I should say, Ellen is doing better. My mom asked me about her, and I realized I hadn’t given an update. I sometimes forget ‘cause about a million things happen a day that I think would be nice to write about.
Our little sweet pea is doing fine and getting all her cookie-snatching strength and charm back. Mom said she might send an outfit over for her. I think Abuba would love that. She told me to greet my mother “very, very, very, very, very much” from her.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Pray for James…
Heinrich and Doris have been concerned for quite a while about their friend’s son. The friend is James, one of the chiefs, and his little boy has been sick for a while, and they’ve been unable to get him better. So they decided the other day to get him out of Lopit and to Nairobi, where he could get real medical attention. We have a lot of peoples’ generosity to thank for that, I’m sure.
James had never been out of Sudan before, so H and D had the forethought to give him important lessons, like how to use a toilet and take a shower. They gave him a toothbrush, among other things, and sent him off on a plane Wednesday morning with assurances from the doctors that they’d be able to treat the boy and would return him to Lopit feeling much better after only some simple treatment.
Word came through two days ago that they’d been mistaken. They found a soccer ball-sized tumor in the boy’s stomach and said it’d already destroyed a lot of organs. James begged them to take the boy to Germany, to treat him with chemo. The doctor said it was too late. James, who we’d hoped would be led to Christ through this, asked why we couldn’t just pray to Hollum (God) and He’d heal him.
The boy died late last night in the hospital. My heart aches for James, in Nairobi now but flying back as soon as possible with the boy’s body. Lopit tradition has the family surrounded immediately by the entire village, and provides a familiar way for them to mourn. The closest James has to anyone there is Daniel, who was able to receive him and—from what I understand?—was with them through it all. And I’m sure there are other DIGUNA folks there coming around James, but how hard…
I know H and D are taking it hard, and it will be hard to come back to Lopit, the harbingers of such bad news. Please pray for this whole situation, that God would work through it.
James had never been out of Sudan before, so H and D had the forethought to give him important lessons, like how to use a toilet and take a shower. They gave him a toothbrush, among other things, and sent him off on a plane Wednesday morning with assurances from the doctors that they’d be able to treat the boy and would return him to Lopit feeling much better after only some simple treatment.
Word came through two days ago that they’d been mistaken. They found a soccer ball-sized tumor in the boy’s stomach and said it’d already destroyed a lot of organs. James begged them to take the boy to Germany, to treat him with chemo. The doctor said it was too late. James, who we’d hoped would be led to Christ through this, asked why we couldn’t just pray to Hollum (God) and He’d heal him.
The boy died late last night in the hospital. My heart aches for James, in Nairobi now but flying back as soon as possible with the boy’s body. Lopit tradition has the family surrounded immediately by the entire village, and provides a familiar way for them to mourn. The closest James has to anyone there is Daniel, who was able to receive him and—from what I understand?—was with them through it all. And I’m sure there are other DIGUNA folks there coming around James, but how hard…
I know H and D are taking it hard, and it will be hard to come back to Lopit, the harbingers of such bad news. Please pray for this whole situation, that God would work through it.
Grandpa Heinrich…
Heinrich told me a story about his Lopit “grandfather” the other day, and I can’t help but share it.
Heinrich and Doris brought these crank-turn tape players from Germany, and dug up some old Latuka language (not so far from our dialect) recordings from Look, Listen and Live. The LoPeeps love them. Unfortunately, it’s not a very stable medium and they often switch out the Gospel tapes for their own ancient tapes they got from the refugee camps in Kenya, so we’re looking to go in a different direction. But that’s beside the point.
Apparently, this old man—self-declared grandfather to HK—really digs the players, but couldn’t for the longest time get the turning thing down. He just couldn’t do it. So a whole bunch of monyemiji and Heinrich sat with him a whole afternoon at the mangot and tried to teach him how to crank it. He finally caught on. (Heinrich said one of the main obstacles was his inch-long fingernails, which Doris graciously clipped for him.) Now all he wants to do is turn it, turn it, turn it, all the time and listen to the tapes. And he tells everyone he can do it himself. I think only Heinrich’s smile upon that declaration can rival the old man’s!
Heinrich and Doris brought these crank-turn tape players from Germany, and dug up some old Latuka language (not so far from our dialect) recordings from Look, Listen and Live. The LoPeeps love them. Unfortunately, it’s not a very stable medium and they often switch out the Gospel tapes for their own ancient tapes they got from the refugee camps in Kenya, so we’re looking to go in a different direction. But that’s beside the point.
Apparently, this old man—self-declared grandfather to HK—really digs the players, but couldn’t for the longest time get the turning thing down. He just couldn’t do it. So a whole bunch of monyemiji and Heinrich sat with him a whole afternoon at the mangot and tried to teach him how to crank it. He finally caught on. (Heinrich said one of the main obstacles was his inch-long fingernails, which Doris graciously clipped for him.) Now all he wants to do is turn it, turn it, turn it, all the time and listen to the tapes. And he tells everyone he can do it himself. I think only Heinrich’s smile upon that declaration can rival the old man’s!
Yeti: (n) see Andrea Ifeja
Yesterday, my dear friend Lisa told me it sounded like I was becoming a bit of a yeti.
Hmm.
I asked Kim what a yeti was. She didn’t know. I had just written myself off as one of those old, disconnect people who googles newfangled slang to keep up with the world, when Lisa told me she didn’t really know what it was exactly, ‘cept that they used it on Friends and it seemed applicable.
