The day after Christmas we visit our neighbor clan, bringing goodies, most from you all . . . . Clothing, shoes, toothbrushes, colorful pencils, children’s books and GUM BALLS! After our distribution to all the kids, this guy, Mugesa, jumped in line and said with his amazingly appealing toothless grin, “na musasa??” (even the men??) So we passed out the rest of our gumballs and pencils to the men and women who LOVED them. The joy and laughter of the Babwisi is renewing and healing – I’m so grateful for the many ways they are growing and changing me.

We recently discovered yet another scam with the health care system as known here . . . . We call it double dipping.
The local version of health care has a lot to do with going to the muzungu (us whites foreigners) for needed money for medications. Though there is a local health clinic (run by our team leaders, Drs. Myhre) there are the usual unsatisfactory outcomes of universal medical care. Long lines, poor service, and lack of “free” medicine. Thus people bring their books to us. Having been warned about the propensity for stealing in this process we have a pretty simple but we felt effective system in place. We are revising it once again.
When people arrive at the clinic, they present any old little blank exam book, bought for 200 shillings, which subsitutes for a medical record. Into this book (often a new one each time, rather than more entries into the original) goes the pertinent data for the patient and their illness as well as the diagnosis and needed medications. If the patient goes to the health center, and if the health center has the medicines in stock, and if the person who distributes medicines is behind their counter, all goes well. Otherwise, they come to see us.
Our policy is not to fill prescriptions written by local “clinics” or “drug shops”. Unlike the health center, these clinics are usually run by completely untrained personnel who are merely making a buck selling medicine. Unlike in the States, here you can buy most any available medicine without a prescription. So, just like the used clothing business, or any other one, people travel to a city and buy in bulk then return here to sell. These drug shops are also notorious for swinging deals with locals to swindle us out of money. “you write the scrip, we’ll bring you some of the money the buzungu give us for meds”
Our simple policy when seeing someone who’s sick and needs financial assistance? 1) go to the health center 2) bring your book to us 3) we read the diagnosis to ensure that it was written at the health center, that it seems accurate and thorough and to note any medications and costs 4) we may pay the bill in full, or in part, or send the patient back to the clinic if we feel their care was inadequate. Keep in mind that these patients often have life-threatening illnesses such as malaria and travel to the clinic on foot, children sometimes alone, or caring for a younger sibling who is sick.
Now we have found the latest snag in our system . . Double dipping. We have forgotten to sign the books and write PAID over the drug listing. Apparently people have been hitting up more than one missionary for a single bill. The people who do this kind of thing are a small minority but it’s still discouraging when you are pouring your heart and life into them and find out that you’re little more than a malfunctioning ATM distributing more money than you should. Funny, must be the way God feels about His relationship with me sometimes . . . . Hmmm . . . .
Chocolate, stolen from under the Christmas tree by girls we had considered sponsoring at Christ School. Apples, stolen from the basin as they are washed. Legos and Playmobile, stolen by children as they play. Our phone number, used by someone unknown to try to collect money for a medical treatment we did not authorize. Our time, spent explaining and re-explaining why we are not willing to provide money for this or that to many someones’ whose character we feel, does not merit that level of trust and connection. Of all, it’s our heart, invested into lives here, that feels most raped by breaches in trust. And yet, we can only wonder how the locals view us and our decisions. Can they possibly understand them? And certainly they are not all wise or right decisions. Can they accept our humanity and give us the grace we so sorely need?
We learn a lot about ourselves as we find these glaring gapes in relationships. Our response teaches us about how we view God, ourselves and others, and offers us a new opportunity to accept His grace for ourselves and pass it on to others. After all, He didn’t come for the healthy but for for the sick. And that’s both them and us.

Had to include these photos from Christmas morning. Quinn in his hot new Christmas jammies waking Josh (see blog links!) to join us at the tree. We’re blessed to have such a great team to be our family here.

The day after Christmas brought our children a treasure hunt all over the area comprising our “mission” village . . . And the ultimate result was . . .. .

Sweet Jessy. As you can see from the photo, Naomi is in love. Jessy is not quite two months old and darling. She fits our family well with her shy spirit. She brings a few new challenges, especially as we teach Ugandan children to treat her well. But she is well worth it.

So we’ve painfully, reluctantly, slowly by slowly, made the decision to keep our second worker with us. I cannot tell you how difficult this is for my security-worshipping spirit. This whole situation reveals how strongly I value trust and safety in relationships and how unwilling I feel to love where I don’t feel safe and don’t have trust.
We want to walk beside this brother. We want to see him grow stronger. We want to see him turn to God’s power and not the power of the witch doctor. We want to see him make choices that bless himself, his family and the community. But for me, I want to see him do these things without sacrificing my own comfort or security in the process.
I thank God that He sacrifices for me. That He comes into my mess all the time. God help me to be willing and able to do that for others. And comfort my heart when doing that hurts.

