This morning I walked down to Grace Orphan School to participate in their
daily chapel time.

You’ll remember that this school was started by a local Pentecostal man who
had a vision from God asking him to care for the orphans through starting a
school. He’s been running it since then, without any money for teacher
salaries or supplies, but somehow God has always provided.

The school has close to three hundred student in grades one through four and
meets in some teeny buildings, including our church. It’s a really high
need situation and I would appreciate your prayers that God would direct the
future of the school and provide a way financially for it.

So today Daniel and I walked down there and entered the biggest building,
still about the size of most living rooms, where 300 children were
congregated for chapel time. Baguma Patrick, the headmaster, was talking to
the kids about God. I had planned to just observe to get a sense for what
chapel is like, but when I saw the faces of the children, my heart just
started hurting. They are so, so beautiful. They are skinny, dressed in
rags, with big eyes, yellow from malaria. They are absolutely precious and
I felt like my body was just a channel for God’s love, I could feel His
love for them pounding through me.

I asked if I could tell them a story and they welcomed me with their special
greeting clap. I just couldn’t stop smiling at them, and thought I would
cry too. I told them how much love I felt, and how I knew that was just a
teeny bit of the love God has for them. I told them how very, very much he
loves them. Then I shared the story of Esther, which I felt God had placed
on my heart. I told them that the Bible is full of stories of strong men
and women, who were not strong except for God’s strength.

When I got to the part of the story where Mordecaai tells Esther, “perhaps
you were placed in the King’s house for such a time as this” I had a feeling
of the utmost importance of that thought. That there are children in that
very room who are utterly irreplaceable in God’s kingdom. They are put on
this earth to do a job that no one else can do. They have been sent “for
such a time as this.” And God is calling to them, to you and to I, asking
us to respond to his loving invitation, which says ” I designed you for a
purpose only you can fulfill. There’s no one else who can do what I made
you to do. You will find your greatest joy in trusting my plan for your
life. And I delight in you and want you to find your greatest joy.”

Go live your lives with courage, for who knows what God has created you for,
but it IS “such a time as this.”

I have a feeling food may become a theme on this blog.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, “Give us this day our daily bread” has
never before been something I seriously prayed each day. But here, yes. We
don’t have the same sense we did in America, that our daily food needs will
just come to us, no problem. The difficulty is in not carrying that burden
ourselves, but instead relying on God for our daily needs.

The struggle is access to protein and fats and in caloric density. Most
people here eat protein maybe one time a week. They subsist on a high
starch diet including; bitikari (sweet potatos), mechelle (rice), cassava,
metoke (cooked non-sweet banana). To this they add fresh fruit and a few
vegetables such as cabbage, sombe and dodo (two greens). For some meals
they will make a bean sauce to pour over their starch, or occasionally a
chicken sauce (or even beef at special occasions).

Unfortunately our whole family seems to have a fairly high protein/calorie
need. I have David, of course, who has a super-speedy metabolism and can
eat a ton. Naomi, our super-skinney-minney hasn’t quite been keeping up with
her growth needs. Though she is eating very well here, it’s just not as
many calories over all. Quinn eats non-stop and is a healthy weight, but I
just have to work to keep that boy fed!! And for myself I just really went
into a slump over this last week that made me realize on Saturday that I am
just not eating nearly enough protein for my low-blod-sugar body. I really
have been feeling yuk.

We’re getting down to the bottom of the barrel a bit, since we are due to go
into Kampala this week for supplies. So on Saturday our team mates helped
us out with some cheese and meat to tide us over. That has really made a
difference.

It’s just difficult to get excited about eating here. It’s difficult to be
creative with the limited variety of foods. It’s difficult to find snack
foods that have protein.

Folks from our church back home have been sending protein bars, though. So
we are all committed to trying to eat two a day for a while to boost us back
up. And yesterday a box from Michigan arrived bearing protein powder, so
this morning I will make banana shakes for us all and make that a part of
our breakfast routines.

We’d just appreciate prayer. Prayer that we won’t worry about a problem God
has solutions to. Prayer for me to have creativity, foresight to know what
to buy in Kampala, good planning, and time and energy to keep up with food
preparation. Prayer that all of us will continue to enjoy foods that are
available here. Prayer that this all will draw us closer to God and closer
to our new people, the Ugandans.

