The Beginning of the End

The end is near.  My time in Uganda is rapidly drawing to a close, and I have to say that it's pretty strange to pack up the last two years of my life.  My clothes and other things not worth bringing back to the land of plenty are walking home with friends.  The "last hoorah"s have been planned.  The goodbyes have started.

This whole thing is bittersweet.  On one side, I am so ready to go home.  To see friends and family I've missed so much.  To get back to "comfortable" life.  To have a conversation and know I've been understood.  But then I think of all the precious people I've come to know and love here.  Women who have become good friends.  Kids who make my heart smile.  Girls who simply radiate Jesus.  Young men who have let Him get a hold of them and who will not be silent.  The simple truth is that most of these ones who are so dear to me, I won't see again this side of heaven.  I am reminded of this fact every time I see them, and they are well aware of it, too.

Which is why I'm so very thankful that this is not the end.  I will see my Ugandan brothers and sisters again, even if I never make it back to Arua.  And when I do see them, it won't be just them; we'll also be face-to-face with Jesus.  As much as I've truly loved worshipping with them here, I can't wait for us all to praise Him when He's physically with us.  Oh, what that day will be like!

And, as I think that though, God reminds me once again: this is only the beginning.

After this I looked and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people, and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb.  They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands. 
And they cried out in a loud voice:

"Salvation belongs to our God, 

who sits on the Throne,

and to the Lamb." 

Revelation 7:9-10

Open House

Jack and Lawrence have started a new story group at a home in the Awindiri community. They were very excited about how the first fewweeks had gone, and asked me to come along, just to see how things were going.

When I got to the home, I was a little surprised that we were meeting on the narrow little porch in front of the house. Usually, people meet in places where they can spread out, preferably in a circle. But this porch is barely three feet wide, so everyone just sat in one long row and looked toward Jack and Lawrence, in the middle.

The other thing that stood out to me was how many kids were around the place. Now, children are one of the few things there's an abundance of in Africa, but there seemed to be more than usual here. I asked the father of the home how many children he had. As it turns out, he and his wife only had five children.   But there were many children in their extended family who had been orphaned or abandoned, and he and his wife saw they needed homes, so they took them in – ten of them!  In all, there were fifteen children in this home. The man and his  wife didn't expect any pats on the back or handouts from the government. They just knew that God said to take care of children, so that's what they did.

There are lots of problems with Africa, and many of them will never be fixed. But, at least in this area, they've got it right. They take care of each other. Their doors are open. We are "all most welcome." I hope I can carry just a bit of that back with me when I leave this place.

Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this:

to look after orphans and widows in their distress

and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

James 1:27

Pyramids

9/6/2010

My bucket list is just a little shorter today.  We made a surprisingly short drive from metro Cairo to Giza to see the Pyramids.  The whole thing really just blew my mind—it's just surreal.  You're driving down the freeway, you look over to your left, and there they are.  Right there.  And just as massive as you expect them to be. 

When we got into the "park," I just stood there, completely stunned.  A little overwhelmed.  I mean, what else can you do when you go to the pyramids but just stand there in awe?  I was dumbfounded—emphasis on the "dumb."  And I'm okay with that.

The pyramids at Giza are over 4000 years old.  They are massive.  Of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, they're the only ones left.  Looking at them, even in the "ruined" state they're in today, it's easy to imagine how magnificent they were in their heyday.  Even the huge stone blocks that were the base and sides of the structure fit together meticulously, and each pyramid was completely covered in gleaming white alabaster to reflect the desert sun. 

 

We descended into one of the nearby queens' pyramids.  The (backwards) climb down was awkward and pretty claustrophobic, but well worth it—I mean, I've been inside a pyramid… and I have the pictures to prove it!

The Sphinx is nearby, and we totally could have walked to it… but why walk when you can ride a camel?  Again, it's one of those things that's awkward and not exactly comfortable, but absolutely worth it!  My camel driver, who led my camel on foot, tried several times to climb up and ride with me, but, um, no such luck.  He asked if I had a husband, and I said yes without batting an eye.  (I think of it as less of a lie and more a statement of faith.  I have a husband—I just haven't met him yet!)  Our little caravan of 13 camels went around the back of the 3 famous pyramids and came out just below the Sphinx.  He's a lot smaller than you'd expect… but he's still stinkin' cool.

I know the pyramids and the Sphinx were man-made.  And they were built as part of a totally pagan system of worship.  Which makes me sad.  But the truth is, these things are mind-blowing.  And even more mind-blowing is the thought that ancient people created them with very primitive tools.  Even today, with all the resources we have, it would be nearly impossible to recreate these structures.  And yet, they did it.

