MY PARENTS ARE COMING IN AUGUST!!!
:)
Yaaaaaaay.
My mom informed me today that she got her second round of shots, and she was talking about it without disclaimers or constant "if I come"s, so I feel that seals the deal.
If you see my mom, give her a big hug. The last thing she wants to do is to come to dirty, hot Africa. :)
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Heading back to Sudan
(Sunday)
Today at the second-hand market, I was pick-pocketed.
But, it’s OK, I caught the guy.
Kim and I chased him down. She jumped on his back while I tripped him. It was a wonderful show.
Or at least it would have been, were any of that true. Well, alright, the bit about being pick-pocketed is true. The rest is the scenario that Kim and I decided upon just earlier in the afternoon—what we would do if someone stole our purse. Kim said she’d chase him and jump on his back. I decided I’d do the same, only I’d trip him at the end.
Of course, when the real situation came upon, I was rather polite in my handling of the caper. It was more like, “Excuse me, what are you doing? Do you think I’m stupid?” as I pulled away the sweatshirt he’d throw over my bag as a cover for his hand diving in. He simply laid my cell phone down on the crate table in front of us and slithered away. I gave a few half-hearted “theif!”s after him. Half-hearted because I was taught if you’re going to do that in the Africa culture, you have to accept the fact that said thief could be mobbed and killed right there because of your accusations. So, yeah, I wasn’t feeling so much like witnessing a murder—it’s been a long week—so I just stared, dumbfounded, as he scampered off.
At least this sweet bag Ang gave me for Christmas has a flap and a zipper—pure anti-pick-pocket genius.
So, anyway, another day in Nairobi town, another day waiting for our LandCruiser to be fixed up and this fire engine to come off a ship in Mombassa. The fire engine (no longer equipped with hoses and men in uniform) was given to us as a team car and shipped from Germany. It was supposed to come off the ship nearly two weeks ago, but has been held up since then… and has been holding us up in return. Keep praying they can get the thing off soon so we can be on our way!
(Monday)
We’re finally leaving Nairobi—praise the Lord!
The fellas in the UNI-MOG and us (six chicks in the LandCruiser) are off for Eldoret Missionary College—the end of our first leg of our back-to-Sudan journey and current home to Joshua and Justina & Co., our Kenyan teammates expecting a baby very soon.
OH! I should say! Heinrich and Doris emailed from Germany. They are now four! Little Phillip came just the other day—the newest member to our team. So praise God that both Mom and baby boy are doing fine, and for our team getting even bigger! They’ll be back with us come May. We miss them dearly.
(Tuesday)
So these new, front-facing seats in the LandCruiser are cool and all, but I’ve found a downside. You can see forward.
Looking over the driver’s shoulder is sort of like a wide-screen horror movie. But, unfortunately, a horror movie you’re rather involved in and affected by… yet have no influence over.
You know how when you go bowling and the ball is scooting into the gutter or sliding right through the middle of a split, and you sort of wiggle a little bit, or wave your arms, all in the hope of somehow willing the ball to redirect its path? That’s a little what it’s like being in the back seat of this LandCruiser right now.
We have a new driver, see, and she’s no so used to the vehicle and doesn’t seem to have a splendid grasp of just where the wheels are. But, poor lady, it was a hard, frustrating drive. And praise God we survived it.
Now we’re in Lodwar, somewhere in the Kenyan desert. It’s hot, so I’m dripping, and all I want is a shower.
(Wednesday)
I think this might go down as the trip that just wouldn’t end.
We made it to Loki this morning. Unfortunately, Daniel lost the clutch in the UNI-MOG somewhere along the way. So now we’re here in the middle of what amounts to little more than an airstrip, uncertain of what exactly we’ll do from here.
I think poor Daniel has a night of work before him—another addition to his many frustrations—and we’re all back in the waiting game.
So please pray for the car situation and for our patience with said situation and with each other. We’ve been stuffed together way too long and are at times at each others’ throats.
Oh, and still no news on that fire engine on the coast.
I can’t wait to get home…
Today at the second-hand market, I was pick-pocketed.
But, it’s OK, I caught the guy.
Kim and I chased him down. She jumped on his back while I tripped him. It was a wonderful show.
Or at least it would have been, were any of that true. Well, alright, the bit about being pick-pocketed is true. The rest is the scenario that Kim and I decided upon just earlier in the afternoon—what we would do if someone stole our purse. Kim said she’d chase him and jump on his back. I decided I’d do the same, only I’d trip him at the end.
Of course, when the real situation came upon, I was rather polite in my handling of the caper. It was more like, “Excuse me, what are you doing? Do you think I’m stupid?” as I pulled away the sweatshirt he’d throw over my bag as a cover for his hand diving in. He simply laid my cell phone down on the crate table in front of us and slithered away. I gave a few half-hearted “theif!”s after him. Half-hearted because I was taught if you’re going to do that in the Africa culture, you have to accept the fact that said thief could be mobbed and killed right there because of your accusations. So, yeah, I wasn’t feeling so much like witnessing a murder—it’s been a long week—so I just stared, dumbfounded, as he scampered off.
At least this sweet bag Ang gave me for Christmas has a flap and a zipper—pure anti-pick-pocket genius.
So, anyway, another day in Nairobi town, another day waiting for our LandCruiser to be fixed up and this fire engine to come off a ship in Mombassa. The fire engine (no longer equipped with hoses and men in uniform) was given to us as a team car and shipped from Germany. It was supposed to come off the ship nearly two weeks ago, but has been held up since then… and has been holding us up in return. Keep praying they can get the thing off soon so we can be on our way!
(Monday)
We’re finally leaving Nairobi—praise the Lord!
The fellas in the UNI-MOG and us (six chicks in the LandCruiser) are off for Eldoret Missionary College—the end of our first leg of our back-to-Sudan journey and current home to Joshua and Justina & Co., our Kenyan teammates expecting a baby very soon.
OH! I should say! Heinrich and Doris emailed from Germany. They are now four! Little Phillip came just the other day—the newest member to our team. So praise God that both Mom and baby boy are doing fine, and for our team getting even bigger! They’ll be back with us come May. We miss them dearly.
(Tuesday)
So these new, front-facing seats in the LandCruiser are cool and all, but I’ve found a downside. You can see forward.
Looking over the driver’s shoulder is sort of like a wide-screen horror movie. But, unfortunately, a horror movie you’re rather involved in and affected by… yet have no influence over.
You know how when you go bowling and the ball is scooting into the gutter or sliding right through the middle of a split, and you sort of wiggle a little bit, or wave your arms, all in the hope of somehow willing the ball to redirect its path? That’s a little what it’s like being in the back seat of this LandCruiser right now.
We have a new driver, see, and she’s no so used to the vehicle and doesn’t seem to have a splendid grasp of just where the wheels are. But, poor lady, it was a hard, frustrating drive. And praise God we survived it.
Now we’re in Lodwar, somewhere in the Kenyan desert. It’s hot, so I’m dripping, and all I want is a shower.
(Wednesday)
I think this might go down as the trip that just wouldn’t end.
