New photos: April 07

See our newest photo journal LINK on the right sidebar....

Many photos document moments from this season of Christ School - Bundibugyo soccer ...
This photo includes two of our boys who have been playing soccer with our boys since we arrived 14 years ago (and who we sponsor at CSB)...
#19 - Birungi Fred, is the captain of the team
#7 - Richard Bamuturaki, the team's star midfielder

Therefore be steadfast

The resurrection victory was not very evident this morning. A holiday weekend, in spite of Dr. Jonah’s hard work, left the pediatric ward packed to overflowing. Three sets of malnourished twins—we have an extremely high twin rate here, and many women cannot manage the margin of calories to nourish that second body. One set is 1.5 and 1.7 kg (three pounds each) born to a 16 year old mother-too-soon. Two other kids with kwashiorkor, protein deficiency, weaned too early because their mothers got pregnant again within a year of their births. A dwindling 4 kg (9 pound) one year old whose drawn skin makes his face look skeletal, clutching his mother, probably TB. Another 10 year old with possilble TB, barely responsive, coughing, wasted. A young boy who found an unexploded grenade and with his friend threw it into a fire—the friend died, and he was left with a deep shrapnel wound in his hip. An older kid with sickle cell disease on her third blood transfusion this week. A three-month-old whose HIV positive mother probably has transmitted the virus, leaving his tiny body wracked with cough and diarrhea. A comatose five year old who was fine until a sudden convulsion three days ago, maybe cerebral malaria, the smear negative, not yet awake. A baby whose mother told me that five of her 8 children had died from various diseases. The list goes on and on, more than double what I’ve recalled quickly above. Bundibugyo is dangerous country.

So moving out into this mess in faith that the resurrected Jesus is making all things new . . . Well, it is an act of faith. The celebration of Easter was tremendous, spiritually and socially. But I entered the post-Easter life this morning feeling pretty poured out.

As often happens in the midst of the morass, one infant who nearly died of pneumonia a week ago today looked at me and smiled, a reminder that hope remains. Scott and Pamela traveled two hours (each way) to meet with health center staff in Karagutu for a “performance review”, a day to review data and encourage the staff. Karen received 70 goats this evening, a huge infusion of hope and protein for the suffering, to be distributed on Thursday. So there is some significant abounding going on (1 Cor 15:58). Therefore be steadfast.

Easter Letter

Please visit our "Downloadable Prayer Letters" link to get our most recent Prayer Letter with Easter Meditations and Prayer Requests.
(In living color, it's much better than the b&w version that will come by post).
Blessings to all...

21rst Century Easter Week Equivalents

CROWDS—Yesterday the district held the semi-finals in the soccer tournament at CSB, and there was tension in the air.  One of the four finalists had been disqualified for using non-student “mercenary” players.  This school had in the past threatened riots, brick-throwing, and other violence if excluded.  So we went into the day praying that they would peacefully accept their suspension.  More than a thousand people generally attend these matches, and we are all too aware of the way a crowd can turn from spectators to perpetrators, individually polite people suddenly angrily transformed in the immunity of group action.  As we prayed I thought of the crowds yelling “crucify him”, and had a new understanding of the threat of the mob.  Thank God in our case the school’s new headmaster eschewed the riotous behaviour of past years, and the day was peaceful.  The finals (CSB vs. Bubandi) will occur Saturday, and the crowd could swell to several thousand . . .

SOLDIERS—Seeing soldiers is not rare in Uganda, particularly living on an international border.  This past week in Bundibugyo some isolated rebel bands of the old ADF have tried to move through.  Nothing has endangered civilians, but the UPDF has increased their presence, including guarding our mission at night.  So we now have a dozen or so armed men patrolling in the darkness.  In this case they are on our side . . . But still reminders that we live in a world of force, of political power, of instability, just like Jesus did.

