Good news!

Wow! J This, from Heinrich and Doris…  (I know, I’m getting lazy here…)

 

God has done a miracle here. The boy is feeling better, the muscle cramps have almost stopped and he slept a little bit.

People now believe that the capsules I gave him yesterday did the cure.

But I only gave him the strongest painkiller (used in patients with terminal illnesses) I had to release some of the pain.

We made it clear that those capsules only helped against the pain, but that God healed him and made him survive.

We hope that God will get all the glory.

 

Since the boy will live now, we hope he will remember his commitment to Jesus and become a strong follower of HIM.

Pray for Oseta.

I just got one of those emails that I’ve been dreading since the moment I left Sudan.

 

Heinrich and Doris wrote. They were finally able to get back into Sudan—some problems at the border kept them in Loki longer than expected—but came back to bad news.

 

We arrived back here yesterday and after a few minutes we were again challenged by the "normal Lopit life," sickness and death.

People told us that a boy from (the village I lived in in the mountains) had a snakebite yesterday and is about to die.

People did cuts all over his body. Terrible!

They were looking for the "scorpion-machine" of Stephan but it seems it is inside his house locked. Pastor Philip could not get it. They looked for Heinrich for help but we were still gone. The clinic cannot do anything. So he is left to die now and people already gather on the compound and wait for it. People already mourn and are going to "hang otuare" (house of the funeral).

 

Heinrich went today to Husa to have a look. The boy is still responsive and knows English quite well. He said that you guys do know him. His name is Oseta. He is already a big boy. Do you remember him? Heinrich shared the gospel with him and he said he wants to be with Jesus and that he believes in him. They also prayed together. Heinrich told him that we will write to you and ask you to pray for him. Please do so and also for us as we go there tomorrow again and witness about Jesus.

 

So I’ve been sitting here bawling my eyes out since I got that one. Oseta is actually one of our good friends—one of the teenage boys who we really, really enjoyed. A great kid. It’s hard for me to get my head around the idea that he’s dying. Or perhaps already dead.

 

But, it could be that he’ll be going to heaven to be with Jesus, if he was honest in his desire to be with him. I pray that’s the case, that he really understood what Heinrich shared with him and what we have shared before.

 

So, pray for him. And pray for Heinrich and Doris, as they’re the only ones there right now…

Identity Crisis.

I seem to have developed a bit of social anxiety in my return home.

I find myself always with this bubbling fear that I will look awkward, be awkward or in any way draw attention to myself.

Pretty pathetic, right?

It comes, also, with a crisis of age identity. This was something on my mind even as I came home—that I am 25 and I want to act and look and be 25—but was heightened when I was offered a 10-and-under children’s menu at a restaurant a few days into the revival of my American life. (I am not joking. Not a bit. True, self-esteem-crashing story.) And the fear was fine-tuned each of the numerous occasions where people honestly and earnestly mistook me for a teenager. And especially when they remained skeptical or simply refused to believe that I was, indeed, two and a half decades old.

I suppose this is somewhat just part of culture shock. I have a deep dread of putting myself in a situation where I’ll do something wrong or embarrass myself. I guess in Lopit I knew I was doing everything wrong, so there was no mystery left in it? Or then there’s the feeling that everyone is looking at me funny. And sometimes people are… but mostly only when I’m trying to explain to them how I feel really strange and like everyone is looking at me funny. What is obviously ridiculousness and over-thinking to them is (perhaps inexplicably?) very real to me.

I’m confident that this is just a stage and I’ll snap out of it soon enough. But, until then, you’re going to have to bear with me, I guess. Or try extra hard to pry me out of the safety of my parents’ house.

Missing it.

Wow, tell ya what… I’m struggling. Really struggling.

 

I lay down for bed each night, and I try to pray. But the murmurs of my prayers are clouded and distracted by the accusing, questioning voice inside me that wonders how I can lift up prayer every night but leave God out of so much of my day. In the whirl of these first two weeks back home, I feel more like a before-bed Christian than the all-day Christian I want to be.

 

Ever get that?

 

You’d think that you’d always be too busy not to pray and spend quiet time with the Lord and in his Scripture. But I have a great weakness in always wanting to get everything done right away, which always leads to trouble when I’m thrown out of routine or in a big transition.

 

In my daily goings-on, I’m always answering questions about what God did in and through me in Africa. But I rarely stop and take the time to ask him how he wants to work in and through me now. For shame.