We made it to Loki this morning. Unfortunately, Daniel lost the clutch in the UNI-MOG somewhere along the way. So now we’re here in the middle of what amounts to little more than an airstrip, uncertain of what exactly we’ll do from here.
I think poor Daniel has a night of work before him—another addition to his many frustrations—and we’re all back in the waiting game.
So please pray for the car situation and for our patience with said situation and with each other. We’ve been stuffed together way too long and are at times at each others’ throats.
Oh, and still no news on that fire engine on the coast.
I can’t wait to get home…
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Back in Nairobi
Just now in Nakumatt (big Walmart-esque place) I saw drinkable jelly. Yes, drinkable jelly. Ala drinkable yogurt, I suppose. My reaction to said drinkable jelly was stronger than to cooked rat.
But, really, that's not important at all.
In other, more relevant news, here we are, safe in Nairobi. I had a happy reunion with my teammates—especially my roommates—but, unfortunately, I wasn't reunited with all the luggage I left Chicago with.
Hoofprints for Christ gave me a wonderful gift for Christmas, and I told them I'd buy a bike with it to travel between villages. Well, I bought the bike, laboriously packed it in a box and had to watch as it came around the conveyor belt, mangled.
But that's the way it goes in Africa.
Now we're stuck in Nairobi, waiting on some things to be done with our automobiles. It's hard to keep things going for 23—soon to be 25—people. Good ol' Steve pulled some captains chairs and a bench out of some old cars and had them put in our ancient LandCruiser. He's talked about it for a while, but I suppose his final motivation may have come on the way here. It used to have two long benches down the sides, and Jen was laying on one. Well, Martin hit a bump and she went flying up, nearly touched the ceiling and then crashed back down to the floor of the thing all floppy-like. I'd say it was one of the most terrifying moments of our time here, seeing her lying there, eyes glazed over, as we yelled at Martin to stop the car… in the middle-of-nowhere, Sudan. Praise God, she was only unconscious for a while and survived only with a headache and big bump—a far cry from the broken neck both Kim and I were certain she had, as our minds raced in those first few seconds when it happened. Anyway, we all wore our (albeit terribly uncomfortable and makeshift) seatbelts from then on and went with no further accident. Well, accept that one time when I had unbuckled for some silly reason for a moment and later found myself face-first in Jen's lap. We have some good times here in Africa.
I suppose none of that is all that important, but now you know. We're just hanging out and trying to keep on top of business and language and we fight all that is African culture for getting things done. It looks like we'll head back Saturday at the earliest, so please be praying that we do get out of here in a reasonable time and have safe travels home.
We're all getting really anxious to get home, pining for our own beds, routine and—of course—our friends in the village. I can't wait to get there and get settled back in until we trek out again for supplies.
Everyone take care—I'll write soon!
But, really, that's not important at all.
In other, more relevant news, here we are, safe in Nairobi. I had a happy reunion with my teammates—especially my roommates—but, unfortunately, I wasn't reunited with all the luggage I left Chicago with.
Hoofprints for Christ gave me a wonderful gift for Christmas, and I told them I'd buy a bike with it to travel between villages. Well, I bought the bike, laboriously packed it in a box and had to watch as it came around the conveyor belt, mangled.
But that's the way it goes in Africa.
Now we're stuck in Nairobi, waiting on some things to be done with our automobiles. It's hard to keep things going for 23—soon to be 25—people. Good ol' Steve pulled some captains chairs and a bench out of some old cars and had them put in our ancient LandCruiser. He's talked about it for a while, but I suppose his final motivation may have come on the way here. It used to have two long benches down the sides, and Jen was laying on one. Well, Martin hit a bump and she went flying up, nearly touched the ceiling and then crashed back down to the floor of the thing all floppy-like. I'd say it was one of the most terrifying moments of our time here, seeing her lying there, eyes glazed over, as we yelled at Martin to stop the car… in the middle-of-nowhere, Sudan. Praise God, she was only unconscious for a while and survived only with a headache and big bump—a far cry from the broken neck both Kim and I were certain she had, as our minds raced in those first few seconds when it happened. Anyway, we all wore our (albeit terribly uncomfortable and makeshift) seatbelts from then on and went with no further accident. Well, accept that one time when I had unbuckled for some silly reason for a moment and later found myself face-first in Jen's lap. We have some good times here in Africa.
I suppose none of that is all that important, but now you know. We're just hanging out and trying to keep on top of business and language and we fight all that is African culture for getting things done. It looks like we'll head back Saturday at the earliest, so please be praying that we do get out of here in a reasonable time and have safe travels home.
We're all getting really anxious to get home, pining for our own beds, routine and—of course—our friends in the village. I can't wait to get there and get settled back in until we trek out again for supplies.
Everyone take care—I'll write soon!
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Long overdue pictures...
Since it's been a while since I've been able to post pictures, I figured I'd take time to do that now, as I wait for my flight. Hope you enjoy.
Mohrika is a good friend of ours -- one of the teens. Sadly, though, she left for school in Uganda just before we left for holiday. She hasn't gone to school before, so we're excited to see her go, yet heartbroken because we really love her. We pooled together some pencils, erasers and clothes for her as a going-away gift. I will gladly say that this dress looks MUCH better on her than it ever did on me. Oh, and about that salute... I dunno, the Lopit do the weirdest thing in pictures. They always look super serious or make like boxers or salute like soldiers. I have no idea where that comes from, but we could hardly get her to put that arm down for a good picture.
You might remember little Pattie from a while back. This is her -- growing like a weed -- with momma Davitika and Auntie Pattie.
The baby flow hasn't stopped, of course. This is our good friend Mary and her baby, Cheri -- named after Kimmie's mom. She's a cutie. I was supposed to name our other friend's baby, but she may have had it while we were gone! I can't wait to see the little one. (And I'm praying that all of our little friends are still there when we get back this time.).jpg)
It's not all about babies. I guess this was a rather funny afternoon. Daniel and his Lopit friend were trying to coax a very stubborn cow up the mountain. I think Dan ended up pushing the thing the entire way there.
Back to babies. This is sweet little Ellen, my favorite baby from my favorite family. I have dreams that she grows up into a strong Christian woman someday. She's adorable and smiles constantly. 
Sometimes even the really adorable ones pee all over you when you're carrying them, though. Ewww.Alright, that's it. Hope this works. Oh, and PLEASE give Mark a HUGE thank you for doing all this blog stuff for me -- without him, I couldn't work this thing at all!
Back in the Game
Hello, hello, hello.
Greetings from Heathrow Airport in London; I'm halfway back from my holiday/medical trip in the States. Wow, what a whirlwind.
I was blessed with a relatively low-key time at home -- I spent time with my family, saw a handful of close friends (including my favorite kids!), caught an Illini game (!!!) and was able to visit both Oglesby Union and Stratford Park, my home churches. I say "relatively" low-key because anyone who knows me knows low-key doesn't come easy, and anyone who knows coming back in the country after 7 months abroad knows everyone wants to spend time with you. So, yes, it actually was really stressful, but I'm hoping it was a good kind of stressful that will still leave me somehow refreshed and ready to head back into the bush.
Coming back to America was interesting. I'd tell people I was on holiday (vacation) and they'd always ask me what particular holiday it was in Kenya that would bring me home. That wasn't the only language blunder -- my poor parents had to endure bits and pieces of Lopit and German.