WOUNDS and OFFICIALS and FORGIVENESS—One of our missionaries was riding a bike slowly and gently through Nyahuka on her side of the road when she was hit from behind by a drunk motorcyclist.  Thankfully she escaped serious injury but still has a number of scrapes and bruises.   Such an incident can easily escalate out of control, but thankfully this also occurred directly in front of the police station, so when the perpetrator tried to blame her he was quickly apprehended.  It was still tedious and a bit nerve-wracking to be interviewed by the police and give statements.  And wounds here frequently become infected and more serious.  Like Jesus she was an innocent victim, serving others, but wounded by evil.  And like Jesus she had the opportunity to forgive her wounder, as he came the next morning and met with her and Scott and apologized.

INJUSTICE—Today Jonah called all of the staff to a long meeting at the health center, for many issues, but prominent among them the way our health center is suffering because of district administration desire to see him pushed down to failure.  The event that led to the meeting was that a “big man” in government called the driver of the hospital “ambulance” pick-up truck to take him somewhere, just when I was trying to send a newborn baby to the hospital for oxygen, and when the driver chose to serve the politician instead of the patient, the patient died.  I was pretty upset about the whole sequence of events.  To top it off there are rumors that all the money to run the hospital will soon be cut off from Jonah’s control and remain in the hands of potentially corrupt administration in Bundibugyo.  We had a productive time of discussion, but in the end Jonah reminded us that even though Jesus was trying to do good He met with opposition from the leaders of the people.  We prayed together for deliverance!

DEATH and MOURNING—A few hours ago I held another baby as her mother screamed, and confirmed that the infant had died while getting a blood transfusion for severe anemia (hemoglobin 3.8).  This was the 5th child that mother had lost, and my heart went out to her in her grief.  Death is an ever-present reality here.  Pray for all of us to cling to Jesus who bore our sorrows, who suffered our wounds and infirmities, who passed through death for us.  

We miss our families at holidays, and mine more this holiday than many others, since it is my Mom’s birthday today and we remember my Dad’s Easter death a year ago.  But in the midst of that I’m grateful for concrete reminders that the story of Good Friday occurred here in our real world, and means something to real people.  May you also see reminders of the story around you this week.

Distant Grief

Yesterday I picked up a book I had not read in a long time, and read it cover to cover. A Distant Grief by Kefa Sempangi tells the story of the early 70’s in Uganda as Iddi Amin’s reign of terror was unfolding, and the impact on the church. I have not yet seen “The Last King of Scotland”, but this book is a true-story eye-witness account and it’s hard to imagine the movie being any more chilling. Sempangi moves back to Uganda as a university professor and rides the wave of a movement of the Spirit as people throng to the Lord in the midst of the country’s descent into chaos, until he escapes with his life by about a half-hour margin in the Fall of ‘73.

Two of the most moving parts: on Easter of 1973 as he prepares to preach, he is drawn to the passage of the five loaves and two fish from Matthew 14. He feels overwhelmed by the needs around him, but writes “It was Jesus who provided the bread for the crowds. The disciples’ task was only to distribute what their Master had already given them. It was God who sustained his people. He was not asking me to feed His children from the words of my own heart. He was only asking me to distribute the living bread He had put into my hand.” I thought about that today as nearly 50 desperate families showed up for nutrition, draining the huge supply of milk Karen has bought. Somehow we made it through them all. I need to be reminded over and over that we are not sufficient for anyone’s needs, we’re merely handing out the Bread of Life. The symbolism of Passover permeates this concept—it is Jesus who breaks and blesses and gives.

That evening five armed thugs of Amin’s come to kill Sempangi, but end up accepting his prayers, and one even becomes a Christian. He writes about the atrocities he witnesses, and the second part I want to quote comes in response to watching a man beat to death, which also moves me to think of Jesus being whipped and beaten:
“In that moment I learned a new truth. I learned that just as there is a boundary beyond which human beings cannot comprehend the glory of God, so there is a boundary beyond which they cannot comprehend the evil in the world. There is a boundary beyond which everything is a senseless chasm. It is here in the nightmare of utter chaos that human feeling dies. It is here, where death and terror seem to have full dominion, that even the deepest of human sorrows becomes but a distant grief.” Like the rest of the world watching Uganda in the 70’s, Rwanda in the 90’s, Darfur now, we cannot comprehend the depth of evil and suffering, and it is at best a distant grief. But Jesus went to the bottom of that chasm on Good Friday. The book answers the question of “where was God” with the affirmation: here, with us, in our suffering, defeating evil once for all by dying.