Almost as astonishing to me is the idea that God gave the ancient Egyptians the knowledge and skills they needed to create the Pyramids.  No, they didn't worship Him.  They didn't even acknowledge Him.  They took the knowledge and understanding of the world around them and worshipped people and false gods instead, just as He knew they would.  But He gave them these breath-taking skills and ideas anyway.  He didn't have to.  Knowing they would worship the sun and everything else under it, the Creator God could have chosen to vastly limit what he Egyptians could do.  But He didn't.  It's the definition of grace.

Rules of the Road

9/7/2010

In Egypt, people drive on the right-hand side of the road. That doesn't sound like a big deal, because it's pretty normal. Except that I've spent close to two years in Uganda. In Uganda, we're supposed to drive on the left-hand side of the road. I say "supposed to" because, when you account for all the pedestrians and bicycles we pass, and all the time we spend trying to dodge potholes big enough to swallow a small car, we spend as much time straddling the middle of the road as anywhere else. Even after all this time, I still have moments when I think, "Now, exactly where on the road am I supposed to be?"

One thing that Uganda and Egypt, and India, and Kenya, and Zambia, and Thailand, and Tanzania all have in common is the general disregard for any traffic laws. You drive as fast as you can, wherever you need to, to get where you're going. You drive until a police officer forces you to stop. Whoever is biggest or in front has the right of way. Horns are the accepted and expected form of communication. Four lanes of traffic can accommodate at least six cars across. The number of passengers a vehicle can carry is only determined by how many people can fit inside. You do what you gotta do to get where you want to go. It's often breath-taking, sometimes scary, and always an adventure.

There's just one problem with these adventures in transportation: In six weeks, I go back to America. In America, people expect you to pay attention to the red lights. They want you to take turns at a four-way stop. The lines on the freeway are there for a reason. And you sure as heck better stay on the right side of the road.

I can drive in Africa. In Africa, I'm a great driver. But I have to admit, with good reason, I'm a little concerned about my driving habits once I get back to the States. I'm sure I'll have no idea where my car is supposed to be. I'll probably run a few stop signs. And I can't promise I won't try to make my own lane on I-85.

I say all this as a disclaimer. I'm sure that, in time, I'll be a good American driver again. I have no doubt I'll be an excellent defensive driver, since all the maniacs on the road here have given me plenty of practice. It just might be a good idea to give me a few weeks to get used to following the rules before you ride with me.   Unless you want an adventure. Let's just hope the police have some grace for a girl who's been driving in Africa!

Sealed

9/5/2010

We went to a bookbinding shop in Old Cairo.  Yes, I was in heaven.  They carry a line of original books (journals, agendas, photo albums) made from gorgeous leather, handmade papers, and cloth you can only find in Cairo.  They will also re-bind old books in new leather.  I’ll say it again.  I was in heaven.

So, considering the horrible combination of shopaholic and book-lover that I am, it was a no-brainer that I would buy something.  The only question was what.  After an agonizing decision-making process, I finally chose a tan journal accented with cream papyrus.  It’s so cool!  And imagine my excitement when I found out that they imprint the spine for free!  The whole imprinting decision was a much easier process.  I decided to have my name printed on the spine in Arabic.  (Turns out there’s a Lebanese-Arabic pop singer who all the boys also named Alissa.  But that’s another story entirely.)  So now, assuming you can read Arabic, there’s no question who that cool papyrus journal belongs to.

Which brought a really cool Word to mind.  That book is mine.  There’s no mistaking it.  It is sealed with my name.  In the same way, I am sealed.  I belong to Christ.  He bought me at a price so much more expensive than the one-of-a-kind journal that I forked Egyptian pounds over for.  He set His seal upon me, and there is no mistaking Who I belong to.  And, just like the imprinting can never be removed from the leather binding of my book, He will never remove His seal from me.  It’s permanent.  Which is so completely overwhelming.  Just like I scoured the bookshop for the journal that was just right, He knew exactly where I was in the Universe.  He chose me.  He called me.  He romanced me, and has never stopped.  And then, He stamped His Name on me, to show the whole world that I belong to Him.  I am sealed.

Place Me like a seal over your heart,

     like a seal on your arm;

for love is as strong as death…

Many waters cannot quench love;

     rivers cannot wash it away.

                                    Song of Solomon 8:6-7, NIV

Letter of the Law

9/3/2010

I knew this already, but I’m realizing it at a new level here.  Islam is all about the rules, and about following them to the letter.  Not the spirit, but the letter.

