We watched the 1957 movie “Bridge on the River Kwai” this week, a fascinating WWII conflict of Japanese, British, and American culture as prisoners of war struggle to survive in the jungle. Many parallels to the spiritual war, to our determination to build something helpful and lasting, to the physical challenges of life on the edge of death. Many times during the movie, one of the soldiers will make a plan and then concede: “But then, there is always the unexpected.”
Sometimes the unexpected is a gift. Yesterday in the midst of many things one of the kids told me there was a woman waiting in the kitubbi, our grass thatched circular porch. A number of other patients and people with problems had been by that day, and I was working on something else for a team member, so I relayed a message back out that she’d have to wait, assuming it was yet one more patient. Then our cow got out of her pasture and was kicking feistily in the yard, an Irish aid worker and his girlfriend arrived for a meeting I was late to, I was trying to settle Julia who had an unexpected fever . . . And nearly forgot her until I was walking out to the meeting and saw her still sitting patiently waiting. I recognized her as the mother of Dixon, one of our little AIDS patients who had died earlier this year. His picture was in one of our prayer letters, a frail all-eyes baby whom we pulled back from the brink of death for a while. He spent long weeks in the hospital and we got to know his mother. When Dixon died, we visited her home in a crowded muddy camp left over from the ADF days, and saw his grave. He was her fourth child, and the fourth to die, and she had been chased from her husband’s family to live with her relatives. A month or two after his death she asked me for a small loan to start a business of buying rice in Congo and selling it in Uganda, to support herself, a major problem for an HIV positive woman with no husband or children. So I leant her about $25, enough to buy rice in bulk and start growing a little business. I told her that when she was making enough profit to keep the business going, she should bring half of the loan back to help someone else. The other half I’d consider a gift.
Now I’ve tried that scheme with many people who have more education, strength, resource, math skill, than this woman. And I was content to just let that little bit of money go for her survival. Months passed, I really forgot all about it, I greeted her at the hospital when she came for her regular care, but never mentioned the business. Even when I saw her in the kitubbi I assumed she would be asking for some help for a sickness. But yesterday she said quietly that she’d brought me “a little food from her business” and then pulled out of her bag a crumpled wad of notes and coins that added up to the loan. The unexpected, a gift to build my faith in redemption.
The unexpected usually feels like the unwanted I’m afraid. Jonah is due back in the district on Tuesday, the 31rst, for the promised hand-over of Nyahuka Health Center into his charge on Wednesday the 1rst. Yesterday we heard confirmation of a rumor that one of the only two doctors left in the district (another two have left this year) had taken a job in Kampala with an NGO. So will Jonah really be posted to Nyahuka if only one doctor is left at the district hospital? The patient volume is nearly identical so one could see it as a fair division of labor, but I’m afraid that the general perception is that no doctor would be posted out peripherally without at least three doctors centrally. Another unexpected wrinkle.
Our season of welcoming new team members (two families and four singles in the last few months) has also been unexpectedly disrupted by the impending early departure of one of our single young women, a teacher at Christ School. She has bravely endured unexpected, unexplained back pain since June and together we made the difficult decision that it was time for better medical care. Since last January she has grown attached to the community of the team and the school; she leaves without knowing if or when she will be well enough for return. A heaviness for all our hearts.
Time to be reminded, the unexpected is an illusion based on our position trapped in time, the basis for living by faith. If we could see then we would know that nothing surprises God, that He answers our prayers the way we would choose if we could see all that He knows. For Him, there is no unexpected.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
But then, there is always the unexpected
We watched the 1957 movie “Bridge on the River Kwai” this week, a fascinating WWII conflict of Japanese, British, and American culture as prisoners of war struggle to survive in the jungle. Many parallels to the spiritual war, to our determination to build something helpful and lasting, to the physical challenges of life on the edge of death. Many times during the movie, one of the soldiers will make a plan and then concede: “But then, there is always the unexpected.”
