May all of your expectations be frustrated
May all of your plans be thwarted
May all of your desires be withered into nothingness,
That you may experience the powerlessness and poverty of a child
And can sing and dance in the love of God
Who is Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
-Benediction

I imagine to some ears the benediction above sounds terribly depressing and hopelessly religious in the worst sense. The idea that nothing good comes without pain conjures up images of ascetic spirituality. Let me reassure you that I also resist the idea that our faith must, of necessity, be a thing of suffering. Yet I see in my life and those lives around me that we all DO experience a great deal of pain and suffering. I am faced with the truth that suffering is present for all of us and our choice is in how we respond.
When we can see that even our plans and dreams for good things are humble and simple compared to God’s great plans, we begin to see the essence of what we call “living out of weakness.” It’s not that we decide that suffering and pain are spiritual and begin to desire them for ourselves. It’s that we accept that suffering and pain ARE and God shows us how to move in them, through them, and beyond them to sing and dance in the love of God, who is Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
I have cried a lot these last few days. One big disappointment in the lives of some students I have grown fond of encapsulated for me a whole realm of sadness about life in general for the Babwisi here. The amount of daily suffering and despair that I am experiencing in others lives cannot be faced deeply on a daily basis, yet when someone I care about experiences a personal death to dreams, more of the pain of this people-group, sheep with no shepherd, comes crashing down into my heart . . . Unleashing deep, deep sadness.
On Monday, I went with women from my bible study to visit a sick friend. I sat on the tiny wooden chair beside his mattress, trying to take in the incongruity of his dim mud hut and a simple IV drip hung on a nail in the wall and trailing down to the line in his arm, held on with dirty bandages. Spare, used needles had been inserted into the IV bottle for safe-keeping and reuse. Tebeerwa lay motionless on the mattress, eyelids fluttering, lips trembling with exhaustion and pain. Malaria.
These people SUFFER. There lives are HARD. Children always hungry. People with treatable illnesses but no medicine, die. Babies that could thrive if there was milk available wither away into nothingness. Girls marry off at 13 or 14 when there is no money for school fees past primary school. Women deliver baby after baby in their mud huts until their bodies collapse from the births and the lactation and the grinding hardness of life.
Today is Ash Wednesday, a holiday I have never recognized before. But Jennifer, one of our team leaders, shed new light on it for me today in prayer meeting; calling it a day of lament, a day of recognition of the brokenness of our own hearts and the brokenness of the world around us and an acknowledgment that brokenness is the antipathy of God’s heart for his creatures. As we lament; witnessing and denouncing the sadness of this brokenness, we make room for hope in the same way that the burning of the spent fields makes room for the growth of new crops. Tears making room for healing.

Head thrown back, laughing, I slip further into the cool, cool water, so refreshing in the dry season. Our river!!
The Nyahuka River runs right behind our house. And all day long a parade of locals walks by on their way down the steep hill to gather water, or wash clothes, or bathe. Then back up the steep hill with 10 liter gerri cans, or large basins of wet clothing on their heads. Have I mentioned that they Africans are STRONG!
But for now, on a quiet Sunday afternoon, it is only us and some neighbor kids, frequent friends. We relax into the relative quiet of their shouts and calls and the comfort of their familiar stares.
David and Quinn take to piling rocks on top of each other to form a structure, then competing with the neighbor kids to knock the structure down with rocks. We find places where the water runs quick and ride the current a little bit. We dig blue clay out of the banks and mold it and decorate with it. We jump into the deepest bit of the river, still only to Naomi’s neck. I splash Babwisi children - they laugh with delight.
We all begin singing spontaneously, one of the English songs they sing in churches here;
There is singing today in the house of the Lord There is dancing today in the house of the Lord There is jumping today in the house of the Lord There is SPLASHING today in the house of the Lord (okay I made that verse up - what fun!)
Etc.
We sing, we dance, we laugh, we shout, we splash, we drink in their dark African beauty and they are refreshed by our surprising lightness. And all around us water glistens and bubbles and runs. Foot long white blossoms from some tropical plant, put forth a good smell. Bamboo rises tall and straight beside us. Greenness glows from every side, mixing with the golden early evening sun.
I am so thankful to live in this beautiful place and with these beautiful people . . . . Despite the mild earthquake last night. Did I mention that we live near the Western Rift? There is Africa for you again, the thorned yet gorgeous flower.