It’s Ramadan, which means that devout Muslims will not allow anything to pass their lips from the first prayer of the day to the last.  Total fast.  And, if you live in a country that’s not predominantly Muslim, that’s a pretty big deal.  But not here.  Egypt has just rearranged all of life for the month of Ramadan.  Stores close at odd times during the day.  As the time for the final call to prayer approaches, everyone prepares for iftar, the breaking of the fast. They all have a drink or something to eat ready and waiting to go as soon as the call to prayer starts.  They stay up all night binging on huge meals, so they’re not really hungry during the day anyway.  Many people sleep for most of the day, so they can party all night.  They entire country even changed the time, like with Daylight Savings Time, so they can break fast an hour earlier.

So far, I’ve seen several women in full burqas, but most aren’t.  The majority of the women make a point to cover their heads with scarves, and to cover arms and legs to their wrists and ankles.  They’re mostly very modest, usually wearing full skirts or trousers and blousey tops.  But lots of women, especially younger, more “modern” women stretch the rule.  They’ll wear short-sleeved or sleeveless tops with a long-sleeved shirt underneath, often with tight jeans or leggings.  It pretty much defeats the whole purpose of “modesty” when you can see her whole body—but hey, she’s covered.  She’s kept the law.

All these laws, and the many ways to bend the laws, make me think a lot about grace.  I’m so grateful that I don’t have to spend my life remembering a list of rules and trying not to break them.  How different is our God, that all He wants from us is our love, our obedience, our devotion.  That everything boils down to loving Him and loving others… and nothing else really matters.  The letter of the law and the spirit go hand-in-hand.  They complement each other perfectly.  It’s not about seeing how far you can bend the rule without breaking it.  It’s just about love.

Ancient PR

9/2/2010

Ben Ezra Synagogue is in Old Cairo.  It’s old… really old.  The synagogue began in the 9^th century, in the remains of a 4^th century church.  I mean, this sucker is OLD.  (And it’s hidden really well… so well, we couldn’t find it.)  One of the claims to fame of this synagogue is that it’s built right next to where Pharoah’s daughter found Moses.  Oh, and did I mention that it’s also where Mary drew water to bathe Baby Jesus during their Egyptian exile?  Both of these “supposedly’s” REALLY make me want to ask the question, “How you know???”

(This is the point where I wish my blog had audio capability.  Because, in my head, the voice that just said that sounds like a cross between Madea and BonQuiQui, and I laugh every time I hear her.  She’s a kinder, gentler BonQuiQui, but she’s BonQuiQui nonetheless.)

Okay.  Back to this crazy synagogue.  Seriously—how do they know?  Was there a log book people had to sign every time they fetched water?  Did they find the lease for Mary and Joseph’s two-bedroom flat right around the corner?  Was this the ancient royal family’s private bathing ground, set aside especially for Pharoah and the kids?  I’m betting that somewhere around the 11^th century, attendance at Sabbath services started dropping off, and the rabbi decided they needed a new PR campaign to bring in new blood.  However it happened, I think there’s one small detail that folks have overlooked.

Ben Ezra Synagogue is almost 3 miles from the Nile.  Someone was a PR genius.

Sweet Babies

9/1/2010

I’ve travelled a lot.  At this point, I’ve landed on almost every continent, and I’m starting to get used to being in the minority of any given group.  (Living in Africa for two years will do that for you!)  I’ve been to Asia, to India, to parts of the Middle East and Africa where most people do not agree with what I believe.  Knowing that makes me sad, but it’s part of life.  As my friend Mandy once reminded me, to most people, Jesus is offensive.  And, if I’m going to follow Him, that means I’ll be offensive, too.

I’m on a plane going from Khartoum, the Muslim capital of Sudan, to Cairo, Egypt.  It’s the middle of Ramadan, the Muslim holy month.  (No, we didn’t check the Islamic calendar before we booked this trip!)  I look around this plane and realized that, to most of my fellow travelers, I am an infidel.  They think Jesus was a blasphemous lunatic, not the loving Son of God.  And though it saddens me, I can accept that.  I’ve been in situations like this before.

Only, this time, one thing is different.  In the rows just in front of and behind me, there are five children under the age of 8.  Every one of them is absolutely beautiful.  Loving.  Precious.  Every one of them is positively adored by their Creator.  And, unless someone steps into their life offering the Truth, none of them will ever know just how passionately the God of the Universe loves them. 