I had to ease back into things. The first day I gave a go at Target but ended up having to leave, completely overwhelmed. And I found myself constantly walking around the house turning off TVs and lights, concerned that we'd run out of solar power since it was overcast. (My parents run on regular electricity, just like everyone else.) But I finally did adjust to being able to drive 110kpm without fear of destroying my automobile on some dirtroad pothole. Oh, and I adjusted to being able to drive, period, and thinking in mph again, as well. And I was Walmart's biggest customer, I do believe.
Good showers, good food, good friends and all that was nice, but I'm ready to get back to Africa. (And I dare say my parents were very ready to get rid of me.) I found myself missing my team terribly and called Kim three or four pathetic times. I even sat in front of my television one night, watching the Lopit footage I sent back to my friends while I was away. Now that is sad. I miss my little village, my little house and even my little longdrop toilet.
The computer disaster came and went. I got my new one in just a couple days before I left and Tom tried to load it up with good books and programs for me. (Thanks, Thomas!) All the financial stress was calmed, as the folks at OUC and a couple of my friends covered all but $500 of the thing. What a HUGE relief. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Frustratingly, other things kept going wrong. But, conveniently, I was in the States and in a position to fix them. Praise God for his nice timing on that.
Anyway, so here I go, back into Nairobi, then a three-days' journey into Sudan. God worked in my heart while I was gone, and I'm happy -- nay, joyful -- to say I can't wait to get back and work harder, with more focus than before.
I'll do my best to get the blogs a'flowin' again -- I was amazed to know how many people read it at home, so I'll do my best to keep it up. Pray for the satellite situation -- that it would work and we'd have email connection!
Thanks again for everything... God bless!
Greetings from Heathrow Airport in London; I'm halfway back from my holiday/medical trip in the States. Wow, what a whirlwind.
I was blessed with a relatively low-key time at home -- I spent time with my family, saw a handful of close friends (including my favorite kids!), caught an Illini game (!!!) and was able to visit both Oglesby Union and Stratford Park, my home churches. I say "relatively" low-key because anyone who knows me knows low-key doesn't come easy, and anyone who knows coming back in the country after 7 months abroad knows everyone wants to spend time with you. So, yes, it actually was really stressful, but I'm hoping it was a good kind of stressful that will still leave me somehow refreshed and ready to head back into the bush.
Coming back to America was interesting. I'd tell people I was on holiday (vacation) and they'd always ask me what particular holiday it was in Kenya that would bring me home. That wasn't the only language blunder -- my poor parents had to endure bits and pieces of Lopit and German.
I had to ease back into things. The first day I gave a go at Target but ended up having to leave, completely overwhelmed. And I found myself constantly walking around the house turning off TVs and lights, concerned that we'd run out of solar power since it was overcast. (My parents run on regular electricity, just like everyone else.) But I finally did adjust to being able to drive 110kpm without fear of destroying my automobile on some dirtroad pothole. Oh, and I adjusted to being able to drive, period, and thinking in mph again, as well. And I was Walmart's biggest customer, I do believe.
Good showers, good food, good friends and all that was nice, but I'm ready to get back to Africa. (And I dare say my parents were very ready to get rid of me.) I found myself missing my team terribly and called Kim three or four pathetic times. I even sat in front of my television one night, watching the Lopit footage I sent back to my friends while I was away. Now that is sad. I miss my little village, my little house and even my little longdrop toilet.
The computer disaster came and went. I got my new one in just a couple days before I left and Tom tried to load it up with good books and programs for me. (Thanks, Thomas!) All the financial stress was calmed, as the folks at OUC and a couple of my friends covered all but $500 of the thing. What a HUGE relief. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Frustratingly, other things kept going wrong. But, conveniently, I was in the States and in a position to fix them. Praise God for his nice timing on that.
Anyway, so here I go, back into Nairobi, then a three-days' journey into Sudan. God worked in my heart while I was gone, and I'm happy -- nay, joyful -- to say I can't wait to get back and work harder, with more focus than before.
I'll do my best to get the blogs a'flowin' again -- I was amazed to know how many people read it at home, so I'll do my best to keep it up. Pray for the satellite situation -- that it would work and we'd have email connection!
Thanks again for everything... God bless!
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Good news and bad news...
Well, folks, I've got good news.
I got my eyes checked out yesterday -- everything is a-OK, which makes me a happy woman. My vision has come back to nearly where it used to be, and the pain is gone. So praise God for that.
On the other end of the spectrum, I have bad news.
I also heard the news on my computer yesterday. Its death certificate has been signed. I now officially have some other huge thing to stress about. (Whimper.) I guess this will be another lesson in trusting God for finances and to bring me through. I have to order a new computer today to get it in time to take it back into the Sudan, so please pray as I look for the money and wade through process of choosing and buying a new computer.
Well, there you have it. I'm going to try to resurrect my harddrive and get all my photos and documents off there. I'm hopeful I'll be able to recover everything and share it with all of you!
God bless you!
I got my eyes checked out yesterday -- everything is a-OK, which makes me a happy woman. My vision has come back to nearly where it used to be, and the pain is gone. So praise God for that.
On the other end of the spectrum, I have bad news.
I also heard the news on my computer yesterday. Its death certificate has been signed. I now officially have some other huge thing to stress about. (Whimper.) I guess this will be another lesson in trusting God for finances and to bring me through. I have to order a new computer today to get it in time to take it back into the Sudan, so please pray as I look for the money and wade through process of choosing and buying a new computer.
Well, there you have it. I'm going to try to resurrect my harddrive and get all my photos and documents off there. I'm hopeful I'll be able to recover everything and share it with all of you!
God bless you!
Sunday, February 18, 2007
from the dark...
Goodness, it's been forever. Pardon me. The satellite we work from in Sudan stopped working with my computer, and my computer has since decided to stop working, as well.
Talk about technological mutiny.
We're on holiday now and will be for a couple of weeks. During that time, I hope to catch ya'll up on things and post some photos. Of course, that all depends on the resurrection of my computer. So please be praying for that, as replacing a dead computer will make my wallet... equally dead.
Things in our village are going OK. I know I left a lot of things hanging. Francis is better and just as cute as ever--a few people have asked. I'll try to get on here and update more in the future, but for now, I'm going to go enjoy a soda and a hot shower.
(Thank you, civilization.)
Talk about technological mutiny.
We're on holiday now and will be for a couple of weeks. During that time, I hope to catch ya'll up on things and post some photos. Of course, that all depends on the resurrection of my computer. So please be praying for that, as replacing a dead computer will make my wallet... equally dead.
Things in our village are going OK. I know I left a lot of things hanging. Francis is better and just as cute as ever--a few people have asked. I'll try to get on here and update more in the future, but for now, I'm going to go enjoy a soda and a hot shower.
(Thank you, civilization.)
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Wedding Bells and Fist Fights
If I had any question about where the children go while the parents dance, it was answered for me when I set out to leave my house about six this morning, curious to see what the people looked like then, after a whole night of wedding dancing without sleep.