 

Worse, I’m going to miss it if I don’t slow down. I’m going to miss seeing all the little ways he’s providing for me right here and right now. I could be distracted enough to miss how he’s going to bring in all the money for my new staff training. And, worse, I’m going to miss thanking and praising and clinging to him as I should in this rocky time. And that would truly dishonor his glory. And I don’t want to rob my God of his due splendor!

 

 So, pray for me, if you can—that I’d cowboy up and get things in gear. That my to-do list would be stayed until I was ticking things off in the grace and on the strength of my Savior. That I would be giving God all the due praise and thanks. And that I would come back to kneeling before his throne in awe, as I should be.

Bankrupt.

As I run into people and they ask about Africa, everyone always asks how hard it is to come back here and see all that we Americans have and how we live and our throw-away culture and all the abundance here in the face of famine elsewhere. They assume that’s what must be shocking me, appalling me as I come back home.

 

Maybe it’s some kind of internal guilt that we all live, triggered by the presence of someone who has lived where things are different, where the things are less abundant. I actually kind of feel bad for people, because I worry they think I’m judging them. And they’re stuck with this guilty feeling or a desire to make excuses for themselves and the whole of American and Western culture. (That’s a pretty hefty burden to bear.)

 

Little do they know that I’m not really thinking that at all. I dunno, I guess that’s strange. Maybe I’m really just that cold-hearted and lacking in compassion? Calloused? Gosh, I hope not. It’s true, we do have a lot here. And people have little elsewhere. And we could all do a little something to help spread out the wealth a bit.

 

But there’s no reason to go around feeling condemned unnecessarily. God’s hand is certainly in the blessings that abound here. So I shouldn’t feel guilty all the time or scorn the blessing, right? I suppose we should just all earnestly try to be good stewards of how we’ve been blessed.

 

Anyway, what’s really hit me, now that I’m back, is the other way that the Lopit and similar unreached people groups are truly and unmistakably poor. I’m reminded of one of the verses that really carried me out to Sudan, Paul’s words to the Romans that he was anxious to come and share the Gospel with them because he was a debtor to them—he owed them the Gospel. He didn’t owe anything to God for the gospel of grace, but he was under obligation to share it with the lost.

 

And in that way, the Lopit remain utterly bankrupt. Many of them have listened to the Gospel, but they still haven’t heard it, haven’t accepted it. And so they’re poor. They have nothing. They’re lacking the one thing that matters. And not only that, it seems that they really don’t have a platform on which to understand and accept the Gospel.

 

So that’s where I see our wealth, I guess. The Gospel is everywhere. And it’s in so many mediums. It’s in words and contexts most Americans can readily understand. One of the first days I was back, I got the opportunity to hang out with Mary’s Sunday school class. As she taught the lesson, I remember just being in awe at all the “Christianese” phrases and ideas and whole concepts that could be conveyed—and easily understood, by children—with just a few words. It could take a missionary a lifetime in Sudan to lay enough groundwork to have his hearers really absorb even 15 minutes of that 4^th-grade lesson we had.

 

So, yeah, I get might overwhelmed when I go to Wal-Mart. And all the choices of paper and pens at Staples the other day nearly sent me into a panic attack. But what really put a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes was just sitting there, listening to these little kids interact with their teacher—so simply, so easily, and with such a wealth of understanding.

 

Praise God, then, that his Holy Spirit can supply even the neediest intellect with comprehension, if he wishes, regardless of culture.

my schedule...

As soon as I get a bit more settled down (maybe next week), I’m going to post my schedule up here, so people can catch me in the whirlwind.

 

So, if you’ve got a church or a Bible study or family that would like to hear from me, let me know. There’s still a few out there I haven’t touched base with yet, and I need to. So expect a phone call from me soon, or go ahead and beat me to the punch and call me.

Clearing some things up...

I seem to have confused a few people on some points in my last prayer letter.

 

So let me clear them up. :)

 

I’ll be going down for New Staff Training for Campus Crusade September 4^th-14^th. That’s just a general training about the organization and about gathering ministry partners. It’s a quick turn around, but I’ll be back. After the training, I’ll still be living with my parents in the Illinois Valley while I raise my support. My tentative goal is to be on the field around the new year. So I’ve got all that time to catch up with ya’ll!

 

For my monthly supporters. Go ahead and keep giving to AIM with your monthly pledges. If you want to give a one-time gift for training to Crusade, be my guest! However, after training is over, I’ll be working with Cru and AIM to transfer everyone over at once, in as simple and stress-free way as possible. I’ll be in touch with you when that time comes around. Thank you so much for continuing on with the support!

