RVA

This is a link to a 6-minute video about RVA. I hear there will be significant teacher turn-over in 2009-2010. This video makes even ME want to teach there. Watch it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dHYmr3_qU5Y

Family Soccer

On Sundays, in the late afternoon, we have grown into the habit of "family soccer", a relaxed time of exercise and fun together. Our kids play almost every other day with their skilled friends, but on Sundays they enjoy being the stars of the show at home. This year most of the single people on the team have joined us at one point or another . . and this summer even the interns, neither of whom had any particular prior interest, fell into the routine. It was Doug's idea I think to create the last-Sunday challenge, Myhres vs. Singles. Since both Nathan and Ashley were all-American athlete soccer players in college, we did not agree lightly, but banked on Luke's return and Caleb's growing skill, combined with Jack and Julia's solid playing, to at least give us a chance (and you would never guess Scott is twice the age of everyone on the other team to see him go at it .. . ). The final score was 10 to 10, in about an hour and a half of very evenly traded goals, though it could have been way less even I'm sure if Nathan had not mercifully restrained himself against most of us and only unleashed his real self on Luke. Or as we prefer to say, the score was "fun to fun". We did come out of the game with one more sprained ankle (Sarah this time), sadly. But otherwise it was great fun.

clay treasures

But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellence of the power may be of God and not of us. We are hard pressed on every side, yet not crushed . . .

Luke took pottery as a term-length elective, and seems to have found one of his callings in this very African art form. Pictured above are the projects he packed home to show us. He loves the hand-in-clay creativity of working with the wheel, and the challenge of making something of symmetry and beauty that will stand the firing. His teacher is a master, and drew spiritual lessons too, that God knows what we must endure and models our clay sides just thick enough to withstand the particular trials of our lives.

Delighting God

Last night the students at CSB were brought out under the stars on the football pitch for an old-fashioned revival meeting, thanks to the visit of the Pierces' friend Pastor Brian.  There was singing and dancing, prayer and preaching, and a call for students to make decisions for Jesus.  I was sitting on a mat at the rear behind some pretty rowdy boys, and the few lanterns and moonless night did not allow a clear picture of how many responded, but I'd say it was substantial, at least a couple of dozen kids walked forward, maybe more.  Exciting for me, one was a student we love dearly and have sponsored, a good friend of our kids.  I was reminded of our own son's standing for Jesus in a similar "spiritual emphasis week" event at his school . . . and thankful that the students at CSB got a little taste of the same.  More and more the two schools represent for me not so much two cultures as two points on a timeline, and what is good for one group of kids is generally good for another.  We've been told we're a bit like soft grandparent-types when it comes to tolerance of student behaviour . . .and that is probably true, because even though last night a lot of the raucous dancing during the singing was closer to the cultural all-night youth-gathering dances of the Babwisi than it was to a worship service, I was glad those kids got to be outside, moving, shouting, letting off steam and enjoying themselves.  Then to add to that, they got to hear the gospel again, to be invited to respond, to have the chaplain following up by taking down names and classes to be sure these kids are discipled, all that was great and an answer to prayers.  

Keep CSB in prayer, always, but particularly right now.  The second consultant arrives tomorrow, and the first contributed a lot of perspective on how we could be more connected politically and support our school through local as well as international funds and personnel.  Meanwhile we have not only Brian here this weekend, but a former teacher Eric who was very pastoral in his time at CSB and prayed with and influenced many students.  He's in seminary now in the US and will be for the next few years, but visiting this week because he's about to marry a young woman he met when she was a missionary teacher at our school, Joy.  We enjoyed welcoming them "home" last night before the revival meeting, along with a handful of their favorite teachers (and ours) so that we could celebrate the community of our work together and God's grace in their lives.  We continue to pray for the miraculous provision of a Ugandan headmaster who would work with the Pierces, enabling them to step back and focus more on the big picture issues of funding, development, spiritual growth, staff professional growth.  And we pray for more missionaries to come in behind them and us as they anticipate finishing their term shortly after we also go on HMA, in just over a year from now.  It feels like a lot to ask God, but a verse I read this week from Psalm 147 says that God does not delight in the strength of the horse or the legs of a man (Old Testament equivalents of power, funds, education, competence, plans, resources . . ) but rather the Lord takes pleasure in those who hope in His mercy.  

So here we stand, hoping in His mercy, glimpsing it last night in the raised hands and voices of the students, and longing to see real change in their lives and our own.

Ending Child Sacrifice

God destroyed nations for this practice, and yet it continues.  In the West it looks different perhaps, as we sacrifice what is best for our kids in order to further careers, or for convenience.  In Uganda it is less subtle, as children are kidnapped and taken to ritual specialists who have convinced their clients that a particular body part offered to spirits will ensure economic success.  Link on this blog for a story of a courageous woman who walked away from a life of witchcraft when she was just a child, and was enfolded into the family of fellow-missionary-doctors and friends Robbie and Ian Clark.  She just put together a marathon media event to highlight the evil of child sacrifice and celebrate the redemption God brought in her life.http://rosenanyongac.blogspot.com/

Cheers, again!

