Naomi and Quinn started school yesterday. Started Ugandan school for the very first time. Took a leap of faith that I consider miraculous - and survived.

It all began several years ago with a dream that someday our kids would share education with their Ugandan friends, that they would acculturate in this important way. Schooling within a host culture is one of the few proven ways to assimilate healthily for children. It seemed like an impossible dream given our experiences with local schools, local teachers and cultural traditions surrounding children.

As we learned of the Bartkovich and Masso departures and foresaw our children with no team friends their ages we began to long even more for a shared school experience. And then in the past few months we set our eyes on a school that is taking a higher road than many here. Details worked out in amazing ways; our American curriculum being adjusted for four days of school a week. Ashley, our kids’ teacher, wanting to work in this local school as well. And so, a month ago, we set the goal of beginning local school one day a week.

St. Padre Pio Primary School is located about 1/2 mile away from us in Kanampono - “the place of the pig”, where pigs can safely be butchered away from our local muslim market. The road from Christ School to Padre Pio leads through “Palm Oil Ave.” - where old Fanta bottles are filled with thick greasy orange cooking oil, extracted from local palm nuts. Barber shops line this dusty road as do small local restaurants comprised of a cookpot balanced on the requisite three stones and a sweating, tired woman.

After months of thinking, praying and wondering how to soften the inevitable blows of my children’s experiences at school, I had made some decisions. We would drive most of the way, sparing them the road with the constant cries of “mazungu mazungu” and the local children running up to touch their hair and skin. I would send sweet Assimwe (her name aptly means blessing), my house helper, to school along-side my children, to safeguard them and provide backup for the lack of true childcare within school. Should rebels strike or a fire break out, Asiimwe will grab them and run. I will limit their time at school to a single day a week. I will explain clearly to the school authorities that my children may NEVER be beaten. I will be on-campus as often as I can to watch staff at work and look for the normal human rights violations found in our local schools. I will pray for my children. Most of all I will trust God with them because I want His plans for them and not my fearful own.

This process has been nothing less than miraculous so far. A walk of true faith starting with a hope as small as mustard seed. God has walked us through each fear, each need, giving us enough for the problems of today without reassuring us about tomorrow. A month ago when I first announced to Naomi and Quinn that they would soon start school at Padre Pio; both clearly said “no way.” I kept a confident, positive approach - yes, this will happen; but in my heart I kept asking God, “can this really happen?” By this week Naomi’s mind had completely changed so that when I came home with her new uniform for school she paraded around proudly in it and even went to bed early so as to be at school more quickly in the morning. This is nothing less than miracle. The path has been harder for Quinn. As we headed off to school yesterday, Quinn steadfastly refused that he would go. As we parked on the road near the school he refused to leave the car and as I finally coaxed him out and we walked onto the school yard together he was stuck to my side like super-glue amidst the cries and stares of the other students.

Padre Pio is a Catholic school so we sat through the morning prayers together, me explaining things to the kids. Quinn barely budged from his clutch on my arm and I just kept praying and asking for God to help him, miraculously, into the classroom. I knew I couldn’t force him to go in. And God did, time after time providing Quinn just enough to move on to the next step of his day at school. Perhaps it sounds simple when written but I felt I was watching miracles unfold all morning. God is enough.

The classroom was a big adjustment for the kids. I made the decision to place them together in the P1 (similar to 1st grade) classroom. Naomi flies through the material while Quinn is challenged by some of it but they are there to learn culture not academics. It seemed to work. They studied math; mostly a lesson about the three most basic shapes, giving them confidence that they would be fine here! Then on to English where they answered basic questions about objects found in a classroom. For each subject they have small exercise books that they write copiously in. Quinn’s biggest challenge at school is the writing, as Ugandan schools start from nursery school tediously copying sentences from the board whether or not they understand how to read, know the alphabet or have any comprehension. Social Studies and science followed with parts of the body in English and some songs. There were the usual disruptions of classrooms here - the teacher, an old man whose name I never got, left the classroom about four times every hour and the headmaster came in multiple times to yell at the students for various small infractions. Quinn was most horrified and fascinated by the “beating” of students within class. The teacher made liberal use of a switch on children’s arms and legs - a sight I had hoped to spare my kids. Discipline within Ugandan schools is really just beating - there is generally no consistency of application or understanding of the infraction. As the headmaster told me when I questioned him on this illegal practice I had noticed in his school - “yes, we should find other forms of intimidation.” Um, yea.

We have a long way to go. The morning lasted from 7:30 am to 1:30 pm - I never knew Quinn could sit for two and half hours at a time on a wooden bench, staring at the blackboard! And Naomi and Quinn need confidence to join their friends in play at recess time. I need to work with Asiimwe on standing up to the men at the school as her natural tendency is to do whatever they tell her to. And we will have to address the students’ tendency to stroke Naomi and Quinn whenever the teacher is out of the classroom. Yes, there are many details to work out and my heart is still heavy with this burden. But I can not forget the miracles I saw and how God came through for me and most of all my kids. This is one of the hardest things I have walked them through but I sense that true blessing will come from responding to God’s challenge to take this step of faith. And I am pleading that all of you will pray us through.