Sometimes the unexpected is a gift. Yesterday in the midst of many things one of the kids told me there was a woman waiting in the kitubbi, our grass thatched circular porch. A number of other patients and people with problems had been by that day, and I was working on something else for a team member, so I relayed a message back out that she’d have to wait, assuming it was yet one more patient. Then our cow got out of her pasture and was kicking feistily in the yard, an Irish aid worker and his girlfriend arrived for a meeting I was late to, I was trying to settle Julia who had an unexpected fever . . . And nearly forgot her until I was walking out to the meeting and saw her still sitting patiently waiting. I recognized her as the mother of Dixon, one of our little AIDS patients who had died earlier this year. His picture was in one of our prayer letters, a frail all-eyes baby whom we pulled back from the brink of death for a while. He spent long weeks in the hospital and we got to know his mother. When Dixon died, we visited her home in a crowded muddy camp left over from the ADF days, and saw his grave. He was her fourth child, and the fourth to die, and she had been chased from her husband’s family to live with her relatives. A month or two after his death she asked me for a small loan to start a business of buying rice in Congo and selling it in Uganda, to support herself, a major problem for an HIV positive woman with no husband or children. So I leant her about $25, enough to buy rice in bulk and start growing a little business. I told her that when she was making enough profit to keep the business going, she should bring half of the loan back to help someone else. The other half I’d consider a gift.
Now I’ve tried that scheme with many people who have more education, strength, resource, math skill, than this woman. And I was content to just let that little bit of money go for her survival. Months passed, I really forgot all about it, I greeted her at the hospital when she came for her regular care, but never mentioned the business. Even when I saw her in the kitubbi I assumed she would be asking for some help for a sickness. But yesterday she said quietly that she’d brought me “a little food from her business” and then pulled out of her bag a crumpled wad of notes and coins that added up to the loan. The unexpected, a gift to build my faith in redemption.
The unexpected usually feels like the unwanted I’m afraid. Jonah is due back in the district on Tuesday, the 31rst, for the promised hand-over of Nyahuka Health Center into his charge on Wednesday the 1rst. Yesterday we heard confirmation of a rumor that one of the only two doctors left in the district (another two have left this year) had taken a job in Kampala with an NGO. So will Jonah really be posted to Nyahuka if only one doctor is left at the district hospital? The patient volume is nearly identical so one could see it as a fair division of labor, but I’m afraid that the general perception is that no doctor would be posted out peripherally without at least three doctors centrally. Another unexpected wrinkle.
Our season of welcoming new team members (two families and four singles in the last few months) has also been unexpectedly disrupted by the impending early departure of one of our single young women, a teacher at Christ School. She has bravely endured unexpected, unexplained back pain since June and together we made the difficult decision that it was time for better medical care. Since last January she has grown attached to the community of the team and the school; she leaves without knowing if or when she will be well enough for return. A heaviness for all our hearts.
Time to be reminded, the unexpected is an illusion based on our position trapped in time, the basis for living by faith. If we could see then we would know that nothing surprises God, that He answers our prayers the way we would choose if we could see all that He knows. For Him, there is no unexpected.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Pediatric – Maternity Building: Construction Update (HELP!)
Our vision: Basic, essential, appropriate medical care for mothers and children living in the vicinity of World Harvest Mission – Bundibuygo.
Three years ago, we decided that a prerequisite to achieving this vision (in addition to the arrival of Dr. Jonah!), is a more spacious (clean!!) building—and the Combined Pediatric-Maternity Building concept was born.
Our template: a neurosurgical ward of the CURE Hospital in Mbale, Uganda where we send many of our hydrocephalic patients. We visited this facility about two years ago, got the blueprints, and began to modify for our context (expanded to ~3000 sq. ft.)
Two generous donors combined to give ~$63,000….our estimate to complete the building (including furniture and solar electricity).