I have no way to communicate with them.  I can’t tell them how much Jesus loves them.  I don’t even know the names of these sweet babies.  But my Father does.  He knows them even better than their precious mothers, covered from head to toe, do.  All I can do is pray for them, that someday, somehow, the Father who loves them will find a way to romance their hearts and draw them to Himself.  And right now, I have to trust that prayer for them is enough.

SPEAK Success

I am beyond dumbfounded.  We just finished a six-day camp at a secondary school way out in the village.  I have eaten more rice and beans, and more cassava, than I ever thought possible.  I drank so much tea my eyeballs are still floating.  I shocked some African girls by carrying water on my head.  And I am now, officially, a Squatty Potty Pro.

But none of that comes close to being the highlight of the week that was the SPEAK Student Leader Camp.  Twenty-six youth from schools and neighborhoods.  Even as they were arriving at camp on Saturday, our team really had no idea what was going to happen.  For all we knew, this week could be a colossal flop.  But the Holy Spirit moved… and never really stopped.  Two students we’ve loved and prayed over for over a year chose to follow Christ.  Students learned Bible stories and got excited about leading discussions.  They spent time studying the Word on their own, many for the first time.  Some are asking questions about believer’s baptism and what it means to be a man or woman of God.  They, and we, have been challenged to change the way we think and act.  The leaders of the existing story groups at Crane, Mandela, Vurra, and Ushindi schools have made plans for how they will move forward with their groups in the next few weeks, and other students are planning to start four new groups in their schools and neighborhoods.  And, better yet, these students want to keep meeting together, to encourage and pray for each other, and study the Word together—sounds sort of like a church!

When we first came up with this hare-brained idea of a camp ten months ago, I honestly thought we were all crazy.  We had virtually no leaders on our campuses; Kelli and I were doing it all.  We really weren’t sure if we would even have any students to invite.  But God got them here.  He created the interest.  He helped them learn the stories.  He made them bold.  And He did more in a week than we’ve done in almost two years.  These kids are fired up.  They’re asking God to speak, and they’re listening when He does.  They’re writing songs.  Making changes.  Stepping up.  Falling in love with Him and His Word.

I know none of this is about me.  God has done more in six days than I ever imagined was possible.  I’ve seen changes in Carol, Joann, Macklyn, Joe, Kenneth, and Arnold  (yes, even ARNOLD!) that I never expected.  I’m just thrilled that He invited me to be a part of what He planned to do all along.

He doesn’t need us, but He lets us put our hands in.

                        -Caedmon’s Call, “Two Weeks in Africa”

Call to Me, and I will answer you, and show you great and marvelous things which you do not know.

                        Jeremiah 33:3

Expect the Unexpected

I love how God can do, and usually does, the totally unexpected. I
went to Ushindi Secondary to help Macklyn, a precious girl with one of
the sweetest spirits ever, to prepare to lead the Sunday story group.
She had never led before, but didn't hesitate to volunteer to lead the
story of the Ten Commandments. She had been studying the story all
week. She was pumped.

So Macklyn and I sat on a mat under a tree on her campus.  She told the story beautifully the very first time, with only a couple of points that needed clarification.  Then we used the SPEAK method to dissect the story, looking for sins, promises, examples, applications, and knowledge about God.  We discussed the commandments and what they mean for us today.  As we were finishing up, I asked Macklyn if she had any other questions about the story—something we hadn’t talked about yet.  Immediately, she asked me, “Why did God tell the Israelites not to touch Mount Sinai or they would die?”  (Exodus 19:12-13)  Wow!  What a great question!

We talked about God’s holiness, and what that means, and about how the people were sinful and unholy, and therefore separated from God.  How God was protecting them by warning them, because His holy nature was just too much for them.  I gave her the example of the Holy of Holies in the temple, and how the people’s sinful nature kept them from God’s presence.  And we talked about how, when Jesus died, the veil in the temple was torn, giving us total access to the God of the universe. (Luke 23:45)

I left Ushindi on Saturday thinking that Macklyn had gotten a little more theology than she had bargained for, but really excited to see her lead the next day… then again, I love anything that gets me out to USS.  It’s just a special place.

Sunday morning, I got up bright and early and made it out to Ushindi in plenty of time for the morning church service on campus.  After the worship service was finished, about 10 students gathered together under “our tree”.  Rose retold the Passover story from the week before (no small feat—it’s REALLY long!), and Macklyn moved on to the Ten Commandments.  Not surprisingly, she did an awesome job!  The story was flawless, and she did an excellent job facilitating SPEAK with the other students.  After what turned out to be a meaty discussion, Macklyn threw out one more question to the group: “Why did God tell the Israelites not to touch the mountain or they would die?”

