My most recent read, A Chance at Childhood Again, states ” Every child knows that adults are bigger, stronger, more well-equipped and IN CHARGE. That’s a child’s secret to accessing heaven.”

So I’m SUPPOSED to let go?? I struggle with responsibility . . . One of my greatest fears is not coming through where I’m supposed to. Missing my responsibilities. Cause what if I was supposed to do it and I let it slip? . . . But if God’s the grown-up here, then that leaves me still a kid. I can do my best without worrying because Someone is there to help me pick up the pieces.

Four students were sent home for their parents yesterday with still indefinite outcomes (suspension? Expulsion?). And two others were expelled for other reasons. Not a great week for student retention. My heart is torn between wishing that each of these kids would stay and get the help they need here and between knowing that these children are a danger to a productive community and need different help than we’re currently equipped to give. We are not a counseling center or a juvenile delinquincy program - though we sometimes feel we should be.

Walking through the quad two days ago I almost stumbled over a dead half-a-kitten. I had to do a double take since cats are not common here and since half a small cat is a little tricky to recognize. But more easy to recognize is the meaning: half-animals are witchcraft omens here. When someone wants to curse you they cut a live animal in half and place it on your property. We have duly been cursed. I’m sure it’s not the first time, but it’s the most obvious. It doesn’t feel terribly frightening but neither does it seem as innocuous and silly as it would in the States. Witchcraft is real. It’s powerful and it kills people all the time. Satan has power and domination here in ways I have not encountered before. We see it all around; one student that is facing discipline is suspected of possession due to her actions. And I have regularly sat in chapel and watched students pour forth under-their-breath hateful and disturbing statements that seemed not to come from their own minds or volitions. When I pray for them silently, heavily and fiercely against demonic influence, their eyes can’t hold mine but dart anxiously. The spirits answering back in fear.

Two days ago I took an early morning prayer walk around campus as the sun was rising in orange glory. Our football pitch is circled by Scotticus’s running track. I passed the gates, the classrooms and quad and came back towards our house at one end of the pitch. The mountains rose dark and beautiful before me - our school hidden in their shadow valley. As I walked God gave me a vision - a vision of angels encircling our fence line, swords drawn, every ten feet. A vision of heavenly gatekeepers at our gate, guarding the chosen city of God. A vision of God’s glory around, before and behind the school. Is this a someday promise of what God has for us? Or a current reality that is hard to see?

Gunfire sounded as we lay in bed late last night and we were both up, dressing in moments. Nothing came from it, as usual - just normal town violence. But our hearts are ready for danger, ready for fear, no matter how peaceful life is. I plan, subconsciously, in seconds, how to get my kids out safely. David plans for the 400 others in our care. Have we missed something? What have we forgotten? Standing in our pitch black front yard moments later, I listen to the sounds of night life returning. The town calms back to normal as the gunfire is not repeated. And I remember what I have forgotten, what I so often miss. I am not in charge here. God is the grown-up and I am the kid who is trying but who will stumble, forget, and be normally inadequate. My best plans will fail and yet He will come through.

And so, it seems, that the vision of our guarding angels wasn’t anything too extraordinary - just a glimpse of normal life here at school, that I usually forget to see. His watchmen are guarding us, because our Daddy would NEVER leave us alone. We will forget, lose track, and fail - He stands sure and ever-knowing.

Now it’s the s3 students who are organizing - Caleb Myhre’s class. I walked into his classroom today and saw his pale face gazing deeply at me from the sea of black faces around him and just smiled. Senior 3’s seem to be following the lead of a student new at school this year; they are claiming to be some sort of organized militia or rebel group and are threatening to burn the school and hurt students who don’t cooperate. They are senior 3 students - juniors in high school - and we know that they want attention and to be important. But when I encountered a girl crying in the quad today and heard her story of having her life threatened; it felt serious.

David and the discipline committee are in meetings right now to find a course of action; as always it is one person’s word against another’s and the details are hard to sort out. Pray for wisdom and safety.

