t work out, or how long the dogs bark. Regardless of the bad day I’m having, God is still good. His goodness isn’t determined by my circumstances. Even when I’m in a funk and forget that He is good, it doesn’t change the fact that He is. Or the fact that He, for whatever reason, wants me to be here. And I want to please Him… so here I am.

Tomorrow will be better, because His mercies are new every morning. And I’m going to the pool.

Don’t be deceived, my dear brothers. Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

James 1:16-17

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.
Hebrews 13:8

For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever.
2 Corinthians 4:17-18

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;
His mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is Your faithfulness.
“The LORD is my portion,” says my soul,
“therefore I will hope in Him.”
Lamentations 3:22-24

What Comes Next?

A very important anniversary passed for me last month. As of October 20, I have been with the IMB for one year. That in itself is pretty unreal to me. I’ve been in Arua for almost 10 months—also unreal.

You may know that I am serving a two-year term with the IMB. (You may know have known until five seconds ago… or you may not even care!) What all this means, in the big scheme of things, is that my term is over halfway finished. In less than a year, I’ll be home. And, honestly, I’m pretty happy about that. But it also brings up a whole new batch of issues, because I am a planner. And while I can’t wait to hug my niece and nephew, to eat really good food, or have some seriously cold weather, I have no idea what I‘m going to do for a living once I get home.

Okay, so I take that back. I have some ideas. I would love to work as a missions coordinator for a church. I would love to work for an HIV outreach ministry or at a crisis pregnancy center. I would love to open a restaurant or work in event planning. And I could always go back to teaching… although, right now, that’s not really on the “I would love to” list. Let’s just say I want “work” to be ministry.

I feel like I have this deadline of October 20 staring me down. That, by the time I head for South Carolina, I should know what comes next. I should know were my next paycheck is coming from. I should at least have the next destination in mind. But there are two things wrong with this thought.

I can’t trust how I feel. Because I am broken. Because I am sinful. Because I forget that, even though I have no idea what comes next, I serve a very big God who knows exactly what comes next… and when it is coming!

The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it? Jeremiah 17:9

The other thing God keeps reminding me is, it’s not October 20^th yet. Even though it seems like that’s my deadline, it’s not here yet. Honestly, it’s not even close. Over and over again, God has proven to me that I can trust Him to meet my needs at just the right time. He has always provided for me… so why should I think He’s going to stop now?

So do not worry, saying “What shall we eat?” or “What shall we wear?” For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. Matthew 6:31-34

Last week I was reading a passage in Luke; I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard or read this story before. But this time, something totally different jumped out at me. In Luke 17:11-19, ten lepers call out to Jesus and ask Him to heal them. Once they’re healed, only one of the ten comes back to thank Jesus. Everyone things it’s a story about gratitude… but it’s really a story about faith. See, verse 14 tells the climax of the story: “When He saw them, He said, ‘Go, show yourselves to the priests.’ “ Then the ten lepers, who were still lepers, went to be examined by the priests. “And as they went, they were cleansed.”

These men hadn’t been healed when they set out on their journey. They hadn’t seen a mighty work of Jesus yet. But they knew His character, and they trusted Him. I imagine they were thinking, “If He’s sending us to the priests, I guess He’s going to do something. Let’s go!” They didn’t wait around until after Jesus worked in their lives to start moving. They took Him at His word. They believed Him.

He’s told me, over and over, that when I go home next October, He will provide for me. He’s told me to let Him handle the details. He’s told me that I don’t need to add next year’s trouble on to today’s. He keeps telling me to trust Him… I guess I should start listening!

This is Where I Live

“Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in Me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in Me and I in him, it is he that bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing.” John 15:4-5

To abide somewhere is to live there. That’s home. That’s where you belong. Day in, day out. Where most of your day-to-day “stuff” is. The place you keep coming back to. If I go to a place every 3 or 4 days, or even once a week, that’s not where I abide; I’m really just visiting. It doesn’t matter how comfortable, how friendly, how familiar it is—it’s not where I’m living. If I’m being completely truthful, the place where I do live now isn’t all that comfortable, definitely is not convenient, and is way too far away from anything the least bit familiar… but I’m here every day. I sleep here. My stuff is here. At least for the next year. (11 months and 2 weeks, but who’s counting???) This is where I live.

In John 15, Jesus tells us He want us to abide in Him. (I know, easier said than done!) We need to be with Him daily, even constantly. We can’t just “pop in” every few days to “catch up.” He wants our resting to be in Him, our day-to-day life to be in Him, our emotional breakdowns to be in Him, all our “stuff” to be trusted to Him. The place we keep coming back to has to be Him.

It’s not always comfortable. Not always convenient. It sure as heck isn’t always familiar… in fact, He’s brought me to places that don’t make any sense to me whatsoever. But I know it’s where I’m supposed to be… so this is where I live.

Or at least I try to live here. Every now and then, I try to run away from home… but wouldn’t you know it, that amazing Jesus keeps bringing me back? And when He does, there’s no place I’d rather be than in His arms!

Swap Your Stuff

A few weeks ago, my sweet friend Joanna had a brilliant idea. In an effort to clean out her closets, she had a Swap Your Stuff party. And I have to say, I am a huge fam.