Okay, so I guess our discussion the day before had made an impression on her.   After a few blank stares, she proceeded to explain God’s holiness compared to our sinfulness, which led to a discussion about how the death of Jesus opened access to God for us.  I did a lot of explaining about how the only thing that can reconcile us to the Father is the blood of Jesus—no deeds, no offerings, no sacrifices, just faith, which is so difficult for them to grab hold of.  Several students asked questions and made statements, and eventually one boy, David, asked, “If we’ve never asked Jesus to forgive our sins once and for all, can we do it today?”  Uh, yeah!  We talked it through a little more, and by the end of the story group, both David and Macklyn had accepted Christ!  Glory!

Lately, I’m thinking that when it comes to my wonderful Maker, it’s best to just expect the unexpected.  I mean, really… who gets saved from talking about the Ten Commandments?  And for the “leader” to be humble enough to accept Christ is a pretty big deal—especially here.  But I have to say, I love that He’s so unpredictable, and that I have no idea how His mind works.  And a part of me wants to say, “Okay, so what are You going to do next?”

And the other part of me just wants to be surprised.

We Need Your Prayers!

Our team desperately needs your prayers for our upcoming student leadership camp.  We've invited 32 students to come to Ushindi Secondary School on Saturday, August 14.  The 6-day camp will run until Thursday, August 19, and is intended to prepare students to lead small groups at their schools by themselves, since Kelli and I leave in October.  We have a team of 7 volunteers coming from Iowa to lead small groups and to lead evening worship sessions through the book of Philippians.  Students will be challenged to learn and lead discussions of Bible stories.  They will be having daily quiet times, some for the first time ever!  Many of these students are seekers, but not believers, so first and foremost pray for their salvation!  Pray that God will change them and give them the desire to be agents of change on their campus.  Please pray also for health and safety, for both students, volunteers, and those of us who live in Arua.  We'll all be staying in the school dorms and eating local food all week, which might be a little out of some people's comfort zone!  We'll also be playing lots of games and what I expect to be pretty intense volleyball and soccer matches- pray that no one gets hurt!!!  Our team is already experiencing spiritual warfare in several different areas, which we think is all directly related to the upcoming camp... which is encouraging, that the Enemy is so threatened by what God's going to do!  Pray for us to continually keep our focus on Him and His glory, and that Satan and his forces would be bound from the Ushindi campus and from the hearts of these students during this time.  Thanks for your prayers-- I'll keep you updated!

students from Vurra Secondary

Arnold (a strong leader, but needs Jesus)

Herbert

Thom

Kenneth (has been seeking for a while-- pray that it's time!)

Nester

Evelyn

Peter

Samuel

Oprah

students from Mandela Secondary

Mercy

Diana

Edith

Sylvia

Christine

Dinah

Linda

students from Ushindi Secondary (the school hosting us)

Comfort (a STRONG believer)

Joann

Kenneth

Rose (leading music)

Macklyn (just accepted Christ this week)

Rachel (leading music)

students from Crane Secondary

Carol (accepted Christ in June)

Prisca

Derek

Peter

Godfrey (Catholic background, has lots of questions)

students from other schools

Thomas Titus (a STRONG believer)

Joe

Charlotte

Grace

Lawrence

Duck Duck Chicken

Two weeks ago, a group of little girls from the neighborhood met me at my gate.  After the usual round of hugs and tickles, they told me they wanted to have Bible study.  I asked them what they wanted to study, and they said they wanted to hear Bible stories.  Well, okay!  Thus began the Saturday morning kids' club in my backyard.

It's all pretty simple.  They come, drink some water, eat some cookies.  I tell a Bible story, and we talk about it.  (Getting them to talk is like pulling teeth, but it happens every now and then.)  then we play games.  Lots of games.

It's pretty clear that I haven't worked in children's ministry for a while, because I couldn't think of any games to play without balls or jumpropes or some kind of materials.  All that came to mind was Duck Duck Goose.  So I started trying to explain.  It's a simple game, so that part was easy.  I asked them about ducks, and found out that "duck" in Lugbara is "mbata".  But then we hit a snag, because a goose is also called "mbata."  I did some quick thinking and remembered that chicken is "au"  (ah-oo).  So we played "Mbata Mbata Au"—Duck Duck Chicken.

I wanted to play Red Light, Green Light with them, but how do you explain a stop light to kids who haven't even seen a stop sign?  So we turned it into 1-2-3 Go instead.  Today was bright and sunny (and hot!) so we played "Endrika"- shadow tag… which they all loved.