The other side of this coin is looking around daily at people who live on
tremendously less than we do, and seem okay. It’s deceptive. I have to
keep remembering the facts in this situation which include how many people
here go to bed hungry at night. How many people don’t eat breakfast or
lunch, but just one evening meal. How many people here never come close to
their genetic potential in terms of size or intelligence due to lack of
adequate protein and calories. It’s heartbreaking to see children who can’t
run because they don’t have strength, who can’t bend well because their
parts are just not working right.

Then we look at ourselves and wonder what we’re complaining about. Yet, we
must do more than survive here, we must thrive. And if we’re not thriving,
we’re going to have so very little to reach out to others with (one of the
big issues with indigenous ministry).

So the bottom line is, please pray for us.

Know what we found in our box of malaria medicine today? A dead mosquito. I
guess the stuff really works

On Monday we spent Ugandan Independence Day in Bundibugyo town. It was a
bit of a mob scene. Many people had come from areas all around. Walking in
from villages . . .

We arrived mid afternoon, with a van full of friends from Nyahuka. We hoped
to stay a few hours, see some of the ceremonial dancing and part of the
football game. We had deliberately missed the speeches, which in this part
of the world, are most trying.

Upon arriving we soon discovered that it was going to be a bit of a
different day than we had imagined. We immediately saw some dancers and
wandered over to join the crowd viewing them, we also saw some people
wearing what looked like the skins and fur of colobus monkeys, playing a
large homemade xylophone, big enough for three people to play. Fascinating.
But as we watched, we realized that we were being watched. This was to
characterize our day there.

As we slowly moved from dance to dance, a pattern developed. As long as we
kept moving, we were okay. But as soon as we stopped a crowd would develop
around us, bigger than the crowd watching the actual dance. Then when the
crowd around us had gotten big enough that we really couldn’t see the dance
anymore, we’d wander on.

After just a short while, this grew old. We crossed the main road and
wandered down little streets and through the market area of Bundibugyo until
we reached the Hotel Vanilla. We had never been there, but it is advertised
on signs as being ” a tropical paradise in Bundibugyo.” Okay, not quite,
but still nice. We sat in their courtyard area and drank bottles of soda
and enjoyed being alone.

It would soon be time for football, so we ventured back out into the streets
to more cries of “mazungu, mazungu” and back up to where the main
festivities were being held. I was growing tired by this time. Because of
all the attention, we were holding Naomi and Quinn to prevent them being
touched and handled so much.

We rejoined some of the friends we had brought, including our workers and
some of their friends and their wives. I sat down on the ground next to
Aidah and Grace and put Naomi and Quinn in my lap. With all the men standing
right there, and sitting with Ugandans, I figured that societal pressure
would make the watching crowd leave. But as we sat down they came in record
numbers. I think there were hundreds of children gathered around us in an
enormous circle. They weren’t budging, they just kept coming closer and
closer and closer. Finally there we were sitting on the ground with
children pressed up against us on every side, we couldn’t see a thing, we
almost couldn’t breathe. One of the women with me had an umbrella for the
sun, and she kept beating at the children with it, but that wasn’t
discouraging them. It was an odd situation. We weren’t sure what to do
and really I don’t think anyone else was either. The sheer size of the
crowd was off putting. And I think because everyone was there simply for
the festival, there wasn’t anywhere for us to tell them to go. We were the
most interesting thing to see and they were here to see us!

I was laughing at the scenario, keeping a sense of humor and trying to find
some joy in the moment, when something fell onto my skirt. It was a chewed
up piece of sugar cane (sugar cane fibre is not edible, you just chew it and
suck up all the juice then spit it out). I was a little grossed out and
looked around to see who had thrown it, surprised at their rudeness. All
around children looked on, spellbound. What would the mazungu do?? I just
brushed my skirt off and didn’t think too much of it. In the next moment,
though, a small rock came flying past Quinn’s face and hit me. I stared
down at my lap and at the stone. Not even half a moment went by as I
processed this. There was a tension in the air. It was a defined moment, a
moment of decision making.

What was happening? We were being treated as mere objects, with no thought
to our humanity. Like dogs being teased through a fence, they were playing
with us.