Our Problem: Call it poor planning, if you like….mostly it is a lack of experience building on this scale. Additionally, we decided to splurge on a beautiful industrial-strength porcelain tile floor which pushed the costs far beyond our original estimates. What the locals are saying (according to one of the elders)…“This is the nicest building in the district. We’re sure glad Dr. Scott is building it...if our local contractors built it, all that money would have been ‘eaten’…"
Bottom line….we’ve shot our wad of $63,000 and have the following phases yet unfinished:
1. Windows: screened with glass louvers (estim $1400)
2. Doors: interior/exterior (estim $830)
3. Final painting: (estim $900)
4. Verandah: (estim $1500)
5. Plumbing (sinks/elevated water tank/water lines/etc): (estim $2300)
6. Basic furnishings: beds (~35), desks, chairs, cupboards, shelves, trolleys (estim $ 4000)
7. Solar Photovoltaic Electric system (estim ~$8,000)
TOTAL NEED: $18,930
If you are interested, let us know by e-mail (drsmyhre@yahoo.com) We would like to keep the momentum of construction moving ahead.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Return of the prodigal dog
At 5:20 this morning we were awakened by pounding at the door. In Africa, the land of rebels and thieves, one does not answer the door in the dark lightly. We crept quietly out of the bedroom with flashlights off. No one spoke, but the pounding repeated. Then Scott realized what it was: Star returned, and she was banging the screen door. He opened the door and she quivered in, cowering with shame and happiness. All alone. Whether she heard the car, the calls of her name, the kids out searching, or she just tired of running with the wild pack, of hunger and maybe abuse . . . She came home. We welcomed her with food and water, but her older “sister” Angie snarled and tried to get at the food in typical prodigal sibling fashion. There is much happiness in the Myhre house today, and perhaps understanding of the forgiveness and joy of the welcoming Father.
(the pix: Angie, the elder, in the foreground..and Star, the prodigal dog, in the background)
Missing pet, some small things are important
Star is missing. We have two yellow lab pet dogs, Star and Angie, who represent home and continuity to our kids. We were gone over the weekend for a much-needed family break, but while we were gone there was some confusion about the care of our dogs. Star was not tied up overnight and ran away. She did this once before. Since we arrived home this afternoon and found out, our kids have been searching high and low. Luke came back caked in mud from an hour and a half of biking for miles around; Jack went on a motorcycle search with Scott; Caleb accompanied neighbor boys who are friends walking as far as he could. They did find a couple of disparate witnesses in far flung directions who claimed to have seen her. They are very sad. A couple of months ago some kids threw a brick at Star and she was briefly paralyzed. We are worried that someone could beat or kill her while she’s on the run. Pray for her return, for our kids’ sake.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Reality Check
Yesterday I decided to discharge one of my scrawniest little patients, Jerrad. He is the age of the toddlers on our team but half their weight (reality check number 1). His mother had been staying in the hospital with him to get treatment, food, and milk. She was very pregnant, so we thought at first that explained his problems (children who don’t breastfeed a full two years usually don’t thrive in this low protein culture, so when he weaned at less than a year old from his pregnant mom, he did not grow). But even with food his improvement was minimal, and he continued to have nightly fevers and a terrible cough. So we presumptively diagnosed TB and saw a margin of improvement after he began treatment. Then his mom delivered her next baby, a girl, and went home leaving him irritable and lonely with a grandmother. I took pity on his bereaved wailing and decided he would be better off with his mother, so should go.
Reality check number 2: he is my neighbor. When I started asking about where he lived, hoping it was close enough for frequent follow-up, I found out he is the grandson of one of the elderly men whose land borders ours. His father died this year, which now makes the whole picture make more sense. This child with his pale hair and fragile stick-like legs, his bleeding lips and desperate whine, lives within a stone’s throw of our milk-producing cow. Wow. I felt that like a punch in the gut, that I did not even know about him until he was admitted to my hospital ward.
So today we bought him his own pitcher, and I took him a liter of milk. I was passed from one guide to the other (“here, take her to Friday’s, she’s the doctor’s wife”) skirting around the edges of our back pasture, through a cocoa grove, then houses, back to a larger path, then through crowded compounds littered with scraps of discarded plastic containers and strung with ragged clothes. We found the house: chalked on the side of the mud wall was “WFP World Food Program”, no doubt copied from a discarded oil tin or flour bag from our food distributions. Jerrad clung to his mother when he saw me, probably fearing I was there to whisk him back to the hospital. We sat for a while in the windowless house, on low stools. They tried to get Jerrad to drink the milk I brought, but since it had been in my fridge all day it was unpleasantly cold to him and he pushed it away.
So reality checks continued: here is a lady with a newborn infant, a dead husband, and a critically ill toddler, also responsible for several other kids, living in mud surrounded by bare dirt and weeds, smiling very graciously at my visit and thanking me for the milk. Here is my neighbor, the one that Jesus told parables about when self-righteous people like me wanted to justify themselves. Here is one of the most pitiful looking children in Bundibugyo and he’s growing up (or not growing) right out my back door.