Upon searching it, she found it was “abominable snowman, a hairy humanlike animal reportedly inhabiting the snows of the high Himalaya Mountains,” and quickly apologized.
Apology not accepted. It sounds a bit right. Though I did pluck my rather unkempt left eyebrow this morning, I still think I’m of that distinct “hairy” rank. The only thing I can’t account for is the snow thing. There definitely isn’t snow here.
Hmm.
I asked Kim what a yeti was. She didn’t know. I had just written myself off as one of those old, disconnect people who googles newfangled slang to keep up with the world, when Lisa told me she didn’t really know what it was exactly, ‘cept that they used it on Friends and it seemed applicable.
Upon searching it, she found it was “abominable snowman, a hairy humanlike animal reportedly inhabiting the snows of the high Himalaya Mountains,” and quickly apologized.
Apology not accepted. It sounds a bit right. Though I did pluck my rather unkempt left eyebrow this morning, I still think I’m of that distinct “hairy” rank. The only thing I can’t account for is the snow thing. There definitely isn’t snow here.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Life of Learning…
I’ve been reading a lot lately, for the TIMO curriculum, and I’m enjoying what I’m learning. We’re on our church-planting and discipleship unit, which is cool. In the other units, I think maybe the theory was a little more distant from the practice. Or maybe I’m just more into this stuff.
Granted, we don’t have many folks here who can be disciple. There are very few Christians. But that’s what’s golden—remembering to focus on a few, and trusting God to work through them to the rest. And it is the same with my friends in the village. I don’t have people who are already Christians, but I have people who I can be something to and witness to. As a house, we learned long ago to have a close core, not to spread ourselves too thin. That’s what you always hear about the same folks.
Anyway, I read J.I. Packer’s Evangelism and the Sovereignty of God last week. Excellent book. It talked about these two great truths—God’s sovereignty and man’s responsibility. Lots of folks get all bent out of shape wrestling with these two things that they see as contradicting. And they run themselves ragged trying to reconcile these two truths. But it was nice to walk with Packer on a road I’ve walked before; to again have my thinking swiveled is always good for me. I love deeply the sovereignty of God and feel equally the responsibility of man. I love what C.H. Spurgeon said when someone asked him to reconcile the two truths—“I wouldn’t try. I never reconcile friends.” So, it’s nice to be reminded that both truths are from God’s Word. God never lies. And sometimes we have to accept what maybe to us is a mystery—and live our lives holding both in equal esteem, not playing them off against each other, because God doesn’t.
I also was reminded that God is sovereign, and because of that, what I’m doing out here isn’t pointless. God will move if and how He wills to. “Were it not for the sovereign grace of God, evangelism would be the most futile and useless enterprise that the world has ever seen, and there would be no more complete waste of time under the sun than to preach the Christian Gospel.” :)
What else? I read a book by some Guillebaud guy who does ministry in Burundi, For What it’s Worth. It’s about no holds barred discipleship. What I took from it was about the Christian life. Though living a Christian life sometimes seems like an insurmountable thing, we have to press on it in. He quoted Christopher Columbus who, though his crew was on the verge of mutiny and things were looking grim, he ended his journal each day with, “Today, we moved westward!” So, each day I want to be able to say I moved “westward” in my sanctification. I also liked this, from Newton: “I’m not what I ought t be, I’m not what I’d like to be, I’m not what I hope to be, but I’m not what I was, and by the grace of God, I am what I am.” Superb.
It all tied in well with my recent Piper sermons on Romans 7. We have hope in the face of our weaknesses and struggles in this world because we have Jesus Christ.
I listened to a sermon this morning by a one Brent Rue (don’t know this fella at all), the gist of which was that our relationship with God should be rooted in intimacy. And he said that we need to spend more time being loved by God, to be able to love him. He said that love is recognizing what God has done in our lives, and telling him all about it. An interesting point.
Then I just started last night a book called Creative Ministry (Nouwen), which said in the introduction: “If it is perhaps possible for a doctor to cure a patient even where the doctor hardly believes in the value of life, a Christian minister will never be able to be a minister if it is not his own most personal faith and insight into life that forms the core of his pastoral work.”
It’s actually funny how God weaved all my recent reading and studying together. I’m reminded that the whole string of what I just talked about—discipleship in ministry, the sovereignty of God in grace that undergirds and justifies that ministry, God’s grace in my own life that I can live my Christian life from and on, and how out of that Christian life, my ministry flows, and I’m able to lead others to Christ in discipleship. A neat little circle, isn’t it?
Oh, that I will have a lifetime of such learning. :)
Granted, we don’t have many folks here who can be disciple. There are very few Christians. But that’s what’s golden—remembering to focus on a few, and trusting God to work through them to the rest. And it is the same with my friends in the village. I don’t have people who are already Christians, but I have people who I can be something to and witness to. As a house, we learned long ago to have a close core, not to spread ourselves too thin. That’s what you always hear about the same folks.
Anyway, I read J.I. Packer’s Evangelism and the Sovereignty of God last week. Excellent book. It talked about these two great truths—God’s sovereignty and man’s responsibility. Lots of folks get all bent out of shape wrestling with these two things that they see as contradicting. And they run themselves ragged trying to reconcile these two truths. But it was nice to walk with Packer on a road I’ve walked before; to again have my thinking swiveled is always good for me. I love deeply the sovereignty of God and feel equally the responsibility of man. I love what C.H. Spurgeon said when someone asked him to reconcile the two truths—“I wouldn’t try. I never reconcile friends.” So, it’s nice to be reminded that both truths are from God’s Word. God never lies. And sometimes we have to accept what maybe to us is a mystery—and live our lives holding both in equal esteem, not playing them off against each other, because God doesn’t.