The mama bear in me came out. I could feel in the air, that if I did not
act, a lot of children might do something small and stupid. But hundreds of
children doing a small stupid thing together could end up being very
dangerous. If each one picked up a rock and threw it, we would be hurt.

In the very next moment after that rock arced into my lap, I was up and
about 12 feet tall. Naomi and Quinn behind me still on the ground. I had
a voice that you who know me might not imagine. “Bah, na we!!” I yelled at
the children who had begun scrambling backward and away from me. “We, Bah!”
Oghendaha!!” I told them, “you, move back, you go back. That is NOT okay.
You may NOT.” you, and you, and you. Back!!” You get back from the
Bazungu children, right now!” Children were running and yelling, the crowd
was scattering. Our friends came toward us and now I was crying, telling
Daniel. “you must send them back. They cannot treat us this way. They are
your people you send them back.”

The dehumanization of it. I was furious for myself, furious for my
children. Just furious. And even in the midst of it I thought, what does
love look like right now, for these ones?? I just prayed that God would
allow me to hold love beside the necessary anger.

Our Ugandan friends took up sticks and formed a circle around us holding the
children back. I kept asking if we should just go, but none of us wanted to
be defeated that way. It would have felt like defeat. Later as heavy rains
came we found a place to drive our vehicle up close to the field. We sat
inside as children danced around the vehicle, calling to us. One little boy
seemed mentally disturbed. He kept motioning that He was going to slit my
throat. I just kept looking into his eyes and praying against whatever was
there. He could not hold my gaze.

Later, as the rains had stopped, I went outside the van and spoke the to the
children a little. I showed them a picture book, I felt the mood change. I
prayed that they would sense my love, and that they would know that because
of Jesus we are not afraid.

Later we learned that the atmosphere of the crowd was probably due to some
passionate speeches about freedom from oppression, which involved a lot of
discussion about whites oppressors. Thought we are not seen as oppressors,
their may have still been a bit of transference. Also, there were a lot of
people in Bundibugyo town that day who rarely, if ever see whites.

We left shortly before the football game ended, trying to get home before
dark. We had 24 people filling our ten passenger van for the ride home. It
was a harrowing drive, in wet and slippery conditions, in the dimness of
twilight, with so many traveling on the road.

We arrived home to find that a big storm had blown in a great deal of water,
now standing on our floors. After pulling together some fruit and g-nuts
for a dinner of sorts for the children, I got them into bed then began
sweeping out water. A very heavy piece of furniture fell on my foot,
causing enough pain to make me wonder if it was broken. No, just very, very
bruised, still hurting almost a week later.

Wow. When the day here is bad, it’s bad. When it’s good, it’s difficult.

The culture here really stresses thankfulness, much more so than is the case
in the U.S. For example, it’s very common to hear the phrase “weebale
mulimo” (“thank you for your work”) as you’re performing some routine task
around the house or the phrase “weebale kusaba” (“thank you for praying”) as
you’re returning from church. There are several other examples I could give
of people saying “weebale [fill in blank]” for other activities that in the
U.S. would not be considered particularly worthy of thanks. Quinn LOVES
bathroom humor (something I (David) must admit to encouraging because it’s
so much fun to watch him laugh), so of course in the spirit of the culture I
had to teach him the Lubwisi for “thank you for burping” (“weebale
kwebhekwa”). Some family members I could name were not particularly thrilled
about this, I guess because it isn’t a phrase that we’ve ever heard come up
in actual conversation. So you can imagine how gratifying it was for me when
I had an opportunity to use it today at Christ School. One of the students
had let out a burp during the middle of my math class, to his obvious
embarrassment and to the other students’ great amusement. I responded with
“weebale kwebhekwa”, which drew even more laughter and embarrassment because
it was so unexpected — not to mention completely inappropriate. I think I
will be all set if I can just learn the Lubwisi for “thank you for not
picking your nose” — I still find myself mildly disgusted by the tendency
of people here to shamelessly engage in graphic acts of nasal hygiene as
they are talking to me.

