Re-Entry

Coming back to Bundibugyo, as usual, a two-day process of exhaustion and joy, reality and relief.  

Beginning:  Friday morning, dawn in Kampala, up to pack the next month or two of groceries and all our trunks from a two-country trek to take Luke back to school, into the back of the truck.  From the room across the hall our dear friend and former pastor Al emerges to lend a hand!  He is also in Kampala en route to the airport to send his oldest daughter Katie back to college in the US after her Christmas break in Karamoja.  Sweet reunion, but too brief.  The truck loaded with everything but the frozen goods we leave the kids sleeping and head out to the airport.

Entebbe:  Travis and Amy, a doctor/teacher young couple who are finishing degrees and exploring God's next step for them, touch down an hour late, after a harrowing almost-miss-the-flight-re-route-because-of-weather very indirect journey from Charlotte via New York, Paris, and London.  We enjoy the unexpected enforced idleness having a cup of tea and discussing big picture vision issues as we approach a team planning retreat.  

Back to Kampala:  We add in the kids, the frozen goods, and at the last minute the entire team's fresh and frozen items . . because unforseen car issues mean that the second team vehicle will be in the repair shop all day.  We had planned to share responsibility to transport the Johnsons and Acacia Masso (who is taking the opportunity while her parents do logistical errands in Kampala to spend a week as a Myhre).  Instead we cram 8 into our double-cabin truck and embark on our cross-country trek home.  

The Drive: 8 hours of animated conversation while being jostled and compressed.  Fun to get to know the Johnsons, and they are good sports with it all.  Always room for a little more, we pick up other items in Fort Portal . . . then hit the deep silt of dust that has become the dry season road over the mountains.  As we top the ridge the hot springs steam below us, and the setting sun reflects on the coils of the Semliki River.  The up side of traveling late in the day, we see dozens of colobus monkeys and baboons.  It is dark, equator-with-no-power dark, by the time we get to Bundibugyo town. 

Arrival:  The Pierces welcome us with hugs and a hot dinner, having patiently waited, it is now about 8:30 pm.  We relax and enjoy their company and deliver some of the goods. . . then drive back up to the other houses on the mission to put three other house-hold's worth of groceries into their fridges.  It is now between 9:30 and 10 and we have not yet made it to our house.  As we pull out of Pat's driveway there is a terrible flapping sound--our rear tire has punctured and though we have only a hundred meters left of our 2,000 plus kilometers to go . . . we have to jack up the truck and change the tire.  Then we unload, settle the visitors in their bed at the Gray's, start up our own kerosene fridge, put away our groceries and sleep.

The Aftermath:  Saturday, hot and dusty.  Unpacking.  Greeting.  Dozens of friends,  A few needy people who have waited long.  Baking.  Sweeping.  The sad news that our little goat (the post-Ebola thanks goat) was bitten by a snake and died last week.  In spite of some slashing and clearing the responsible snake has not been found, only a small juvenile cobra.   We know the mother is out there.  Scott sets fire to a brush pile while a half dozen teenage boys stand on call with hoes and pangas, but no snake appears.  Unsettling to know something venomous enough to kill a good sized goat still lurks nearby.  Later we visit our new "grandson", baby Arthur Atukunda ("God loves us").  Juliet, nervous but competent, laughing now as she describes her hard labor.  Ndyezika beaming, proud.  We also visit our neighbors, the Mukiddi family, who inform us that due to Mukiddi's senior status his two wives will return to their ancestral homes this week for further post-burial ceremonies, a new aspect of culture we had not encountered before.  By evening we have settled and organized, and celebrate being truly home with a feast for our guests as a full moon rises orange and bright.  Lastly, a viewing of one of our favorite movies, Blood Diamond.  We go to sleep late, with images of God the committed father who pursues the prodigal child-rebel, who knows who we truly are and is willing to risk death to call us back.

We're home.

Themes for 2009, part 2

2 Chronicles chapter 20 has been on my heart and mind the whole year
(all 8 days of it so far). It is a dramatic story, enemies amassing,
impossible odds. Jehoshaphat as king must lead and respond, and he
does so by seeking the LORD. After fasting and praying, he reminds
the people of their identity, and of who GOD is. He concludes by
praying to God: "Our eyes are upon You." God responds by telling
them they will not fight in this battle, but they must move into
position and then believe, stand still and see the salvation He will
bring. So the entire assembly moves out in choir formation, singing
rather than attacking, and when they reach the battlefield they find
their enemies have all killed one another in disarray, and the only
work left is to organize the spoils of victory.

I sense God telling us that He is ready to do some dramatic things in
2009, but in unexpected ways. That we must move fearlessly and
worshipfully towards the battle, but the victory will be so clearly
out of our hands that all will see it his His alone. Please join us
in praying this for the new year. Pray that our eyes would be on God,
and that we would experience His powerful intervention in impossible
battles. Though the real fight belongs to God, we are called to
witness, to move into the fray and see what He will do.