Reality check number 2: he is my neighbor. When I started asking about where he lived, hoping it was close enough for frequent follow-up, I found out he is the grandson of one of the elderly men whose land borders ours. His father died this year, which now makes the whole picture make more sense. This child with his pale hair and fragile stick-like legs, his bleeding lips and desperate whine, lives within a stone’s throw of our milk-producing cow. Wow. I felt that like a punch in the gut, that I did not even know about him until he was admitted to my hospital ward.
So today we bought him his own pitcher, and I took him a liter of milk. I was passed from one guide to the other (“here, take her to Friday’s, she’s the doctor’s wife”) skirting around the edges of our back pasture, through a cocoa grove, then houses, back to a larger path, then through crowded compounds littered with scraps of discarded plastic containers and strung with ragged clothes. We found the house: chalked on the side of the mud wall was “WFP World Food Program”, no doubt copied from a discarded oil tin or flour bag from our food distributions. Jerrad clung to his mother when he saw me, probably fearing I was there to whisk him back to the hospital. We sat for a while in the windowless house, on low stools. They tried to get Jerrad to drink the milk I brought, but since it had been in my fridge all day it was unpleasantly cold to him and he pushed it away.
So reality checks continued: here is a lady with a newborn infant, a dead husband, and a critically ill toddler, also responsible for several other kids, living in mud surrounded by bare dirt and weeds, smiling very graciously at my visit and thanking me for the milk. Here is my neighbor, the one that Jesus told parables about when self-righteous people like me wanted to justify themselves. Here is one of the most pitiful looking children in Bundibugyo and he’s growing up (or not growing) right out my back door.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Wounded but still shooting . . .
Well, the showdown did not end in our favor for this round. The depth and strength of the opposition to Jonah’s presence continues to amaze us. Here is what happened. Jonah arrived late last night. Scott had contacted the relevant people to arrange a hand-over this morning. But early in the morning we got wind of the fact that they were not going to cooperate. Jonah decided that he should go up to Bundibugyo to meet the Director himself, and found him consulting with the current in-charge of the unit. Not wanting to interrupt he then went to the hospital and saw patients until 2 pm, and came back to find the Director alone. They had cordial greetings, and then he told Jonah that he was very busy that day and could not come to Nyahuka, nor could he come the next day, or the next, in fact his schedule was completely booked until November 1.
People who have been oppressed tend to become very adept at passive-aggressive resistance. According to my parenting book it is the absolute worst way to handle conflict, but in Africa it is common. There are people who do not want Jonah at Nyahuka. Since he has a letter of appointment, they are now going to delay his arrival as long as possible. This is a district which is desperate for doctors. But Jonah was told to go back home and wait two more weeks. We suspect that those who have been accessing the accounts for the health center have to clean up the books and want time to do that. Meanwhile we heard that one of the other scant few district doctors (posted at Bundibugyo Hospital) is leaving, one has already escaped to Kampala, and the one left behind is threatening to quit. The mismanagement of funds, the disregard for these professionals, threatens to leave us with no doctors at all.
So Jonah will return to Kampala tomorrow. He knows what he’s in for, and it is clear that the only thing drawing him back to Bundibugyo is his commitment to our friendship. He is suffering, his family is suffering, and though he believes in the call of God the roadblocks are so tangible that I know he would throw up his hands in disgust and walk away except for the memory of our relationship. I think team works that way for all of us here. The glorious pronouncements of the Kingdom pale in the fire of opposition, but the commitment to the real flesh and blood friends whom we work along-side-of pulls us through.
So both sides have retreated to recoup and reload, Jonah to moonlight two more weeks in Kampala, make a little money, see his family. The District office to doctor their records and spend funds and who knows what else. By high noon on Nov 1 we should be back for round two, or is it round two hundred.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Monday Numbers
Here are some numbers from today:
117 = the number of HIV positive families (mothers, husbands, children) who received more food than they could carry today.
100 = the number of pounds of food that constitutes “more than they could carry”. Today was to be our last Kwejuna Project distribution, but it turned out that our supplies will allow one more monthly party. As usual Pamela had the logistics running smoothly, we welcomed Stephanie into the weighing role, Carole was able to find over a dozen of the 70 or so randomly selected mothers for our follow-up data, Scott was directing and Pat and I filled in here and there registering mothers, Luke joined the young men who help divide and carry the heavy sacks of food, in short a community effort.
