Bankrupt.

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

my schedule...

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

 

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

Clearing some things up...

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

 

So let me clear them up. :)

 

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

 

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

 

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

On Giving...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prayer letter, again. (Seriously?)

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

Noises.

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

Prayer letter procrastination...

It’s 5 a.m. and I’m wide awake.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hope today goes a little better…

pictures, pictures...

Howdy.

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

Little monster...

 

Leaving Ellen...

Probably one of the saddest moments of my TIMO experience.

 

Until tomorrow morning, when I leave my team, I guess.

 

I really look pathetic, I know. And so does she—she had a terrible eye infection so she looked just miserable. No cute Ellen smile for us before we left.

A night of goodbyes...

You know, I never realized how dirty our little ones were until I’d go back and look at pictures while out of the country. I mean, look at that. They’re filthy!

 

But, still… our dears. That’s Ellen, Francis and Franco. (Obviously?)

Our kiddos...

The boys, dressed up nice in their SPLA uniforms for church.

 

Also, Miss Ellen.

The end.

One of the final parts of our debrief was to share with each person the ways we saw they were gifted or how God used them. It seemed a little cheesy at first, the idea of structured affirmation. But when the time came around, it was such a blessing.

 

It was also the particular time that all the reality of it being our last day decided to rush upon me, full force. It got to Heinrich and Doris and I darn near lost it.

 

First it hit my nose, then it shook my hands and my voice, and stubbornly welled up in my eyes. And, naturally, I was furious, to be reduced to whimpering and sniffling.

 

I just kept thinking, “It’s never going to be the same.”

 

Nearly all the support network I’ve had for two years, gone literally overnight.

 

Ugh.

 

I guess TIMO is officially over. I’ve got a mug and a certificate telling me that’s the case. Undeniable now, I suppose.

Our church farewell...

Justina and I ended up making about a zillion mandaazis for our church farewell.

Tonight, Justina told me that I'm ready to be married, by virtue of my mandaazi-making abilities and knack for making organization out of chaos.

Gee, thanks Justina...

my fake birthday...

My first June birthday ever.

Our last days...

I happen to be procrastinating on my prayer letter at the moment, and so I’m going to try to post this picture. Here goes nothing…

Welcoming...

My mom told me all my stuff has to stay in the garage for three weeks after I come home, so all the African bugs die before I bring it in the house.

 

She’s a funny lady.

 

She’s also loving offered, for my necessary travel purposes, the riding lawnmower she and dad might buy.

 

A real hilarious duo, my folks.

 

I begged my Daddy to throw me a bone and look into cars and cell phone plans, to ease some of my coming-home anxiety. I think he and my mom are actually starting to humor me a bit more. Praise the Lord. :)

 

It’s wild to think that in only a week, I’ll be home with them!

Where the green grass grows...

So, we’re in Tanzania, relaxing in the green, cool oasis that is TIMO’s headquarters (En Gedi) and under the doting care of the TIMO staff.

 

This is debriefing.

 

And it’s not half bad.

 

I actually can’t remember the last time I was hungry. Or, better said, the last time that I was either not eating, just done eating or about to be eating. I suppose part of their aim here is to fatten folks up before they go back home, ‘cause, yowza—so much good food.

 

And it really is a little piece of paradise. I can hear a river humming by just on the other side of a bank of trees. The birds are absolutely nuts. There is GREEN GRASS. Yes. It’s grass. And it’s green. And, not only that—it’s plentiful. If I weren’t shivering, I’d be much more tempted to walk around barefoot in it. Imagine! Grass!

 

I’m thankful for the relaxed atmosphere and schedule they’ve got us on. I was worried we’d be sitting in meetings all day or be forced to pour out our hearts and rack our minds for some big debriefing assignments. That’s not been the case. It’s a nice framework for me to do some of my own style of debriefing, though I can already tell that it’s going to take quite a while to get enough perspective to appreciate these two years like I should.

 

The moments of missing Lopit hit me here and there. Kimmie asks to watch the new Lopit video I made at least a couple times a day. Somehow we always get to browsing pictures on our computers. And Miss Ellen’s sweet little grin glows from my laptop’s desktop—a bit of self-torture I suppose I could get rid of. I honestly can’t imagine that, after a few days, I won’t see most of my team ever again, let alone my Lopit neighbors.

 

So reality remains an arm’s length away, though I’m certainly trying to invite it in closer.

 

But, until then, I suppose there’s this little bit left of finishing strong and finishing right. So, keep praying for our team down here, that we’d debrief well and all make it safely out of East Africa and back home!

A witness among the Lopit...