The story ends with the wilderness of the battlefield being re-named
The Valley of Berachah, the valley of blessing. Yet again a place of
struggle, dryness, and death is transformed into an oasis of beauty.
Please pray that God would give our team the privilege of watching
Bundibugyo, the valley of the shadow of death, become the valley of
blessing, for the nations which surround us.

Blessings and Sorrows of 2008

Blessings of 2008: Heidi arrives * Nathan arrives * Grammy visit,
climb Sabinyo* Ryan visit, spiritual food* Rwenzori Hike (!!) *
Zanzibar short sabbatical * Baby Jonah Muhindo * Ndyezika and Juliette
Wedding * Luke admitted to RVA * Pierces transition to lead CSB *
Student milestones, Ivan finishes PLE, Mutegheki finishes O levels,
Birungi finishes A levels * Basiime admitted to University
miraculously * Luke makes soccer team *Our RMS teachers Ashley and
Sarah, breaths of fresh air * Austria TL retreat, enveloped by love of
our WHM family and celebration of survival * Jack's heels, Luke's
knee, Basiime's eyes, and Ivan's leg healing * Bolthouse visit,
friends and safari * Baguma Charles for BundiNutrition * BBB
established and tested * Former team-mate weddings for Scotticus &
Jane, Becky & Lars, Larissa & John, Rachel & Craig * generous
supporters * sponsoring 2 medical students and facilitating
sponsorship for 3rd, the future of Health in Bundibugyo * Writing *
Continuity, especially Pat * Sensing God's love . . .

Sorrows of 2008: Massos move to Sudan * Luke leaves home * Mukiddi,
our neighbor for almost 15 years, dies * Mourning Jonah * The inverse
of some of the above: Luke's knee injury, Basiime's severe glaucoma,
Jack's struggles, Ivan's broken leg * Goodbye to Barts * Heidi gone
for two months to jump nursing license hoops * Financial strain of
rising costs and limited funds especially at CSB * Grammy appendicitis
and close relatives unemployed * Plowing on in hard relationships *
Getting older and slower * Supply shortages, especially gloves *
Blatant corruption * not-always-helpful staff changes * watching
children die . . .

Themes for 2009, part 1

We began the year with a quarterish moon rising through the deep dark
of the savannah sky, hearing the rumble of a lion, the snort of
hippos, the pop and crackle of our camp fire, and the distant bray of
elephants across the water. Four small tents circled the light of the
fire, to house us, our four kids, and three teenage Ugandan boys,
friends. We sizzled smores over the coals and took turns recalling
the best and worst of 2008. The lion's rumble became more and more
ominous as the night deepened. And the evening pictured clearly some
themes for 2009: community, beauty, and the circling threat of danger.

Community, because these boys have taken the risk to come into our
lives, to endure some teasing and ostracism from their other
colleagues. And we have taken the effort to support and encourage
them, to listen, to pray, to celebrate their success and still believe
during their failures. They represent the hope that after a short
African generation, the 15 and counting years of living in Bundibugyo
are bearing fruit. Real relationship, and real impact on lives, hard
to define but glimpsed in a camp-out. And real change for us, for our
kids, to become people whose friendships span cultures.

Beauty, because the wildness and isolation of camping in a game park
allow us to see the wonder that is Africa. The extravagance of
creatures and landscapes which exist for glory, not for profit or
practicality. The character of God.

And danger, because that community and beauty must be wrested from a
broken world, must be cultivated and protected, and exists within
earshot of death. Peter compares our Enemy to a roaring lion, and in
the dark of night I sense the aptness of that, the stalking one,
unknown and mostly unseen, hostile and powerful, but hesitant to enter
our light.

May 2009 bring fullness of relationship, awareness of beauty, and may
the danger be kept at bay.

Closing 2008

Yesterday would have been my Dad's birthday, a day the rest of my
family celebrated together, as I'm sure he would have wished. As the
year draws to a close, as we parent our own kids, as we talk to other
families, I am thankful for the legacy of loyalty and generosity and
love that still supports us.

Today we see patients as quickly as possible then head to our favorite
isolation spot, campsite 2 in the game reserve. We will take three of
Luke's friends from his CSB days to experience the wonder of their
homeland and its animals, and to close the year and the vacation in
community. Then it is on to Kenya to take Luke back to the start of
term 2 at RVA. Many miles and hours and your prayers for patience in
the car and protection on the rough roads are always appreciated

On Missionaries and Mindsets

This link was sent by a reading friend, to a Times article written by a self-professed atheist from the UK who grew up as a kid in Africa.  