5 = the number of children one of my inpatient mothers has produced in less than three years. This lady has two-year-old twins at home, and came heavily pregnant from the furthest corner of the district to visit a relative in Nyahuka a few days ago, when lo and behold she went into labor and delivered triplet girls. We are all having trouble keeping them straight in spite of color coded hats (which keep changing heads) so the Dad finally devised a system of strings tied around the wrists. All are between 1 and 2 kilograms (2 to 4 pounds).
9:30 = pm is the time Jonah arrived from Kampala tonight, and am is the time he plans to officially begin his new job as the in-charge medical officer of Nyahuka Health Center. Scott arranged for the hand-over with the District Health Office for tomorrow morning. Knowing how much passive-aggressive opposition has occurred we wonder what will happen. More on that tomorrow.
7 = the number of people on our team of 34 who are either losing too much weight (adults) or not gaining normally (children and pregnant woman). We had a “health day” on Saturday, a day-long open house of check-ups, blood pressures, immunization advice, prayer. Soberingly, a significant portion of our newest members are not exactly thriving here. We need prayer and calories. The issue is complex: partly a matter of adjusting to new foods and tastes and habits, partly the bulky nature of local foods (filling without being very nutritious), partly the reality that food planning and preparation consumes hours rather than minutes of the day’s schedule, partly the increased body demand accompanying frequent minor illnesses and moving everywhere on foot and bike. The American perspective would be: so this is a problem? But the reality is that we have to keep tabs on a person’s ability to survive here, and if we see kids dwindling we can’t ignore the problem. Life requires such effort here. Sigh.
2 = the number of team boys who turned 4 this week, celebrated by a joint birthday party complete with two cakes (a monkey and a tiger).
18 = the number of girls in the S4 class at Christ School beginning O-Level exams today, out of 43 in the class. Last year we had exactly two girls, both were in my cell group, and both were from outside of Bundibugyo. So 18 is a very encouraging trend. These exams involve about a dozen 3-hour (each) papers in eight or nine subjects spread out over almost a month. Which is to say, they are an intense experience, and all of a student’s future educational opportunities are determined by the scores. Pray.
14 = the number of kilograms Kabasunguzi Grace weighs, at age 11. That’s the average for a 3-year-old girl. She is gaunt, movement is painful, yet she cheerfully thanks me every day for coming to see her. I am praying for a miracle and doing my best to give her rational and adequate care.
That’s a numerical wrap-up of Monday, sparing you any real math from my teaching 5th grade at RMS of course.
JAM
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Showdown at the NK
Jonah called at 6 this morning to say he was leaving Kampala. It will take him all day to get here. Tomorrow morning will be “showdown at the NK”, Nyahuka that is, when he arrives at the health center with his letter of appointment to be in charge. I expect most of the staff will be glad, we are more concerned about the district leadership. Meanwhile today is the last day for World Food Program food to be distributed to HIV positive mothers and children through Kwejuna Project. We anticipate over a hundred families arriving shortly for a day of registration, weighing, blood tests for children, some encouragement and teaching, and then the happy departure with bags of food. A large measure of chaos infused with some sense of purpose. And just to keep life interesting, four tilers, men from Kampala with expertise in laying floors, arrived to put in the floor for the new pediatric/maternity ward at the health center. They will be staying on the mission all week while they work. Stay tuned for the stories this week . . . .
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Thread stretched but still hanging
Josh is the “new guy” who is supposed to be orienting to life in Africa and frontier water engineering. Since he’s living alone as the only single guy, we invited him for dinner Sunday night. As we sat down to the table he mentioned a rumor he had heard that our district’s Chief Administrative Officer (the CAO pronounced “COW” by everyone here) was about to be transferred. Now, I can’t explain how Josh knew this juicy but of political insider intrigue, but we immediately realized that God had sent us the information in the nick of time. The CAO is the only one able to write Jonah’s official appointment letter to Nyahuka Health Center. Remember he (Jonah) left a couple of weeks ago in frustration and disgust when the district refused to pay him, and then there was the seemingly miraculous confluence of events where the Belgian medical consultant invited us to a district meeting in which we were able to advocate for Jonah, which ended in the entire group mobilizing that afternoon to arrange the proper pay and appointment. But Jonah took his time in Kampala. Late last week he sent a message saying he was ready to come. When we heard from Josh Sunday night we realized that the window of opportunity might be permanently closing before Jonah could ever arrive.