Today was also a milestone for Caleb, his last day of classes at Christ School Bundibugyo. For the last four years he has stuck it out, taking Chemistry, Biology, Physics, Math, Additional Math, and Computer Studies. Today the Senior Four students had their last regular class day, from here on out until the end of the term in August they will be in study time and then "mock" exams, preparing for the all-important national exams in October. Since Caleb will not sit for those, and instead enter RVA a year earlier than Luke did (in 10th grade at the end of August), it did not make sense for him to take the practice tests. We are proud of Caleb for learning to be the sole American in his class, the sole non-boarding student, the sole part- timer (he has continued to take his humanities classes with our Rwenzori Mission School teachers), several years younger than anyone else in his class. He has shown resilience and courage, as well, and helped bring diversity and challenge to his class mates (his teachers often assign him things to look up on the internet, and his class mates love to use his books or compare notes with him on problems). The end of an era for him, and yet the closing of this chapter heralds the opening of a new one. He's ready.

CHEERS!!!

Luke is home! That long boy barely folds into a MAF plane anymore. He flew from Nairobi to Entebbe where the MAF pilot Laura met him, and then in the Cessna from Entebbe to Bundibugyo, even taking control of flying the plane much of the way under Laura's supervision. This is one of the great perks of being a missionary kid. I got teary just seeing him jump out. He's unpacking some pretty amazing pottery from his elective this year, he has real artistic talent . . . and a great GPA too. Today is an ebenezer, a milestone . . hither by grace. A year ago the idea of sending our child to boarding school was a painful unknown. Now, looking back, we see God's merciful provision in Luke's thriving friendships, academic maturity, and spiritual resilience. We miss the every-day life together, but we also see the refined gold that comes through trial. And interestingly, I believe that having a child at boarding school makes us more normal here in Uganda. It is a point of shared life experience and conversational contact with most Ugandan parents we know, which I would never have realized before. So a thanks today, to God for opening the place for Luke, to RVA for taking such good care of him, to his dorm parents the Gallaghers and his in-country guardians the Newtons, and to two voices in our life who kept telling us to keep this door open and to consider letting him go: Dan Herron and Paul Leary. You were right.

In Memory of Aunt Von, and grace

My Aunt Von died today, after more than 90 years of life. Since my dad was the youngest of 15, and my mom of 5, I have grown up all my life with a bevy of older aunts and uncles. But Aunt Von was special, cut from her own cloth. She was still wearing high heels and lipstick and driving her cadillac into her last decade . . . but she was also a country girl from West Virginia that could stir up a copper kettle of apple butter, or mow her own lawn when most of her contemporaries were using walkers. She ran a roadside snack bar for much of her life, under the sign "EATS", right next to my uncle's gas station, where we would help her boil up vats of vinegary sharp cucumbers to make her own pickles to put on the burgers . . . and she also had an incredible wardrobe of stylish hats and handbags (which we were allowed to dress up in, or later to borrow). She worked, hard. And spoke her mind, whether anyone agreed with her or not. She worried, especially about us. She wondered why we had to go to Africa when there were plenty of sick people in West Virginia. And even though I'm a pediatrician and know nothing about geriatrics . . . she wanted me to review anything her doctors prescribed, and would only take her pills if Scott or I told her she should. She was there at our graduations, our weddings, any time we came home. She sent me the beautiful red dress I've worn on Christmas for about five years running, because she thought I needed something pretty. I did. For most of my life, my Aunt Von filled the role that most people have for grandmothers ( I loved the only grandma I knew, but she was very old, lived further away, and I was one of a hundred progeny in her life). I'm sure she exasperated her siblings with her stubbornness, but not me, because all the force of her will was always in my favor.

My Aunt Von was a living example of grace. For no good reason, way before we were old enough to distinguish from the rest of the cousin crowd, she decided that my sister and I were special, that if I said so it must be right, that I would be the smartest doctor, or looked like a movie star. Once she decided so, she stuck with her opinion, fiercely loyal. And her love extended to Scott and our kids. There is no one besides my parents that could have been more determinedly devoted.

Tears have flowed freely today, and frequently. Aided no doubt by tangible sadness right under my hands, including a baby who died while we tried to save her life, the 5th of her mother's five babies to do so, in spite of months of nutritional therapy she had disappeared into Congo and only resurfaced cold and withered with gasping breaths and convulsions. I could not stop the shattering of this mother's life yet again, and I wished I was back closer to my family in this time of grief instead of in this hospital full of neediness and disaster. It was a long day, and my team mates bravely gave me hugs, listening ears, and space when I needed it, to make it through.

So tonight I reflect on this woman who gave me grace, my whole life. Barely 5 feet tall (in heels), not prone to speak of religion, still she was a picture of God for me, of unconditional and undeserved love.