The basic idea was for everyone to go through their closets and bring all the stuff you didn’t want or need anymore. We brought it all to Joanna’s house, and whatever you wanted to take home, you were welcome to. No limits, no prices. Whoever saw something and could get to it first got to walk away with it.

It was a great night. I was able to clean out my closet, and everything I brought from home went away with someone else at the end of the night. And let me just say, I racked up. I walked away with loads of new books, a few new clothes, some Irish Crème coffee, an immersion blender (no blender in the Baptist Sorority house until now!), the board game Settlers of Canaan (not a typo… really… think of a map shaped like Israel!) and… wait for it… an ice cream machine!

I’d been debating over ice cream machines for a few weeks now, really wanting some good ice cream (which is VERY scarce in Arua), but not wanting to splurge on a 220-volt appliance I can’t take home next year. And now, praise the Lord, I have one for free—and I get to pass it on to a luck friend next year to boot!

So, to make a long story short, I highly recommend getting some friends together and having a Swap Your Stuff part. Who knows what treasures you’ll walk away with!

Mom’s African Adventure

Last month, my mom came to visit. I have to say, I love hanging out with my mom. It’s really cool that we’ve gotten to the point where she’s not really my mom—she’s one of my closest friends. Anyway, back to the story…

The adventure began before she ever left America. Turns out, there was some kind of issue with the plane coming to the States from Amsterdam, so her outgoing flight was delayed for around 3 hours. She almost didn’t make her connection in Amsterdam, and there was no way her luggage was going to make it on that plane. She didn’t get reunited with her bags until five days later!

I had flown down to Entebbe to meet Mom at the airport on Friday, and we stayed the night with Amanda and Larry, some colleagues who live there. They took us back to the airport Saturday morning and we flew up to Arua on the smallest commercial passenger airplane ever—only 19 seats, less if they have extra baggage to carry! Mom’s jaw started to drop as we landed on the dirt runway. Oh boy—welcome to Africa!

Mom had never been anywhere like Arua. And if you’ve never been to Africa, there’s really nothing to compare it to. The sad state of our roads, the thousands of bikes and pedestrians, the random goats and chickens crossing the road. (Yes, it really does happen… and the punchline is true!) There’s just no preparing for Arua.

On Sunday we walked to Awindiri Baptist Church. It just happened to be Eid, the holiday that ends the Muslim holy month of Ramadan. The calls to prayer were louder, longer, and more frequent than normal, and we passed a huge gathering at one of the mosques on the way to church. What a great opportunity to be reminded of our call to prayer—for the salvation of those around us!

Church at Awindiri was great—very African, very different from home. I love worshipping with Africans!

Mom was able to go on campus to all the schools where we’re working, including Vurra Secondary, where we presented True Love Waits for the first time. When we got to Modern on Tuesday, we were sitting and waiting for the secondary students to finish classes when we heard singing at the primary school next door. We walked around the side of the building and found about a hundred primary students singing a traditional song. We sat down to listen, and before too long some of the neighborhood kids wandered over to investigate us. They were so excited to greet the three white women, and some of them were singing along with the bigger kids. Well, it didn’t take long for the kids in the choir to notice us as well, and when we realized we were causing a distraction, we tried to make a discreet exit. Some of the smaller children followed us back to the tree where we usually have our meeting. But once the primary kids were dismissed, they came looking for us—and we got mobbed! Everyone wanted to greet us, to touch our hair, and to thank us for coming. About 50 of the primary kids wound up staying for the story group with the secondary students—what a great day!

Some of the other highlights of the week in Arua: lunch at the coffee shop, Africa by Boat; lots of naked babies; conversations with students; dinner with my friends Billy and Joanna; tours of school campuses; women’s Bible Study; and a day off at White Castle (sadly, NOT the hamburger chain). And yes, Mom did get the full “Arua Experience” while she was here: no power, no hot water, and we actually completely ran out of water for the first time!

Ha Ha Ha

Have you ever felt like God was laughing at you? Now, I don’t mean those moments when you do something goofy and everyone, including you, giggles. I mean, has the irony of your life ever been so great that you could just see the Creator of the Universe crumbling into a belly-laugh that makes thunder roll? That is exactly where my life is right now.

Before I came to Africa, I lived alone for seven years. I was a teacher for four years, which may be one of the most solitary professions there is. I’m a huge extrovert, and I love being around people, but when it came to my life, I was on my own and in control.

When I moved to Virginia a year ago to begin my training, my partner Kelli became my roommate. Sandra, Roommate #2, moved in 3 weeks ago. In less than 18 months, I’ve gone from being totally on my own to having two roommates! But that’s not all…

In January, we have a team of four semester volunteers coming to work with us for 4 months. Know were the two girls, Jessica and Bridgette, will be living? You guessed it—the Arua branch of the Baptist Sorority House. Go ahead and raise my roommate count to 4!

I know that I am a control freak, There are some things that I want done the right way… which is, of course, my way. I knew when I moved to Africa that a big part of my experience would simply be the Father refining areas of my character. I just didn’t know that living in a household of 5 women would be a part of it! Pray for me… and my roommates. We’re al gonna need it!

…being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. Philippians 1:6

Kids

It’s crazy to me to think that I’ve been in Uganda for more than 9 months. Even amid all the culture shock, homesickness, driving stress, and “Whoa, I live in Africa” moments, it’s hard not to notice the kids. They’re amazing. Always smiling, always waving, always looking for just a bit of your attention.