Monday was a national holiday, and Scott was unable to contact the CAO in spite of sitting through the usual ceremonial speeches of the day. But early Tuesday morning he went up to Bundibugyo again. There was the CAO, sitting at his desk with neat stacks of paper, waiting for his deputy to come so he could sign out for good. He was leaving, run out on a rail by those whose interests he crossed. Scott asked for Jonah’s letter, he instructed a secretary to get the file off the computer and go print it, and told Scott to wait. Though this administrative officer had hesitated greatly about appointing Jonah (he was under a lot of pressure not to do so) I guess by yesterday he had nothing left to lose. He told Scott, if the secretary returned before the deputy arrived for the hand-over, he’d sign the letter. That’s how close it was, the whole future of Jonah in Bundibugyo hanging by a thread. Scott called me and I called together some of the team to pray. After more than an hour neither the secretary nor the deputy had come. Scott investigated and found the secretary had left her office locked, disappeared for the day. Another attempt to passively obstruct the process? So Scott reported this to the CAO who hand-wrote a letter, had it typed by a different secretary, signed it, and gave it to Scott to give to Jonah.
Jonah says he will arrive Monday and start work on Tuesday. We asked for prayer from 2 Cor 4: since we’ve received mercy, we don’t lose heart. I admit that my heart has been nearly lost in this process, but the dramatic timing of this latest cascade of events (starting with Josh who had no idea what he was even telling us) smacks of mercy through and through. The eight dog-bitten people are getting their tortuous series of vaccines which Scott brought back, and we expect results on the dog’s brain by Friday. One of the patients I had felt so bad about having “died” on Friday came back alive yesterday—very sick, but not dead, so there is still hope there. And I am pursuing the possibility that Kabasunguzi’s symptoms are all related to schistosomiasis, so in spite of her terrible condition we are also not giving up on her. Ndyezika has shown a calm determination to persevere and will probably go back to school soon. The battle has been very immediate, a hand-to-hand struggle this week, going one way and then the other. We’ve been hard pressed . . . and yet not crushed. Our thread has been stretched, but we’re still hanging.
Monday was a national holiday, and Scott was unable to contact the CAO in spite of sitting through the usual ceremonial speeches of the day. But early Tuesday morning he went up to Bundibugyo again. There was the CAO, sitting at his desk with neat stacks of paper, waiting for his deputy to come so he could sign out for good. He was leaving, run out on a rail by those whose interests he crossed. Scott asked for Jonah’s letter, he instructed a secretary to get the file off the computer and go print it, and told Scott to wait. Though this administrative officer had hesitated greatly about appointing Jonah (he was under a lot of pressure not to do so) I guess by yesterday he had nothing left to lose. He told Scott, if the secretary returned before the deputy arrived for the hand-over, he’d sign the letter. That’s how close it was, the whole future of Jonah in Bundibugyo hanging by a thread. Scott called me and I called together some of the team to pray. After more than an hour neither the secretary nor the deputy had come. Scott investigated and found the secretary had left her office locked, disappeared for the day. Another attempt to passively obstruct the process? So Scott reported this to the CAO who hand-wrote a letter, had it typed by a different secretary, signed it, and gave it to Scott to give to Jonah.