Kefa Sempangi was instrumental in the founding of World Harvest Mission, because during his exile he studied in America and he drew Jack Miller into ministry to Ugandans displaced by Amin .. . . I met him a few months after graduating from high school, not knowing how my life would later become so connected to all of this. In the cover of the book is written “Jennifer, please when you come through college could you come and join me in Africa for service in his Kingdom. K Sempangi, 15 October 1980.”

Palms and Peace

Palm Sunday begins a week of remembrance of the pivotal events in Jesus’ walk towards the cross. Here in Uganda we have palm branches in plenty, so we pulled several down from trees in our yard this morning, to take and wave at church during the singing, and they became props during the sermon telling the story of Jesus’ journey. Jesus entered Jerusalem that Sunday morning on the back of a donkey, the posture of a King who comes in peace. The idea of coming in peace really jumped out at me today. As king, as God, He could have come in a posture of war, with horses and chariots, angels and thunder, fire and smoke and judgment. In fact that’s the way I’d like Him to come into this district, with serious force, and immediate results! Instead He came quietly, humbly, rocking on the back of a slow donkey, surrounded by excited children. This evening we gathered again for team worship, and a Tim Keller sermon (Redeemer in NYC) reminded us that love, true sacrificial love, is the only force that defeats evil. So here comes Jesus, to conquer by dying, to win by laying down his life, to make a way of peace, to fulfill the birth announcement of the angels “Peace on earth, good will towards men.”

But the next time He comes as King, He won’t be riding a donkey. The second time He rides into our earth, His coming will be one of judgment and drama, of finality. Tim Keller’s sermon also reaffirmed that the line between good and evil runs through every human heart—there are no wholly “bad guys” that deserve judgment while we “good guys” ride off to glory, all of us depend upon the faithfulness of the sacrificed King.

The donkey-riding King who offers peace will one day return at the head of His army to finish the war, and who can stand the day of His coming?

Of humor and poverty

Kabasunguzi Grace continues to be one of my all time favorite patients.  Partly that is due to the treasure and heart principle—over the last year I poured a considerable amount of energy and angst, prayer and money, emails and consults, research and hope into finding her a diagnosis and cure.  I failed, at least mostly.  She is a 12 year old who remains blind and paralyzed, but her wasted frame has filled out into a healthy roundness, her cheeks glow, her ulcers have healed into smooth skin.  Her dedicated mother perseveres.  Yesterday she was on my mind and heart, so today I biked out to see her in her mud home.  I found her lying in bed as usual, in her dark little room with a pocked foam mattress and tattered sheets, a clutter of dishes and scraps of bags on the dirt floor.  Since she’s blind the darkness of the room only bothers me, not her.  Her mother told me yesterday they had managed to get her outside to sit in the sunshine.  The radio stopped talking, they told me, my attempt at aural stimulation in her bleak environment now failing.  I opened the back to demonstrate that there were no batteries inside, which did not seem to diminish their faith in the return of its function.  Sigh.  

One of the surprises and delights about Kabasunguzi is her sense of humor.  Once I was carrying her from the car and she made a joke about how I was not strong, she just didn’t weigh much.  Today when I greeted her in her room I could see from the bowl of matoke on the floor that they had been eating, though I did not see any sauce, just plain lumpy starch.  As soon as I ran out of Lubwisi conversation (which is sadly quick) Kabasunguzi smiled mischievously in the silence and asked her mom loudly, is my doctor eating my food??  We all laughed.

How can this little girl who can not see or walk or sit, who lives with about ten dollars worth of material possessions, who has no schooling or music or books or treats, make jokes?  