And now I have officially come to the end of my game repertoire.  Any suggestions for good, non-neck breaking games for 3-to-9 year olds are appreciated.  (Thanks, Red Rover, but I'll pass!)  Please pray for the Saturday morning kids' club—that we'll be able to communicate well with these sweet friends, that the national kids will develop good friendships with the MK kids on our team, and that they all would come to understand just how much Jesus loves them!

On a Bad Day...

Every now and then, there comes a day when I want to be anywhere but here. Maybe there's a conflict going on between different people- or myself. Maybe I'm frustrated with work. Maybe the power and the water are out on the same day. Or maybe I just want to be home.

But more often than not, on these days, something happens that reminds me why I'm here. It may be a conversation with Jesca or Carol. Maybe my friend Ayiko (aka "Old Baby") runs up and gives me a huge hug.  Maybe a story group will have a record turnout. Maybe Prisca or Joann will tell a story from memory better than I ever could. Somehow, those little things just make all the chaos and frustration of life here worth it.

Last week, I was having one of those days. Things were just BAD. I set off for Crane, pessimistically thinking that we probably wouldn't have anyone even show up. As I walked down the path to the school, my "usual crowd" of preschoolers met me as I passed their homestead.  Usually, 5 or 6 (or even more) will all come running, tackle me with hugs, and watch while 2 or 3 of them (my favorites—I'll admit it) walk on to the school with me. But on this day, they all decided to come along. Before I knew what was happening, I was walking (very slowly) down the narrow path with 7 preschoolers holding my fingers and walking in front of and behind me. One little boy had even left without his pants! We arrived (finally) at Crane, and they wouldn't leave.

I have no idea if these little babies know why I come to their village every week. I don't know why they come running to me like they do.  And I can't communicate well enough in Lugbara to tell them stories about Jesus to explain. But I can pray for them, that God will put someone in their path to teach them His truth. And on those days, when I really don't want to be here, that's enough to keep the suitcases put away.

Keep Moving Forward

Two things you need to know:

1)   I've been using piki-pikis, the local transport, more regularly.  A piki is a private motorcycle taxi.  For a small price, a driver will take you to the door of wherever you want to go, and will often wait for you to conduct your business there, if you ask.  When I'm wearing a skirt, I sit on the back side-saddle with my legs crossed.

2)   The real rainy season, with daily rain, has finally come… about 3 months later than normal. 

The other day I had to got to Crane Secondary School for a student story group, and had a meeting with a teacher at Mandela Secondary before it.  Crane and Mandela are on opposite sides of town, but the meeting at Mandela was to be very short, and I had plenty of time for both.  There's a piki station around the corner from my house, where several drivers wait for customers.  As it comes time to leave my house to walk to the piki station, it starts to rain a bit.  No big deal; it's just a little drizzle, and the sky is clear.  Surely this will just be one of those two-minute showers we've had so many of.  And I know I won't melt… so I set off.  I haven't even gotten out of the neighborhood when the rain picks up, so I find a big tree on the side of the road to stand under.  After a couple of minutes, the rain slacks off, so I start moving again.  By the time I get around the corner to my friend Irene's shop, it's coming down hard again, so I sit on her porch until it's just barely sprinkling.  It's now taken over 15 minutes just to get out of the neighborhood, but now it's time to go. 

I start toward the road and a piki driver, Robert, sees me.  He picks me up and we take off for town.  It's still raining just a bit, but only a drop or two, so it's no big deal.  We get about halfway down the main road in town and see that in the next block the sky is dark and there is an absolute downpour… and it's coming fast!  Robert pulls over at a bank, and I hop off the bike and find shelter under the awning just in time.  By the time Robert gets under the awning, the rain is coming down in sheets!  The street is instantly deserted, with everyone hiding from the rain in shops and doorways.  We sit for almost ten minutes waiting for the deluge to ease.

When it's finally slowed enough to not get soaked, Robert dries off the motorcycle seat and we try again.  We go about two blocks and the rain starts coming down again.  Robert pulls over again, this time at a soft drink depot crowded with people.  People are apparently shocked to see a white woman out in the rain, as I hear lots of "mundu" statements, and see lots of sideways glances and smirks in my direction.

As soon as the rain slacks off, Robert decides its time to go again, and we drive off… less than a block this time before the rain chases us inside again.  We take shelter with a barber who just smiles at the sight of a stubborn, dripping mundu.  Another ten minutes later, the rain has really slowed, and Robert decides it's time to brave the road one more time.  This time as we set off, the sky is clearing and the rain keeps slowing.