There are some very African and perhaps specifically Babwisi nonverbal ways of communicating. One is pointing with one’s lips. Another is the raise of the eyebrows that signals an affirmative answer.
We haven’t quite started lip pointing yet (just give us time!) but we certainly use our eyebrows quite a bit more than ever before.
Quinn was asking me a question today, and since I was having a conversation with David I found it handy to employ (quite subconsciously) the raised eyebrows, meaning, “yes.”
Quinn said, oh-so-politely; “Mommy, please use words, I don’t speak eyebrow.”

It is dark, late, kids long in bed. I am preparing my kitchen, my schedule and my mind for tomorrow. I stack dishes in a basin to be washed by our worker, make notes for tomorrow’s plans, and wipe down counters. David has gone into Bundibugyo town today for money and brought me back fun fruits and veggies harder to find here, among them; Irish potatoes, green peppers, pineapple, and carrots. As the kitchen grows more orderly I light candles and a lantern and work to the sound of my current favorite music.
It’s amazing how much peace there is to be found in simple tasks, simple moments. I lift passion fruit and green peppers into the sink filled with soap and tea tree oil (for disinfecting). They rattle around in the water, growing clean enough to be cut open for eating, then I pile them on the clean white towel beside the sink. Abundance before me. Fresh fruits and veggies make me happy.
I sweep up a huge collection of dust that has blown in through our glassless windows today. We can sweep daily without the dust growing less. I kill a multitude of large black ants out for their evening feast. I reclaim our storage room from the chaos that has threatened to overwhelm it. I meditate on some decisions that we need to make. I marvel at the Holy Spirit.
Our kids devotion for last night asked “why did Jesus leave this earth?” Part of what the devotion went on to talk about was the role of the Holy Spirit in our lives. I loved the beautiful, simple explanation of the role of the Helper in our lives. I can’t imagine trying to tackle ministry here without the Holy Spirit’s indwelling presence in my life and heart and mind.
Because of the the presence of this “third person of the Godhead” - try finding another god who was relational before anything or anyone else existed, amazing; - I can feel transcendent peace when faced with impossible decisions, impractical requests, and my own imperfect judgment.
Maybe some would disagree but I don’t feel I have to pin down God’s wisdom through accurate scriptural interpretation. If I do, what are the chances for the villagers here who have no Bibles, let alone an ability to read or interpret? God’s Spirit does not require education, know-how, or intellectual ability. He’s simply there, available, present in a personal way, understandable to those with simple hearts and simple minds. And sometimes it’s in the simple moments that I remember all I have to do is simply trust. The easy thing to do is commit to more study, more prayer, more determination to discipline. But God asks me instead to have the faith of a baby; trusting, vulnerable, genuinely needy because there is nothing else to be.

We’re flying through our band aids here. When I pre-bought fun kid band-aids to bring in our trunks, I had no idea how many I would use. Quinn goes through an average of three new ones a day, I think. Wound care is critical here. Older mission kids have learned to be serious about their wounds, immediately cleaning out and bandaging themselves when they are hurt.

For my two, they need a lot of supervision. What in America would not have merited a band aid (unless the band aids were cool enough to be worn regardless); perhaps a scratch, a bug bite, or a blister, must be cared for aggressively to prevent the onset of what locals like to call a ” hole”, an abscessing, flesh-diminishing wound.

Our band aid routine here has become an art. I have first aid stuff separated in a very serious manner and I can grab a single bag and have everything I need to treat a given wound (ours or others). We clean thoroughly, add lots of anti-ouch peroxide treatment, open a band aid and add a big glob of antibiotic cream and slap it on. Repeat at least once a day for each wound. They usually heal quickly, but just as quickly a new one shows up (at least for poor Quinn). Wound care is part of our nightly routine; along with peeing, hands-face-feet, and tooth-brushing.

What’s amazing to consider is that the locals (who tend to get more wounds due to a harder lifestyle and less clothing and shoes not to mention malnutrition) have no band aids. That is why I end up bandaging so many wounds. Your choices here are the “hospital” (health center) or nothing. For many, a slice from a machete does not warrant the long wait in hospital lines, they come to me or wrap it up in some leaves and banana fibers. All of the children here have tropical ulcers, “holes” on their legs and feet. They fester and look incredibly scary and painful and are always covered in flies. The kids themselves are quite used to them.

It’s all about perspective. I’m so thankful for your prayers for Quinn’s skin. We worry about him. But compared to his African counterparts, the kid’s got it made. Batman and Spiderman band aids in abundance and a mom who cares for his wounds.
NOTE: We have LOTS of band aids - please don’t worry that we will run out!!