I ponder this as I ride home, refreshed strangely by the beaming of her face and the cheerfulness of her heart.  I do not idealize poverty—being poor does not make a person necessarily wise, or strong, or holy.  Poverty is a symptom of our deeply broken world.  In the New Heavens and New Earth there will not be people who struggle to feed their children no matter how charming their spirit may be to the casual observer.  Yet I do see some truth in the concept that we who are rich benefit from interaction with the poor, from coming face to face with a little girl who wants to make me laugh instead of cry over her condition.  I think the Spirit put her in my mind, not because she needed a few shillings for food which I usually press into her hand when I visit.  No, because I needed to remember that joy is not based in circumstances, that being able to walk and see are not prerequisites for making a joke.

Home Alone . . .

Well, I’m never really alone, but our team of 27 has pared down to five—me, Caleb, Julia, Jack and our short term nurse Larissa, with everyone else in various stages of errands and meetings and vacations out of the district.  Within a couple of days they’ll all be trickling back in.  Solitude opens space to sense the ever present Christ; community is the context in which Jesus reveals His resurrected self.  Both are true, and life needs some rhythm of experiencing solitude and community in balance.  I’m thankful for the interdependence we have as a team, and praying that I can embrace the breathing space of this small fraction of a week.  Right now I just find myself edgy with goodbyes, edgy with the death of two kids on my ward this morning while I desperately tried to get them blood transfusions (too late), edgy with the sense of loose ends sending Scott with business and shopping to accomplish,  edgy with responsibility for those left in my care.  So prayers for the “home alone” handful of us would be much appreciated.

End of the Week Report, with thanks

Monday—NUTRITION--We had a solid two hours of brainstorming and problem solving. The more milk we buy, the more we need . . . Which led us to realize that we have moved too far from our surrogate breast-feeder promotion by making milk so available. Primum non nocere—first do no harm, one of our early lessons in medical school. So we re-worked our protocols to make surrogate breast feeding, which we believe is safer and healthier for the baby in the long-run, more attractive. The other idea which came from this day was a heavier use of ground nut paste (local peanut butter) as a protein supplement. Some recent medical studies have pointed out the crucial connection between stunting and poor child development, and I was able to teach about this, raise awareness, and gather ideas with the health center staff this week too. We would love continued prayers for our wisdom and creativity to stretch resources to meet needs . . . We still need milk money for the transitional period after a mother dies and a relative’s milk is coming in, and for premature babies who can not suck, and for the dozens of kwashiorkor patients. So pray for funds too.

Tuesday—HEALTH CARE—the Director of District Health Services disappeared to Kampala and so our hoped-for doctor summit did not materialize (nor did it happen on Friday, the day he suggested rescheduling, because he backed out again). This looked like disappointing answer to prayer. But Jonah came up to our house Tuesday afternoon to gently guide us in his subtle manner, teaching us how to deal with a recalcitrant administration. His attitude is to seek out the core staff with whom we can work well and not worry about the others, to do the good we can under the circumstances and persevere. A timely rain storm kept us talking for an hour and a half about the problems of health care in the district. So an answered prayer after all.

Wednesday—RMS—Thanks for praying for our unity of mind and considerate spirits with each other, it looks like we have the curriculum on order now! We still need at least one more teacher, preferably two. One has applied, which looks like an answer to prayer, since she originally wanted to come for a short internship and we prayed for her to be open to coming for at least a year or two . . .and then she changed her mind. Pray we would trust God to meet the needs of our kids in education and life in general.

Thursday—TEAM—We had a great discussion of a pivotal chapter in the Peacemaker book, and an extended and deep personal sharing time this week. Looking back now I connect the very real tone of the meeting this week with prayers. Thanks.

Friday—CSB—No new crises to report, and the first two rounds of season play for boys’ football (soccer) occurred peacefully this week.

Saturday—TRAVEL—The six women traveling to South Africa arrived well and have enjoyed the bonding of shared experience and beauty of a new place. They are in the midst of their retreat so we are still praying for refreshment which comes from meeting God in new ways. Sudan travel plans for a handful of team mates in late April/early May continue to evolve, we’re getting lots of helpful information these days including some crucial responses to emails, perhaps in response to your specific prayers this week. We trust that the way will become clearer as we move closer.

