Worrying...

It used to be that thinking about home was a retreat from the stress of life here—a nice oasis of warm thoughts to fall back on when I’d allow myself.

 

Now, I’m not sure which is more overwhelming—a mind swimming with Lopit words and community problems or a brain jumping with anxiety about all things America.

 

‘Cause, wow, all I get is stress when I go to my former Happy Place.

 

It used to be funny to think about being a social freak, out of place in American culture. Now, I’m genuinely worried about how much I’ll embarrass myself at my friend’s wedding, a little more than 24 hours after I get home. Yikes.

 

The soles fell off my best sandals last week. Now I literally have one pair of flip-flops I’m bringing home, and no other footwear. Clothes? I think maybe a pair of jeans I bought second-hand in Nairobi, my trusty Illini hoodie and a few other secondhand finds have survived the wear-and-tear out here. That’s going to make crash-landing in America even more difficult.

 

And then there’s a car and an income and a place to live and, and, and…

 

Anyway, just pray I would stop worrying about things, and that I’d be able to focus most of my energy on being here. And maybe also pray that it’d somehow all be prepared for me when I get home… and that I don’t make a complete fool of myself. :)

Lists upon lists...

I’m looking forward to Saturday this week.

 

It’s been a long week with the medical outreach, and Saturdays are always fun.

 

Saturdays, in fact, embody two big lessons I’ve learned out here in Sudan.

 

The first is, never neglect the Sabbath—you’ve got to take a day, or you’ll fall into a million pieces. You’ve got to be selfish with your Sabbath day.

 

The second is how to speak love through quality time. I see my friendship with Kim as a real gift from God, and I don’t want to neglect that. But I’m more of a gifts/service love language gal, so loving someone by spending specific time with them doesn’t come naturally to me. (I have a hard time imagining that someone would want to spend specific time with me!) So Saturday is our day. We both look forward to it now; we’re both blessed by it.

 

So, yes… how sweet a Saturday looks this week.

Prayer for Sarah...

For the past few weeks, I’ve been watching a small child starve to death.

 

And that’s been hard.

 

There’s a woman in LH, Aquam, who apparently came from another tribe. There’s different stories about how she ended up here, but the short of it is that she’s a bit mentally handicapped and wanders around the main village in the valley.

 

Sometime along the way, Aquam was raped and got pregnant, and had her baby maybe a year or a year and a half ago.

 

I think about that man sometimes when I see her sitting on the path with her baby. I think about that man, or the any number of men who had a hand in this poor woman’s situation. And I will tell you that these are not nice or friendly thoughts that I’m thinking about said man/men. In fact, I will also tell you that I actually swore under my breath at that man/those men the entire way up the mountain the other day, and might have pummeled him/them, had I the chance, with my tiny, ineffectual fists.

 

But, um, that’s enough of that. I pray God would give me the grace to deal with such a situation in love…

 

The point is, the woman did well for a while, feeding the baby and getting help from Iris and some of the neighbors. But now the child is starving to death, because Aquam doesn’t know to feed her or have the food to feed her with. Her skin is just sagging off her at some points; her little spine juts out; her eyes look like they’re bulging a bit. She looks sad, so sad. And helpless.

 

And it kills me. It absolutely kills me to see her.

 

People have tried to help, but most have given up after being spurned by Aquam. They’ve tried to admit her to the clinic; Aquam steals her away. She just doesn’t get it. And it’s easy to get frustrated with her, as misplaced as that frustration may be.

 

The child’s name is Sarah, and I’d appreciate it if you’d pray for her, that somehow she’d overcome the seemingly impossible odds against her and live. The team and the church are doing what we can to help; just pray God would bless those efforts.

 

This and that...

A rundown of the goings-on…

 

The medical team left today—flew off into the sunset, hopefully to catch a connecting flight to Nairobi tonight, per the prayers of Dr. Joy. I think she’s anxious to get back to the comforts that Kijabe has to offer. :) While they were here, they treated more than 1300 people. That is simply amazing. The church, the Bible school, the clinic, the team—we all had a hand in it. Pretty sweet. Everyone is feeling good about the doors this may have opened in a certain neighboring village, which is generally overlooked and underserved. This week was a hard one for the team—a pretty full-on and exhausting addition to an already hard lifestyle—so pray for refreshing Sabbath rests for us all and encouragement to push on toward the harvest of these sown seeds. Praise the Lord!