I opened my door to see three little shadows sitting in a line on our front rocks. They turned their faces up to me and whispered happy hellos. I wondered how long they’d been sitting there waiting for me—perhaps summoned by my reading light at 4:30—and how many other mornings they’d sat there anxiously, to no avail.
It was probably a letdown that I told them I was going up to the ringing bell (the central sound ringing from every wedding celebration… quite nonstop… for at least two days) to see the people dancing.
It wasn’t so exciting—to us it normally isn’t—just a bunch of drunk people, scarcely dressed yet elaborately adorned with beads and any other bit of nonsense from outside, covered in white ash and gyrating awkwardly around or inside a circle.
But I’ve always wondered how they would be in the morning. We’ve been there at night, at the beginning of the all-night bashes. But never have I ventured out in the morning, though I wake up often to hear the bells and drums still going full-bore.
Well, my wondering has ceased. They’d just a bit more drunk, a bit more off-beat and a lot more likely to spontaneously break out in quarreling or fighting. But I tell you, these people would be all-stars at pulling all-nighters at college.
My curiosity quenched and my patience running thin with all the fighting, I headed back home. I felt a bit like a pied piper, collecting more and more children as I walked home, all asking if they could come to my house and play. I haven’t been doing that as much lately, and I miss it—a sentiment, it seems, shared by the kids.
I opened my door to see three little shadows sitting in a line on our front rocks. They turned their faces up to me and whispered happy hellos. I wondered how long they’d been sitting there waiting for me—perhaps summoned by my reading light at 4:30—and how many other mornings they’d sat there anxiously, to no avail.
It was probably a letdown that I told them I was going up to the ringing bell (the central sound ringing from every wedding celebration… quite nonstop… for at least two days) to see the people dancing.
It wasn’t so exciting—to us it normally isn’t—just a bunch of drunk people, scarcely dressed yet elaborately adorned with beads and any other bit of nonsense from outside, covered in white ash and gyrating awkwardly around or inside a circle.
But I’ve always wondered how they would be in the morning. We’ve been there at night, at the beginning of the all-night bashes. But never have I ventured out in the morning, though I wake up often to hear the bells and drums still going full-bore.
Well, my wondering has ceased. They’d just a bit more drunk, a bit more off-beat and a lot more likely to spontaneously break out in quarreling or fighting. But I tell you, these people would be all-stars at pulling all-nighters at college.
My curiosity quenched and my patience running thin with all the fighting, I headed back home. I felt a bit like a pied piper, collecting more and more children as I walked home, all asking if they could come to my house and play. I haven’t been doing that as much lately, and I miss it—a sentiment, it seems, shared by the kids.
The Kissy Face
You can tell a house of missionaries is in need of vacation when they kick a child out of their compound for a week… for “making the kissy face.”
(Try to get a Lopit translation for that.)
The children are so often disobedient and indifferent to our rules, it can get trying, especially in this heat. Since we won’t wield the stick, our rebukes often fall on deaf ears and the children have taken to testing us.
But we’ll prevail… in love and discipline, I suppose… even when they mock us with “the kissy face.” Haha.
But, do pray for us as this hard, hard unit on prayer and spiritual warfare is coming to an end, the heat puts us in a constant sweat and vacation is in view, for better or for worse. It’d be so easy to go into survival mode—burying ourselves only in our studies, lying as still as possible in the shade against the heat and dropping our role as learners in the community, resolving to jump right back in the instant we get back from holiday.
I’ve been close lately to that hapless state of survival—seduced there by recent trials with my health and stress in the community, among other things—so please pray especially for me.
(Try to get a Lopit translation for that.)
The children are so often disobedient and indifferent to our rules, it can get trying, especially in this heat. Since we won’t wield the stick, our rebukes often fall on deaf ears and the children have taken to testing us.
But we’ll prevail… in love and discipline, I suppose… even when they mock us with “the kissy face.” Haha.
But, do pray for us as this hard, hard unit on prayer and spiritual warfare is coming to an end, the heat puts us in a constant sweat and vacation is in view, for better or for worse. It’d be so easy to go into survival mode—burying ourselves only in our studies, lying as still as possible in the shade against the heat and dropping our role as learners in the community, resolving to jump right back in the instant we get back from holiday.
I’ve been close lately to that hapless state of survival—seduced there by recent trials with my health and stress in the community, among other things—so please pray especially for me.
Moon Walking
Kim and I went on a night walk last night. It was beautiful.
The moon is sometimes so bright you can walk by it, and nightfall brings the only relief—albeit small—from the heat.
On a really good night, you’ll even get a sweet breeze by which to walk and wonder at God’s creation.
And wonder you would, were you here. Wow. Just wow.
Annika and I went on a bike ride the other day and both nearly fell of our bikes when we were so distracted by the view across the valley—a purple-gray horizon etched with the shadow of soft blue mountain range.
These days you’ll often fall into the humanist view that cultures untouched by modernization and our understanding of civilization set the standard to which all humanity should aspire. That is, that the people unfettered by that which we know are perfect and reflect “the way things should be.”
In light of the Bible you see it’s actually the opposite—that these people, too, are fallen, and have received none of the blessing connected to the knowledge and foundation of Christianity
Far from perfect, their lives often reflect more starkly the curse put on Adam in the garden—to suffer the effects of sin and disease, to toil hard in the land for food, etc.
But creation, it stands a mighty proclamation of its Creator, maybe even better when it is untouched, unpopulated. A person with ears can’t help but hear what these hills are saying, what the roar of the ocean screams, what the rocks cry out…
The moon is sometimes so bright you can walk by it, and nightfall brings the only relief—albeit small—from the heat.
On a really good night, you’ll even get a sweet breeze by which to walk and wonder at God’s creation.
And wonder you would, were you here. Wow. Just wow.
Annika and I went on a bike ride the other day and both nearly fell of our bikes when we were so distracted by the view across the valley—a purple-gray horizon etched with the shadow of soft blue mountain range.
These days you’ll often fall into the humanist view that cultures untouched by modernization and our understanding of civilization set the standard to which all humanity should aspire. That is, that the people unfettered by that which we know are perfect and reflect “the way things should be.”
In light of the Bible you see it’s actually the opposite—that these people, too, are fallen, and have received none of the blessing connected to the knowledge and foundation of Christianity
Far from perfect, their lives often reflect more starkly the curse put on Adam in the garden—to suffer the effects of sin and disease, to toil hard in the land for food, etc.
But creation, it stands a mighty proclamation of its Creator, maybe even better when it is untouched, unpopulated. A person with ears can’t help but hear what these hills are saying, what the roar of the ocean screams, what the rocks cry out…
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Heading Home
Hey all… Just a quick note to let you know I’m headed back into the Sudan. My eyes are feeling better, though my vision is still a little blurry—but with a healthy dose of these drops the doc gave me and maybe eventually a new prescription, I could be good as new again. Or at least I’m praying!
Thanks for all your prayers... about this and about the ministry.
I can’t wait to get back in there and see my teammates and my friends!
Thanks for all your prayers... about this and about the ministry.
I can’t wait to get back in there and see my teammates and my friends!