Ruwenzori Mission School is where Naomi and Quinn attend. It fills a vital role in our team lives here. Our team has five families, with a total of 16 kids. Of those, 10 are enrolled at RMS. We have three American teachers who have come here to serve our team kids and families, as well as minister in other ways within the community. We are so grateful for them.
RMS functions as a small private school and frees the moms within our team to serve in important areas of ministry, such as pediatrics and nutrition. It also allows our team kids to have the warmth and fellowship of companionship as they learn. Unfortunately our local Ugandan schools are completely inappropriate for children who may someday have to transition to American schools. We are left with the choice of home schooling versus a mission school. For those of us here, the mission school is a thing of grace. Naomi says the best part of coming to Africa is ³ my school.²
Our teachers come for two year periods. Amy and Kim and Scott all have terms that will end this year, leaving us with a need for three new elementary educators in August. Please pray with us that God will provide for our need in wonderful ways. Perhaps you or someone you know is an educator . . . Maybe God is calling you or them to Africa. As usual, www.whm.org is a wonderful place to start looking, and please contact us too!!

The Love God has for us is not an emotion but is in fact the essence of who God is. The death of Christ is the indisputable sign - the proof, as Paul put it - that shouts to us, “God loves you! God loves you!! Look at what He did for you! He did for you! What more could God have done to show you how much He loves you!”
Not only is this divine love not an emotion; it is also not something we can merit. Our world functions on a system of rewards and punishments. If we do well, we are rewarded and we feel loved. If we fail we are punished and we feel unloved. But the love of God is not something that is contingent on what we do. It is constant. Unfortunately, many Christians are desperately trying to earn a love they already possess and are fearful of forfeiting a love they can never lose. This whole system has to be unlearned.
Jesus understood this, and therefore he told a number of parables to help us- or rather, shock us - into grasping it. He spoke of laborers who worked different hours but got the same pay, of a selfish son who took off with Dad’s money and blew it only to come home to a party. Jesus welcomed harlots and ate with sinners. The rain falls on the just and the unjust and so does the love of God and to our understanding it all seems unfair. That is because this love is truly a love of another kind.”
From “An Arrow Pointing to Heaven” (also, quotes below)
This, THIS, is my desperate desire for my life in this place, to show this love of a truly different kind. How can I shock this culture into realizing that I don’t come to heal the healthy but to love health into the sick. How can they grasp that I don’t come to reward the good but to bless those who are clearly “bad”. God loves me passionately, furiously, recklessly - and I am one BIG sinner. He loves others the same way. Please pray for me to have opportunities to show a big love to people who don’t expect it, to shock this culture with God’s love.
“When we don’t feel loved, we will look desperately for acceptance. And every attempt to find this acceptance in anything but God will eventually fail, and we will either have to deny the pain and try to ignore it or medicate it with a drink or a pill. But we must have it. The human soul cannot endure to be unloved.”
If you are desperate for acceptance, look to Him. He has already died for you. He is holding out full hands to you, hands with all you need. Won’t you hold out your empty ones to Him and accept His gift? God’s love is not contingent on anything, it is not remotely unsafe. It offers all and provides all and takes nothing. Faith, my friend. Open those hands to Him, admit that they’re empty, that you have nothing worthwhile to offer, and let Him take all that He designed you to be and make it new and fill your hands with so much both for you and for others. I’ll be praying.
“Let me tell you this, God will never give up on you. He will never stop loving you. That love is a reality, no matter what you do or don’t do. God does not call us to be angels, he calls us to His and to be who we are in Him.”

The Bible is not a book for the faint of heart - it is a book full of all the greed and glory and violence and tenderness and sex and betrayal that befits mankind. It is not the collection of pretty little anecdotes mouthed by pious little church mice - it does not so much nibble at our shoe leather as it cuts to the heart and splits the marrow from the bone. It does not give us answers fitted to our small-minded questions, but truth that goes beyond what we even know to ask. I think that we were given the Scriptures, not so that we could prove that we were right about everything - it was to humble us into realizing that God is right and the rest of us are just guessing.
Rich Mullins

We stand, team mates, single file on a narrow jungle path, amidst the screams of three of our youngest team kids. Impala ants have decided we are an enemy. Moments before, as we ran through the tall jungle grasses, I notice my feet flying over a mass of teeming black ants, and just at that moment begin to feel the burning on my arms. Looking down I see my arm covered in the guard ants, pinchers out and clutching and immediately yell “Impala!!!!”. That was about the same time the screams started. The kids were being bitten too.
Impala ants are fierce and treacherous. They bite hard and dig in, burrowing themselves into skin and drawing blood. They HURT!! As we stood, huddled amid the dense greenery, I stripped shirts off kids, and picked ants from skin, all accompanied by high pitched screaming of the kids, and the biting on my own skin. Michael, a team dad, arrived on the scene and we all ran down toward the river, stripping children’s clothes as we went.