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/columnists/matthew_parris/article5400568.ece

Recommended reading.  His premise is that while hospitals and schools are good things, the most important contribution of missionaries to Africa is the liberation from the crushing weight of collective passivity.  I'm not sure I agree that individualistic thought leads to salvation . . . but I do sense underlying truth, that apprehension of one's place before God leads to valuing human life, to valuing creativity and health and beauty, and to risking sacrificial love.  This is the force I think he senses but can not define.  So let us plod on with our schools and hospitals, our nutrition and engineering projects. But let us hold them lightly in comparison to the kids we befriend, the staff we empower, the slow and subtle growth of the liberating sense of being loved.

Of Wise Men and Children

Today's sermon, in good post-Christmas form, moved to the Matthew 2 account of the visit of the magi, the political advisors and semi-royalty from the east who caused a stir in Jerusalem as they searched for a new King.  Uganda is a land of four traditional Kingdoms, so the preacher alluded to the very-obvious-to-all shock of politicians from an unrelated region coming to pay homage to a local tribe's king.  Once again the reality of Uganda in 2008 allows for a richer understanding of turn-of-the-millennium Palestine:  intrigue, succession, suspicion, tribalism, lineage, prophecy, supernatural signs, uneasy balances of power, all of these are undercurrents to our reality here and now just as they were in Jesus' time.  

The sermon was followed by the baptism of 8 children, half infants and half older.  In the context of the story of the magi, a concrete demonstration that God's interest in human beings begins much earlier than the world's interest.  Babies a few months or years old are worth attention and grace, are people to be ransomed and counted.  Just as the magi demonstrated the importance of the child with their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, the ceremony today called out small people and showed they are marked for the Kingdom even now (and sitting through a crowded service in full dry-season heat, I could see the practicality of two of the three gifts relating to fragrance, to a seasoning of the smelly reality.)

Meanwhile the national paper today carried a cover story on child disappearances, relating the year's toll to the recent high-profile case of a business man who was arrested for the murder of a 12 year old boy in a ritual purported to buy him business success by the diabolical means of encasing body parts in the foundation of his new Kampala high-rise building.  Witchcraft of the highest power requires child sacrifice.  Again, not far from Herod's methods, the slaughter of young children considered a price to be paid for personal advancement.

The contrast sharp and starling:  name the children and mark them by baptism, honor them with gifts and recognition, this is the way of the Kingdom, the way of the magi.  This in stark opposition to abduction and murder of children by adults who would use them as expendable means to advancement and success.  And while the undercurrent of human trafficking may be less tangible in the US, the sacrifice of children to the convenience of adults is probably worse, via abortion and abuse and neglect.  Lord have mercy on all of Rachel's young ones.

Back to Reality

After two days away (Christmas Day and Boxing Day) Heidi and I thoughtit prudent to made an appearance on the ward today, spending a coupleof hours to round and re-supply, to remember the babies in danger andthe battle for their lives . . . so just an update that little Peter

John and his sister Grace (sounds like a combination out of Pilgrim'sProgress) did NOT run away as feared. He is getting simple first-line treatment for HIV, and she is hanging in there with him, feeding him,and has even been seen smiling. Keep praying for them, there is a long and hard road ahead. 

 And baby Gloria, who in spite of her Christmas-y name I did not expect to live to see the holiday, has actually gained a few grams. Her twin sibling and mother died in the process of birth leaving her in the care of a diminutive grandmother and feisty sister Angela, 

 who suffers from sickle cell disease as well as being a marginally malnourished orphan. What a threesome . . .names that reflect the chorus of the heavens, with lives that scream the injustice and sadness of hell. 

 

 We also had a run on burn patients  this Christmas--the stress of the holidays, the confusion of extra people and extra meals, the carelessness of alcohol, for whatever reason we ended up with three toddlers all severely burned. 

 The smallest burn but the saddest story is Lydia, whose mother at the age of 15 and still in primary school decided to "marry" a student from our secondary school, a boy on the football team and with plans in life. Her father had died, her uncle is a destitute neighbor of ours, so she probably did not feel she had many options. Though they have had two children now, Lydia and a little sister, the boy's family refuses to acknowledge the union, and sent the boy off to A-levelstudies in Fort Portal to try and keep them apart. They do not wantthis girl to hold their son back, so they even refused to have him come home for the holidays. However they have taken Lydia away fromher mother and into their home, after all a descendent is a descendent, the proliferation of which is a key goal of life. Her burn pattern was suspicious for abuse and she showed signs of malnutrition when she came, perhaps reflecting the grandparents'stress that they do not want their investment in their son's education to be subverted by his early marriage to a village girl, perhaps just reflecting that people their age get tired out by 3 year olds. After being passed from grandfather to grandmother to one aunt to another aunt, today I found her caretaker to be her actual biological mother. So we are working with the local Child Welfare Officer to see what can be done.