“We are caught between the predicament and the provision, reassured only by the promise.” - Alan D. Wright. God you promised.

We ate a feast last week; a sort of Biblical wedding feast. A time to be reminded that we are in the “already but not yet”, as Michael Masso always informs us. And it was an already. But still a not-yet.

Cuts of choice beef, sweet pumpkin casserole, hearty brown bread and minty brownies - these were the delicacies of our feast. Candlelight, brightly colored kitangi tablecloths, and our best clothes - these made up the atmosphere. Toasts, speeches, short stories, poems, and a crazy game - these were the events. And at the heart of it all; love. Love constituted of a patient endurance. Love that says we are willing to be caught between the predicament of today’s difficult goodbye and the someday provision of heaven because we believe in a truly great Promise.

This week ended the months of preparation for the Masso goodbye. And what a week it was. A final Saturday adventure, three major parties, one big sleepover, a whole lot of packing up, closing up, handing over and saying farewell. Our house feels empty and abandoned. Every nook and corner of our Pierce home is filled with Masso memories - Gaby and Liana spent a LOT of time here and they left their mark on us and ours. In response to our friendships, Naomi and Quinn and I worked on a short book for the Masso family as our goodbye tribute, based on Shel Silverstein’s Runny Babbit collection of spoonerism poems. The Stollected Cories as we called them, remind us of all the good times we have had together here and the ones still to come. The joys we have shared here are a sweet foretaste of our future shared Home with no goodbyes, no separations, no sticking-it-out-alone times.

This week has contained tears (mine and Naomi’s mostly). David and I joined this team with much faith partially BECAUSE so many kids our ages were here. Over the last year God has stripped those friends away. When we came two years ago we made the fifth family along with nine singles. Our team feels very small now; us, the Myhres and four wonderful single gals. It’s a big adjustment to a bare-bones survival group supporting medical, nutrition, education, water, translation, and church partnership. and our hearts feel the losses. Our faith is forced to grow, our hearts forced to expand, lest we let them shrivel.

So we spent only Sunday in sadness and began on Monday to work with hope. Naomi and Quinn went back to classes with joy, despite the loss of their only two classmates in our tiny mission school. Together, I and the kids have taken advantage of our time together for shared activities of cooking, holding rabbits, beading and reading aloud. We have pulled our African friends deeper into our lives. And biggest news of all; today the kids started local school, one day a week. This is, by far, their greatest challenge in their lives here so far, as they step into rural African school in this child-destructive culture. And for me, one of my greatest leaps of faith ever. This heart is in no danger of shriveling - exploding, maybe.

More tomorrow.

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you. Not as the world gives. Let not your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” John 14:27

My pastor wrote that perfected love is love inhaled from God and exhaled onto others; drawing me to the conclusion that perfect peace is the inhalation of God’s peaceful omniscience so that we live lives not of knowing all but of total trust. No more what-if’s; how would that feel??

I am reminded that there might be an occasional benefit from fear; an adrenaline response can save your life. But there is no benefit from worry. Worry steals our joy while getting us nowhere - it poses as responsible concern and continues to waste our precious time and hearts.

God keeps bringing a certain verse into my life; “God’s mercies are new every morning . . .” Lamentations 3:23. And as Alan Wright says (the guy who got me thinking through all of this); God gives grace for actual needs, not potential problems. God says in Hebrews that He will give us ” Grace to help in time of need.” Not when we’re imagining a problem or dreading a potential problem or considering the possibility of a problem. Can I wake each morning with the joy of a baby - fully rested, and that’s enough? Can I let God’s mercies sustain me each new day without worrying about what’s come before or what I imagine might be sure to come later?

I won’t bore you with my list of what-if’s. The fact is; the things which have brought me the greatest joy in my life have been the biggest risks. Marriage was a huge risk - and boy has it paid off. And each child is another risk of all of our hearts; choosing once more to let it walk around outside of our bodies. Living life is a constant risk - especially in some of the places and times God has called us to. Saying goodbye to those we love feels like more risk.

We experience God’s peace not by a greater understanding of what’s ahead but by a deeper sense of how little we know. Babies rest in peace because they have nothing to fear; they may wake with hunger but they won’t spend hours dreading it’s arrival. And this is true for us as well. Relaxing into a childlike realization of our finite understanding forces us to rest in the omniscient One. And the omniscient One says, ” fear not for I am with you.” God teaches that it is in our weakness that we become strong. In the same way it is in our lack of knowing that we know that which is most important - He’s got it ALL covered.