Just moments before we had been sitting peacefully in the dappled shade of a great forest, watching for monkeys, a butterfly landing on my face. Now we are once again in oppressive sun, running for the coolness of a river and freedom from stinging things.

This is Africa. The apple of life and the snake hiding in the bushes, waiting to approach. God’s amazing beauty and wonder in every flower, Satan’s inch long thorns on every stem.

That same night the three couples currently in the district sat at a beautiful candlelight dinner together. The singles on the team did kid-care and cooked a gourmet meal for us. A valentines dinner, early. We sat and really looked at each other for the first time we could remember. No ministry talk, no kids, no Ugandans. Just us, as we know ourselves best, getting to know each other better. What a wonderful evening, candlelight glinting off women’s jewelry and makeup, soft music playing, PDA not off limits. We rediscover parts of ourselves, too often abandoned.

Then last night, we all joined together around a bonfire, to celebrate Josh .. . . Here for only five months, he has won his way into our hearts and lives. What a total sweetheart. We are praying him back to our lives someday soon. We dance, we sing worship songs both African and American, we roast marshmallows and eat food with sauce. We join as Ugandans and Buzungu to pray Josh on his way back to the States. Children run wildly with light sticks, sent in care packages, surprising and frightening African children with their fluorescent glow. And the drums beat, and the guitar plays and our voices rise on the dark African night and life continues, our next steps unknown to us but wonderfully orchestrated by God.
Team makes life here not only liveable, but wonderful in so many surprising ways. We are doubly blessed, triply blessed; by our amazing sending community, our wonderful but taxing Ugandan community, and our soul-catching team community. This is family right now. The people we cry with, laugh with, and trust our whole lives and hearts to on a daily basis, not long ago we were still strangers, but hard things grow friendships fast. Community here must look very much like what God had in mind when he created us to live in relationship; our empty hands always out to each other, and just as often our full hands reaching to help another. And all because, Jesus is always enough.

We came here for Christ School Bundibugyo.
Christ School Bundibugyo is a secondary boarding school which means it serves students from about the ages of 12-19, offering high school and early college type studies. Ugandan education is based on the British system. Christ School has a staff of about 25 Ugandan teachers and an enrollment of about 300 Ugandan students. Our mission is to raise up future servant leaders for East Africa through training, equipping and healing young men and women, intellectually, spiritually and physically.
Our team; World Harvest Bundibugyo, is a holistic ministry team, serving through meeting of felt needs as well as specifically spiritual evangelism and discipleship. As such, Christ School is our team’s greatest hope for long term change. The doctors, nutritionists, teachers, and engineers who serve here now will someday be replaced, we hope and pray, by our students. They will bring the knowledge and education, both spiritual and academic, so desperately needed here to improve lives while offering their own gift . . . An insiders view of the culture. This is multiplicity, sustainable ministry, the building of God’s kingdom at its’ best, we think.
Bundibugyo is amongst the poorest districts of Uganda and has some of the worst quality schools in Uganda. This is one reason why Christ School is so important. Christ School offers the chance for a quality secondary education that paves the way to possible university education for students who have never before had the chance. This poverty is one of the reasons that Christ School struggles too. In a world where most schools, even in wealthy countries, survive on subsidies rather than a straight business model, Christ School faces the crushing blow of existing in a district where there really is no money for tuition. As we improve our courses, hire new teachers, and add lab equipment we also lower our tuition, in hopes of reaching the kids who really need to come. Yet we still must survive in some way in a business world. We have expenses, the two largest of which are food to feed our students and staff salaries. Our goal, long term, is to create a sustainable school.
Sometimes, Christ School struggles just to pay teachers salaries . . . . Our teachers are a great strength; talented men and women who have struggled for years themselves to reach this place. Struggled for school fees, for survival. Now they come to this rural district to work not only as teachers but as mentors and disciplers too. Most multi-task in many ways as we all work together to help Christ School thrive. Yet for all this, our teachers make a mere $5/american, daily. Some live apart from their spouses or children, as they seek for their families, life in a safer and more advanced area of Uganda. Most have better chances elsewhere, yet are committed to Christ School’s mission.
Christ School needs continued financial involvement from Americans. As we continue to move towards sustainability, we must admit we’re certainly not there yet. Still coming soon . . . . Lots of ways to get financially involved.