Reality--the burns and abuse and hunger and incurable viruses? That is the reality we can touch and see. But by faith we hold to the deeper reality of Rev 12, as preached on Christmas, the behind-the- veil glimpse of victory. The dragon flung to earth, angry in his defeat, lashing out but ultimately doomed.

In Praise of Boxing Day

Being a proper former British protectorate . . . we celebrate Boxing
Day on the 26th. It is a wonderful tradition, both in theory and in
practice. In theory, it is the feast day of St. Stephen, the first
martyr. He is given the day closest to that of Jesus himself, in
honor of his foundational sacrifice: December 26th. And the
tradition was for a box to be put in the church on that day for
offerings to be distributed to the poor. In the 21rst century, since
we spend half the day in church on Christmas, there is no longer a
service on the 26th. But this year one of the enterprising and
energetic CSB grads, who has been befriended by many of the
missionaries here, A. N., spent weeks drumming up support for the
concept of a children's day on the 26th. He got 8 churches involved,
and since I was so glad someone ELSE was providing entertainment and
instruction, Bible stories, songs, and games, and of course lunch, for
several hundred kids, I ended up contributing heavily to the budget
before hand, then just dropped in to see kids in traditional grass
skirts dancing, and everyone smiling, and left. Thus fulfilling the
spirit of the day.

Which allowed us to enjoy Boxing Day in practice. After non-stop
cooking and celebrating, guests and events, it is a deep inhale day.
Quiet. We had only a few visitors, and none who wanted anything from
us, just greeting (!). We drank coffee on the patio, played ping pong
and a little friendly soccer. Jack and Julia entertained Naomi and
Quinn by transforming the front room into a lego world for hours.
Simple meals, family time, peace, rest. This kind of day is a RARITY
in Bundibugyo, and therefore all the more precious. It was great.

Bundibugyo Christmas . . .

A few verbal snapshots: Christmas Eve caroling with the whole team, dusky pink clouds and fading light, Scott and Nathan with guitars, stopping a dozen times as we strolled up the road and back, some neighbors a bit bewildered but most happily entertained, old toothless women squatting outside over their cooking fires or young women washing clothes or braiding hair for the next day, men standing on the fringes, listening, smiles, greetings, soda crates rattling in bicycles as teenage boys brought in the last feast items, walking back home and straight to the cow pasture, reading Luke 2 by candlelight leaning against our real manger, dodging smelly droppings in the darkness, our two cows and goat looking suspiciously at the crowd in their space.

Christmas morning: awaking to rain (only three bursts of rain in this month, on Dr. Jonah's memorial service, on his cultural ceremony called final rites, and on Christmas), a downpour of blessing . . .stockings, music, John chapter 1 and an annual candle lighting, a pastry ring extravagance of butter and nuts, sitting around our tree, reading a chapter of a new children's book, unwrapping ping-pong paddles and then the kids' surprise run out to the roofed car-port area to discover that (besides the Rwenzori climb!) our gift was a spindly ping-pong table that Scott smuggled back from Kampala and set up during the night. We are a real teen-age house now.

 

Christmas church service: Hours that did not seem tedious this year at all, but joyful; the women's choir in their new robes radiant, swaying, singing new songs; the children's choir bringing down the house with their synchronized dance; a visitor from Congo borrowing Scott's guitar for a beautiful Swahili folk rendition; our mission team standing up to sing "Joy to the World" looking back on the packed church, hundreds of faces smiling with us (and for me the peculiar shock that we live in Africa, so obvious, but I always sit as part of the congregation deluded into believing we blend in); being pulled (literally) into a traditional dance with the elders and wives in the front of the church, at first reluctantly embarrassed but then amazed at the inclusion and sense of community; hearing Revelations 12 read in Lubwisi for the first time from newly-translated typed pages, then a powerful sermon by Musunguzi who reminded us that this world is at war and Jesus entered it to achieve victory.

Christmas afternoon and evening: the team gathering at our house, a long table set outside in the shade for our feast, a crunchy bag of Fritos from a package from someone we never even met that arrived on Christmas eve (the small joys of crispness and salt!), singing and performing comical carols for each other, exchanging gifts from our name draw and the fun of the surprise of both who drew whom and what creative thing they managed to procure, the Quinns vs. the Naomis all- team soccer match followed by a cool-down round of catch-phrase, family phone-calls to America and the Sudan, birthday-cake shaped like a Christmas tree and desserts and then a patio dance party all by candlelight under the stars, ending with watching "the Grinch" projected on a big-screen sheet.

One of our best Christmases ever, just the right mixture of community and worship and fun and food and reality and giving.