I also was reminded that God is sovereign, and because of that, what I’m doing out here isn’t pointless. God will move if and how He wills to. “Were it not for the sovereign grace of God, evangelism would be the most futile and useless enterprise that the world has ever seen, and there would be no more complete waste of time under the sun than to preach the Christian Gospel.” :)
What else? I read a book by some Guillebaud guy who does ministry in Burundi, For What it’s Worth. It’s about no holds barred discipleship. What I took from it was about the Christian life. Though living a Christian life sometimes seems like an insurmountable thing, we have to press on it in. He quoted Christopher Columbus who, though his crew was on the verge of mutiny and things were looking grim, he ended his journal each day with, “Today, we moved westward!” So, each day I want to be able to say I moved “westward” in my sanctification. I also liked this, from Newton: “I’m not what I ought t be, I’m not what I’d like to be, I’m not what I hope to be, but I’m not what I was, and by the grace of God, I am what I am.” Superb.
It all tied in well with my recent Piper sermons on Romans 7. We have hope in the face of our weaknesses and struggles in this world because we have Jesus Christ.
I listened to a sermon this morning by a one Brent Rue (don’t know this fella at all), the gist of which was that our relationship with God should be rooted in intimacy. And he said that we need to spend more time being loved by God, to be able to love him. He said that love is recognizing what God has done in our lives, and telling him all about it. An interesting point.
Then I just started last night a book called Creative Ministry (Nouwen), which said in the introduction: “If it is perhaps possible for a doctor to cure a patient even where the doctor hardly believes in the value of life, a Christian minister will never be able to be a minister if it is not his own most personal faith and insight into life that forms the core of his pastoral work.”
It’s actually funny how God weaved all my recent reading and studying together. I’m reminded that the whole string of what I just talked about—discipleship in ministry, the sovereignty of God in grace that undergirds and justifies that ministry, God’s grace in my own life that I can live my Christian life from and on, and how out of that Christian life, my ministry flows, and I’m able to lead others to Christ in discipleship. A neat little circle, isn’t it?
Oh, that I will have a lifetime of such learning. :)
Letting Go…
The bottom of my feet are tinted green. I had fading blue streaks on my arms for nearly a week. My fingernail beds have similar discolorings—from the preschool paint—and my thumb and forefinger are stained with the deep violet of GV, the wonder drug that we slap on the village kids’ cuts nearly daily. I wake up each morning to my increasingly wild curly hair, and I’m forced to giggle at myself in the mirror. Today, my skirt and my tanktop do not (and could never, even in the wildest fashion dreams) match.
I’m starting to think maybe I’ve let myself go. Kim keeps trying to call me back to the living. I wonder what the implications of this are. Hmm. Hopefully, I’ll be able to pull it together before our next trip back to civilization…
I’m starting to think maybe I’ve let myself go. Kim keeps trying to call me back to the living. I wonder what the implications of this are. Hmm. Hopefully, I’ll be able to pull it together before our next trip back to civilization…
Go Cubs, Go!
I got a delightful email in my inbox this morning, saying my dear Cubbies have clinched the Central!
Oh, what joy! Oh, what bliss! Oh, what sports happiness!
Oh, what cruel, CRUEL fate, if the Loveable Losers make a push for the October Classic in my absence.
Meh.
But, still, go Cubs, GO!!!
I expect updates, people. I’m ashamed I didn’t have a dozen emails in my box. (Ahem, Phil.)
On a similar note, I use my Todd Walker baseball card as a bookmark, and little Monica was quite enraptured by it yesterday during church, as she sat on my lap. I’m pretty sure—because of my Cubs baseball calendar—all the children think the “men of my village” all wear some combination of white, blue or gray uniforms with pants that are much too small for them and funny gloves. Good times.
Oh, what joy! Oh, what bliss! Oh, what sports happiness!
Oh, what cruel, CRUEL fate, if the Loveable Losers make a push for the October Classic in my absence.
Meh.
But, still, go Cubs, GO!!!
I expect updates, people. I’m ashamed I didn’t have a dozen emails in my box. (Ahem, Phil.)
On a similar note, I use my Todd Walker baseball card as a bookmark, and little Monica was quite enraptured by it yesterday during church, as she sat on my lap. I’m pretty sure—because of my Cubs baseball calendar—all the children think the “men of my village” all wear some combination of white, blue or gray uniforms with pants that are much too small for them and funny gloves. Good times.
Heating up
I know you folks at home are enjoying all the wonderfulness (would you believe that’s a word?!) of Autumn back home, but ‘round these parts the thermostat is quickly climbing. I can’t believe how stuffed I am after a climb up the mountain. We here in Husa are praying this is just our bodies adjusting, otherwise this doesn’t bode well for our surviving dry season. Eek.
Thankfully, my wonderful father brought this supercharged fan from the United States of America (I like to write it out like that). Unfortunately, all that wonderfulness (again!) does a quick number on our solar system and might prove more a sad reminder of what could have been in the end. Oh pity. We will somehow prevail!
Even though it’s an oven here, my heart still feels the Fall, and I actually felt a physical ache in my body the other day for going to an Illini football game. Funny, because it was Saturday, which I hear was the very day my dear Illini pounced the stupid Littany Lions and caused enough of a pulse in the Illinois football program for my father to declare it resurrected. Wonderful! If this is so, I’ll be forced to miss sports year-round—college basketball season runs right into professional baseball season, which overflows into college football time, and before you know it, it’s back to Assembly Hall. Call it the circle of life.