Christmas Eve we all join together as a team to go caroling. Our team is small right now, about half home in the states on HMA or support raising, or baby delivery! But we are joined by the family of one of our team mates who come to us from Nairobi, and we set out on the dirt road to the first home. We carol at about six places, selecting people we know, including Daniel’s family (who live quite close to the mission) and the Akolimpe clan. People seem to enjoy the carols (which they’ve grown used to the team doing). Many American Christmas songs come on the radio here. Someone even heard The Grinch playing the other night!! We don’t dance, but the people sway. We carried with us guitar, horn, and flute. Quite an ensemble.
We ended the night in the manger of DMC, our team’s dairy cow, reading the Christmas story. Our candles glowed as DMC joined us, askance at all her visitors. How easy it was to imagine baby Jesus born into such a place. Our faces lit by the glow of candles, protecting small ones from sharp hooves and a heavy body, avoiding cow pies and mud slicks and breathing in the smell of animals.
Josh and Scott joined us at home after bedtime, helping us with our parental duties. The kids’ big request this year was for “territories”, loft beds with desk and shelves underneath like the other kids on the team have. Since we have our local mission workshop right here, such a request is easy to fill, relatively very cheap, and provides work to locals. Scott and Josh helped us to put the room together after five men from the workshop sneaked up after dark to help us load in the furniture. I am so happy to see the room becoming more theirs. They’ve been sleeping with us since we all arrived, fearful of the wild life and the who or what may lurk outdoors (note to supporters, please try to avoid mention of rebels and other big rarely seen dangers when our children are present, they really absorb all those conversations!)
Christmas morn we wake early, at seven Naomi and Quinn are in waking up Josh and Scott then heading to the “art room” where our Christmas tree is, to read the note from Santa. Two, just-pulled-from-the-garden carrots serve as reindeer food and Josh and Scott have assisted as reindeer and Santa, nibbling away at the goodies and writing a reply note. Naomi and Quinn read that Santa has brought something very heavy that is in their room. They run to see their territories and we spend the next while exploring their room and getting reaquainted with their space.
More present opening under the tree, the children have received stocking stuffers in addition to their territories and so they open some local goodies such as kitangis to use at the pool when we’re in Kampala and little soapstone animals to remind them of our recent safari.
David and I have bought each other stocking stuffers as well and Scott and Josh have loot from home as well as our gift to them, nomba ya kekombe, a bat house for their bat problems!! We drink warm spiced tea sent from America, and eat American Christmas cookies from a package. Such sweetness.

I walk the dirt path alongside the village road seeking out a friend . . . . Coming towards me are dozens and dozens of ankole cattle. The cows you see locally have long and lethal looking sharp horns. As I reach the road the cows surge toward me and I fall back fearfully. Massive bodies, sharp hooves and THOSE HORNS! Several men run around from behind the cattle towards my side, swinging their sticks and yelling to push the cattle back from me and back towards their path down the road. Christmas is upon us, the time for slaughtering is almost here.
Locally, Christmas is a time when you hope for the means for two things; to dress your family “smartly” for Christmas church and to eat beef on Christmas day. The cows who are now entering our village in a steady stream are a result of the need for meat. Typically a family here rarely eats beef. But at Christmas time EVERYONE aspires to.
The process begins at least a month or so ago as people gather money together for the purchase of these cattle. A single cow might cost around 300k shillings, about $150 American dollars. This is a huge price for the average man here, but there is a promise of potential return on this investment. They will eat a small amount of meat but sell most of it. A clan or family from a clan might go in together on the deal, then traveling in groups since they don’t trust each other. They travel to a place two days walk from here. Three groups will go out about a week apart. Each group will travel all together, sharing the journey. There they will find a cow market, and purchase from the many sellers who have brought their cows to this central location. The next day they will begin the process of driving the cows back home, there to be slaughtered on Christmas Eve. With no refrigeration, they will kill all the cows on the same day in a mass carnage carried out by local Moslems. As I saw groups arriving home yesterday it was hard to tell who was more weary from the journey, the cows or the men. But the men are triumphant, in some way, returning to their old ways of hunters, they bring the meat for their people.
The road is filled with the dust from the hooves, the shouts from the men, the sounds of sticks hitting hides, and the shrill yells of small children scrambling back from the road. Christmas is coming. We may not have loudspeaker Christmas music or plastic Santas or twinkling multicolored lights. But we have cows. So really we’re back to the beginning, Christmas as it began, 2000 years ago, with dirt, animals, and the smell of poverty and despair. All of this the welcome given to the King of all times and all nations, Jesus Christ.