Visitors, expected and otherwise

We welcomed two more visitors today, Dr. Naomi who is spending two weeks with us in the midst of her family practice residency to further pursue God's call to missions, and Brian a friend of the Pierces who came for a similar period of time to encourage them. The MAF flight that swooped out of the clouds to deposit them into our lives also took Pamela out, after a brief but full visit of reconnecting with life and friendship here. So more hugs, introductions, hellos and goodbyes. Pat and I took Dr. Naomi almost directly to a burial, perhaps an inauspicious first hour in Bundibugyo, but somehow appropriate. The oldest daughter of a prominent community leader died of AIDS yesterday, and pretty much everyone we know had turned out to show solidarity and sympathy. As we walked away from the grave with the crowd, I got a phone call: Please come to the health center RIGHT NOW, we have more visitors.

So Scott and I biked down, to find most of the staff milling about, and within a few minutes an entourage of four fancy SUV's pulled in. Dr. Sam Zaramba, the Director General of Health Services for the country of Uganda, had arrived. This senior official serves at the very top of the government health structure, second only to the Minister of Health himself. He was accompanied by Dr. Amone who has become a friend and supporter of our work since our ebola days together, and by our chief of health in the district Dr. Sikyewunda, and a half dozen other officials from the Ministry in Kampala and from the district. They toured the health center, which is seems has a national reputation as one of the most functional health centers in the country (!). At one point Scott had the opportunity to give his focused and articulate advocacy speech: with facts and figures he explained how the patient care at Nyahuka Health Center is equivalent in volume and service level to that offered at the hospital, with 1/20th of the budget. After the tour we all sat down with the staff, and these officials thanked "the Dr. Scotts (that's me too!) and World Harvest Mission" for the support in buildings, personnel, training, drugs, and equipment . . and mentioned specifically that Scott attended to Dr. Sessanga when he had ebola and when NO ONE else would go in his house, which spoke volumes and has not been forgotten even now . . .it was a little embarrassing but OK we admit kind of nice. However the most hopeful thing: Dr. Zaramba was the one who came up with the whole health system structure for Uganda, and he declared that highly performing health centers should have different budgets than barely functional ones. As his underlings took notes he promised to address the budget, and increase it!

I was asked to open the meting in prayer, and then as they got ready to go they asked me to pray for "traveling mercies" once again. I really loved the opportunity to pray by name, loudly, for the health leaders of this country. Amen.

Grief and victory

Mugume went home today:  the child who arrived on the 22nd of May, as severely malnourished as it is possible to be without being dead.  He had this incongruous body shape with grossly swollen limbs below the knees and elbows, but skeletal ribs and skull, he was listless, cool, moaning, hardly responsive, with a pregnant mother and distracted father who had traveled from Congo on foot and seemed confused about his name and age let alone anything concrete about his history.  Initial feeding only made his Kwashiorkor swelling worse, and  I felt there was very little chance he would survive, expecting every morning to find he had passed away during the night.  But somehow, he held on, through weeks of milk and antibiotics and searching for the cause of his illness.  At the end of the first month he had made no progress other than survival, and we decided he might have TB.  We started the TB drugs the day before my birthday in late June, and the response was immediate and dramatic.  For the last three weeks he has made steady, daily improvement, his face rounding out, reconnecting with the world, standing on his spindly weak legs, reaching for my pen, even beginning to talk and smile.  I love seeing this time-lapse resurrection, this flowering of life in a body that was nearly dead.  And I love seeing hope emerge in a mother.  After nearly two months, it was time to send him home.

But directly across the aisle, Masika died.  This little girl was severely brain damaged, developmentally delayed, abandoned to her grandmother, and found during her admission to have sickle cell disease as well.  No child should die of hunger, and though her overall life prognosis was poor we struggled to feed her and bring some measure of health into her life.  But over the last 24 hours she deteriorated, and in spite of a blood transfusion and IV antibiotics, become worse and worse.  By this morning her long-gone mother had returned only to wail and mourn as she breathed her last.  That was brutal, the screaming despair of this mother went on and on, perhaps compounded by her guilt in having been absent for most of the last year of her daughter's life as she had moved on to another marriage.  

There is no simple way to make sense of these two stories, two stories repeated over and over bed after bed throughout the ward.  For every few kids that are rescued, that respond, that revive . . .. there is another that dies.  In fact as soon as Masika's bed was cleaned up, another severely handicapped child with a similar story (mom gone, grandmother the caretaker, spastic cerebral palsy with a tiny head and terrified eyes and peeling skin . . .) moved into her place.  Why does Mugume get another life, But Masika does not?  

I can't answer that, and it is not my job.  I can only hope that through the lens of eternity, God's goodness will triumph over the sorrow in both of their lives, and we will see the mercy of extended days on earth and the mercy of an end of the suffering in Heaven, both in perspective.