As I was walking back from this conversation I passed another classroom where I heard a teacher stating: “Fact. Women’s emancipation is a waste of time.” - not an encouraging message. I spent the next twenty minutes eavesdropping (yes, I do stoop so low when the cause is good) on a conversation on women’s rights in which the girls were bitterly misrepresented. It’s frustrating when this teacher has a history of borderline issues with sexual harassment, and is accused of pressuring girls at the school for physical favors. But once again, difficult to find the real story, difficult to see the real truth. I really appreciate David who seeks to know people as they are and to treat them not as problems but as human beings. Whenever I find a staff member that should ” clearly go!” because of their behavior, David points out their values and why he is not ready to give up on them yet. Hmmm. . . . Seems like Jesus treats ME that way too.

David sent the students back to their dorms from preps an hour early last night, after the big celebration that kept them very busy all day. He did it mostly for the masters on duty who had been going since five thirty am and were ready for a break. Throughout evening preps David stopped in regularly to check in on the mood. Though we did not feel particularly threatened by the promises of rioting, it’s always better to be safe. Keeping a close eye on crowd situations is one of our best chances to disperse violence early before it grows to real danger. But students were calm, if noisy, discussing their day.

Today was a good Saturday . . .visitors, home projects, a sleepover for the kids with a great friend from Fort Portal and lots more rain. We are at the peak of the rainy season now and everything is soaked including our mountain road out which is nearly impassable and the airstrip which is unlandable - let’s hope we don’t need to leave.

After a week and a half of intermittent vomiting, diahrea and low-grade fevers Naomi broke out this evening in the spectacular denghe-style rash. No way to know what she actually has, could be something viral. But this full-body pin-point rash has turned her hot pink and is something to take notice of! She is still feeling crummy so pray for her. She and Quinn are both on antibiotics for staph wounds in their legs and we are thinking about another detox treatment for all concerned.

So passes Saturday and students are quiet again tonight. Staff seem positive. David, as usual, is chilled out and I take comfort in this rock of a man I married. Over our last break God really met David in his fears about the school and he was able to “hand it over” - releasing the responsibility he had been feeling for the well-being and safety of the school. Now it’s really God’s deal and I can feel the dramatic chance in his posture; hard days are hard but the anxiety is gone.

David sent the students back to their dorms from preps an hour early last night, after the big celebration that kept them very busy all day. He did it mostly for the masters on duty who had been going since five thirty am and were ready for a break. Throughout evening preps David stopped in regularly to check in on the mood. Though we did not feel particularly threatened by the promises of rioting, it’s always better to be safe. Keeping a close eye on crowd situations is one of our best chances to disperse violence early before it grows to real danger. But students were calm, if noisy, discussing their day.

Today was a good Saturday . . .visitors, home projects, a sleepover for the kids with a great friend from Fort Portal and lots more rain. We are at the peak of the rainy season now and everything is soaked including our mountain road out which is nearly impassable and the airstrip which is unlandable - let’s hope we don’t need to leave.

After a week and a half of intermittent vomiting, diahrea and low-grade fevers Naomi broke out this evening in the spectacular denghe-style rash. No way to know what she actually has, could be something viral. But this full-body pin-point rash has turned her hot pink and is something to take notice of! She is still feeling crummy so pray for her. She and Quinn are both on antibiotics for staph wounds in their legs and we are thinking about another detox treatment for all concerned.

So passes Saturday and students are quiet again tonight. Staff seem positive. David, as usual, is chilled out and I take comfort in this rock of a man I married. Over our last break God really met David in his fears about the school and he was able to “hand it over” - releasing the responsibility he had been feeling for the well-being and safety of the school. Now it’s really God’s deal and I can feel the dramatic chance in his posture; hard days are hard but the anxiety is gone.

I’m still reading through our stack of encouraging cards from the people of Mariners - and the most outstanding thing God has been speaking to me from them all comes through this verse which was printed in different ways on several different cards . . . . .

” The service that you perform is not only supplying the needs of God’s people but is also overflowing in many expressions of thanks to God.” 2 Corinthians 9:12

A few weeks ago my friend Yvette sent me an email message that said, ” I want you to know I think you are important. I think what you are doing is important. I think it is a gesture so great and big that whether anyone ever comes to the Lord or not, HE will know you LOVE Him.” And I had to stop and do a double take and say, Oh yea! This is all about HIM! It’s enough for me just to pour out my heart and life before him, even if I have trouble seeing the fruit I long for.