Fall to me is bonfire smores, and I just tried to resurrect Kim’s fire from her baking this morning for the purposes of such an indulgence. (We found Nairobi had marshmallows this trip! Unfortunately, not a true graham cracker in the country.) My face is now ashen from blowing on the few lukewarm coals, and I’ve given the silly thing over to—by the grace of God?—light itself.
Enough about my thoughts on Fall… I’ve got an entirely different reality outside my window that’s currently calling my attention to my laundry on the line and a threatening storm. (I’m telling you… every time!)
Thankfully, my wonderful father brought this supercharged fan from the United States of America (I like to write it out like that). Unfortunately, all that wonderfulness (again!) does a quick number on our solar system and might prove more a sad reminder of what could have been in the end. Oh pity. We will somehow prevail!
Even though it’s an oven here, my heart still feels the Fall, and I actually felt a physical ache in my body the other day for going to an Illini football game. Funny, because it was Saturday, which I hear was the very day my dear Illini pounced the stupid Littany Lions and caused enough of a pulse in the Illinois football program for my father to declare it resurrected. Wonderful! If this is so, I’ll be forced to miss sports year-round—college basketball season runs right into professional baseball season, which overflows into college football time, and before you know it, it’s back to Assembly Hall. Call it the circle of life.
Fall to me is bonfire smores, and I just tried to resurrect Kim’s fire from her baking this morning for the purposes of such an indulgence. (We found Nairobi had marshmallows this trip! Unfortunately, not a true graham cracker in the country.) My face is now ashen from blowing on the few lukewarm coals, and I’ve given the silly thing over to—by the grace of God?—light itself.
Enough about my thoughts on Fall… I’ve got an entirely different reality outside my window that’s currently calling my attention to my laundry on the line and a threatening storm. (I’m telling you… every time!)
Lizards, lizards… everywhere.
A lizard found its way into our frying pan the other day. Perhaps some clever bug’s antics to keep from being eaten. Fortunately (or unfortunately?) the pan was cooled. We’re not that desperate for meat.
Rainy season brings the most spectacularly weird encounters with animal and bug life. I’m always interested to find a cornucopia of critters in my bed each morning. (You know, inside my mosquito net.) Keeps life interesting.
Rainy season brings the most spectacularly weird encounters with animal and bug life. I’m always interested to find a cornucopia of critters in my bed each morning. (You know, inside my mosquito net.) Keeps life interesting.
“Ote, ote, ofu, ote”
Here’s a Lopit language and time-telling lesson for you.
If your housemate hears a suspicious, soft cadence of “ote, ote, ofu, ote” (“dry, dry, wet, dry”) in the sideyard after you’ve spent the whole day doing laundry, it’s high time you get out there and defend your precious clothes from little Thomaso’s dirty-fingered checking to see if they’re ready to take down.
Haha. It’s too bad the fingerprints these kids leave on my heart will last far longer than even the ones they stain my clothes with, or else I’d be tempted into frustration…
If your housemate hears a suspicious, soft cadence of “ote, ote, ofu, ote” (“dry, dry, wet, dry”) in the sideyard after you’ve spent the whole day doing laundry, it’s high time you get out there and defend your precious clothes from little Thomaso’s dirty-fingered checking to see if they’re ready to take down.
Haha. It’s too bad the fingerprints these kids leave on my heart will last far longer than even the ones they stain my clothes with, or else I’d be tempted into frustration…
Friday, September 28, 2007
Quick Prayer Request
Abuba brought little Ellen over yesterday, saying she was hot and shaking. I took her temp and it was ridiculously high—nearly 105. I stripped her and put her in a basin with water, the poor thing. Then let her sit with Abuba with wet towels on her forehead and chest.
Her little eyes were rolling back in her head and she was shaking.
Kim and Pattie came home in the meanwhile and we took turns fanning her. We must’ve fought that fever for two hours before we finally got it to stay down.
We’re not doctors. We don’t have children’s Tylenol. We don’t have children’s malaria medicine, if that’s even what it is it. Seeing our little gem like that was heart-wrenching.
We also found out yesterday there’s something like chicken pox running through the village. Baby Pattie is covered in spots and quite miserable, as are a growing number of children. I’m not sure if chicken pox runs through here often or if we should be worried about the adults catching cases. Then there are all the elderly and pregnant women.
Anyway, I have only a minute, but I wanted to ask for some prayer for health in our villages. This chicken pox thing is on top of all the malaria that’s normally around. Thanks for your prayers!
Her little eyes were rolling back in her head and she was shaking.
Kim and Pattie came home in the meanwhile and we took turns fanning her. We must’ve fought that fever for two hours before we finally got it to stay down.
We’re not doctors. We don’t have children’s Tylenol. We don’t have children’s malaria medicine, if that’s even what it is it. Seeing our little gem like that was heart-wrenching.
We also found out yesterday there’s something like chicken pox running through the village. Baby Pattie is covered in spots and quite miserable, as are a growing number of children. I’m not sure if chicken pox runs through here often or if we should be worried about the adults catching cases. Then there are all the elderly and pregnant women.
Anyway, I have only a minute, but I wanted to ask for some prayer for health in our villages. This chicken pox thing is on top of all the malaria that’s normally around. Thanks for your prayers!
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
The Napping House…
Kim and I are enjoying some study time in her room right now. Little Edek is sitting at my feet. He recently woke up from falling asleep in my lap. (And depositing a considerable amount of drool on my arm.)