 

Also, more praise is due for God’s goodness in keeping Steve & Co. afloat. Christian (the only boy, 2-years-old) was med-evaced out last Wednesday with Steve when he got really bad really fast with what ended up being cerebral malaria. Malaria in the brain is really, really serious stuff. He was in the ICU in a Nairobi children’s hospital for a while, and is said to be recovering now. It was a scary go. Also, Iris and the girls followed them out on Saturday, on account of Iris also needing medical attention—diagnosis: hepatitis A. The family is all in Nairobi now, hopefully recovering and resting up before they return.

 

It’s a bit ironic, but a lot of folks were dealing with health stuff whilst the medical campaign. Pray especially for Cath, who pushed on to minister to hundreds of children despite feeling really yuck. (She’s hardcore.) And just in general, that we wouldn’t have another run of extreme sickness.

 

The medical outreach behind us, I’m now turning my focus to another project—getting some footage together for a small video for one of the international offices and our team. I’m blessed to have an opportunity to use some of my gifts to minister in indirect ways, but I’m feeling quite ill-equipped and in over my head.

 

We have a little more than two months left in Lopitland. Please pray for that remaining time, and for my time beyond that. My application to work with Campus Crusade’s Jesus Film project is still up in the air—the 8-10 week window in which I’m supposed to hear back just ended. So…. Sigh. Also, pray for onslaught of things to deal with when I come home—crash-landing into the culture; arranging a manageable debriefing schedule with churches/families; finding and financing an automobile, among other things; living without an income and possibly getting back to raising support for my next leg of ministry (wherever and whatever that may end up being). Oh, and pray that the Cubs have a decent season, so I can go to a game September that really matters. :)

 

in their court...

Lately, things have been hard.

 

I’ve often been tempted into frustration and anger because of the way we’re treated here. It’s hard, to live every day and be treated as less than human being, treated as some kind of joke. Here, I’m not seen as a mature adult who can contribute anything to the community. Children tease and hit me. They constantly are at my windows, looking in, watching everything I do. They yell; they cheat; they steal. Imagine, Cath had all her underwear and bras stolen off her line. (There’s no Wal-Mart here at which to quickly and cheaply replace that stuff, mind you.) Children can have their way with us. We have very little control, because we refuse to wield a stick, which is all the Lopit children really understand. And we get very little to no help from our neighbor ladies, who normally only laugh at our impassioned pleas for help, when we’re standing in our doorway, trying to get the 20+ children crowded around the door and windows to leave, so we can just have a moment’s peace.

 

So sometimes, especially if I let myself think on it too much, it can become this overwhelming THING that’s always before me, that makes these already hard living conditions much, much harder.

 

That’s been a really big struggle for me lately.

(Hold on, this ends well. It’s just… long.)

 

So you can imagine the other night, sometime past 10 (which is really late here—“missionary midnight,” some say), when a handful of children were running around our compound, looking in the windows at Kim (already sleeping), trying to open the door, stealing things through the holes in the kitchen window screens and being generally disobedient.

 

Honestly, I was ready to tear apart those small children and their parents with the most vicious Lopit rhetoric I could muster. Trying to control that kind of layer upon layer of frustration and felt injustice can get hard.

 

Somehow, I managed to catch one. And let me tell you, the girl went absolutely nuts, flopping around and yelling and trying to flee. I’d seen her shoes and picked them up, so she was trying to wrestle them away. (We’ve since learned that such “evidence”—the shoes—is really valuable in Lopit “court cases.”)

 

Anyway, I yelled for the monyemiji, because that’s who is supposed to deal with this sort of things. Some came, and we explained what was happening. They wanted to make her sleep in our house over night—apparently, that’s how it’s done! I remember, when Cath and Jen had their house broken into while we were gone, they hogtied the kid and put him in a house until they could convene the “court” and bring his punishment. We convinced them that’d be no good and instead kept the shoes as collateral.

 

Yesterday afternoon, we marched up to the mangot (monyemiji meeting place) with those shoes and beat the mangot, which is what you do when you have a case. And so a bunch of monyemiji came, and I was floored by how they handled it.

 

They brought the four kids and had them sit in the middle of the place, being sure that they faced us. Then one main guy took our story, then proceeded to calmly ask the children about it. Three of them knelt down, at their level, and asked them simple questions  about what had happened. I’ve never seen anything like this before here. Normally it’s all yelling and beating and acting in anger. But this was grown men, putting themselves down at the kids’ level, speaking in normal tones. They were ready to cane them, but accepted our request that they not be beaten, but that they would carry water for us instead.  