This is an article I wrote a while back for the new AIM magazine, about my experience in Lopit.

As I was thinking back and trying to write my prayer letter just now, I came upon it, and I realized it’s just as true today as it was when I wrote it.

 

So, in case you haven’t come across it…

 

Here it is.

(http://www.aimint.org/usa/stories/outreach.html)

 

hmmm...

Strange how that posted four times.

 

Way too much Ellen, even for me…

Try leaving behind this face...

Whimper.

Fresh from the Bush...

This morning, I was taking care of some business upstairs in the DIGUNA office when Kim Lopit-called for me from the door of the storage room below.

 

“Andi, whoa-ee?”

 

And so I naturally answered back with a booming Lopit, “Yoooo?”

 

This all, unfortunately, just before I realized what I’d done, turned red and scrambled out, muttering my apologies for not behaving in a way befitting an office.

 

Definitely not my only shiningly uncivilized moment in the mere day’s time we’ve been in Nairobi.

 

I’m telling you, we blow into this town with “Fresh from the Bush” written all over us. We gawk. We get excited about dumb things. We forget that nearly everyone around us understands English.

 

Worse, we greet people and answer them in Lopit, a tongue entirely foreign to Kenyans and our missionary counterparts here.

 

Tuesday was two-for-one pizza day at this gas station pizza joint (!!!!). You couldn’t have painted a more awkward scene at the counter while we were trying to order our food.

 

We yammer incessantly. We speak in inside jokes. We run in a million directions at once.

 

In a week and a half, I’m flying home with Kim, and I am terrified at the number of people we will inadvertently offend or bewilder or misunderstand or… bring to hate us. We’re a force to be reckoned with, and I’m not sure British Airways or our fellow international travelers are ready for us. And, clearly, I’m not ready for them.

 

Tomorrow I’m locking myself in at DIGUNA and getting some things done while I (hopefully) adjust to being where I’m at. ‘Cause, the alternative—being let loose in Nairobi again like crazy people… Yikes.

Bittersweet goodbyes...

It still hasn’t come.

 

And by that I mean, the aforementioned intense, stomach-dropping moment of feeling the finality.

 

It’s late, late Wednesday night now, a day after we left our home in Lopit, and it still hasn’t come.

 

It simply doesn’t seem real.

 

The goodbyes were hard, but not for the reasons you might imagine. I’m not sure I told you this before, but for the last few months, often times when we’d talk about leaving, our friends and neighbors (and, honestly, just random people) would say, “When you leave, give me all your stuff.”

 

Talk about a punch in the stomach.

 

“When you leave, leave all your things for us. You can buy everything new in America.”          

 

In our culture, that’s just not OK. It’s downright rude.

 

And it’ll ignite a flaming ball of fury inside you if you’re not careful.

 

Worse, a distinct feeling of failure—a feeling that you’ve wasted the last two years of your life trying to invest in these people, because in the end, all they want is your stuff.

 

They don’t want you; they want your things.

 

Ouch.

Right?

OUCH.

 

Rip my heart out and pounce on the dang thing, because that’s what it feels like.

 

But, you’ve got to make allowances for culture. I can’t expect them to act in a way that’s predictable or expected in the West. I can’t expect to understand or catch the nuances in their behavior that might betray some sort of feeling about our departure. I can’t expect them to get too concerned about some white foreigners leaving when their husbands and children and other family members will just up and leave one day and not come back for dozens of years at a time. And I certainly can’t expect them to understand the sacrifices we’ve made or the weight of the Message we came to share, since God chose not to really open their eyes to it just yet.

 

In short, the same cultural beast that we’ve been battling and trying to come to terms with for two years is the same cultural beast we battled and tried to come to terms with in leaving at the end of those two years.

 

It was very hard. Very, very hard.

 

But, God never said it would be easy. Never said we’d see fruit ,or even get hugs and tears at our departure.

 

I did get one hug, and that was from Miss Ellen. She’s really the only Lopit who knows what a hug is, I suppose, because she’s grown up with us showering her in our own way of showing affection. The Lopit don’t hug. But that morning, when we went up to say our final goodbye and I was holding her, she wrapped her teensy little arms around my shoulders tight and put her head on my chest, just like she has so many other days. And, naturally, that’s when I nearly fell apart.

 

Little Grasshopper seemed to get what was happening. I think I can safely say that of all the Lopit people—all the women we’ve befriend and kids we’ve loved on—our Francis might actually really miss us and think of us when we’re gone. Ellen and Franco are too young, but I think the ‘Hopper will miss the days we spent together. I think he genuinely enjoyed being around us, or at least I pray he did. So I’ll take that with me when I go, and hope that the Lord blesses the seed we’ve planted.