He’s an unhappy little 2-year-old. His mom leaves him alone every morning and he just wails and wails. Pattie can’t stand it, so she constantly is shouting across the village to him, trying to reason with him and console him. And, yes, we’ve even stooped to giving him candy in exchange for his (albeit temporary) silence. Anymore, he’ll come sit on our rocks and look absolutely pitiable. He just scowls.
Apparently, he sees our house as a sanctuary for all crying children, as this morning he stubbornly urged me from my room to inform me that there was a children up yonder, crying. I’m not sure I like this trend.
He called me from my room again—he speaks in this very commanding voice—to inform me he wanted to come in the house. He kept informing us until we relinquished and allowed him a place on Kimmie’s rug. I put a book in front of him. He doesn’t want to read it. I’ve given him a pen and paper. He won’t draw. He won’t even talk.
But I took him in my lap and eventually he relaxed and fell asleep.
It’s somewhat a comfort to know the children trust us.
Wee little Ellen is the belle of the village and spoiled rotten. Now that she’s walking, she’s constantly making our house her playground. She clings to Kim and I and daily charms cookies out of us. Lately, she’s been sitting in my lap a lot while I work on the video. Yesterday, she took the liberty of peeing on the floor in my room. Now that’s comfortable.
Edek is pulling at my pant leg now. He wants back up.
Did I tell this story already? Our friend Cecelia (mama of baby Andrea Ibeja no Bongi—Andrea the Runner of the White People) was in a fight with her husband. They were throwing punches and at one point I looked out to see Cecelia with a big rock in her cocked hand, ready to smash it on his head. (It was a particularly striking scene, as her mom killed her father this same way. But, it’s OK, her mom is fat and therefore respected in the community.) Abuba called to us and told us her eldest son wanted to come to our house, because he was afraid and sad. His sister soon followed. We love the kids, and I’m glad for these little moments when they appear to love and trust us. 
He’s an unhappy little 2-year-old. His mom leaves him alone every morning and he just wails and wails. Pattie can’t stand it, so she constantly is shouting across the village to him, trying to reason with him and console him. And, yes, we’ve even stooped to giving him candy in exchange for his (albeit temporary) silence. Anymore, he’ll come sit on our rocks and look absolutely pitiable. He just scowls.
Apparently, he sees our house as a sanctuary for all crying children, as this morning he stubbornly urged me from my room to inform me that there was a children up yonder, crying. I’m not sure I like this trend.
He called me from my room again—he speaks in this very commanding voice—to inform me he wanted to come in the house. He kept informing us until we relinquished and allowed him a place on Kimmie’s rug. I put a book in front of him. He doesn’t want to read it. I’ve given him a pen and paper. He won’t draw. He won’t even talk.
But I took him in my lap and eventually he relaxed and fell asleep.
It’s somewhat a comfort to know the children trust us.
Wee little Ellen is the belle of the village and spoiled rotten. Now that she’s walking, she’s constantly making our house her playground. She clings to Kim and I and daily charms cookies out of us. Lately, she’s been sitting in my lap a lot while I work on the video. Yesterday, she took the liberty of peeing on the floor in my room. Now that’s comfortable.
Edek is pulling at my pant leg now. He wants back up.
Did I tell this story already? Our friend Cecelia (mama of baby Andrea Ibeja no Bongi—Andrea the Runner of the White People) was in a fight with her husband. They were throwing punches and at one point I looked out to see Cecelia with a big rock in her cocked hand, ready to smash it on his head. (It was a particularly striking scene, as her mom killed her father this same way. But, it’s OK, her mom is fat and therefore respected in the community.) Abuba called to us and told us her eldest son wanted to come to our house, because he was afraid and sad. His sister soon followed. We love the kids, and I’m glad for these little moments when they appear to love and trust us.
R-E-S-P-E-C-T
You know when parents always say, upon brandishing the spoon or belt or administering whatever punishment is due, “This hurts me more than it hurts you.” I’m not sure I really bought that until yesterday.
I was studying in my room and heard crinkling in the kitchen. Thinking it was a goat I needed to shoo out of our trash (common event), I lackadaisically stirred to accost our intruder. But when I went out, it wasn’t a goat causing the rustling. It was Paula, Abuba’s oldest, sitting in our doorway with quite a loot—an armload of crackers and instant noodles she stole from Pattie’s room. (Don’t ask me what she planned to do with the instant noodles.)
She’s been really naughty and obstinate lately, but I was flabbergasted. How could she steal from the people who so freely open their hands and house to her? Sure, it’s just crackers. But it’s the idea. Some of the kids are just ornery, and will look me straight in the face and refuse to do what I ask of them (like leave when they’re being bad). Do you know what it’s like for your reproofs to be utterly ignored or sneered at, or to be teased by a child? It gets to your very core and your whole self rises up against it. Or maybe that’s just me?
(Maybe this is God preparing me to be a parent. But wooooeee.)
I write this purposely juxtaposed to my last entry, because the juxtaposition is part of the struggle of being here. So it really does hurt me more than it hurts her. It makes me sad and wonder if we’ll ever make an impact here, as just strange white women who warrant no respect because we’re single, have no children and are completely foreign in every single way.
And because we can’t/won’t lift our hand against the children. Imagine: The word in Lopit for “to punish” is the same for “to beat.” So the two are tightly entwined in the culture and inseparable, even in words.