The more I notice the kids here, the more I realize that kids, all over the world, are all the same: Bubbles are the best thing in the world. There’s no reason to walk when you can run. The best way to wear a jacket is by just putting the hood over your head. A dare can never, ever be turned down. And when you start singing, the louder, the better.

I don’t really know where this is going… maybe it’s not just the kids. Maybe, underneath the culture and the lifestyle and all the things that make us think we’re so different, maybe deep down, we’re all basically the same.

Bible 101

Getting work started in Arua has been, well, interesting to say the least. And figuring out what youth ministry looks like here is more along the lines of frustrating. The time when we’re actually able to be on campus is really very limited, and it seems like something’s always “coming up” to interfere with our scheduled meetings with students. Some schools have been very receptive to True Love Waits, but other schools have been harder to get off the ground.

Latibo Secondary School is that school. Kelli and I have been on Latibo’s campus since January and have made some great relationships with students, but every attempt at a small group has fallen flat.

While Kelli was spending time with Lillian, one of the 4th-year students at Latibo, Lillian mentioned the fact that she wanted to read and study the Bible, but didn’t know where to start. That got us started thinking—why not start a Bible 101 class? Basic info about what the Bible is, why we should read it, and where to find help in it when we need it. Over six weeks, study involves a series of devotions through the Old and New Testaments, discussions, and Scripture memory. Students who successfully complete the course can earn a study Bible for their efforts.

Our first Bible 101 class met last Sunday at Latibo, and almost 40 students attended. We met with students again this past Sunday, with a smaller turnout, but still close to 30. Several students had completed all their devotions for the week, and more are continuing to work on them. (Another factor to consider in all this is the fact that 4th-year students began their final, national exams on Monday, which determine the courses of study students can continue in. The pressure is huge, and most of their time right now is spent studying.)

Please pray for the students attending Bible 101, that they would be diligent in their study and keep coming to the classes. We currently have 36 study Bibles, and would love to give them all away at the end of the course next month. We also hope to take Bible 101 to other campuses next year, if it continues to be well-received at Latibo. How exciting to get the Word into the hands of your people who have a real hunger for it!

How can a young man keep his way pure?
By living according to Your word.
Psalm 119:11

Blogger Way Behind

Good grief! So I realized this morning just how long it's been since I blogged... and that's NOT okay! It's not that there's been nothing to write about, because there has. I've got lots of potential posts floating around in my brain... I just have to take the time and exercise the discipline to put them down on paper... and then type them... and then upload them to the site. So for those of you who enjoy reading about my (mis)adventures in Africa, have no fear-- blogs are on the way. For those of you who don't, well, you probably aren't reading this in the first place.

Thanks for your patience. Wait for it.....

Closed Ears

This week in language, we started talking about opening and closing objects.  Should be pretty easy, right?  Not so.  As it turns out, there are at least 3 different ways to close something in Lugbara, depending on what it is.  Doors and windows always opizu, but other objects only opizu if the lid doesn’t come off when it’s upside down.  Putting on a lid, cover, or box top is akuzu, and if it’s closed and hidden, like a wrapped gift, it’s abuzu.  Body parts are a whole other matter.  When you close your mouth, hand, or eyes, you abizu.  Now that we’ve got these different words and understand the patterns, it makes sense, but in the middle of it, we were totally confused, trying to figure out what determines whether you opizu or akuzu something. 

But I started thinking.  (Always trouble!)  Many times we talk about having closed our ears so we don’t have to hear what we’re being told.  When we were young and someone told a story my sister didn’t like, she would stick her fingers in her ears and sing at the top of her lungs to drown everyone out… and I know that I’ve been guilty of doing that with God.  So I asked Pamela, our language helper, if you can abizu your ears just like you do your mouth.

She said no.  The ears don’t close on their own; you have to intentionally close them.  You opizu them, just like a door.  You have to choose not to hear.

And how true that is.  When God speaks to me, I hear Him.  I know what He’s saying.  But I choose to listen to Him, to follow Him in obedience, or not.

Lord, please help me to remember to njizu my ears, not to obizuˆthem!

Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves.  Do what it says.  Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like.  But the man who looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it, he will be blessed in what he does.  (James 1:22-25)

Sunday Adventure

It all started mundanely enough.  On Thursday Kevyn, one of our students from Latibo, asked us to go to church with her Sunday morning.    We’d love to go!  We had no idea where St. Luke’s church was, so we agreed to meet her on the main road out near where she lives so she could keep us from getting lost on the dirt paths that pass for roads out here.  Services start at 8, so we would meet her at the sign for a local school at 7:45.

Kelli and I left the house in Pearl, our truck, right on time at 7:30.  On the way out to Kevyn’s neighborhood, the lorry in front of me slowed to a stop on the main road, and I stopped behind it.  Before I could realize what was happening or throw the car into reverse, the lorry starts backing up.  I “hooted” the horn, and the man in the bed of the lorry tried to get the driver’s attention, but evidently not quickly enough… he backed right into me!  Fortunately, he was going slowly already and stopped when he realized what he was backing into.  He had barely touched the bull bar on the front of Pearl, so when he pulled into the parking lot  he was trying to get into in the first place, we went on to meet Kevyn… with a whole new appreciation for the black metal tubes across the front of Pearl!