Over the last few weeks we have experienced some significant discouragements. Particularly, someone who works for us having experienced some significant signs of mental illness or instability and our involvement with the local church and orphan school having led to serious dispute in the community.
Such is life.
We praise God for his intervention in the church situation. After feeling strongly led to purchase land for our local Pentecostal church, we found ourselves and Daniel, our pastor and worker, in the midst of conflict. As usual, money caused a lot of consternation. And as a result the church’s relationship with the orphan school was found to be somewhat destructive to both. Though the church is doing well we have faced eviction from our premises on a Sunday morning before church, the church’s few belongings held against our will by the previous landlord (drums, benches), and the defamation of our pastor’s name. And I was the recipients of some hostile and intense letters and speeches. I am thankful that both we and Daniel were given grace by God to handle this conflict in a way that reflects the peacemaking that God teaches in the Bible. And I am thankful that the community rose up to find truth together and clear Daniel’s name. The future of the orphan school is in question as this conflict revealed a great deal of unhealthiness in the leadership/staff/founder relationships. For now, our local church is choosing to focus on their primary role in the community, however I believe the orphan school will continue also. As for me, the very day before this all began (with a bang, I might add, as I was unexpectedly and publicly criticized in a school ending ceremony speech that focused on “the muzungu who is stealing our school”) I received clear leading from God that my focus for this next term is to be on Christ School and our family only. I thank God for clarity and lack of doubt on this issue and that I had told the staff this news the night before all this began. Please continue to pray for God’s provision for local orphans, for our church’s involvement in the community, and for our church to grow in health and strength. Pray for our weakness and doubt in the face of all this and our hearts that wonder if we do more harm than good.
We also appreciate your prayer for our other worker. While we were away he developed for the second time, some signs of mental unhealth. We found this distressing and unsettling and are concerned for him and his family. This effects us in lots of practical ways as well as we find ways to keep our home and family stable such as changing locks, new boundaries and dealing with ongoing situations that arise. As we have discussed this issue with community members we have also become aware of some areas of dishonesty in this person’s relationship with us. Please pray that our hearts will remain open to this person (especially mine, David is so much more gracious with him!) and we will remain willing to lay down our lives to see God’s kingdom grow in his heart and life. Pray for a willingness to walk through the valley of the shadow alongside this man, giving up comfort and security. Pray that we would have wisdom about the future of this position. Pray for us to know how best to help his family survive well while not giving money to him. Pray that he will stop going to witch doctors and that God will protect our home and family from his thoughts and plans. As we sat with him the other day for the first extended time since this began, my spirit was so disturbed by him. There are powerful evil forces at work in this place. This man believes that he has been “witched” by his family, which has led to his illness. Therefore he believes he must fight back using the power of witch doctors to restore his health. It is a well known fact or belief in the community that other people have the power to “witch” or even “curse”. Most people know/believe that people even die due to these effects. While it is hard to sort out the specifics, we know that Satan’s power here is significant. We ask you to intervene in this battle, with prayer, as we seek to see God’s kingdom come in hearts and lives here.
Meanwhile I find myself in flux over this term break and holiday season. Perhaps God is preparing my heart for Christ School ministry, but I find myself less and less likely to conduct my Bible studies. Mostly I spend time in personal conversation and relationships as well as with my children and other children in the community. I struggle with discouragement and doubt about my role here. I wonder if I have anything to offer. I wonder whether God is leading me away from the forum of children’s bible story times or whether I am just facing discouragement from Satan. It’s hard to know right now. Yet I must continue to trust that God’s plan is bigger than what I see or feel and that my responsibility is to follow his heart and the example of his life. I am focusing more on my family with Naomi home from school and with the onset of a time of traditions. Pray for me to find satisfaction in whatever God gives me to do. Pray that I would be a good steward with my time and talents and that I would be willing to not be productive. Pray that I would invest myself in lives in a way that is for God’s glory and these people’s good.