So, I’m not hurting so much over silly crackers, but of how I feel like something like this takes all the steps forward I think we’re making and pummels me back to what seems like ground zero.
I was studying in my room and heard crinkling in the kitchen. Thinking it was a goat I needed to shoo out of our trash (common event), I lackadaisically stirred to accost our intruder. But when I went out, it wasn’t a goat causing the rustling. It was Paula, Abuba’s oldest, sitting in our doorway with quite a loot—an armload of crackers and instant noodles she stole from Pattie’s room. (Don’t ask me what she planned to do with the instant noodles.)
She’s been really naughty and obstinate lately, but I was flabbergasted. How could she steal from the people who so freely open their hands and house to her? Sure, it’s just crackers. But it’s the idea. Some of the kids are just ornery, and will look me straight in the face and refuse to do what I ask of them (like leave when they’re being bad). Do you know what it’s like for your reproofs to be utterly ignored or sneered at, or to be teased by a child? It gets to your very core and your whole self rises up against it. Or maybe that’s just me?
(Maybe this is God preparing me to be a parent. But wooooeee.)
I write this purposely juxtaposed to my last entry, because the juxtaposition is part of the struggle of being here. So it really does hurt me more than it hurts her. It makes me sad and wonder if we’ll ever make an impact here, as just strange white women who warrant no respect because we’re single, have no children and are completely foreign in every single way.
And because we can’t/won’t lift our hand against the children. Imagine: The word in Lopit for “to punish” is the same for “to beat.” So the two are tightly entwined in the culture and inseparable, even in words.
So, I’m not hurting so much over silly crackers, but of how I feel like something like this takes all the steps forward I think we’re making and pummels me back to what seems like ground zero.
Fatalism
If this culture’s fatalism was at all influenced/begot by the introduction of clothes into their culture, I think I completely understand.
I think I’m becoming a bit of a fatalist myself… in the area of laundry. Every time I do laundry, it rains. It’ll be bright and sun-shiny outside, then the instant I dip my hands into the wash water, it’ll cloud up. Or thunder will rumble in response to my even making a move toward the clothespins.
Curious.
I think I’m becoming a bit of a fatalist myself… in the area of laundry. Every time I do laundry, it rains. It’ll be bright and sun-shiny outside, then the instant I dip my hands into the wash water, it’ll cloud up. Or thunder will rumble in response to my even making a move toward the clothespins.
Curious.
Churchgoers…
It shouldn’t go unsaid that we’ve got a lot of praise to give about our friends coming to church lately.
Mary comes every Sunday morning to our house and tells us to call her before we go down. Abuba’s kids have long gone with us. Laudina finally is coming with her kids. Davitica comes now and then. Pattie goes to get Pasca, the witchdoctor and the rainmaker before every service.
And this week, little Monica came with us. We walked by the house and her mom told us she’d get her ready to go with us. That whole relationship is amazing, because at first Ebiong wanted nothing to do with us. But now she’s one of our best friends and doesn’t miss an opportunity to greet us as she goes by or sit and have fun with us. She’s the one who leaves Baby Kim when she goes to the river. The one who laid out after our fugitive chicken and came up with only feathers—and a huge grin.
Anyway, she stripped Monica right there and gave her a bath. Probably the first time I’ve seen Monica truly clean, if it was only for a second. (She cried the whole time, as if afraid and unaccustomed to the water. We lovingly call her Stinky.) Anyway, she came and clung to either Kim or I the entire time, not quite certain of her surroundings and refusing to go to Sunday school, opting instead for the comfort of Kim’s lap.
The funniest/worst moment was when Martin was doing a play. Kim was in it, so she left Monica alone in her chair. She was happy as could be—maybe a bit anxious—until Martin closed the doors of the church. She absolutely freaked out and started screaming bloody murder. Poor Jen picked her up, only to heighten the screams. What a nice feeling it was to come to her comfort and have her wrap her little arms around me so tightly. Poor thing!
Anyway, praise God for all of our friends he’s bringing to church. And let’s pray that Ebiong and Abuba, like Laudina, start following their children to church.
Mary comes every Sunday morning to our house and tells us to call her before we go down. Abuba’s kids have long gone with us. Laudina finally is coming with her kids. Davitica comes now and then. Pattie goes to get Pasca, the witchdoctor and the rainmaker before every service.
And this week, little Monica came with us. We walked by the house and her mom told us she’d get her ready to go with us. That whole relationship is amazing, because at first Ebiong wanted nothing to do with us. But now she’s one of our best friends and doesn’t miss an opportunity to greet us as she goes by or sit and have fun with us. She’s the one who leaves Baby Kim when she goes to the river. The one who laid out after our fugitive chicken and came up with only feathers—and a huge grin.
Anyway, she stripped Monica right there and gave her a bath. Probably the first time I’ve seen Monica truly clean, if it was only for a second. (She cried the whole time, as if afraid and unaccustomed to the water. We lovingly call her Stinky.) Anyway, she came and clung to either Kim or I the entire time, not quite certain of her surroundings and refusing to go to Sunday school, opting instead for the comfort of Kim’s lap.
The funniest/worst moment was when Martin was doing a play. Kim was in it, so she left Monica alone in her chair. She was happy as could be—maybe a bit anxious—until Martin closed the doors of the church. She absolutely freaked out and started screaming bloody murder. Poor Jen picked her up, only to heighten the screams. What a nice feeling it was to come to her comfort and have her wrap her little arms around me so tightly. Poor thing!