We got to the area known as “Muni” where we had agreed to meet Kevyn… who wasn’t there.  What to do?  We had no idea where to go next.  I turned down a side road to see if there were any clues to where St. Luke’s might be, but chickened out when the road forked.  Meanwhile, Kelli tried to call Kevyn, but she didn’t answer her phone.  I drove back out to the main road and pulled into the closest parking lot.  Finally, Kevyn called me… she was already at the church!  I tried to explain to her that we didn’t know how to get to the church, and she said to go back to the road I had turned down in the first place.  I drove back to the road and pulled over for my next instructions.  Kevyn called back and asked why we weren’t at the church.  Finally she said that she would come out to meet us.  By this time, one of the men on the side of the road had come over to see if he could help us.  I told him we were trying to get to St. Luke’s church, which he said was in town. (!)  Fortunately, he asked around and found out where the church was… straight down the road I chickened out on fifteen minutes before!  After getting relatively clear directions (for Africa, anyway) we tried it again.  About halfway there, we found Kevyn riding a piki (motorcycle taxi) and picked her up to take her back to the church.    The bright note:  “parking” was completely painless, since we had the only vehicle there, besides a couple of bikes!

Even though we were twenty minutes late, the church service was just getting started and half the pews were empty.  Even so, Kevyn paraded the two of us up to the very front of the sanctuary and sat us right up on the platform.  (Lovely… the two mundus get to be on display???)  During the entire service, I expected to be called on to share a “word from the Lord”… whether I felt led to or not!  In addition to the two “foreign visitors from Europe”, there was also a team of 3 visitors from Congo, one of whom preached.  (Good- we’re off the hook!)  His text was from Luke 18, where Jesus talks about counting the cost of being a disciple, but somehow he turned it around to make the point that “the church must plan” and Christians must give to the church sacrificially.  (Kevyn didn’t have any money with her, so she put an IOU in the offering bag!)  During the service, Kelli and I were asked to introduce ourselves twice, partly because the parish priest arrived after our first introduction and he wanted to know who we were!  After the service concluded, Kevyn’s friend Eric asked us if we were free Sunday to preach… uh, NO!

Kevyn wanted us to go back to see her home, so we loaded up in Pearl with her and her cousin, Victoria, and hit the trails… literally.  We turned off the main dirt road onto a smaller dirt road, and then onto a tiny path.  As I was pulling off the road beside Kevyn’s homestead, Pearl’s right front tire went right into an 8-inch wide ditch—just barely wide enough for the tire to fit, but we were stuck nonetheless.  Yikes!  We tried a mix of four-wheel drive and pushing to get it out, but nothing worked.  Now what???  Well, Kevyn’s father and brother (or cousin, I’m not quite sure) and all the kids in the area went running to find broken bricks and rocks to build up a ramp for me to drive out.  Her brother dug a slight ramp into the road (for once, a dirt road is a good thing!), I tried four-wheel drive again, and out Pearl came!

Since the crisis was now over, we went to officially meet Kevyn’s family.  Her mother and “follower” (the sister who came immediately after her in birth order) were away, but the twins who are her follower’s followers were there, as well as the youngest.  We sat under a mango tree for a while just chatting with Victoria, Kevyn, and her father, Oscar.   One of their dogs had puppies a few weeks ago, so Kelli and I both got to love on a puppy while we talked.  After a short while, the twin brother came walking towards us, carrying a chicken.  Kevyn said they wanted us to have the chicken, and that Jesca could show us how to prepare it.  (Giving a chicken, especially to mundus, isn’t uncommon, but it’s usually a “thank you” gift for something big… not just “We’re glad you sat and talked to us for half an hour”!)

Kelli and I had been planning to have a “real” Italian dinner later this week, with garlic bread, olive oil for dipping, Caesar salad, and chicken pesto pasta.  Well, now we’re having FRESH chicken in our pasta… and Kevyn’s joining us!    The chicken, Roo, had a decent ride home in Pearl’s backseat; he was surprisingly calm and quiet, but his feet are tied together!  We were afraid Hoosier might try to eat Roo before we got the chance to, so we sent him to stay across the street at the Waflers’ until Jesca finishes him off on Tuesday. 

So, the morning turned out completely different from anything I could have planned… but isn’t that just the way God is?  I can just hear Him saying, “You think you know… but you have no idea!”

Jesca

It is extremely common here for people to have “house help.” The daily tasks of cooking and cleaning take 3 or 4 times as long, because there are no modern appliances and cooking is pretty much from scratch. And people here are in desperate need of jobs, so if you can afford to give someone work, even if it’s just a few days a week, it’s pretty much expected that you will help someone out in this way.

Jesca has worked for me and Kelli since we moved into our house in February. She is a precious woman who can make amazing chapattis (a tortilla-style flatbread) and French bread, washes our clothes by hand, and pretty much keeps our house from being covered in inches of dust and dirt. She also serves as my sous-chef and is a huge help to me in the kitchen! Jesca, like most people in Uganda, goes to church but is not a believer. She has been taught that as long as she goes to “prayers”, is baptized, takes communion, and lives a good life, she will go to heaven. The Catholic and Anglican churches have indoctrinated the people here in the gospel of salvation by works; Jesca doesn’t even know she’s lost!