 

It’s a painful thing, to mean less to people than they mean to you. But that’s part of missions. Part of living and ministering in a world that doesn’t see, doesn’t hear. A acutely painful part, yes.

 

The goodbyes have been said, but that feeling hasn’t come. I’m sure it will, soon, maybe when I least expect it. But I’m sure the Lord will carry me through that, just as He’s carried me this far.

Coming-home prayer requests...

One of the things I’ve learned out here on TIMO, and in my Christian life in general, is that I need margins in my life—that I need to set aside time to not be trying to be everything to everyone, time to spend alone and time especially to spend in the Word and in communion with my Savior.

 

Way back in the Spring, I was considering all that, and I told myself I wasn’t going to let things get crazy when I got home—that I was going to give myself margins in my getting home and try to ease back into life.

 

You can probably guess how that’s been going for me, now that my Africa days are ending and the wave of America is gathering force.

 

In short, I think I’ve got something every weekend through October. Hahaha.:)

 

This is just how furlough goes for missionaries, it seems. Though I suppose I’m not getting much of an official “furlough,” since I’m switching horses from AIM to CCCI pretty quickly and will be spending a lot of time telling folks not only about where I’ve been, but about where God is taking me. It’s actually pretty exciting, but it won’t come without its stressors.

 

So, as you’re sitting there at home and thinking, “Golly, Andi’s not in Lopit anymore, how in the world are we going to pray for her?!?!?!” consider praying for…

 

- All the scheduling to fall into place for sharing with churches and ministries.

- My Jesus Film training in September and the funds I need for it.

- Getting to spend quality time with my family and my home church, despite the busy schedule.

- Finding a cheap but reliable car, ASAP.

- Being a blessing to the churches and people who’ve been such a blessing for me, and…

- Switching gears to gathering ministry partners and supporters for going fulltime into Jesus Film!

 

And, if you’re one of those people or churches or organizations who’d like to hear from me about Lopit or come alongside me for Jesus Film, drop me a line, so we can chisel out a day to hang out. :)

It's a hita...

So, one of the missionary teachers who was here when we first came asked me to bring a toothbrush stick with me when I came to visit her in Germany. Because I’ve since cancelled my European adventure, with no little injury to said friend, I thought I’d try to buy her forgiveness with *two* toothbrush sticks, which I’ve been trying to get for about a week now, to no avail.

But today, when the teenage boys realized we were really leaving—and soon—they brought them by the handful.

I’m a big fan of dental hygiene, so I decided I’ve give one a try, and now it’s my new favorite nervous habit. I scrubbed my pearly whites the entire time we made the rounds to our neighbors’ houses just now, and I dare say they (my teeth, not the neighbors) are looking quite good. Though, I can’t guarantee that I haven’t swallowed a few small shards of tree.

But then I realized this was probably another habit that wouldn’t be considered normal in America. So I guess I’m leaving all my sticks behind.

Leaving on a bush plane...

So this morning we found out we’re leaving tomorrow.

Yeah, tomorrow. As in, two days earlier than first planned.

This is just how things go out here, especially with Steve. The guy is terrible at planning, but things always seem to come through for him, though not always with the least inconvenience to everyone else. But, hey, that’s Africa, right? Right.

The point is, we’re leaving tomorrow. Which means today we stuffed two days’ worth of work into one half day, and tonight we’re so exhausted it’s making goodbyes pretty much impossible.

But, fortunately (I guess) for me, I’m finding that though I’ve long expected an intense, stomach-dropping moment of feeling the finality, it hasn’t come. And I’m a bit worried it isn’t going to come? I’m not sure if this is me being numb and exhausted or the fruit of preparing myself well and achieving a healthy closure.

Whatever the case, here I am, my last night in Lopit. It’s nuts. Simply crazy.

From here, it’s straight to Nairobi where we’ll spin our wheels a few days before our debriefing at the TIMO headquarters in Tanzania. Then, back to Nairobi for a bit until Kim and my flight leaves for Chicago, with a pesky layover in London.

Two weeks from now, I’ll be nowhere near this remote, funny mountainside I’ve called my home for two years.

Instead, I’ll probably (hopefully?) be in Wal-Mart with my parents. Or grilling steaks in the backyard. Or watching my beloved Cubs and eating fried chicken with my friends.

Whole different worlds, that’s for sure.

And I just can’t believe yet that I’m leaving this one.

Shipwrecked.

I’ll begin with a point of perhaps little general interest, but which I find amusing. This post was originally composed on a series of small, yellow stick-it notes spread across my lap. I’m out of proper paper, you see, and resorting to the scraps I have. In fact, if you get an email from me today, you can be assured it was born in a similar manner. (I told you it’d be of little general interest.)