 

I felt this huge burden lifted. We thanked them and asked them to please help us, that we need help, because the children are so bad to us, they don’t respect us because of our white skin, but they are the warriors, so they are respected. They applauded our bringing the problem to them in the Lopit way, and said that this is how it must be done—we all raise the children together, so they grown up obedient.

 

I honestly left just amazed. I never thought they’d actually help.

 

So, a long story. And one that probably doesn’t make much sense. But it was a release for me, and made life seem not  quite so overwhelming, like I can finish these last months stronger because of it.

 

Afanu Akimi

The doctors are here!

And, while completely exhausting, the program we’ve put together with them is reaping some excitement.

Among the Lopit, excitement because they have reason to bombard the clinic, see a real live doctor and get some medicine (whether they really need it or not).

Among the Christians, excitement because people are hearing the Gospel—in their own language—from our team, the Bible students and some of the church folk.

So, like I said—excitement.

But it’s definitely been hectic. And stressful.

“Chaotic” comes to mind.

(Nonetheless… exciting!)

We had our first day at the clinic here in our Lopit village yesterday, and I think the whole of the mountain showed up. It was absolutely nuts.

Women, children, men—screaming, pushing, poking, cheating. Phew.

You see, every Lopit person—when they think there is medicine to be had—claims to be sick. And so you’ve got to get through all of those yellering, angry people and to the genuinely sick people, so you can help them.

Triage isn’t something the Lopit clinic workers understand, let alone the hundreds of people crowding around the door. So it was a lot of pushing people through, pacifying them with a “prescription” of multi-vitamins or de-worming medicine or ibuprofen, so they’d get their pills, be happy and get the heck out of the way. :)

I don’t know how many people we were able to get through yesterday, and I don’t know how many people we’ll end up getting through today. When I left the doctors, in a neighboring village, they’d been seeing a steady stream of coughs, headaches and rashes, and there was a crowd of 200+ kids who’d just descended on the place.

So, please pray for the doctors and our team—that we’d be able to keep up this break-necking pace through the whole week. And for the truly sick people out there—that they’d be filtered from the medicine-hungry crowds and given the attention they need.

Foul language...

This medical clinic stuff has been pretty hectic.

 

The tension can get high; the temptations to frustration, overwhelming.

 

Jen and I were in the midst of it yesterday afternoon, playing pharmacists in this tiny, dark back room. People were people plugging up any light and fresh air from the small window with their faces and reaching hands.

 

I could tell Jen was at her limit, working since morning without a break.

 

I was near there, too. Quite sick of the yelling people.

 

Then… God gave me a little bit of sheer happiness.

 

You see, once we filled the prescription, Jen would yell out the person’s name in her best Lopit, so they’d come pick it up.

 

My head was buried in mebendozole or something, and I hear Jen bellowing behind me…

 

“Omura Nang! Omura Nang!”

 

She’s yelling this, reading it only as a name.

 

“Omura Nang!!!”

 

Growing increasingly annoyed as the person doesn’t answer.

 

“Omura Nang! Omura Nang?!?!”

 

And I completely lose count of my pills, and nearly lose it.

 

Because Jen doesn’t realize it yet, but what she’s actually yelling, literally, is…

“I stink! I stink!!!”

 

And of course I didn’t tell her, because if you know Jen, you know she might have exploded on me. But, wow…

 

“I stink?!?!?”

 

I stood there for a while, wondering who could be so clever as to do that. Certainly not a Lopit—they just don’t do humor, at least not in that way. That’s straight out of the Simpsons.

 

Poor Jen’s standing there, yelling that she stinks.

 

Oh man. Yeah… still funny.

 

(Upon further investigation—asking Kim, who did the registration—apparently that is really the kid’s name, Omura Nang. Absolutely hilarious.)

 

 

 

Fruit of affliction...

This, from John Piper…

“It is an inspiring thought that one small pebble [that is, the testimony of a Christian’s life] dropped in the sea of history can produce waves of grace that break on distant shores hundreds of years later and thousands of miles away.”

Indeed, it is. And what’s more, to think that it’s God that breathes a bit on those ripples and makes them into waves, which can crash again and again as encouragement in the lives of future saints.

Biographies are so good for my soul. I just read Piper’s “The Hidden Smile of God: The Fruit of Affliction in the Lives of John Bunyan, William Cowper and David Brainerd.” (That’s a pretty long title, eh?) Excellent stuff.