Dirty Feet

I had another “Oh, so THAT’S what He meant” moment today. (I really love those moments when they come, by the way. It’s like you get a glimpse into the mind of the Master—what a treat!) We had a long rainstorm this morning. It started out as a thunderstorm for an hour or two, and then switched over to a slow, steady rain for another 4 hours. It was cool and quiet and lazy, and I think everyone in Arua enjoyed the chance to sleep in.

Once the rain finally stopped, Kelli and I took our 7-year-old neighbor to lunch at the coffee shop in town. (Yes, we have a grand total of one coffee shop!) I was almost out of shillings, so I made a detour by the ATM while Kelli and Joanna went ahead and ordered. To get to the ATM, I had to walk around the corner, which had changed from a dirt lot into a mud pit after the morning’s rain.

As I walked through the muddy corner for the second time on the way back to the coffee shop, it dawned on me just how nasty my feet had gotten in all of 5 minutes. I was still clean, not dirty, not sweaty, I hadn’t even spilled anything on myself yet. (That came later in the day!) But my feet were in serious need of a soak!

At the beginning of Jesus’ last Passover meal, He washed His disciples’ feet. Peter didn’t understand what He was doing. (I think I relate to Peter more than any of the disciples—he’s just real!) Anyway… Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no part with Me.” “Then Lord,” Simon Peter replied, “not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!” Jesus answered, “A person who has had a bath needs only to wash his feet; his whole body is clean. And you are clean…” (John 13:8-10)

As a believer, I am clean. My sins have been washed away, and in Jesus’ eyes I will never look like I’ve been wallowing around in sin. He’s washed all that away; I’ve had my spiritual bath, and I am clean. But this world is, by nature, dirty. It is sinful. And because I’m in this world, living in it, walking around through the much and mud, my feet are going to get dirty. I’m going to sin, whether I mean to or not. As long as I’m left on this earth, my feet will, daily, get a coating of spiritual dust, dirt, and sometimes even mud. (And, if I’m being honest, there have been times when I was, spiritually speaking, standing knee-deep in a mud puddle and loving the feeling of mud between my toes… which is NOT okay!) But when I realize that my feet are dirty, I need to stop right then and there and ask Jesus to wash my feet again… before the grime gets so caked on it takes a rough scrubbing to get my little piggies clean again. As much attention as I pay to my physical feet (and oh, how I do love a good pedicure!), Jesus, please help me be more aware of just how clean (or dirty!) my spiritual feet have gotten.

My mom's coming!!!

I am so excited I just about can't see straight!  My mom is coming to Arua, and she'll be here in a month!  Mom and I are really close, and I can't wait for her to see where I live and what I'm doing here.  While she's here, she'll get to go to schools for ministry, a village church, we'll hang out in our (tiny) town, and go to the game park where hopefully we'll see lions.  (Start praying now, please!!!)  :D  I just wanted to share... I get to see my mom!!!  Woo hoo!

Hanging Out

Secondary school students arrived home for holiday last week, and, like students everywhere, get bored on school break pretty quickly.  So, last Thursday, Kelli and I, along with the help of Evan and Trevor, began opening our home for students to come, hang out, play volleyball, drink tea, and just be teenagers.  Thursday, because of a horribly-timed rainstorm and commitments at home, only Richard and Thomas made it.  But today, the weather was clear and warm (hot, really), and Evan and Trevor decided to pick up some of the students who live farther away.  By the end of 3 hours, 10 students had come and visited, played volleyball, and shared a snack of tea and zucchini bread.  We had a great time, even if it wasn’t the most inspired game of volleyball ever.    Please pray that students would continue to come on Tuesdays and Thursdays between now and the beginning of September, that they would bring their friends who are also home on break, and that we would be able to build relationships that would eventually allow us to go to deeper levels.  

SweeTarts

I’m eating SweeTarts and thinking about home.  SweeTarts were one of the (many) candies my grandmother always kept on hand.  I had a craving for them a few weeks ago, who knows why, and Kelli’s mom and dad brought a few boxes out with them when they came to visit.   Tonight I broke out the SweeTarts… and they immediately transported me back to Taylors, to my grandmother’s kitchen table where my cousins and I would sort packets out by color.  SweeTarts also wound up in our movie snack packs, also known as plastic baggies full of candy we snuck into the movies to keep from buying popcorn.  I know it's totally random, and one of those things that I never would have thought, "SweeTarts make me feel like I'm 7..." but turns out, they do!  What is it about the little things that take you back to your childhood?  

Arua Hospital

A couple of weeks ago, Jesca, our house helper, was in a bicycle accident that put her in the hospital for 5 days.  This gave Kelli and me our first opportunity to visit Arua Hospital, and I can honestly say that I was not prepared for what I would encounter.

I knew a little about the standard of care in local hospitals before we went.  Supplies are extremely limited, so patients must bring their own bed sheets and latex gloves.  There are no cooking or laundry facilities, so patients or their families must provide their own food and wash their own clothes and linens.  I had visions of large rooms full of old-fashioned wrought iron beds—kind of like the massive hospital wards in the 1930s, 40s, and 50s in the States.  I couldn’t have been more wrong.

From the outside, Arua Hospital reminds me of the Florida-style schools that are pretty common in South Carolina and much of the rest of the South.  Each ward (surgical, medical, maternity, ENT, pediatric, etc.) is housed in its own building, and the buildings are all connected by covered walkways.  The grassy courtyards in between the buildings are literally covered by family members and friends who have come to care for patients.  Sitting in the grass, they cook over open fires, do laundry, and spend the time between visits.  Patients who are feeling up to it can sit outside on the ground with their loved ones. 