Thursday, January 18, 2007
my Eyes
The eyes thing is... OK. Kind of weird. I went to the Lions Club hospital here. (You ever seen the donation bins for hand-me-down glasses at restaurants? That's Lions Club.) The lady there was like, you need to come home right now and have surgery. Talk about drama. So I started the wheels on that while I looked for a guy to get a second opinion. During that time, I got over the panic of needing to go home and started instead to see all the positives. (Restocking on things like shoes, which I'm in dire need of; packing everything I should've packed the first time; seeing my parents and friends; going to an Illini basketball game.)But then I ended up at some German doc at Nairobi Hospital. He told me I didn't need to go home and to get the surgery she wanted me to get would be OK, but not altogether necessary and could end up negating itself later. Again, drama, drama. And then I was all positive about going home for no reason.And so now here I sit. I'm in Nairobi at a friend's house. I've bounced between here and the DIGUNA mission station, have relaxed very little and spent VERY MUCH between flights and bus fare and food and all that. Anyway, so I'm one big ball of stress. I've been hassling AIM AIR for a flight back into Lopitland, to no avail. They say the bush plane is out of commission for inspection all next week, which would put the next flight on the 29th. So I'm pushing for a (expensive, grr) diversion sometime early next week, but even that might be a dream.And all this to get back into Lopitland and to my team, which will be leaving for supplies and our first holiday the first week of February! Nothing like traveling thousands of Ks and paying hundreds of dollars to simply turn around two weeks later and come back. *sigh*
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Little Francis
A few days ago, I went visiting and found my favorite little friend lying on a rice bag in his compound, burning up with fever. His name is Francis; he’s four (or so his mom says—you can’t really be sure); and he truly is the light of my roommates’ and my Lopit life.
He’s on our compound almost all day every day, always with this amazing smile and cute little giggle. He used to wear a raggedy read turtleneck with shorts that had the butt ripped out. But sometime ago I gave him one of my t-shirts, which actually disappeared until Christmas—at which time it became his everyday attire. I guess that’s how it works here—the kids change clothes on Christmas. And that’s pretty much the only time. Hehe. Anyway, now he parades around in my tshirt (it’s HUGE on him) and an old (but new-to-him) pair of jeans—complete with a butt. We always joke that’s going to take a while to get used to, having a seat in his pants.
He’s my friend and helper. He hands me my clothes pins one at a time when I do laundry and empties our compost bucket proudly and without complaint. So when I saw him there, lying limp, some kind of motherly fear/panic came over me. (This is a predisposition I’m not always convinced the Lopit mothers have. They often resign to, “If Jok—the bad god—wants him, he’ll take him anyway.)
Pattie and I took his temp and it was 40.3 C and climbing. (We didn’t keep it in the full time, for fear he’d bite it.) I checked my bush medicine book for the Celsius to Fahrenheit conversion and about freaked out when I realized he was near 105 F.
The clinic is closed because the workers haven’t been paid in ages and would rather drink with the holiday visitors from Juba and Khartoum than take care of the cholera and other woes. (See previous blog about needing reliable Christian nurses… ugh.) So it’s just Pattie and I, armed only with OTC headache medicine and this stupid bush book.
And, oh yes, prayer.
But I forgot about that part somehow. I ended up picking up his hot little body and carrying him back to our house. And as he half clung to me, half sunk onto my shoulder, I told God, “I refuse to let this child die. I refuse to let you let this child die.”
Quite the ridiculous thing to say to the Creator of the universe and my only source of hope and strength, eh? What am I? What is man, that God is mindful of him, that He cares for him? And where was I when He laid the foundation of the earth, that I dare pit my will against His?
The thing is, God will be glorified. And He will be glorified how He wants to be glorified. And having that mindset is far different from the fatalist, animist mindset because there is hope in the true God and I can raise my petitions to Him. And that’s what I should have been doing as I carried Francis back to my house, stripped him, put him in a basin of water and battled his fever.
He’s on our compound almost all day every day, always with this amazing smile and cute little giggle. He used to wear a raggedy read turtleneck with shorts that had the butt ripped out. But sometime ago I gave him one of my t-shirts, which actually disappeared until Christmas—at which time it became his everyday attire. I guess that’s how it works here—the kids change clothes on Christmas. And that’s pretty much the only time. Hehe. Anyway, now he parades around in my tshirt (it’s HUGE on him) and an old (but new-to-him) pair of jeans—complete with a butt. We always joke that’s going to take a while to get used to, having a seat in his pants.
He’s my friend and helper. He hands me my clothes pins one at a time when I do laundry and empties our compost bucket proudly and without complaint. So when I saw him there, lying limp, some kind of motherly fear/panic came over me. (This is a predisposition I’m not always convinced the Lopit mothers have. They often resign to, “If Jok—the bad god—wants him, he’ll take him anyway.)
Pattie and I took his temp and it was 40.3 C and climbing. (We didn’t keep it in the full time, for fear he’d bite it.) I checked my bush medicine book for the Celsius to Fahrenheit conversion and about freaked out when I realized he was near 105 F.
The clinic is closed because the workers haven’t been paid in ages and would rather drink with the holiday visitors from Juba and Khartoum than take care of the cholera and other woes. (See previous blog about needing reliable Christian nurses… ugh.) So it’s just Pattie and I, armed only with OTC headache medicine and this stupid bush book.
And, oh yes, prayer.
But I forgot about that part somehow. I ended up picking up his hot little body and carrying him back to our house. And as he half clung to me, half sunk onto my shoulder, I told God, “I refuse to let this child die. I refuse to let you let this child die.”
Quite the ridiculous thing to say to the Creator of the universe and my only source of hope and strength, eh? What am I? What is man, that God is mindful of him, that He cares for him? And where was I when He laid the foundation of the earth, that I dare pit my will against His?
The thing is, God will be glorified. And He will be glorified how He wants to be glorified. And having that mindset is far different from the fatalist, animist mindset because there is hope in the true God and I can raise my petitions to Him. And that’s what I should have been doing as I carried Francis back to my house, stripped him, put him in a basin of water and battled his fever.
Reality
There’s danger in writing a blog update sometime after midnight when you can’t sleep.
That’s why I didn’t. Pattie and I played cards instead.
But there’s still danger in writing blogs at all, I’ve decided. The danger in writing about all the fun stories and strange adventures from my life in Africa is that people at home think my life is all frolicking through fields of African wildflowers and giving Pillsbury Doughboys to naked little village children.
I’ve come to realize that the instant I write something about how life really is hard, people at home go into deep worry about me. And I’m not one to like people fretting over my situation, so let this be a sort of disclaimer…
Life in Lopitland is hard. Sometimes I can’t sleep. Sometimes I don’t think I can stand one more mooching village woman who I don’t know demanding chai or soap or clothes or water. Sometimes I’m sick in bed. Sometimes I want more to eat than noodles or rice or beans. Sometimes I can’t think over the yelling women or crying babies. Sometimes I shoo those cute kids off my compound because they just won’t listen or stop asking for stuff. Sometimes I want to give up on learning this language, give up on bringing the Gospel here. Sometimes even my Western teammates get on my nerves!
Missionaries truly are real people.