Last week I heard a new Lubwisi word, Munugula (sp?). It’s the word the
Babwsi use to refer to black foreigners (as opposed to us white foreigners
who are called mazungu). The fascinating and sad truth is that this word
translates directly to “the slaves who have been freed”. I was blown away by
this. There is nothing negative in this word here, it is a statement of
fact in their minds. I explained to my language helper (who was joking
that someday he will move to America and then he will be a munugula) that
the meaning of the word would be offensive to African Americans, I think.
He didn’t understand why.

Our friend who is a missionary in Kampala and happens to be an African
American, says she is often asked if black Americans are ashamed of their
African heritage. Of course she declares that quite the opposite is true.
She is surprised and concerned by this question.

I am amazed by the similarities I see between black africans and the black
americans I lived around. There is a grace, an ease, a friendliness and a
quickness to laughter. The sense of rhythm and ability to sing, dance, and
use their hands well. I admire these people tremendously. I feel pale, and
unattractive beside their dark glowing faces and shaved heads. I feel
clumsy and inept alongside their quick hands and feet. I wish I could
dance, and drum and use a pongo (machete) to cut sugar cane in a mere moment
or two.

One of our friends has been exploring Ugandan adoption and wrote me the bit
below in an email. I thought it was poignant and thought provoking. There
is an orphan crisis in African caused by AIDS. It is one more area where we
can act, choosing to live lives bigger than we could have imagined by
welcoming someone in Jesus name. Please consider looking at
www.amanibabycottage.org – and know that Ugandan adoptions are quite
inexpensive and can be facilitated by Bethany and other organizations. She
mentions a little boy because there are twice as many boys available for
adoption as there are girls.

From my friend:

“I was thinking that the only true way to racial reconciliation must be to
become family with other races. If you spend your days hugging a black
child, raising a little black boy, changing his diapers and showing him who
God is, I find it hard to believe you will feel uncomfortable with the
strong black man he becomes walking down the street next to you, simply
because of his color. And I think that if those around me were to love this
boy, maybe their perceptions would change too . . . . .”

Today is Quinn’s fourth birthday, though he has claimed it as his eighth!!

Quinn is a sparkling and amazing little boy. He is gorgeous, sweet, and
kind. And such a gentleman. Of course, being his daddy’s boy, he has quite
a brain too.

Quinn has a zany sense of humor which makes everyone around him smile all
the time! He loves anything scatalogical! He has even learned to tease
African style.

Quinn is a great Lubwisi speaker who makes friends everywhere he goes
through his frequent use of the words he knows. No matter what part of town
we travel to, we are always amazed to find how many people know him. It
doesn’t take this guy long to get around.

Quinn has had since the moment of his birth, a certain charisma. It might
be that huge double dimple, or those sparkling blue eyes. It definitely has
something to do with that infectious laugh.

He’s all boy and loves sports (especially “football” these days), climbing
trees and riding his two wheeler everywhere! He loves to be tickled, and to
read Curious George and Dr. Seuss stories over and over and over and over.
He likes to follow his sister around and play imaginative games with her.
He is learning to write all his letters by himself and has hired a language
helper that he makes flash cards for.

Quinn despite all his rambunctious energy and frequent laughter also has
quite a sensitive thoughtful side. He is easily hurt by unkind words and
thinks deeply about the problems of the world around him. He is really
absorbing all the issues that he sees on a daily basis here.

Quinn is simply precious in every way and we thank God for him everyday.

This photo is David receiving our second kisembo (gift) of a chicken, from
our very poor neighbors – this was a BIG gift.  David holds the chicken! at
the far right you can see Akolimpe himself, a real maze (old, wise man).  He
claims to be eighty-six, old enough to remember his culture when it was
stone age and to have lived through the arrival of white men.   What changes
he has seen.   In the middle is Barungie William who is translating for us,
when we need it.  Pray for Akolimpe and his family to surrender to Jesus,
and be freed from witchcraft.

Today is Uganda’s 44th birthday. . . . . Happy birthday Uganda! Kind of
nice that it falls on America’s Columbus Day too.

I am not up to posting about it yet, but suffice it to say it was quite a
day; including chickens eaten, stones thrown, and a foot that hopefully is
not broken (mine)!

So yea, prayer is always good.

“We are not left here on earth because we have a job to do, but because we
have a God to know.”

From Letters to the Thirsty, by Edward Miller