Sunday—WORSHIP—I end with my favorite answer to prayer. I asked you to pray for God to give gifts to specific individuals to lead in worship. So why should I be surprised? Today at the church that meets on the mission, a man attended whom I’ve seen only once before, he introduced himself as a church member from another congregation in a different sub-county. In the middle of the service he went up to whisper to the leader, who had been cajoling the church to sing with more enthusiasm, to ask if he could lead a song. His smile, his clear voice echoing from the cavernous tin roof, his dancing clap, his echo-response style, all got the entire church on their feet and stimulated the best worship that I’ve seen there in months.

Mother Worries

Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything.  Tell God what you need, and thank Him for all He has done.  (Phil 4)

This was part of our kids’ memory work this week, as well as being a key passage in the Ken Sande Peacemaker book we are studying.  I’ve been convicted of how much of my conflict, with my kids or with others in our lives, stems from anxiety.  Because I worry about something, I push and insist and pressure . . .which is met by resistance and spirals into conflict.  Some friends know that a month ago we were in a sticky situation with our oldest, over his participation with boy’s soccer (called football here).  For very legitimate reasons he felt unwelcome to try out, and rebelled against our push to get him to try and join in with the team (he’s in the odd position of being a “senior” student grade-wise and taller than most, yet also being younger, so that his 14 year-old strength and speed significantly lag the average team 18-19 year-old skills, plus he suffers from lots of old history with his sense of identity and other-ness and being excluded as a mujungu (foreigner)).   I worried a lot, that he was missing an opportunity for friendship and belonging, for encouragement and accomplishment, for physical development.  As a local “senior” it looked like his last year to be eligible.  It was a battle.  Yes, we asked for prayer, but it was anxious prayer.  

In spite of my less-than-faith-filled pleas, God did answer.  The first week was touch and go.  But then he got into the spirit of practicing, and began to see himself improving, and it became part of his daily routine to return to school for two hours of practice in the late afternoon.  This week we faced it all again when the official team was announced.  Nineteen boys get to wear uniforms and sit on the bench during the games.  About 22 or 23 boys were practicing consistently.  Luke was in the handful not picked to be on the real team.  Though he said he did not mind and did not want to get hurt by playing in the matches against other schools in the district, it did hurt him.  The CSB team has so far played two games which they have won 5-0 and 13-0.  The coaching and practice are paying off.  Luke watched only a part of the first game, choosing to go home instead.  So when the next non-game practice day came around, even though he was free to practice with the team I was pretty sure that he would drop out.  But he and one of the other non-team boys stuck it out and went to practice anyway.  Thank Him for all He has done . . . First for the miraculous change of heart in Luke to even try and play, then for the character and courage to continue participating without the reward of success.  

There are so many things to worry about as a mother here.  Another team kid fell out of a tree he was climbing this past week and escaped serious injury even though the fall was about 10-15 feet off the ground.  Another had croup during the night, that raspy breathing that sounds much worse in a place where there is no emergency room to run to.  Caleb ran under a low-hanging clothes line in the dim evening light chasing the dogs, and got knocked down with a linear red welt across his neck on Thursday.  At least he did not re-fracture his arm, which did not heal as well as we had hoped.  He has significant limitation of his elbow extension and wrist turning, but there is a country-wide shortage of xray film making it hard to investigate the issue.  The physical dangers alone are plenty of worry-fodder, but now I find myself dwelling more on the emotional dangers, the taunting of groups of kids who call ours names as they go down the road, the struggle to make friends, to belong, to be on the team.  With four kids in early adolescence or almost there, these identity issues are only going to intensify.

So the simplicity of this verse challenges my heart.  Replace worry with prayer.  There are only two options:  be anxious about how your are going to manage life, or trust God to do it.  Every time I think I’ve learned that lesson, especially in regard to my kids’ well-being, I find myself challenged again to take them to God.