But we’ve got the same God here as we did back in the comfort and familiarity of our homes and churches in America. And we’re spurred on because we love that God, and that God loves these people, even when we can’t or don’t want to. And He’ll keep us and sustain us.
So, please, don’t worry! But definitely pray.
That’s why I didn’t. Pattie and I played cards instead.
But there’s still danger in writing blogs at all, I’ve decided. The danger in writing about all the fun stories and strange adventures from my life in Africa is that people at home think my life is all frolicking through fields of African wildflowers and giving Pillsbury Doughboys to naked little village children.
I’ve come to realize that the instant I write something about how life really is hard, people at home go into deep worry about me. And I’m not one to like people fretting over my situation, so let this be a sort of disclaimer…
Life in Lopitland is hard. Sometimes I can’t sleep. Sometimes I don’t think I can stand one more mooching village woman who I don’t know demanding chai or soap or clothes or water. Sometimes I’m sick in bed. Sometimes I want more to eat than noodles or rice or beans. Sometimes I can’t think over the yelling women or crying babies. Sometimes I shoo those cute kids off my compound because they just won’t listen or stop asking for stuff. Sometimes I want to give up on learning this language, give up on bringing the Gospel here. Sometimes even my Western teammates get on my nerves!
Missionaries truly are real people.
But we’ve got the same God here as we did back in the comfort and familiarity of our homes and churches in America. And we’re spurred on because we love that God, and that God loves these people, even when we can’t or don’t want to. And He’ll keep us and sustain us.
So, please, don’t worry! But definitely pray.
Site for Sore Eyes
Sudan can be a rough on your eyes.
I mentioned before that something is up with mine. Steve and Iris decided eyes aren’t something you mess around with, so I’m going to be heading into Kenya on the next plane.
Please pray for the logistics of that—hopping a flight first from the bush to Loki, then from Loki to Nairobi—and for the expenses. Unless I can jump in with a Samaritans Purse flight from Loki to Nairobi, it’ll be $170 each way, plus whatever it is to get picked from Lopitland.
I’ve never had to travel over 1000k to see an eye doctor before.
Pray also against discouragement and frustration. My biggest battle is on this front sometimes.
I mentioned before that something is up with mine. Steve and Iris decided eyes aren’t something you mess around with, so I’m going to be heading into Kenya on the next plane.
Please pray for the logistics of that—hopping a flight first from the bush to Loki, then from Loki to Nairobi—and for the expenses. Unless I can jump in with a Samaritans Purse flight from Loki to Nairobi, it’ll be $170 each way, plus whatever it is to get picked from Lopitland.
I’ve never had to travel over 1000k to see an eye doctor before.
Pray also against discouragement and frustration. My biggest battle is on this front sometimes.
Say Cheese!
My roommates and I have been near a breaking point this last week.
We’re out of good food. Our supply of ‘fresh’ veggies left from the Loki trip are gone. We’ve been blessed so far to have a few cans of fruits, vegetables and even processed meat (!!!) to call our own. When a bunch of missionaries pulled out of Sudan, they sent a lot of supplies and tins Steve’s way. And some people sent stuff just for our team, because everyone was pretty excited about us. But we hit that container hard and there isn’t much left now, so Steve and Iris closed the ‘Gates of Food Heaven.’ Hehe. There’s a huge 40-foot container in Yei, but we can’t get to it because security isn’t that great—there have been lots of attacks on the road. And tins in Loki are 200+ KSH each—that’s around THREE DOLLARS each. Now, don’t think we’re starving. We have food! But with nothing much more than beans, rice and noodles, we’re realizing how great those gift cans were. And we will from now on appreciate them more (especially if we’re shelling out hundreds of dollars for fruit cocktail and Spam).
We hadn’t gotten mail in nearly a month. Christmas came and went, but no one got their Christmas cards or packages. That’s rough, especially when you know there’s stuff coming.
But then came Kurt and Hannah.
They’re veteran DIGUNA missionaries in the Congo, and they’re amazing. We met them and were blessed by their fellowship when we were in Nairobi in October. But when they came Sunday for a short visit… wow.
First, we got mail.
My roommates got handfuls of letters and cards. I got an AIM statement. Talk about devastating. But, nevertheless, it was great.
Then they came up to our house for lunch. I’m not sure there is another field of work in which you have so much contact with people who are so experienced in what they do nor a field in which it’s so important to have that kind of contact. And, what’s more, they want to share what they know with you. They brought a leveling perspective to three girls aching from the second round of culture shock and wondering at times if they’re getting anywhere in ministry. And they brought encouragement, stories, new conversations…
And cheese.
Oh wow.
Cheese.
It’s been four months since we had cheese.
And they brought a huge chunk of cheese.
CHEESE.
Pattie, Kimpie and I were nearly moved to tears.
Oh, praise God! Cheese!
After we showed them along the path to their next stop, we ran back into the house and just stared at it, thinking about all the wonderful things we could cook with it. And they said we had to eat it all that night because it would be bad by morning. (No fridges in the bush.)
Suddenly, the food world broke open. We had CHEESE. They also brought us eggs, onions and potatoes. We deliberated about what to cook—cheese quesadillas, omelets, cheesy potatoes, cheesy rice, cheesy lentils, cheesy beans, flour and cheese… just cheese, cheese, cheese. During that time, Kim ate half her cheese. But no matter, we still had plenty. Too much, in fact.
We stuffed ourselves with cheese omelets and cheese potatoes.
And it was so amazing.
Of course, this morning we were all terribly sick. But that answered our question of whether eating too much cheese would cause constipation or diarrhea.
And we all agreed that every moment over the longdrop was worth it.
We’re out of good food. Our supply of ‘fresh’ veggies left from the Loki trip are gone. We’ve been blessed so far to have a few cans of fruits, vegetables and even processed meat (!!!) to call our own. When a bunch of missionaries pulled out of Sudan, they sent a lot of supplies and tins Steve’s way. And some people sent stuff just for our team, because everyone was pretty excited about us. But we hit that container hard and there isn’t much left now, so Steve and Iris closed the ‘Gates of Food Heaven.’ Hehe. There’s a huge 40-foot container in Yei, but we can’t get to it because security isn’t that great—there have been lots of attacks on the road. And tins in Loki are 200+ KSH each—that’s around THREE DOLLARS each. Now, don’t think we’re starving. We have food! But with nothing much more than beans, rice and noodles, we’re realizing how great those gift cans were. And we will from now on appreciate them more (especially if we’re shelling out hundreds of dollars for fruit cocktail and Spam).
We hadn’t gotten mail in nearly a month. Christmas came and went, but no one got their Christmas cards or packages. That’s rough, especially when you know there’s stuff coming.
But then came Kurt and Hannah.
They’re veteran DIGUNA missionaries in the Congo, and they’re amazing. We met them and were blessed by their fellowship when we were in Nairobi in October. But when they came Sunday for a short visit… wow.
First, we got mail.
My roommates got handfuls of letters and cards. I got an AIM statement. Talk about devastating. But, nevertheless, it was great.
Then they came up to our house for lunch. I’m not sure there is another field of work in which you have so much contact with people who are so experienced in what they do nor a field in which it’s so important to have that kind of contact. And, what’s more, they want to share what they know with you. They brought a leveling perspective to three girls aching from the second round of culture shock and wondering at times if they’re getting anywhere in ministry. And they brought encouragement, stories, new conversations…
And cheese.