I know that He knows I am here because I love Him and that I stay because I trust Him, and that I work because I believe He has the power to do more than I ask or imagine. Even though Satan has had success in distracting me from God’s work by giving me self-doubts, fears about my competency, fears about my effectiveness . . . . I have never doubted that I am here as praise-offering for my Savior. And perhaps that is quite enough. If my life is overflowing in many expressions of praise to God than I can be content with whatever needs I am able to supply and accept that I will not and can not do all that I wish.

Becoming overwhelmed by the need is a trick. I can focus in on how many, many lives at CSB need total transformation by the Holy Spirit, and I can feel like a failure. Or I can focus in on the seven girls I passed on the way to the office this morning who gave me that special secret smile that says, ” I know you’ve got my side”. I can focus in on how little evangelism I am doing these days or I can remember that over this year sixty orphans have heard the gospel in startling ways and many have responded with amazement and surprise. And through it all I can remember that my life here is a sweet fragrance to Him and that He delights in what I am doing and will supply all my lacks.

Pastor Bill, my American pastor, wrote: “The secret to true life is inhale and exhale the power and love of God. The more deeply we inhale His love the more powerfully we breath it out on all we serve.” Today I am inhaling, deep belly breaths, remembering how pure, how great, how unshakable His love is. And the beauty of this is that not only do I get filled up with His love but I spill that love out to the people around me.

It means “survival” in our local language - as in, weebale kwejuna, thank you for surviving (childbirth) - our tribe’s typical stoic congratulatory greetings to the postpartum mother.

Weebale kwejuna was how I greeted David yesterday as he finally arrived home from a solid six hours of singing, speeches, dramas, complaints and finally a feast that comprises the annual Parents Day at CSB.

I must be a wimp, because I decided not to go to Parents Day festivities. I helped a little in the morning with organization before the big event started but once my kids came home from school I stayed with them and the others who trickled in and out of our house on their way to or from. I ventured down to the assembly hall briefly to hear ten minutes of speeches and as usual, heard the very hardest one.

The student representative blasted the school in what all the attending missionaries agreed was the harshest and most negative student speech in CSB history. Along with an endless litany of complaints and accusations there were three promises of rioting should things not change. The complaints were very articulately and logically presented; giving me a strange sense of pride at the student’s clever politicking, and in English no less! He was clearly representing the interests of his constituents, even though it was quite difficult to hear. Many of the accusations were false, misrepresented or at best exaggerated. This is the life of teenagers everywhere. Drama, discontent and a lust for change and progress. It’s good stuff if we can help them channel it.

Standing on nearby steps for a better view, though, I just felt a sick ball of anger and sadness in my stomach. I went home to burst into tears or punch someone. The desire to run away is strong at these moments. These are not helpless sweet babies holding out their arms for a piece of candy and slowly recovering from the brink of death. They are strong, aggressive and often hostile young people who are learning what it means to have a voice and who have much anger to express. They’re not the most forgiving group to work with, nor the easiest to help.

I sat and stewed for hours following my brief glimpse of the speeches but was later reassured when David and others arrived to debrief the day with me. As David said, except for the student speech the day went very well. The parents’ representative speech supported the school and the students in positive ways. David’s speech was able to positively, transparently and honestly respond to the student and parent concerns and point to God at the same time. Answered prayers that God would speak through him. And Scott wound up the day with his “chairman, board of governors” speech which soundly denounced threats of student violence and firmly supported the staff and administration of the school. What a great feeling to have Scott and Jennifer beside us through these ordeals; they know the real stuff as it happens in the school and they stand with us to face false accusations. It’s a picture of God with us. I texted David as the meetings began ” God is your reputation - you cannot fail.” And I do believe that, in my better moments.