. . . . We inherited from the previous family who occupied this home, a swingset made by the locals. Recently we became the recipients of some swings from another mission family. Last night, two local guys helped us set them up. Afterward I watched, in the deepening twilight, as the twenty-something young man hoisted himself akwardly onto the middle swing and began moving his legs and jerking his body in an attempt to swing. The sight of this grown man who had no idea how to move a swing was awe-some to me. The kids and I cheered him on and he quickly got the idea and began pumping away a bit and moving forward and backward. . . . .
. . . . .Walking on a path I had not yet been on, through Nyahuka village homes, I smelled a sweet and distinct smell before catching sight of a large slab of concrete, covered with a thin coat of blood and with several animal tails scattered about. I had reached a village butchery. A goat, throat slit, body in grotesque position, occupied my main attention. It’s staring eyes and unnaturally tilted head horrifying and sickening me. Next to the slab was a small fence holding in a group of cattle who moved against each other uneasily in sight, smell and sound range of the death. . . . . . Several children sat on the fence, hovered just above the dead goat, oblivious. . . . .
. . . . .Sabbit morning, usually a no-visitor day, but an exception is made since it’s our first day back from our “safari” or trip. Akolimpe children en masse flock to our back “porchie” and look in our back door. A concert begins, the local African worship songs and a few songs learned by rote repitition in English or as they say “luzungu”. The singing went on for ten or more minutes as Naomi and I hung on the screen door and watched grinning, our hearts lit up. . . . . .
. . . . Walking through the market on a weekday afternoon. Things are quiet, and all attention is on the white woman who comes at this strange time. I usually market in the relative anonimity of the Saturday rush. The usual greetings as well as the expected remarks in Lubwisi accompanied by laughter, who knows why. I don’t feel frightened but I do feel vulnerable. I focus on holding my head high, being proud yet open. I catch one or two obscene gestures. And of course many calls from children, “muzungu, muzungu!!” One small child follows me, chanting this title, around the corner where the cloth is sold and into the fish section. As he reaches close enough to tug my skirt I turn to him. Again he calls “muzungu, muzungu”, all eyes are on us, but my eyes are locked in his bright ones. “How are you??” I demand, with my African accent. This tiny little one pauses for a long moment, thoughtfully and then shoots back ” I am foine!” If only you could hear the pronunciation of this one univerally known phrase. It is SO fetching. I respond with a characteristically African sound, an exclamation and a “webula luzungu!!” The market around us erupts in laughter. A universal appreciation for this plucky little boy. Ugandans love children. So do I.

Traveling down to our church’s land for the first women’s bible study . . .I see something I’ve never seen here before, a mom playing with her baby. I catch sight of the mom, in bright green dress with a big tangle of dark curly hair, leaning around the corner of her mud hut. And as I come around past the hut I see the little one, just learning to crawl, maybe six months, with a matching dark tangle of hair, but of course, naked, playing peek-a-boo around the other corner of the hut. What pure beauty. I lose my breath. Their joy in each other, silhouetted against the mud, dirt and garbage . . . Hope in a lost world.
Now we sit, the women, about ten of us, in the crude makeshift shelter that is our church right now. Most of the women are older. Two quite old. We discuss what the Bible says about being a woman. We start with the story of Eve’s creation and the fall. None of these women have ever heard these stories. We discuss the uniqueness of men and women, why did God create women?? What an amazing and unique perspective these women have on life. They are basically divided half and half in their beliefs about whether women and men have equal worth in God’s site. The young ones still hopeful that they have worth, the old ones quite sure they are far less than the men.
I head back towards home, stopping by the huts of Kasaija and Iadah. Iadah has just produced their first child, a girl. They asked me to pick her name and I picked “Peace” (” He shall be called the “Prince of Peace” – Isaiah 9) So she is called Katuunda (He loves us) Peace. I hold this intricate bundle in my arms. Small, perfect, looking so much like her beautiful mother. This one living, the last baby whose birth I prayed for, born dead. God says He knows every sparrow that falls from the tree, surely He knows both these children and is caring them for them with infinite love and wisdom. No tears left for Annit’s baby.
A man waits for me in our kituube, he is humble and hopeless in posture. He says through Daniel as translator that he has come for some wisdom or advice. This man, looking hardly old enough to be called a man, finds himself, as of a week ago, the father of twins, “selongo”. Since he can find no work he has no food for his wife, her milk is small and the twins are hungry, crying always and losing weight. What small help I am in the face of his desperation and need. I give money for eggs, instructions to feed his wife well in the hopes the milk may still grow strong for these babies. Formula is really not an option at this point. They will live or die. We pray together that God will give him strength through Jesus for whatever is ahead.
Evening, we gather around our christmas tree and light a candle. We open the window of our advent calendar and read the story of Zechariah from “Indescribable Gift”. I hold my own children in my arms, soft, blonde and sweet smelling from their basin baths. Healthy, strong, and well-nourished. Smart, capable and with every chance and choice in the world . . . They move forward into their future with parents who hold their hand each step of the way. Why are they, and we, so blessed. . . . . We hold out grateful hands to receive these gifts from God.