We hear in the news and through the grapevine about the financial crisis in America. It’s rather hard to imagine. Is the whole thing like a balloon with a little too much air in it? Just ready to pop? I have trouble feeling as disturbed as I should by the stock market and the real estate losses. I just want to know how all this affects the big picture of world economics and how much we ourselves are responsible for. Do we create this havoc as we do so much other havoc - by demanding more than the world was meant to give?

Food prices are skyrocketing in our little town of Nyhuka. When we arrived one and a half years ago, 800 shillings could buy a cooked meal at the local “restaurants.” That’s about fifty cents. Now, this short time later, the price has nearly doubled to 1,500 shillings for a comparable meal. Rice is selling for nearly twice what it used to; so are beans. And from what we read in the online papers - this food shortage is widespread. Soon, they say, as the rich get richer, the poor of the world will simply cease to survive.

Apparently this lack of food has to do with choices us rich people make (I might not seem rich to you; but believe me, relatively speaking, I am.) As we focus more on biofuels we divert for our own uses the cheap, easily grown grains that the less affluent use for filling their stomachs and gaining their calories. And as the wealthy parts of the world eat more meats, the less wealthy end up with even less of their normal grain diets. Our meat uses an unbelievable amount of their grain to get to the table. Running on biofuels, our energy uses even more of what their bodies need simply to survive. This is simply what I read, you understand. And because I’m a rich American with choices; I choose how much I want to know and how much I want to ignore.

I don’t have answers to these problems, and I’m going to avoid offering cliched solutions. I’m just taking this chance to notice, to observe the casualties. To realize that the painful prices of fuel affects our way of life so little in comparison to the lives of the poverty-stricken across the globe. To notice that the average annual income in Uganda is $300 and to realize that our part of Ugandan falls far, far below the median of that average. We have choices about how we will live. They are hard choices but important ones, because they affect lives. God cares about the least and about those of us more privileged with affluence. Solutions are there to the problems if we look to the true Answer Man. And I’m preaching to myself here, as I find comfort in a car with fuel, meat hauled from the city, and care packages sent at great expense from home. Where is the balance of enjoying good gifts with protecting those less fortunate? Truly hard to say.

David headed off to the city Monday morning; to pick up stationary from the Ministry of Education, for the official Ugandan exams which will begin in a little over a week. A quick several day trip that did not warrant the hassle or expense of all of us going - especially as we are savoring our last week with the Masso family and preparing emotionally for the goodbyes over the next four days.

Life goes on, though. Monday night my book study group joined me to hear more of Captivating together. I reveled in having real friends to fellowship with, to share my time away from David with. We ate, talked and discussed till ten pm leaving me too tired to miss David much. And I was SO not alone. As I headed off to bed by 11 the drums of Eid started, reminding me that I am more surrounded than I ever needed to be. Ramadan has ended, the celebrations begin.
I got to spend the last few days being somewhat in charge of school, the go-to woman: the woman with the keys: the woman with the money: the woman with the ear of The H/M. Someday, maybe, I’ll have a life of my own.
Now here we are, two days later and David has driven in, filling our house back up with life and joy because some of us are just not enough. The kids are overcome with their need to share every minutes with him and I am eager to tell him what CSB is like without its’ headmaster!

We survived; Muslim holiday, rowdy chapel service, escaping rabbits, and suspended students returning to threaten others, notwithstanding. And we are the stronger for having done so.

Wilson, our “old-boy” (alumna) who has come back to work for the school kitchen as our procurement officer - spending more in a month than many here have ever seen or touched in a lifetime - has experienced more than his share of hardships for us.

Last time it was being robbed at machete-point. This time it was a wrongful arrest on the Congolese marketplace where he travels weekly to find lower food prices on our staples of corn flour, beans, and rice. Congolese officials are understandably jumpy (not to mention corrupt). An “unknown” person buying large amounts of food is suspected to be a rebel supplier and so, just a few miles from our home, Wilson spent the night in Congolese jail. David did a lot of learning in a few hours and got both an internal security officer and a “fixer” who works both sides of the border, to head West towards Wilson. A day later and he is back at work, none the worse for the wear. We paid a small “fine” for the trouble Wilson supposedly caused and we built new relationships with Congolese and Ugandan officials.

We were at team meeting on Thursday night when David got the phone call that Wilson was in jail. And David led us in prayer, that God would bring surprising goodness out of this seemingly bad situation -that we would soon be grateful for this arrest. And to my amazement that prayer seems to be coming true. Congolese army and government officials gave him the full-ahead green light to continue crossing the borders and buying foods, due to the interventions of our the Ugandan internal security officer. Now Wilson is known to Congolese security and will hopefully have safe passage in the coming months and years. Good reminder for my sometimes faith-less heart, that God DOES have a plan.

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.