Watching students prepare for the day and tour their parents around the school I felt a stronger sense of what we are up against than I usually do. Students did not dress smartly and formally in their uniforms but untucked and slouched at every chance possible. And while parents all over Uganda had very firm standards for discipline in their children, our parents here barely seemed to notice their daughter’s inappropriately shortened uniform skirts or provocatively worn platform shoes. It gave me a better sense of what we are up against. Parents don’t know what to do. They don’t know how to guide their kids through these years. They send them to us in hopes that we do. And it makes it a lot harder fighting these battles without their support, as, I suppose, teachers find is true everywhere.

David and I wound up our day with a candlelit dinner after the kids went to bed; worrying about money once again and firming up our plans to form far stricter academic and discipline policies for students. Yes, we will lose some students who do not have the heart to apply themselves but in the process we will give those who do a far better chance at success. We are not afraid to lose some if those who remain can experience true transformation. But to do this right we need the wisdom of Solomon or better yet, the supernatural leading of the Holy Spirit. And we badly need your prayers.

“Mom, mom, I finally found a yellow stick!! I’ve been waiting for one forever!” The prized yellow stick was cast in through the open porch door for safety and Quinn was off again, back outside in search of more treasures and bigger adventures. My boy, constantly amazing me.

There is a tree in this yard that has special sticks, they fall off as they age and get brown. They have a kind of a handle. I think Quinn has twenty of these sticks in his collection, and he knows if I move even one. I find it absolutely fascinating. He also has what we call his “weapons basket” (and this from a mom who didn’t believe in toy guns) which carries an array of guns, battle axes, lances, etc. Many are home made or adapted from Duplo blocks or playmobile or the outdoors.

Yesterday I helped him and his two friends Ben and Muroongi, fellow lovers of fantasy weaponry, construct bow and arrow sets using bendy forsythia style sticks and twine. They are loving them, just as I did when I was a kid. And today, Ashley’s question of the day at school must have been something about a favorite toy because Quinn’s page came home with these words, written in the most astoundingly perfect handwriting which I have NEVER coaxed out of him at home: “My favorite toy is a Bo and aroe. I like it bekus it is home mate.”

Meanwhile Naomi has spent another day on the couch with vomiting and diahhrea. This is her third intermittent bout this week so Jennifer came today with her malaria test. Negative which is a relief. Naomi also has a growing abscessing wound on her skinny little thigh. But she is full of her usual personality; curling her hair each night, Shirley-Temple-style and then bouncing in and out to check it in her mirror for pertness every few minutes. She has fallen in love with the movie Big Fat Greek Wedding and has watched it over and over this week during sick mornings home from school. She can’t wait for our trip to Greece next May when she experiences Greek culture in person.

Our kids teach us so much about what is true and what is false, what is safe and what is worth fearing, what is fantasy and what is reality; how to become our best selves. I’m thankful for the moments I remember to listen.

Term 3 is starting to swing into action - drums were pounding this Sunday as students led their weekly Sunday morning “church” service. And a big game of pick-up football was keenly played and watched in the afternoon.

I went over on Sunday afternoon and painted the s3 and s4 girls toenails with my new stash sent from Sue and friends - thank you!! They look great and the girls were so happy. Hot pink is definitely the favorite shade but the designs are the biggest hit.

There was a big group of girls waiting to be painted,so I was just saying “next” then as their toes would appear in front of me I’d look into their eyes and ask them what they wanted. I got a chance to paint the nails of several girls who I have had discipline issues with. It was a great feeling to be able to simply, wordlessly love them this way.

Last night we had just gotten the kids off to sleep after a remarkably peaceful and lovely evening together. I had extra time in the afternoon and managed an early dinner; grainy rolls, roasted potatoes and a beef barbecue, just for us. We all ate a happy dinner and got some good reading and snuggling in with the kids before bed. So nice not to be rushing to bed an hour late as we so often do. David and I were looking forward to some quiet talks afterwards with drinks or at least the dishwashing!

Moments later we heard an eruption of student noise and looked out the window to see that power had shut off in the second block, not an infrequent occurrence (working on getting that fixed permanently.) Since the night before we had had serious discipline issues in the s1 and s2 classes and since David suspects that students may have found a way to tamper with the power, he biked over immediately to try to clear things up. I started on the dishes but almost immediately heard a lot of noise begin in the girls compound. A lot of fearful wailing in Lubwisi that sounded a lot like a death.