Going into the surgical ward where Jesca had been admitted (even though she never had surgery), beds were placed everywhere there was room.  Jesca’s bed was in a hallway so dark I almost didn’t recognize her!  We saw two nurses the entire time we were there, and that was only because Pam tracked one down so we could get some answers for Jesca about her treatment.  As we were sitting on the bed, visiting with Jesca, Kelli felt something touching her ankle.  She looked down and saw a hand; Jesca’s husband, Michael, had been sleeping on a mat under her bed!

As we spoke with Jesca, we got more information about her accident.  On Sunday afternoon, she had been riding up a hill on her bicycle when she saw a man on another bicycle riding on the wrong side of the road, coming straight towards her.  They had a head-on collision, and the other rider went into a coma.  Jesca hit her head on rocks in the road and had a nasty scalp wound and serious muscle pain, but overall, she was in pretty good shape, considering how bad it could have been.  When we visited her, the other rider was still in a coma.

We didn’t know Jesca had been injured until Tuesday, and had no idea how bad it was until Wednesday night.  When we went to see her on Thursday, she had been given a total of 8 Tylenol since Sunday.  No x-rays.  No IV fluids for dehydration.  No antibiotics or stronger painkillers for her head wound or whiplash.  I was outraged and heartbroken for her.

When Pam hunted down a nurse to find out what was going on with Jesca’s care, we learned that she was ready to be discharged.  (I still wonder how much of the timing had to do with the 3 white women who had just shown up to visit!)  We were given a list of 3 medicines to buy at the chemist’s (for a total of $4), a date for her to return to see the doctor, and instructions for “physical therapy”: Move around and do what you normally do.

As we gathered Jesca’s belongings and left to take her and Michael to their village on the other side of town, I wanted to weep.  This kind of care is not okay.  Jesca deserves better than this.  Her son deserves better.  People deserve better.

I know that I will never have to depend on this kind of medical care.  I can always go to Kampala.  If a situation is bad enough, I can be airlifted to Nairobi, or Johannesburg, or even back to the States.  But most of the people I’m around don’t have that luxury.  If they want medical treatment, Arua Hospital is their only choice.  It’s wrong, and it’s heartbreaking, but that’s all there is.

Planet Earth

I have to admit it: I’m a nerd. A big nerd. I love to read. (I’m amazingly grateful for the blessing that my Kindle has been in Africa, by the way!) I can kill hours on crossword puzzles and Solitaire. I’m a Food Network junkie, and I’ve been in serious Alton Brown withdrawal since January. I like, really like Jane Austen and Charles Dickens. I watched Gandhi a couple of weeks ago, all by myself. I love learning. I want to understand. I need to know.

Somehow, I didn’t watch Planet Earth when it aired on TV a few years ago. I don’t know how I missed it. (Maybe my bottom-of-the-line satellite package didn’t carry the right channel? I’m a nerd, but I’m a cheap nerd!) Anyway, somehow I missed it. I remember seeing clips in commercial and thinking that the shots were amazing, and being jealous that I couldn’t justify showing it to my English classes the way the science teachers did. But I never got around to watching it.

Last week I was snooping through my supervisor’s DVD collection, trying to find something new to watch, and what did I find but Planet Earth! Because, as earlier established, I am a big nerd, I borrowed the entire series. My roommate, who is not as big a nerd as I am, had no desire to join me, so Planet Earth has become my “filler” to have on while I’m cooking, folding laundry, straightening my bedroom, or, in a testament to overwhelming nerd-dom, while playing Spider Solitaire.

Over and over again, I am struck by just how magnificent this world is… and by how intentional the Creator was when He designed it. There are caves deeper than some of the biggest buildings man has made. The ecosystems around the world, even though they’re so vastly different, are perfectly in balance. The tallest mountains in the world, so tall that birds can’t fly over them, are placed in a location where winds passing over them will create the needed rains in Southeast Asia. And our planet itself is positioned at such a place in the universe where we won’t burn up from being too close to the sun, but we won’t freeze because we’re too far away.

How good He is to be so in the details of this world. There are still plants and animals that we don’t even know about; there are places in this world that we’ve just discovered. He made them all, just because He could, and just because He wanted us to enjoy them and understand just how good and great He is. I am in awe of the Creator, because of what He has created!

4 “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? Tell Me, if you know so much. 

5 Who determined its dimensions and stretched out the surveying line? 6 What supports its foundations, and who laid its cornerstone 

7 as the morning stars sang together and all the angels shouted for joy? 

8 Who kept the sea inside its boundaries as it burst from the womb, 

9 and as I clothed it with clouds and wrapped it in thick darkness? 

10 For I locked it behind barred gates, limiting its shores. 

11 I said, ‘This far and no farther will you come. Here your proud waves must stop!”…

22 “Have you visited the storehouses of the snow or seen the storehouses of hail? 

23 (I have reserved them as weapons for the time of trouble, for the day of battle and war.) 

24 Where is the path to the source of light? Where is the home of the east wind? 

25 “Who created a channel for the torrents of rain? Who laid out a path for the lightning? 