Oh wow.
Cheese.
It’s been four months since we had cheese.
And they brought a huge chunk of cheese.
CHEESE.
Pattie, Kimpie and I were nearly moved to tears.
Oh, praise God! Cheese!
After we showed them along the path to their next stop, we ran back into the house and just stared at it, thinking about all the wonderful things we could cook with it. And they said we had to eat it all that night because it would be bad by morning. (No fridges in the bush.)
Suddenly, the food world broke open. We had CHEESE. They also brought us eggs, onions and potatoes. We deliberated about what to cook—cheese quesadillas, omelets, cheesy potatoes, cheesy rice, cheesy lentils, cheesy beans, flour and cheese… just cheese, cheese, cheese. During that time, Kim ate half her cheese. But no matter, we still had plenty. Too much, in fact.
We stuffed ourselves with cheese omelets and cheese potatoes.
And it was so amazing.
Of course, this morning we were all terribly sick. But that answered our question of whether eating too much cheese would cause constipation or diarrhea.
And we all agreed that every moment over the longdrop was worth it.
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Cultural Strongholds
One of the wisest things anyone as ever said to me was from my friend Sprouts way back in the day. He said, "Andi, you can't expect people who don't know Jesus to act like they do."
This morning as Kim and I sat down to do our Bible study, I was forced to remember that bit of wisdom. We sat there as we heard our neighbor and friend Susannah yelling and beating on a small kid. The child was just screaming, wailing in pain and trying to run away. Susannah was chasing her. This stuff always causes a moment of crisis. You want to run out of the house, demanding them stop and railing them for it. An even better case is when they're so drunk with balu (the local beer) they're doing absolutely ridiculous and terrible things. You want to somehow persuade them that balu is bad and it makes them do stupid things and why don't they just stop?! But you can't expect people who don't know Jesus to act like they do.
Eventually I couldn't stand it and went outside, heart beating and wanting to take a stick to this woman like she was to the child. The other women were standing there, watching, as Susannah chased the kid up the path. And when they caught view of me, you could see the news ripple up the houses -- "Ibeja is watching."
They tried to greet me casually. I could do nothing but stand there and coldly stare up the path to where Susannah was. By this time, the kid had either gotten away or she was done with her. I can't stand the idea of someone beating a child. It tears at my very being. I hate it in the States, but I hate it even more here. Beating is just what you do. Husbands beat their wives; wives beat the children. And they know it's bad. The women will sit at our table -- even Susannah -- and tell us it's bad, just like they'll tell us balu is bad. We make a point of not crusading around telling them everything they're doing is bad. It doesn't work. They have to know why it's bad. And, in many cases, they have to know Christ to know that.
I know that seems impossible because all of you have grown up in cultures where, sure, fathers may beat their children, but they hide it. Here, it's just part of the culture. Not long ago, our friend William was beating his wife Anuk terribly. Anuk ran to our house, yelling for Kim to open the gate and protect her. The whole thing escalated to the point where eventually Anuk yanked Kim in front of her and pulled her to the ground, using Kim as a kind of shield. William just beat her still, avoiding hitting Kim. And there are four adorable children -- Paula, Francis, Frano and Ellen -- who are our favorites. They're sweet and wonderful and great to us. And we always hear their mom tearing into them or beating them. The sound of her voice calling their names makes me cringe. But she's our friend. And I'm somehow thankful that at least we can give them love.
What would you do? How do you react? It's a tricky thing, and it's not as easy as you might think. This morning I wanted to yell at Susannah. I wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her and tell her this was a CHILD, a LIFE. And I wanted to sweep that child away, comfort her and hide her away somewhere where none of the stupid people here could hurt her. But instead all I could do was watch as she came down the hill, still holding that stick, suddenly noticing I was watching. And when she got to me, I muttered in response to her greeting, turned around and went home. And I cried. because you can't expect people who don't know Jesus to act like they do.
And these people don't know Jesus. Yet.
This morning as Kim and I sat down to do our Bible study, I was forced to remember that bit of wisdom. We sat there as we heard our neighbor and friend Susannah yelling and beating on a small kid. The child was just screaming, wailing in pain and trying to run away. Susannah was chasing her. This stuff always causes a moment of crisis. You want to run out of the house, demanding them stop and railing them for it. An even better case is when they're so drunk with balu (the local beer) they're doing absolutely ridiculous and terrible things. You want to somehow persuade them that balu is bad and it makes them do stupid things and why don't they just stop?! But you can't expect people who don't know Jesus to act like they do.
Eventually I couldn't stand it and went outside, heart beating and wanting to take a stick to this woman like she was to the child. The other women were standing there, watching, as Susannah chased the kid up the path. And when they caught view of me, you could see the news ripple up the houses -- "Ibeja is watching."
They tried to greet me casually. I could do nothing but stand there and coldly stare up the path to where Susannah was. By this time, the kid had either gotten away or she was done with her. I can't stand the idea of someone beating a child. It tears at my very being. I hate it in the States, but I hate it even more here. Beating is just what you do. Husbands beat their wives; wives beat the children. And they know it's bad. The women will sit at our table -- even Susannah -- and tell us it's bad, just like they'll tell us balu is bad. We make a point of not crusading around telling them everything they're doing is bad. It doesn't work. They have to know why it's bad. And, in many cases, they have to know Christ to know that.
I know that seems impossible because all of you have grown up in cultures where, sure, fathers may beat their children, but they hide it. Here, it's just part of the culture. Not long ago, our friend William was beating his wife Anuk terribly. Anuk ran to our house, yelling for Kim to open the gate and protect her. The whole thing escalated to the point where eventually Anuk yanked Kim in front of her and pulled her to the ground, using Kim as a kind of shield. William just beat her still, avoiding hitting Kim. And there are four adorable children -- Paula, Francis, Frano and Ellen -- who are our favorites. They're sweet and wonderful and great to us. And we always hear their mom tearing into them or beating them. The sound of her voice calling their names makes me cringe. But she's our friend. And I'm somehow thankful that at least we can give them love.
What would you do? How do you react? It's a tricky thing, and it's not as easy as you might think. This morning I wanted to yell at Susannah. I wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her and tell her this was a CHILD, a LIFE. And I wanted to sweep that child away, comfort her and hide her away somewhere where none of the stupid people here could hurt her. But instead all I could do was watch as she came down the hill, still holding that stick, suddenly noticing I was watching. And when she got to me, I muttered in response to her greeting, turned around and went home. And I cried. because you can't expect people who don't know Jesus to act like they do.
And these people don't know Jesus. Yet.
Tyranny of Time
We had a team day yesterday and one of our articles to discuss was about the unrealistic expectations of new missionaries -- ones that often cause them to leave the field early. There's the inability to relate to the host culture or pick up the language, family problems, living conditions, the expectations of missions boards back home, being jarred by suddenly being a nobody on the field, etc.