 

I hope that helps. It’s been nice seeing lots of you around town lately!

On Giving...

I know, I’ve been really terrible lately about posting. I’ve just been running and running.

And, to be honest, at the moment, I’m still running—running off to bed so I can leave early for a friend’s wedding tomorrow arvo.

HOWEVER, lots of folks have been asking about how to support me for the J--- Film. So, if you’d like to give a one-time gift for New Staff Training or get on as a monthly supporter, I’ll tell you what to do…

Online. Go to www.give.ccci.org. There are some fields there where you can search for me or you can just use my staff account number: 000614030. Otherwise, this link could work and get you halfway there.

By mail. Just send a check to my address here at home, 116 Arbor St. Oglesby, IL 61348. Make out the check to Campus Crusade for Christ and I’ll get it where it needs to go. Please don’t write my name on the check (even in the memo), for tax reasons or something.

Pray. That’s just a given, right? And I need it now!!!

Thanks so much for wanting to take this next step with me. I think we’re in for a wild ride!

Prayer letter, again. (Seriously?)

My dad says the other ones weren't good enough...

Noises.

When I first rocked up in the States, though I was surrounded by all sorts of shiny things and big buildings—and even bigger SUVs—and my nose was filled with the smell of clean (or at least airport cleaning products), I think a lot of my first impressions were grounded in sounds.

 

There was, of course, the sound of airport bustle—most people speaking my own tongue, and not even in the Queen’s English. Then the sound of my mom sniffling in my ear as I finally got to hug her after so long. The sound of my actionpackers thundering to the ground when Dad tipped the trolley. (A sound he probably didn’t want to me to share about on here, hehe...)

 

Then the sound of my automatic window smoothly sliding up and down, like something straight out of the Jetsons. I think this was particularly amusing to my father, as I also remember the sound of him laughing at me. The voice of the Cubs, good ol’ Pat Hughes, describing for me, as he always does, the uniforms of the ballplayers that day—traditional white pinstripe for my dear Cubbies and brick-red jerseys on those blasted Astros. And, of course, the bumbling antics of Cubs legend Ron Santo. “Cubs baseball is on the air!”

 

My nephew giggling as he ran to hug me, “Aun’Andi!” My niece asking me again and again if I wanted to watch some penguin movie with her.

 

And, finally, the sounds muffled by the concrete as I simply laid down on our back patio, in exhaustion and in an attempt to hide from the aforementioned rugrats. I closed my eyes and imagined myself laying on our dirty floor in Lopit after a morning workout, as KP and I so often did, trying to cool off. I tried to hear Lopit in all that natural noise in my backyard—the crickets, the wind stirring up a big thunderstorm and working its way through the trees and high grass in the woods.

 

The sounds I didn’t hear—babies innumerable, crying; Grasshopper, giggling as he played with Ellen; the women gossiping in the mother tongue; cows, trouncing up the rocky path to the pins; drums, announcing a death or a dance—sounded a lot like change.

Prayer letter procrastination...

It’s 5 a.m. and I’m wide awake.

I can’t say it’s entirely the jetlag. Or the fact that Jimbo is already awake and the puppies are clicking around on the wood floors.

It’s probably more this long, long to-do list that’s sitting here next to me, making me partially crazy. If only I could do all this stuff in a day and then simply… rest.

Anyway, I’ve pitched in my parents’ study (which used to be my room…) and don’t intend to leave until my quite-overdue prayer letter is finished.

And you can tell I’m starting out on that particular project well, as I’m writing this blog and haven’t yet opened that pesky letter.

There’s just SO much to do. I ran myself ragged yesterday, hitting the doctor’s, running a few errands with my mom, looking at cars with dad and finally ending up whimpering and overwhelmed in the towering palace that is the new (to me) Wal-Mart Supercenter. I actually called my mother on the phone and begged her to just tell me where the socks were, so I could get some (I have not one single pair of socks left…) and flee from the aisles upon aisles of (wonderful, splendid, but entirely too much) stuff.

And so my day ended by staggering into my room and falling in a heap on the bed, surrounded by mounds of things still unpacked and untended to.

I hope today goes a little better…

pictures, pictures...

Howdy.

I uploaded a handful of pictures to the Picasa site just now, if you’re at work and feel like procrastinating… ;)