Anyway, praise God for all of our friends he’s bringing to church. And let’s pray that Ebiong and Abuba, like Laudina, start following their children to church.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
The Gospel of John…
Gracious, it’s been a long time since I’ve written. I apologize—the rain clouds are keeping the sun away, and I’ve been trying to use my allotment of solar power for this video I’m making for our TIMO team. I hope you’ll forgive me.
What’s been going on? Cath and I have been working on the nursery school a lot. And we’ve had a lot of help from this Lopit Bible student, John. He’s been so wonderful to us, and such an encouragement to me. He preached at church the other day—brought the Gospel full-force—and twelve men said they wanted to become (real) Christians. Pretty sweet! Then he came up to my house and we chatted for a while. It was wonderful to hear his heart for the spread of the Gospel—not just lipservice, but a real desire to see these mountains reached for Christ. He talked too about wanting to do discipleship and build up the people who become Christians. I’d say he’s basically every missionary’s dream, right? It’s too bad he’s not here year-round; he goes to school about 90km from here with another AIM missionary. But nonetheless I was encouraged, because you could tell this guy was really Spirit-filled and had taken ownership of the vision of evangelism and discipleship. It shows me, if nothing else, it’s possible here; that it can happen. I know, God can do anything. But it’s nice to be reminded in such a obvious way.
Anyway, the nursery school building is looking great. We’re nearly done painting! I’ll send pictures when I can!
What’s been going on? Cath and I have been working on the nursery school a lot. And we’ve had a lot of help from this Lopit Bible student, John. He’s been so wonderful to us, and such an encouragement to me. He preached at church the other day—brought the Gospel full-force—and twelve men said they wanted to become (real) Christians. Pretty sweet! Then he came up to my house and we chatted for a while. It was wonderful to hear his heart for the spread of the Gospel—not just lipservice, but a real desire to see these mountains reached for Christ. He talked too about wanting to do discipleship and build up the people who become Christians. I’d say he’s basically every missionary’s dream, right? It’s too bad he’s not here year-round; he goes to school about 90km from here with another AIM missionary. But nonetheless I was encouraged, because you could tell this guy was really Spirit-filled and had taken ownership of the vision of evangelism and discipleship. It shows me, if nothing else, it’s possible here; that it can happen. I know, God can do anything. But it’s nice to be reminded in such a obvious way.
Anyway, the nursery school building is looking great. We’re nearly done painting! I’ll send pictures when I can!
Morning Mourning…
This morning’s calm was interrupted by a group of women wailing. My heart immediately sunk to hear the sound.
My entire body seizes up to that sound, and we all rush to the fence to ask our neighbors what has happened. We had a child die two houses up from us earlier in the week and other children have also died recently, so we know the sound of mourning well. I cringed to think that we’d lost another little one.
I was relieved to find it was just relatives who’d come late from Torit to express their grieve and give condolences, but I’m afraid of when we’ll hear the next wails.
This week has been a bit like that—uneasy. Our good friend Mary’s daughter, Night, was really sick, and we were afraid we were going to lose her. Mary even came to church Sunday and asked the congregation to pray. She is the one who lost a boy to malaria this time last year, so you can imagine our fear—only a shadow of hers. It was sad to see Night’s normally smiling face so troubled as she slept and her body so listless.
I’m not sure news of this year’s huge meningitis outbreak has surfaced in the States, but I read about AIMAIR pilots bringing medicine to villages and administering vaccinations right there on the airstrip, they were so desperate. I’m always afraid of finding a case here—it’s yet to reach us.
Anyway, we sat with them a lot and prayed, and pumped her full of rehydration salts, and she seems to be going better now, praise God. But please just pray for the community here, as 9 out of 10 tests at the clinic are positive for malaria—and that’s only the people who actually go there—and there is something else going around.
My entire body seizes up to that sound, and we all rush to the fence to ask our neighbors what has happened. We had a child die two houses up from us earlier in the week and other children have also died recently, so we know the sound of mourning well. I cringed to think that we’d lost another little one.
I was relieved to find it was just relatives who’d come late from Torit to express their grieve and give condolences, but I’m afraid of when we’ll hear the next wails.
This week has been a bit like that—uneasy. Our good friend Mary’s daughter, Night, was really sick, and we were afraid we were going to lose her. Mary even came to church Sunday and asked the congregation to pray. She is the one who lost a boy to malaria this time last year, so you can imagine our fear—only a shadow of hers. It was sad to see Night’s normally smiling face so troubled as she slept and her body so listless.
I’m not sure news of this year’s huge meningitis outbreak has surfaced in the States, but I read about AIMAIR pilots bringing medicine to villages and administering vaccinations right there on the airstrip, they were so desperate. I’m always afraid of finding a case here—it’s yet to reach us.
Anyway, we sat with them a lot and prayed, and pumped her full of rehydration salts, and she seems to be going better now, praise God. But please just pray for the community here, as 9 out of 10 tests at the clinic are positive for malaria—and that’s only the people who actually go there—and there is something else going around.
Regrets…
The other day on the path, I came across our friend David, carrying his son his back.
I asked what was wrong, and he explained to me that the boy (maybe 8 or 9?) was very sick. And it was clear he was—his stomach was swollen and he looked terrible. I asked where he was taking him, and he said to get medicine. He was going in the opposite direction of the clinic, however, and I knew full-well he was going to the witchdoctor a village over. He said she was going to cut his stomach. I tried to convince him to take him to the clinic, but he said there were no people there. Which is true, because the clinic workers had some sort of disagreement and are on strike. I urged him to call Michael, the nurse. He said he couldn’t get him. I eventually gave up.
