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?