These guys really suffered for the Kingdom, and suffered uniquely—Bunyan in jail for 12 years, away from his wife and children, simply because he wouldn’t not preach the Gospel; Cowper, through a disposition weak against depression and a life oft filled with darkness; Brainerd, in a frail body, which succumbed to tuberculosis at the young age of 29. But each advanced the Kingdom and left a legacy for Christians today, also in a unique way.

I won’t try to tell you all about these men—I think ya’ll should just read the book, or any book, about them—but I will tell you the most encouraging thing I took away.

It was about David Brainerd, the famous young missionary to the American Indians, who suffered dearly for their cause, and sacrificed much to be with them. David Brainerd, the contemporary to and friend of the great Jonathan Edwards, whose house in which he died. David Brainerd, an inspiration to thousands of missionaries and whose Diaries are still in print and widely read today.

David Brainerd—this same David Brainerd—struggled to love the Indians.

That just blew me away. It wasn’t always easy for him. He didn’t always feel like getting out there and going to them. Sometimes, even he would rather have just stay home.

Yes, sometimes he was melted with love for them. “But other times he seemed empty of affection or compassion for their souls. He expresses guilt that he should preach to immortal souls with no more ardency and so little desire for their salvation. His compassion could simply go flat. November 2^nd, 1744: ‘About noon, road up to the Indians; and while going, could feel no desires for them, and even dreaded to say anything to ‘em.’ So Brainerd struggled with the rise and fall of love in his own heart. He loved, but longed to love so much more.”

Me, too! Me, too!

What a relief and an encouragement to know that such a great man suffered these same lulls in love, felt the same deadness of affection from time to time. Outside of that, he even longed to speak with people of his own tongue sometimes. He didn’t always take so nicely to his harsh conditions. He was lonely out in the wilderness, and he even struggled with depression.

And yet he was still a pebble.

And I guess I just think that’s cool, is all.

Sweet singing...

God moves in a mysterious way

His wonders to perform;

He plants his footsteps in the sea,

And rides upon the storm.

 

Deep in unfathomable mines

Of never-failing skill,

He treasures up his bright designs

And works his sovereign will.

 

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy, and shall break

In blessings on your head.

 

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,

But trust him for his grace;

Behind a frowning providence

He hides a smiling face.

 

His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding every hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flower.

 

Blind unbelief is sure to err,

And scan his work in vain:

God is his own interpreter,

And He will make it plain.

 

~~

Here’s the thing: I didn’t grow up in the church singing hymns.

Or, the hymns I did sing weren’t of the evangelical persuasion, since my family is Catholic, and I certainly didn’t enjoy singing them, because I honestly hated church.

So I get to meet some hymns now for the first time, and what may be an old standby for some folks is brand new to my ears.

So, here’s Cowper, “God Moves in a Mysterious Way.” I’ve never even heard the tune.

But that’s good, good stuff.

The goings-on...

A quick update on what’s going on around here, sort of in the form of prayer and praise requests…

 

The laundered passport has been resurrected. Hooray for that. Dr. Peter, who is leading the medical team scheduled to come out here next week, was able to get a new passport so he’s set once again to bring his healing skills out here. There are a lot of details to work out before and once he comes, so be praying that things fall into place and God prepares the hearts of the people here for his Good News. Doris is carrying a heavy administration load, so pray for her especially!

 

My teammates didn’t get shot on the way to Loki. Excellent news. :) There’s this nasty little stretch of land between the Sudanese and Kenyan border checks—about an hour’s drive in “No Man’s Land,” which also happens to be the divider between these angry sister-but-rival tribes and a place known for bandits/shootings. And lately the number of shootings—just shooting, not for the sake of banditry, I understand—has been going up. And the UNIMOG decided to poop out in the middle somewhere. Recall Pattie’s panicky concentric circles the other day, then imagine my poor roommate in the back of the dead UNIMOG. Poor thing. Anyway, I’m sure it wasn’t fun, but good ol’ Dan & Co. came to the rescue from Loki and all is fine. Praise for that, and continue to pray for safe travels.

 

An eye for finishing strong. My “finish strong” mantra has grown a bit weaker as the pressures and struggles of life out here continue to bear down. But, I’m trying to refocus and recommit. Things ahead on the docket, with which to keep busy and that need prayer: organizing things for the evangelical campaign that runs during the medical clinic; pressing on with supporting the nursery school by cleaning/painting/elbow-greasing another empty building for its use; shooting some video for OFM, for a future TIMO video, and maybe for another one for the team; getting back on the bike to bring new recorded Gospel stories to the neighboring villages; and discipling our dear neighbor, Mary. Praise for Kim, who sat down and muscled out a vision, and who I know will keep me accountable to it.