26 Who makes the rain fall on barren land, in a desert where no one lives? 

27 Who sends rain to satisfy the parched ground and make the tender grass spring up? 

28 Does the rain have a father? Who gives birth to the dew? 

29 Who is mother of the ice? Who gives birth to the frost from the heavens? 

30 for the water turns to ice as hard as rock, and the surface of the water freezes. 

31 Can you direct the movement of the stars—binding the cluster of the Pleiades or loosening the cords of Orion? 

32 Can you direct the sequence of the seasons or guide the Bear with her cubs across the heavens? 

33 Do you know the laws of the universe? Can you use them to regulate the earth? 

34 Can you shout to the clouds and make it rain? 

35 Can you make lightning appear and cause it to strike as you direct? 

36 Who gives instruction to the heart and instinct to the mind? 

37 Who is wise enough to count all the clouds? Who can tilt the water jars of heaven 

38 when the parched ground is dry and the soil has hardened into clods? 

39 Can you stalk prey for a lioness and satisfy the young lions’ appetites 

40 as they lie in their dens or crouch in the thicket? 

41 Who provides food for the ravens when their young cry out to God and wander about in hunger?

Job 38:4-11, 22-41

Slack Blogger

I confess… I am a slack blogger. I realized this morning that it’s been 3 weeks since I posted last. NOT okay! I could make the typical excuses: African internet is crazy slow; work has been ridiculously busy; Kelli’s parents were here for 2 weeks and life just went a little nuts for a while. But, if I’m being honest, the truth is that I just haven’t written. I’ve got blogs all ready in my head, but I just haven’t written them down. I am slack. I plan to remedy this VERY soon… assuming I don’t lose my motivation!

40/40 pictures

These are random pictures from my time at 40/40. I posted some pictures pertaining to specific posts beginning with the post dated April 25th and onward. Hope this gives you a glimpse of what my time was like!

Sunset in Lusaka

Mt. Kilimanjaro from the plane window

Sunset in Lusaka

Oxcart

Sunset in Petauke


chopping greens the village way

washing dishes in the courtyard

shelling groundnuts (aka peanuts)







Making peanut butter with a huge mortar

Meet Godfrey

Godfrey is one of our watchmen. He is 25 years old, speaks at least 8 languages, and helps to pastor a Swahili Presbyterian church that meets on his property. He is also our personal car wash, lemon picker, and general handyman around the house.

But as amazing a young man as Godfrey is, he didn’t start out that way. By the time he was 12 years old, his father had died, his mother couldn’t support him, and he was living on the streets. He begged, worked odd jobs, and fought to make ends meet. He snuck into classes at local schools so he could continue the education he so valued. Before his 15th birthday, Godfrey was known as a street fighter and drug user.

Through a series of “coincidences,” Godfrey met a man who invited him into his home and agreed to provide housing, food, and school fees in exchange for work around his home. Godfrey, who wanted to “make his fortune” with music, was intrigued by the man’s guitar and asked him to teach him to play. Over time, Godfrey heard the man’s story and learned that he was a follower of Jesus. Godfrey chose to follow Christ as well. And since then, over the past ten years, our gracious Father has turned his life around. He completed secondary school, as well as seminary. He returned to his father’s land, began providing for his mother and sisters, and felt led to start a church under one of his trees.

That isn’t to say that Godfrey’s life has been perfect. He is poor and lives in Africa. He is in the process of building a one-room home for himself on his land so he can eventually marry. His Muslim neighbors are not happy about the fellowship of Christ-followers that meet there, not far from a mosque, and have caused many problems. His bicycle was stolen from our compound while he was at work back in April. And just recently, he suffered a bad wound on his foot when several panes of glass fell as he was cleaning his home. But Godfrey knows where his hope lies. He knows that his faith is in the Eternal One, the One who does not change, even when our circumstances do. He is an encouragement to my faith.

Death by Liturgy

Because of the spiritual landscape of Arua, there is a major shortage of Baptist churches in and around our area. Most of the students that we work with in schools attend Anglican “Church of Uganda” congregations. Because of these and several other cultural and scheduling factors, Kelli and I often attend an Anglican church near our home as well.

I have always struggled with the idea of following tradition for tradition’s sake. “It’s the way it’s always been done” isn’t a good reason for me to do something. But, in recent years, I have been reintroduced to the Truth and spiritual meat that so much of our liturgy, hymns, and tradition are full of. And somehow these ancient truths and songs encourage and energize my faith. I have learned how not to mindlessly recite the words or sing the songs, but to consciously worship through the hymns and prayers of years past. I love the legacy of faith that is captured in the liturgy.

But as I have transitioned to liturgical worship, and in an African context at that, I have found that this is not generally the case. The congregation at St. Phillip’s Church monotonely mutters the Lord’s Prayer or the Apostle’s Creed to the point that it is unrecognizable. They recite words in English that they don’t even know the meaning of. “Christians” blindly accept the words of priests, church elders, and religious teachers as spiritual truth, whether there is any Biblical basis for it or not. And when they leave the church after worship on Sunday, they don’t give God another thought until they return the next week.

Don’t get me wrong—there are born-again believers in the Church of Uganda. But there are also multitudes of people who, just like in the States, go to church on Sunday because that’s what “good people” do, and never give a thought to their need of a personal Savior. They never think about the songs they are singing or the prayers they are reciting. As they, in all honesty, worship the liturgy meant to draw us into worship of the Holy One, their souls are slowly dying. And it just reminds me- again- that we really aren’t all that different from the Africans after all.