So, good morning. It’s a chilly 9 a.m. here in LH, and I’ve been sitting up since 5 a.m. waiting for the rain to stop pounding on the ironsheet roof so KP and I can hit the trail for our morning workout. Instead, the Lord’s blessed me with a much-needed spiritual airing, and it’s the joy from that on which I now write…

I’ve been struggling a lot lately with sitting down and getting quality, quiet time with the Lord and in his Word. These dry times are always a huge red flag to me, as I normally have a God-given insatiable hunger for Scripture. But, lately, I’ve been  in a whirlwind, spending my days scribbling out and checking off to-do lists—wheeling off last-minute projects for my teammates, doing that and that to close up here, and this and this to prepare for life at home and Campus Crusade. My mind has been spinning full of the winds and waves of now, now, now demands and distractions.

But this morning God met me where I was at—in this storm—with a study on Paul in his own storm, in Acts 27:1-26. Paul’s heading to Rom as a prisoner, on board a ship with some reckless sailors. Coming up on the wrong side of a gamble with the winter weather at sea, these blokes do a few perhaps boneheaded things in their attempts to stay afloat amidst the tossing of the storm. I’m no sailor, so I can’t really judge what they did, but nonetheless I was able to take away some “seafaring” perspective of my own.

I need to be careful, I realized, in the midst of all this change, not to pull up anchor—that is, my faith in a sovereign God. I should mind not to give into the storm—all of this stuff before me—and maybe throw some cargo overboard—there are things I simply can’t take care of now, from here. I can follow suit with those sailors and throw the tackle overboard, too—all my own attempts to right the ship on my own power. In Paul’s case, God eventually sent an angel to tell him things were going to be OK. I’m not expecting any angels to rock up in Lopit in the next few days, but I can surely be a more ready listener to God’s voice. In fact, the study pointed to Job 40:6, which hit me. “Then the Lord spoke to Job out of the whirlwind…”

So, the storm pounding my mud wall doesn’t seem to be abating, and neither is this whirlwind transition in my life spinning away out of view. But I feel much more ready to deal with both, having had such a blessed morning with the Creator of the wind and rain and (sometimes stormy) seas.

Fading away...

I just watched my two bags bob down the mountain out of my view, on the heads of two of our Lopit friends.

 

Who, I needn’t mention, are by far our superiors in strength. Especially in neck strength. Who knew there even was such a thing, “neck strength”? You should see them, wobbling but comfortable under 23kgs of actionpacker. Look Ma, no hands. Unbelievable.

 

I’m writing to you now from a mostly empty room, with just enough things to get me through a week—a moo-moo to wear and give away at the end of each day.

 

Prrrrreetty crazy.

 

The lasts are coming. We’ve had our last team day. Soon, I’ll have my last bike ride before I clean her up for Cath. If the clouds ever clear enough, Kim and I will enjoy our last afternoon at the “river.” Our last church service is on Sunday, a big farewell shindig which I’m sure will be a highlight. And long. Very, very long.

 

Our friends are starting to come to sit and watch us pack and clean. Asking again, just to make clear, if Kim and I are really not coming back. They can look forward to seeing Pattie again, come next May. And, in general, the team is tying up loose preparing to either spend long periods away or close out their Lopit life entirely.

Innocent?

I read once that William Carey, as he was dying, said, “I haven’t done enough.”

Now, I don’t know how many of ya’ll are familiar with ol’ Will Carey, but the guy was aMAZing. The Lord used him in ways innumerable to minister in India. He translated the Bible into more than 40 languages—most of those previously unwritten languages. And when his workshop burned down and he lost most of the work, the guy up and retranslated everything. Perhaps his “greatest” achievement was getting widow burning outlawed.

And this is the guy who says, “I haven’t done enough.”

Yikes.

I’m still plugging along in my study of the apostle Paul, and I came to a part of Acts that—coupled with the words of Carey—really challenged me.

Paul calls the elders of the Ephesian church to meet with him on his way to Jerusalem, from which he’s certain he won’t return. And he gives them a speech of sorts, saying how he came to them, and how he witnessed among them, and how they (the elders) must keep careful watch over their flock. (You should just read the whole thing: Acts 20:17-38.)

In the middle of this, Paul says, “Therefore I testify to you this day that I am innocent of the blood of all of you, for I did not shrink from declaring to you the whole counsel of God.”

I was forced to look at my ministry here and ask myself, have I so diligently proclaimed the Gospel that I’m innocent of the blood of my friends here? And, well… I’m more likely to echo Carey: I haven’t done enough.