Leaving my kids home alone I ran next door to the girls compound where I found a crowd surrounding “Dali” who was yelling in Lubwisi that men with machetes were after her, looking around wildly as if she was being followed and beating at her three friends who were holding her down. It was almost comical and I didn’t know for a minute whether to laugh or be worried. I’ve heard lots of stories from those who came before me (JD and Joanna, you know you’ve been there!) and so suspected it might be a mental issue related to anxiety rather than a physical problem. But she did seem to have a fever and cerebral malaria can present with some pretty spectacular mental symptoms.

With Jennifer’s advice I decided to take her to the hospital. Though we all suspected anxiety issues she was surely in no condition to sleep with forty other girls in a small dorm. So off we went to admit her; me, driving and the three friends in the back holding “dali” down.

The health center felt faintly intimidating at night, especially after the only non-patient I could find was a drunk night watchman who breathed waragi fumes profusely while declaring that no one was around to help me. Slowly medical workers appeared from the dark, some more drunk than others, and found us a mattress on the floor of the pediatric ward from which to take a health history for admissions. Health histories are not easy when a patient is mentally disturbed. Fortunately “dali’s” mother is a nurse but I received a dose of culture shock when she walked in and started grabbing her arms, shaking her and yelling at her to stop behaving this way immediately. Culturally appropriate and perhaps even the attention this girl is subconsciously looking for, but appalling to me especially with about fifty pediatric families looking on. The gatekeeper came back in with his stick and waragi breath and waved everyone back with dramatic drunk gestures while another drunk medical worker came in and proceeded with an abusive line of questioning. I remained torn for the next forty minutes between trying to appreciate the cultural norms being expressed and trying to fulfill my responsibilities to my student. I finally left her in the care of her mother who seemed unsure at best.

Debriefing quickly with Jennifer on the phone (”Did I do the right thing to leave her there with those people who say they love her?”), I was reminded that the hospital receives about one woman a night with these symptoms of severe anxiety. This is what women here do when they no long know how to cope with their lives. I don’t know what Dali could have been so upset about. She is confident, athletic and pretty smart and is not facing exams right now. Perhaps she has financial or personal trouble.

For now she’s at home and we’re back at school, slogging through another day of small crises; our kitchen manager is VERY sick and almost got admitted yesterday for severe vomiting, our meat rabbits are escaping in droves from the rabbit pen after a termite infestation or perhaps just the accumulating rain water has caused most of our supporting poles to fall over, the district water supply got cut off again causing a temporary morning disturbance in our water (but hurray for our new storage tanks, bailing us out within the hour!!), and we deal once again with those spunky s1s and s2s once again. It’s another day in the life of CSB.

Fragility has continued throughout this week, a mixture of fearing the beginning of this new term and concern about some issues with my kids. I miss my friends at home, I miss a context where I belong without trying. Last night at Quinn’s party, as team who has been here forever rehashed stories about old team mates, I cried a few quiet tears of frustration at not fitting in ANYWEHRE, not even with team. The enemy, getting me down.

We had a mail call when team left, though. Pat, just came from Kampala had brought two boxes. Both were amazing. One, from Davids parents, contained playmobile for Naomi the answer to her tearful prayers earlier that day as she had felt so left out by all the attention focused on Quinn. I know I should know Him by now, but He still constantly amazes me by His timing and His tender heart. Naomi was overjoyed - you picked well Mim!! And spent the rest of the evening playing hard with her new toys and pouring through the catalogues she had requested to be sent.

The next box was from Mariners Church and I cried (yes, again) as a huge pile of note cards fell out. The customs forms read; 70 personal notes. Seventy of our friends from Mariners church wrote us personal encouragement notes for our 2nd anniversary on the field. Is there any way to describe how it feels to have a church family like this? Or a God who can bring those letters in a week when I so badly need those words of hope, faith and love? Mail from heaven, it feels. The first card on the stack containing pictures of a deliciously chubby baby that I cannot wait to meet. God knows that my love language is words; that nothing could be as uplifting as the words of so many, expressing His love to me. Thank you, God and all of our friends at Mariners.