Who Took My Shoes???

I can’t believe I haven’t written about this… but at the time it happened, we were traumatized, and in the middle of getting ready to leave the country for a month, and life is just beginning to settle down from all of that… I’m so sorry for being delinquent in sharing my life with you!

Kelli and I thought we lived in a relatively safe neighborhood. There had been a few security concerns in the area, but between the 10-foot wall around our compound and the watchmen who work for us during the weekdays and every night, we thought we were okay. We were wrong. On a Sunday morning in April, we got up early and got ready to go to the 7:30 service at a local church. Now, normally, we took our shoes or sandals off at the front door to keep from tracking sand and dirt into the house, and sometimes a stack of shoes would pile up. We got ready to leave and went out to put our shoes on, and they were gone. Like, 10 pairs! It was still early in the morning, and our brains weren’t quite functioning yet, so we checked inside and on the back porch to see if we had put them somewhere else, but they were nowhere to be found. About this time, Godfrey, our watchman, approached us and said there had been a disturbance in the night. Some thieves had entered the compound over a low point in the wall, had distracted him at the back wall, and had made off with his bicycle, our volleyball net, and all our shoes!

Now, I would like to say that I’m not materialistic. I would like to say that things are just things, and in the back of my head, I know they are. But I like nice things. I can make do if I have to, but I like nice things if they’re available. And seriously, messing with a girl’s shoes? That’s just WRONG!

If you, like my mother, grandmother, and sister, are worried about my safety (or sanity), let me fill you in on the rest of the story…

We spent most of Sunday making police reports, meeting with the captain of the army outpost in the area, and talking to leadership from our organization about what had happened. On Tuesday, we left Arua for our 40/40 training in Zambia for a month. When we returned at the end of May, razor wire was being added to the top of our wall for additional security, we had inherited 2 German Shepherds, Annie and Hoosier, from another missionary family who was leaving Uganda, and Godfrey’s bicycle had been replaced by a Good Samaritan from the States. And we had a couple of care packages of flip flops waiting for us when we returned as well! Thanks, Mom!

Coffee Shop

Living out as far as I do, you don’t get many opportunities for spontaneity. I mean, things come up that you never expected, but it’s usually something that somehow adds more stress to your life, rarely the, “Ooh, why don’t we go bowling tonight” kind of things that are just fun. We have a grand total of 5 restaurants in our town, and 3 are in “hotels”, or the closest thing to that we have. It’s not really safe to be out after dark, so your choices for evening entertainment are whatever DVDs you brought with you (or the pirated copies you buy from the “supermarket”), playing a game with friends who may live in the neighborhood, or reading a book. Needless to say, my bedtime has gotten a LOT earlier!

But yesterday we got a real chance to be spontaneous. Kelli and I had gone to a friend’s home to meet some visitors and eat homemade pizza and ice cream (a treat in itself!) and were riding home with Billy and Joanna and their two little girls, Elsie and Lucy. Someone mentioned the new coffee shop that opened in town recently, Africa by Boat. (I’m still not sure how you reach our land-locked corner of Africa by boat, but I’m going to ask around…) Billy suggested that we try it out, so we made a detour through town. As we got out of the car, we realized that all three of us ladies were wearing trousers in town… and felt really uncomfortable. (We had been with all Westerners all afternoon, so trousers were completely fine… until we decided to be spontaneous. Oops!) We walked up to the coffee shop on the second floor of a storefront and were greeted by Zora, the owner of Africa by Boat. She brought us chairs to sit on the balcony overlooking the street. The menus haven’t been printed yet, but she told us our choices were black coffee, white coffee, tea, or bottled water. Okay, so no caramel macchiato or chocolate chip frappuccino for us… but we really enjoyed our baby-thermoses full of white coffee (coffee with LOTS of milk and a spice blend). Maybe Zora’s got some work to do before she can compete with Starbucks or Liquid Highway, but hey, I’m glad just to have somewhere to go and drink coffee. Oh, happy day! :D

Change of field

Living in Africa is difficult. It is exhausting. Sometimes a two-year term seems like an eternity. Staying here for 15 or 20 years is no small accomplishment. But Dan and Peg R. have served the Lord in Tanzania for 32 years. They have shared the Gospel, discipled new believers, supported personnel in the field, and taught new missionaries how to survive in the African wild. Dan set up all the tents and created the bucket showers for 40/40 bush camp, and Peg showed me how to kill a chicken. (I hope not to need that knowledge any time soon!)

Dan and Peg are retiring after working in Tanzania for as long as I’ve been alive. After walking untold miles, hosting countless guests, and mentoring so many of us, they’re going home to be grandparents and to rest. But they’re not stopping. Last week, Dan was sharing his plan for retirement. Being a big-game hunter, he wants to go to rifle-shooting competitions and tell people about Jesus. He wants to be a WalMart greeter and tell people about Jesus. He wants to hang out in breakfast restaurants, drink coffee with people, and tell people about Jesus. This man has a passion for the lost, whether they’re in Africa or America. The primary purpose of Dan and Peg’s life has been to share Jesus, wherever they are. Even though Dan and Peg are retiring, they are still missionaries. They’re just getting a change of field.