The one that really struck me, as we're coming up on the six month mark and I often am frustrated I don't know more language or have better relationships, is the area of time. The author said this, "In my home church, when I was young, warm feelings crept over me when I heard missionaries tell how nice it was of the natives to call them 'mother.' Many years later I learned you had to earn the title, not because you had white skin, but because you had persevered long enough to have gray hair. . Time is the price we pay."
It's true, time is the price. And it sometimes seems like a high one. Patience and perseverance. I know I committed to two years here and I know my plan is to go long-term, but sometimes it's easy to think about those years as just that, years, and not the months, weeks, days and MOMENTS that make up those years.
One other thing I liked from the article, an area I can really identify with, as I'm often saying I came to Africa and became completely stupid. "The new missionary, picked for leadership skills and all-around talent at home, suddenly is thrown into the role of learner, a student begging for a chance to serve. No one knows his or her worth, or even cares. . Simple, everyday tasks become complicated, or even traumatic."
How true those words are! The mission field is about the most humbling place in the world!
The one that really struck me, as we're coming up on the six month mark and I often am frustrated I don't know more language or have better relationships, is the area of time. The author said this, "In my home church, when I was young, warm feelings crept over me when I heard missionaries tell how nice it was of the natives to call them 'mother.' Many years later I learned you had to earn the title, not because you had white skin, but because you had persevered long enough to have gray hair. . Time is the price we pay."
It's true, time is the price. And it sometimes seems like a high one. Patience and perseverance. I know I committed to two years here and I know my plan is to go long-term, but sometimes it's easy to think about those years as just that, years, and not the months, weeks, days and MOMENTS that make up those years.
One other thing I liked from the article, an area I can really identify with, as I'm often saying I came to Africa and became completely stupid. "The new missionary, picked for leadership skills and all-around talent at home, suddenly is thrown into the role of learner, a student begging for a chance to serve. No one knows his or her worth, or even cares. . Simple, everyday tasks become complicated, or even traumatic."
How true those words are! The mission field is about the most humbling place in the world!
Fuel for Prayer
A pastor Daniel and Steve worked with a few years ago died in a car accident the other day. He'd jumped on to an army truck, which ended up tipping over on a turn. The pastor jumped from it, but was crushed. Someone came by and picked him up. Ironically, it was someone who actually knew him, but he couldn't tell who he was because his face was all swollen. He took him to the hospital in Torit to be treated, but it was Christmas, so the pastor just laid there unconscious and unattended in a bed for two days, where he died.
The hospital didn't know who he was, but he had facial markings for his tribe, so they called someone from his tribe. The woman didn't know who he was, but she kept his body in her house for two days until she could get money and people to help her bury him. The church finally realized their pastor had died and looked all over for him. They came upon people digging the hole and asked whose body it was. It was his, and they requested they would be able to bury him behind the church.
Steve talked really highly of this guy-one of two, he said, really strong national Christians who had taken real ownership of the church. He says it will be hard for him to be replaced -- there just aren't the Christian bodies, let alone the drive and talent this guy had. He also used it as a spur on to prayer for us, in the area of the medical care here.
The clinic was started by the African Inland Church (or AIM missionaries) and still bears the AIC name, but the nurses aren't Christian. And there is a difference between Christian caretakers and those who aren't. A man lay in a bed for two days and died because the workers at the hospital in Torit were just that-workers. Nothing more. So he asked that we pray for our own clinic workers (they are so few) and that someday we can give good Christian care.
The hospital didn't know who he was, but he had facial markings for his tribe, so they called someone from his tribe. The woman didn't know who he was, but she kept his body in her house for two days until she could get money and people to help her bury him. The church finally realized their pastor had died and looked all over for him. They came upon people digging the hole and asked whose body it was. It was his, and they requested they would be able to bury him behind the church.
Steve talked really highly of this guy-one of two, he said, really strong national Christians who had taken real ownership of the church. He says it will be hard for him to be replaced -- there just aren't the Christian bodies, let alone the drive and talent this guy had. He also used it as a spur on to prayer for us, in the area of the medical care here.
The clinic was started by the African Inland Church (or AIM missionaries) and still bears the AIC name, but the nurses aren't Christian. And there is a difference between Christian caretakers and those who aren't. A man lay in a bed for two days and died because the workers at the hospital in Torit were just that-workers. Nothing more. So he asked that we pray for our own clinic workers (they are so few) and that someday we can give good Christian care.
Cholera for Christmas
And you thought coal was bad.
A handful of folks came from two village-clusters over with cholera. I talked with Michael at the clinic; he said there were five. One died, but the other four went home fine. But now we just know it's out there, so please pray that it doesn't spread over here. (This cluster of villages is far enough away I've never ridden to it.)
It's really a nasty thing, this cholera. It passes really easily among those who are hygienically inclined (read: every single person in Lopitland) and can take its fatal toll fast if not treated. BUT -- nobody freak out -- for those of us who wash our hands and who are more selective about where we "go" and what we eat, it's not that big of a deal.
If anyone remembers, they had a terrible outbreak before I came. I wrote blogs about it. You can look back. (I want to say mid-March.) But, my team leaders waded through sick people for hours on end for three weeks and didn't get sick. Neither did their children. And all you have to do is keep hydrated and it'll pass.
So don't worry about me. But pray for these people. Since dry season is upon us, there isn't as much water readily available. And James, the area's chief, came by Wednesday to let us know we shouldn't use the water from the rivers anymore-it's bad. And people can carry it without showing signs, so that makes it even more tricky.
Oh, and while you're at it... The village I rode my bike to a while back hit a rough spot this week as well. Some lady got mad at her husband. or her husband's other wife. or something. and burned their hut down. Along with 34 or so others. So there are a bunch of unfortunate people whose homes (and the food stored inside) are now ashes. I haven't been other there yet, but they need your prayers as well!
The great thing about South Sudan is it never leaves you short on prayer requests..
A handful of folks came from two village-clusters over with cholera. I talked with Michael at the clinic; he said there were five. One died, but the other four went home fine. But now we just know it's out there, so please pray that it doesn't spread over here. (This cluster of villages is far enough away I've never ridden to it.)
It's really a nasty thing, this cholera. It passes really easily among those who are hygienically inclined (read: every single person in Lopitland) and can take its fatal toll fast if not treated. BUT -- nobody freak out -- for those of us who wash our hands and who are more selective about where we "go" and what we eat, it's not that big of a deal.
If anyone remembers, they had a terrible outbreak before I came. I wrote blogs about it. You can look back. (I want to say mid-March.) But, my team leaders waded through sick people for hours on end for three weeks and didn't get sick. Neither did their children. And all you have to do is keep hydrated and it'll pass.
So don't worry about me. But pray for these people. Since dry season is upon us, there isn't as much water readily available. And James, the area's chief, came by Wednesday to let us know we shouldn't use the water from the rivers anymore-it's bad. And people can carry it without showing signs, so that makes it even more tricky.
Oh, and while you're at it... The village I rode my bike to a while back hit a rough spot this week as well. Some lady got mad at her husband. or her husband's other wife. or something. and burned their hut down. Along with 34 or so others. So there are a bunch of unfortunate people whose homes (and the food stored inside) are now ashes. I haven't been other there yet, but they need your prayers as well!
The great thing about South Sudan is it never leaves you short on prayer requests..
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