But now we've turned off the main, paved road onto a dirt road that hasn't been helped by the sudden downpour.  There's lots of mud, several small rivers crossing our path, and heaps of now-muddy garbage scattered all over the road.  We finally make it to Mandela, where my meeting really does take less time than it took to get there.  We travel on to Crane with no problems, but the day's ride surely isn't the most enjoyable journey I've had on a piki.

God doesn't promise us "enjoyable".  Or "comfortable".  There are times when we're pretty much guaranteed to be wet, cold, or muddy when we get where we're going.  Times when people will laugh at us.  Times when we see people around us getting stuck, scared, stranded, or even falling over.  Times when our plans get put on hold once, twice, or even five times before we finally get where we're going.  Times when we'd really just prefer to go home, put on sweats, and curl up with a cup of coffee.

But that's not what we're called to do.  He tells us to keep moving forward, even if it's just one step at a time.  Even if our feet are cold and muddy and our hair is falling in our eyes from the rain.  Even if it takes us three times longer than we expected.  The one thing He tells us NOT to do is to give up!

So here's the upside to my perseverance:  I get two more chances to share Jesus with girls at Mandela.  And when I got to the village where the Crane campus is located, 6 little kids came running to meet me and give me huge hugs.  What a blessing… definitely worth the muddy feet!

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.

Galatians 6:9

In Need

I admit it.  The past few weeks have been rough.  I’ve been tired.  I’ve been frustrated.  And, to be quite honest, I haven’t liked Africa very much.  Things here that are completely common have been wearing on me.  Things like…

My friend Jesca’s sister-in-law had a miscarriage last year, and her body didn’t completely get rid of the baby.  She developed an infection, and treated herself with the wrong kind of medication for a year before she died.  She was 22.

I have a precious friend named Ayiko (“Happy”) who is 4 years old.  He’s bright, giggly, and such a joy… the kind of kid I would gladly fold up and put in my suitcase to bring home.  His toothless grin is just a small part of his charm.  But then you realize that 4 year olds aren’t supposed to be toothless, and the only reason he is, is because all his front baby teeth have rotted out.  Which just makes me sad.

My friend Irene runs a business and is struggling financially.  I’m working with her on how to manage her money and be a good steward of what God’s given her.  Buying her cooking charcoal in bulk would be one small way to save money.  Charcoal here comes in basins for $1.50, or in large bags for $10.  A bag should last at least two months, while the same amount’s worth of basins would only last about a month.  But if word got out to Irene’s friends and neighbors that she had a whole bag of charcoal, people would come to her, expecting her to share… and culturally, she would be obliged to.  The large bag wouldn’t last any longer than the small basins do.

I visited a village this weekend with a friend, and quickly bonded with a 5-year-old girl named Sylvia.  As we were preparing to leave, her mother asked me, a perfect stranger, if I wanted to take her with me.  I almost said yes.

My heart has been hurting for Africa.  I have been so pained over the way things are here, over the difficulties and struggles of life that really don’t have to be.  I’ve felt an utter helplessness for life here, for the sweet people I know here who work all day, every day, just to keep food in their bowls, a roof over their heads, and their children in school.  And I have been reminded, more than ever before, that the only hope for Africa is Jesus. 

When Ayiko, the toothless 4-year-old, arrived at our house the other day for volleyball, I went out to greet him and Carol, the student he comes with.  (Carol is one of our students and Ayiko is her neighbor.  He started tagging along with her to volleyball and Bible study a few weeks ago.)  As soon as Ayiko saw me, he went to Carol and took a big, fabric-wrapped something from her and gave it to me.  Then he got really shy.  I asked Carol what was going on, and she said he wanted to give me a present.  I unwrapped it to find a carving of two giraffes, one big and one small.  I was thrilled, stunned, and completely humbled.  I thanked him over and over, and then went to put my prize inside the house before I started crying.  When I came back outside, I asked Carol where this out-of-the blue present came from.  She said Ayiko told his mother “he wanted a gift for his friend.”  How sweet!

A few minutes later, when Ayiko had gotten over his unusual shyness, I went over to him and asked him, “Did you know that giraffes are my favorite animal?”  He looked at me, grinned, and nodded.  “You told me!”  (Well, at least there’s one male in my life who pays attention!)

Jesus knew that I’ve been struggling.  Been heartsick.  Been grieving over the way life is here.  And he knew that I needed to be loved on by my sweet, pint-sized friend.  To know that, no matter what, I’ve made at least a small impact on a small person in Africa.  And that Africa has made a big impact on me.  He knew what I needed.   And He made sure I got it—in just the right way, at just the right time. I have to remember.  I have to trust Him.  And I have to believe that He loves my friends and all of Africa more than I could ever begin to.