I know one of the biggest emotions people are tempted to feel when they leave a certain place of ministry is guilt—there’s still so much work to be done, and they’re leaving it undone. But I can take confidence in knowing that if nothing else, we’ve worked the soil here, so perhaps someone in the future will find a fertile place for their sowing.

It’s hard, living among a group of people for two years and not seeing an outward change in them for Christ. But I’m glad I can take comfort in the sovereign hand of God—that he has and will move in the lives of the people here, when and how he wants to.

Brownies?

For the past two nights, Kim was come out of the shower convinced of the crazy idea that someone is cooking brownies.

 

I don’t know exactly how to humor her on this point, except to weakly suggest that it’s our neighbor Laudina. But we both know the Lopit don’t cook brownies. Or anything but sorghum and beer, for that matter.

 

And at the moment, it’s equally unlikely that anyone in *this* house is cooking brownies.

 

With just more than a week left out here, our food situation is pretty grim.

Maybe even full-on grim.

To be safe, let’s say, somewhere between *pretty* and *full-on* grim.

 

Today I actually planned out the next week’s meals, so we could be sure to stretch everything far enough. I know, super dorky, right? I’m that kind of gal.

 

It should be an interesting week, with nothing to satiate the sweet tooth and very little else to go around!

Time Crunch.

I think the most comforting thing the re-entry books told me was that it was natural and not altogether bad to, as your time closes before furlough, begin to think more of matters at home and find yourself straddling two worlds.

 

My mind certainly is a battlefield to competing focuses these days, as we try to close out strong here and prepare for a healthy transition back home.

 

This bit where I’m trying to leave one mission organization and jump onboard another is especially trying. I told ya’ll that I’d got acceptance for the Jesus Film Travel Team (woohoo!). They’re hoping I’ll be able to go to an abbreviated training week at the beginning of September. And, oh, it’ll require $3,000 in support. My jaw dropped on that one, hahaha. Guess I’m going to have to cowboy up and run with all I’ve got. You know, start acting young and resilient, not like an old, aching woman. :)

 

I thought that trusting God to provide the support before I came out here was difficult. I never realized how hard it would be to trust him in all the details as I came back home. I suppose God’s asking me to drop my tendency to plan and organize some and just… go with it!

Finally!

So, hey, I got my full acceptance to Campus Crusade and the Jesus Film Project this week.

 

And I’d say that’s a pretty good deal.

 

And now you all know. :)

Loss for words...

I realized just now that I haven’t written anything for ya’ll this week, and I’m sending the sat away tomorrow morning, so it looks like this is going to be it for the posts. Forgive me, I’ve been a bit under the weather with a nasty head cold and really busy trying to tie up things and finish my final paper.

 

Which, by the way, I just finished minutes ago.

 

Hooray for that. (Small celebration dance.)

 

Unfortunately, this means that I officially have to start the feeling process. You see, I’d decided to put off letting myself really realize what was about to go down—leaving this place—until I’d finished my paper.

 

Now with the paper out of the way, the tears could possibly start to flow… Yikes.

 

Kim’s been going borderline gooey on me this week, so I can only imagine what’s to come next week. Pattie’s been gone so much—running here and there—I haven’t had a chance to see how she’s holding up.

 

Two weeks isn’t much time. Not much time at all.

 

Until next time…

Sick with it....

I don’t know how you do it.

And by “you,” I mean parents.

And by “it,” I mean raise children.

Especially when they’re sick.

The last two days, Grasshopper has brought over Franco, burning with fever and looking as helpless as anything. And it kills me, because we can only do so much.

I can run out, sweep him up and carry him into the house.

And Kim and I can run through the familiar, frantic gears of fighting the fever.

And we can use what medicine we have.

But all the while we’re made to watch the little guy being all miserable and weak. It takes such a toll on me just to look at him, retching up everything we give him and shivering with the fever. His pathetic round face…

Honestly, how do you do it?

I mean, don’t get me wrong—someday I do hope I have my own kids. In fact, that’s often what gets me through being thrown up all over or cleaning up puke or cleaning wound after festering wound. I just repeat in my head over and over about how this will somehow make me a better mother someday. ;)

But having to nurse my own kids through stuff like malaria and not wanting to wrench control out of God’s hands—that must take a special endowment of grace, given the moment you leave the maternity ward.

So, good on you for that.

I’m going to have to ask for some sort of honorary endowment, just to survive these last few weeks, with malaria season upon us.

Oh, and maybe a little something extra, to behave in love toward the kids’ mothers, who leave their sick toddlers with their slightly older siblings. Whew…