On Kool-Aid and kids...

Grasshopper gets us.

This is Grasshopper, aka Francis… aka Odwari… aka a zillion other Lopit names too numerable for me to even try to remember.

Whatever you call him, the point is—he gets us.

The other day, he and I sat my kitchen table after a particularly exhausting morning, drinking grape Kool-Aid out of coffee cups with straws.

Just the two of us, sitting there, listening to music.

Me, melting into my chair and musing about all sorts of things.

He, feet dangling far above the floor, Kool-Aid mug in his lap, lips chasing his renegade straw, enormous grin on his face, toes and chin bouncing to the music.

He just gets us.

It’s hard to explain, but it’s true. It’s especially hard for you to understand, because you’re surrounded by people who get you—your daily routine holds no mystery for your neighbors. You aren’t subject to ridicule day in and day out for what you are—or are not—doing, can—or cannot—do. You live in a cultural context in which you make sense, and in which you are able to make sense of things.

Here, that’s just not the case. People don’t get us.

Except for Grasshopper.

He seems to understand how we function, even a bit of how we think. He’s watched us and been around us enough in the last two years that he can fit seamlessly into our everyday, without that grating and awkward feeling of having to try. And that feeling—which I find really hard to define for myself, let alone people who have never experienced it—can be a burden that grows heavy when you’re exhausted or sick or just don’t have it in you to be Miss Missionary.

In missiology books, they talk about creating a third culture person—someone who understands (and is most likely from) the host culture but also understands enough of the visiting culture to bridge the gap, to flow between the two. And as they flow between the two, so does information—so does the Gospel.

I know sitting and drinking grape soda in contented silence with a 6(-or-so)-year-old isn’t something to get all excited about. But I do get excited when I think of what doors we may be opening up, just by falling in love with this little kid (and his brother and sister) and unconsciously building him into a third culture person.

You know how parents look at their kids as they send them off to their first day of school? We often catch ourselves looking at Francis, Franco and Ellen in that sort of way, thinking of what they’ll be like when they grow up, if they could be the church leaders, the influential people.

Maybe, right? Maybe.

The problem of the cows...

Yesterday, I was translating for Cath in Sunday School, and we were telling the story of Adam and Eve.

At one point, I was meant to translate that God punished Adam and Eve for disobeying him by eating the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

And I said, “Omiasa Adam iko Eva, ebak Hollum isia.” (“Adam and Eve disobeyed; God punished them.”)

And then I paused for a second and realized what I also said.

“To punish” is the same word for “to beat.”

So, I had just told these children that God beat Adam and Eve.

Hmm.

Whoops.

Lucky for me, the Lopit language does abound in words for beating, so I held up Cath for about a minute, explaining that he didn’t “ollumo” (beat them with his hands only) them, he just “ebak” (punished) them. He didn’t “edianga” (kick) them, either; he just “ebak” (punished) them.

And, finally, in a moment of what I hope was clarity for both parties, I came with, “Efuhe Hollum isia ade. Ojo Inya hijo hijo hijo, ‘Ibanga ettole teni.’ Arra nya Baha tohonye. (God chased them away. He said you can’t stay here. This was their punishment.)

Phew.

But, gracious… Is there anywhere in this culture you can go to get away from all the beating?

Two days ago, I saw some youths “flirting.” And by that I mean, the boy-man took a small  elastic stick and whacked the girl-woman on the head. And, as he retreated, she took a baseball-sized rock and chucked it at him. Aww, how cute.

Or, take this. Yesterday I look up to Abuba’s compound and Ellen is gleefully chasing Franco and Francis around with her own stick, getting in some pretty good licks. Just adorable.

Our very, very pregnant friend took a fierce beating last week, at the hand of her husband. She’s hardly moving.

And while we chatting with our guy friend the other day, he told us of course he “sometimes” beats his wife. He’s a relatively committed member of the church, and a student at a Bible school on the other side of the country. That’s just the culture. It’s the “problem of the cows,” meaning the men pay for their wives dearly (lots of cows and goats), but the women pay nothing. So I guess that means the men own the women, and the women take their beatings to pay toward that debt.