That’s the boy who died. David took him to this witchdoctor, then to a witchdoctor about 14K’s away. I sort of wish I’d wrestled the boy away from him and carried him on my own back to someone—anyone—who could help him. It’s moments like this I hate not being a doctor, not having a clue how to help the kid.
The locals say the boy went to the river and killed a snake. The snake, in turn, got into his stomach and cursed him, which is why he died.
Ugh.
I asked what was wrong, and he explained to me that the boy (maybe 8 or 9?) was very sick. And it was clear he was—his stomach was swollen and he looked terrible. I asked where he was taking him, and he said to get medicine. He was going in the opposite direction of the clinic, however, and I knew full-well he was going to the witchdoctor a village over. He said she was going to cut his stomach. I tried to convince him to take him to the clinic, but he said there were no people there. Which is true, because the clinic workers had some sort of disagreement and are on strike. I urged him to call Michael, the nurse. He said he couldn’t get him. I eventually gave up.
That’s the boy who died. David took him to this witchdoctor, then to a witchdoctor about 14K’s away. I sort of wish I’d wrestled the boy away from him and carried him on my own back to someone—anyone—who could help him. It’s moments like this I hate not being a doctor, not having a clue how to help the kid.
The locals say the boy went to the river and killed a snake. The snake, in turn, got into his stomach and cursed him, which is why he died.
Ugh.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Earnestness.
I’ve mentioned before that I like to indulge in a classic novel every now and then out here, that it helps keep me sane and my mind active on things a little less dense than theology and Lopit language. My mind has been pleasantly stuck on this passage from David Copperfield since I read it a few days ago.
“My meaning simply is, that whatever I have tried to do in life, I have tried with all my heart to do well; that whatever I have devoted myself to, I have devoted myself to completely; that in great aims and in small, I have always been thoroughly in earnest. I have never believed it possible that any natural or improved ability can claim immunity from the companionship of the steady, plain, hard-working qualities, and hope to gain its end. There is no such thing as such fulfillment on this earth. Some happy talent, and some fortunate opportunity, may form the two sides of the ladder on which some men mount, but the rounds of that ladder must be made of stuff to stand wear and tear; and there is no substitute for thorough-going, ardent and sincere earnestness. Never to put one hand to anything, on which I could throw my whole self; and never to affect depreciation of my work, whatever it was; I find, now, to have been my golden rules.” –Charles Dickens, David Copperfield
I’ve read it again and again, and I’ve wedged it in my mind as another buttress for my new resolve to really tackle my language learning. Today I sat down with words swimming in my head, ready to just lay off for a day, but this passage—in plain English!—came floating back to my head. “Never put one hand to anything on which you can throw your whole self. … Whatever you try to do, try with all your heart to do it well… If you’re going to devote yourself to something, devote yourself completely.”
I am devoted to these people out here, so I’d better take on with all earnestness my charge of learning the language.
“My meaning simply is, that whatever I have tried to do in life, I have tried with all my heart to do well; that whatever I have devoted myself to, I have devoted myself to completely; that in great aims and in small, I have always been thoroughly in earnest. I have never believed it possible that any natural or improved ability can claim immunity from the companionship of the steady, plain, hard-working qualities, and hope to gain its end. There is no such thing as such fulfillment on this earth. Some happy talent, and some fortunate opportunity, may form the two sides of the ladder on which some men mount, but the rounds of that ladder must be made of stuff to stand wear and tear; and there is no substitute for thorough-going, ardent and sincere earnestness. Never to put one hand to anything, on which I could throw my whole self; and never to affect depreciation of my work, whatever it was; I find, now, to have been my golden rules.” –Charles Dickens, David Copperfield
I’ve read it again and again, and I’ve wedged it in my mind as another buttress for my new resolve to really tackle my language learning. Today I sat down with words swimming in my head, ready to just lay off for a day, but this passage—in plain English!—came floating back to my head. “Never put one hand to anything on which you can throw your whole self. … Whatever you try to do, try with all your heart to do it well… If you’re going to devote yourself to something, devote yourself completely.”
I am devoted to these people out here, so I’d better take on with all earnestness my charge of learning the language.
Presents of mine.
Francis comes for the children’s Bible every morning, but this week has been different. When he has met me at the front door to get it from me—usually after waiting at my window for me to wake up—he’s handed me some small present in exchange.
Two days ago, he gave me some sort of small fruit. “People eat it,” he assured me.
Then today it was… well, I really don’t know what it was. Some ballish nut or fruit or something.
The best, however, was the inaugural present. It was some sort of small clay creature, which Pattie, Kim and I sat over for a long time, wondering what it could be. We’re used to seeing cows and goats and even cars before, but never something like this. After a lot of Lopit gibberish and gesturing from the kids, we came to the conclusion that it was—drum roll please—a tick.
A clay tick.
I’m sure hoping this is some Lopit gesture of deep friendship I’m yet to completely comprehend.
Two days ago, he gave me some sort of small fruit. “People eat it,” he assured me.
Then today it was… well, I really don’t know what it was. Some ballish nut or fruit or something.
The best, however, was the inaugural present. It was some sort of small clay creature, which Pattie, Kim and I sat over for a long time, wondering what it could be. We’re used to seeing cows and goats and even cars before, but never something like this. After a lot of Lopit gibberish and gesturing from the kids, we came to the conclusion that it was—drum roll please—a tick.
A clay tick.
I’m sure hoping this is some Lopit gesture of deep friendship I’m yet to completely comprehend.
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