“…my God will supply all your needs according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus.”  Philippians 4:19

American Most Wanted

If everything goes as planned, six months from today I’ll be on American soil.  (O happy day!)  And in anticipation of the Land of Plenty, I’m sharing my American Most Wanted List.  This is by no means exclusive, but the things that I’ve most missed during my time in Africa… and the things that I’ve realized I’ve taken for granted the most--  never again!

·      - chocolate chips you don’t have to make yourself

·      - vacuum cleaners

·      - Chic-Fil-A

·      - washers & dryers

·      - electricity that’s always on

·      - internet that works

·      - water you can drink straight from the tap

·      - Lean Cuisine

·      - pizza that’s brought to your door

·      - amazing stores that have all the food you need in one place

·      - actual stores where you can buy new clothes

·      - houses where you won’t be invaded by flying ants or bugs that are literally trying to kill you

·      - toilets you can flush every time

·      - water heaters you don’t have to manually turn on

·      - places to visit within a 2-hour radius

·      - nightly news I can trust

·      - a living room suite you don’t have to throw big sheets of fabric over

·      - dog food from a bag

·      - church that doesn’t require an interpreter

·      - Coke bottles you can throw away

·      - Diet Cherry Limeade

·      - dishwashers

·      - ice cream from a store, not the back of a bicycle

·      - DVDs for sale that aren’t pirated

·      - movie theaters

·      - bowling alleys

·      - being able to leave home after dark without an escort

·      - life where diarrhea is the exception, not the rule

·      - mail delivered to your house

·      - cold weather… anything under 65° counts!

·      - clothes that don’t make me feel like a slob

·      - real shoes

·      - magic machines that give you coffee when you flip a switch

·      - bathrooms where shower curtains and toilet seats are standard equipment

·      - girlfriends

Sneaking Out

The Tuesday after Easter, I went to Mandela Secondary School to teach The Secret Things to Senior 3 girls (basically 10th grade).  As I came up the drive to the school, the path was covered with boys in the school uniform, standing with their trunks and mattresses outside the gate.  Immediately, I started trying to think why they would be dismissing students two weeks early for break.  Maybe they ran out of food and they had to send students home.  (You laugh, but it’s happened!)  Maybe they’re all just arriving back from Easter weekend.  Or maybe they’re just ending this term early. After maneuvering around all the (rather unhappy) boys and their belongings, I parked and got out.  I saw a large group of girls watching the commotion from inside the fence, so I asked them what was going on.

Sunday night over Easter weekend, about 75 boys had the bright idea to sneak away from school and go to the discos, and they stayed out until Monday morning.  (Keep in mind that most secondary schools are boarding schools, and that discos are a  major factor in the spread of AIDS in Africa. ) The school administrators were away because of the Easter Monday holiday, so when they arrived on Tuesday, they had to decide how to deal with this huge number of AWOL students.  All they boys who snuck out were suspended for the rest of the term, which is a big deal, since they’ve all paid to attend school.  They’ll miss the last two weeks of class, and their first-term exams, and they won’t be allowed to return to Mandela until next term begins at the end of May.

It turns out that the teachers, knowing teenage boys, had a sign-in sheet that the boys had to register on throughout the night.  They actually had to wake up in the middle of the night and sign in to prove that they were on campus.  Some of the boys who remained signed in for their friends who snuck out. When the teachers discovered this forgery, they chose a very ironic punishment.  They boy who snuck out, whose name was forged, was forced to cane (paddle with a wooden switch) the boy who signed in for him.  Imagine the guilt he felt, caning the friend who was “helping” him.

Having worked in the American public school system, I am a bit in awe of how the whole thing works.  There’s no disciplinary hearing or parent conferences.  A boy who left to buy avocados is in just as much trouble as the ones who went to the discos.  And none of this is private.  It’s all discussed out in the open, with all kinds of students and visitors (myself included) around.  Shoot- I knew what happened before I ever really set foot inside the campus!

Some of the boys who were sent away didn’t really care.  Some were angry.  But some were really upset. They know how much school fees are, and what a privilege it is to be able to attend.  And they know that missing two weeks of classes and exams will put their entire school year at risk.  They never thought that one night of chasing fun (and girls) would have such serious consequences.  And, sadly, it’s not just about school.  I’m willing to bet that there’s at least one more AIDS-infected student on the campus of Mandela SS, now that it’s all said and done.

Just one more reminder that the things we do make a lasting impact on our lives and the lives of those around us, for better or worse.  And that teenagers are all the same, all over the world.