And all the children know is the rod. We can’t discipline; we can’t garner any respect; we can’t contribute to the communal aspect of raising children—all because we won’t beat them.

Hmmm.

 

Pleading in prayer...

To be honest, I’m not very good at praying.

It’s definitely my weakest spiritual discipline.

For shame, for shame—I know.

But I’ve been working on it. Been sitting down every night and just praying and praying for two very specific things, one of which is seeing God work in these mountains.

I pray and pray for God to work. To just work. To do something. To move these people, this culture.

I beg. I plead. I throw it all on Him, because I know He can handle it.

He doesn’t get frustrated with not seeing change, because He is the change and will work the change when and how he wants to. He doesn’t get frustrated with time, because He’s timeless. He doesn’t become impatient, because He knows exactly when and how things will go down. He isn’t ever tempted to think that this culture is just too strong to penetrate, because He can’t falter and not trust His own sovereignty—He knows He’s all-powerful.

I know my prayer life—this outcropping of my dependence on God for all things—should be in proportion to my conviction that He is LORD.

And so I’m trying to catch up. :)

 

Something exciting...

Six Lopit people—four women, two men—were baptized yesterday at church.

It was a neat thing to watch Joshua baptizing them and see the small group of church folks and TIMO members who had come to witness and worship.

Some of these people have professed to be believers for a while; others were recently added to the faith. Please pray for them, that their commitment to Jesus and this outward sign of their obedience to Him would be of Him—that they would truly, with genuine faith, throw off the old man and be clothed in Christ and his righteous, and rely on His grace for their sanctification.

It’s not easy to be a Christian in these hills, so please lift them up!

The devil does laundry...

We’ve got a small medical team scheduled to come in later this month, and it seems there’s a whole toolbox of things—not just a wrench—being thrown into their plans.

Funny how that works, isn’t it?

Bringing light into a dark place isn’t easy, and it’s certainly not something you’re going to do without opposition—overt or not.

So, please pray as the two doctors and clinical officer prepare to come.

The guy leading the thing is a German doctor who has been stationed at Kijabe, Kenya—at AIM’s missionary hospital—for a year and a half or so now, and has done amazing things there. Doris tells me he’s tireless and has a real heart to not only heal in Jesus’ name outside of Kijabe, but to teach the Kenyan Christian doctors there to look outward, as well.

Unfortunately, his passport somehow made it into the washing machine last week, so now Chanda is racing to get all the paperwork and stamps before he’s scheduled to come here, in two weeks. That’s a pretty tall order. You might even say not at all feasible.

We’ve already lost one of the doctors who was meant to come, so pray for them, and for Doris and I—as we’re tackling all the administrative/planning things for their arrival and programme.

 

Throwing it out there...

Anyone interested in coming out to Lopitland sometime in 2009 to help build a house for  a wonderful, rock solid missionary family out here?

 

You know, hypothetically speaking at the moment… Any takers? Seriously, let me know…

 

aclinard@aimint.net

 

Nursery school...

I love it when a vision becomes a reality.

 

Even when it wasn’t you that pushed the dream into being awake.

 

Cath and I have had a vision for a long time about a nursery school in Lopit. We both love the children and see a need for teaching them up in the Way. The pastors and school caught that vision. Even people from home have gotten into it, sending supplies and counsel for how to make it work. We’ve been taking little steps for a long time, then hitting setbacks.

 

But for the last few weeks, one of Cath’s friends has come alongside us in that vision. She’s a bit of a fundi—she’s started nursery schools in similar situations, with similarly limited resources. And I think it’s safe to say she’s got the nursery school off the ground.

 

The teachers seem excited, even committed. (That’s an anomaly in this culture.) I think they’re even growing themselves, because each day begins with Bible study and prayer for the teachers. The kids involved are adapting to the new teaching style and, Cath says, growing already.

 

Today I get to go down for a bit of a ceremony, thanking Jeni (the fundi) for her help and encouraging the teachers in their work and commitment. Should be good!

 

Rainmaker, rainmaker... Go away...

Lately, everyone has been celebrating the rainmaker—working on her compound, planting her field, dancing all night long.

 

It’s always hard to be here when the whole community turns its attention on worshiping this woman. We get yelled at for not going to garden. Cursed for not helping to mud her house. Questioned about and commanded to go to the dances.

 

Everyone is wasted. The kids run wild, mostly at our nerves’, patience’s and property’s expense.

 

Ugh. It can just be a really, really hard time. So, please pray for us as we continue on here!