Jonah says he will arrive Monday and start work on Tuesday. We asked for prayer from 2 Cor 4: since we’ve received mercy, we don’t lose heart. I admit that my heart has been nearly lost in this process, but the dramatic timing of this latest cascade of events (starting with Josh who had no idea what he was even telling us) smacks of mercy through and through. The eight dog-bitten people are getting their tortuous series of vaccines which Scott brought back, and we expect results on the dog’s brain by Friday. One of the patients I had felt so bad about having “died” on Friday came back alive yesterday—very sick, but not dead, so there is still hope there. And I am pursuing the possibility that Kabasunguzi’s symptoms are all related to schistosomiasis, so in spite of her terrible condition we are also not giving up on her. Ndyezika has shown a calm determination to persevere and will probably go back to school soon. The battle has been very immediate, a hand-to-hand struggle this week, going one way and then the other. We’ve been hard pressed . . . and yet not crushed. Our thread has been stretched, but we’re still hanging.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
9th October Email Prayer Update
Dear Praying Friends,
If any of you are following our blog you’ll know that this has not been an easy week for our team. Ndyezika, our dear student and friend, failed his lab exams. Two of the smaller kids on the team are pretty ill with asthma symptoms, which is frightening in this remote place. Two people have had computer hard drive crashes this week, one of whom was Scott who safely returned from his long journeys last night and today tried to fire up his rather new (6 month old) laptop to no avail. As he traveled back he collected a desperate Kabasunguzi Grace and her mother from the purgatory of Mulago Hospital and brought her back to Nyahuka, barely alive, possibly just to die. Several other patients in my care have died this week. Incompetent mechanics in Kampala really messed up our truck. We are struggling to treat 8 people attacked by a possibly rabid dog. Michael has spent hours taking a neighbor caught red-handed with stolen items from his home and elsewhere to the police, a messy but necessary step after innumerable break-ins. The A-level biology teacher Kevin tried to hire to fill in for the teacher who left for a master’s degree decided he needed more money, and with the students about to take the exam two of our missionary team mates are now adding that to their already full job schedules. As we shared prayer requests at our last team meeting it was clear that many have been attacked by discouragement or illness or issues with family members back in the States having surgery or crises. And close to home, we had a rough day with sibling behaviour today. To top it all off, tonight we heard a rumor that the Chief Administrative Officer for our district has been transferred---just when Jonah, who had left in discouragement a few weeks ago, wrote to say he’s ready to come back. This man holds the power to give Jonah the control of Nyahuka Health Center; if he has been transferred just as that was about to happen it will be a severe blow.
Would you please pray for the life of Jesus to be seen in our weakness and in our set-backs and struggles this week? Instead of a list of prayer requests, pray through 2 Corinthians 4 for us, particularly verses 7-11, 16-18. The life of Jesus, the weight of glory . . . The unseen becoming clear as we persevere through our light afflictions. I can’t explain how that should happen, but please pray for faith that it will.
The 9th of October is Uganda’s 44th Birthday. And this month marks 13 years since we Myhres moved to Uganda. As you think of these anniversaries, please PRAY.
Love,
Jennifer for the team
If any of you are following our blog you’ll know that this has not been an easy week for our team. Ndyezika, our dear student and friend, failed his lab exams. Two of the smaller kids on the team are pretty ill with asthma symptoms, which is frightening in this remote place. Two people have had computer hard drive crashes this week, one of whom was Scott who safely returned from his long journeys last night and today tried to fire up his rather new (6 month old) laptop to no avail. As he traveled back he collected a desperate Kabasunguzi Grace and her mother from the purgatory of Mulago Hospital and brought her back to Nyahuka, barely alive, possibly just to die. Several other patients in my care have died this week. Incompetent mechanics in Kampala really messed up our truck. We are struggling to treat 8 people attacked by a possibly rabid dog. Michael has spent hours taking a neighbor caught red-handed with stolen items from his home and elsewhere to the police, a messy but necessary step after innumerable break-ins. The A-level biology teacher Kevin tried to hire to fill in for the teacher who left for a master’s degree decided he needed more money, and with the students about to take the exam two of our missionary team mates are now adding that to their already full job schedules. As we shared prayer requests at our last team meeting it was clear that many have been attacked by discouragement or illness or issues with family members back in the States having surgery or crises. And close to home, we had a rough day with sibling behaviour today. To top it all off, tonight we heard a rumor that the Chief Administrative Officer for our district has been transferred---just when Jonah, who had left in discouragement a few weeks ago, wrote to say he’s ready to come back. This man holds the power to give Jonah the control of Nyahuka Health Center; if he has been transferred just as that was about to happen it will be a severe blow.
Would you please pray for the life of Jesus to be seen in our weakness and in our set-backs and struggles this week? Instead of a list of prayer requests, pray through 2 Corinthians 4 for us, particularly verses 7-11, 16-18. The life of Jesus, the weight of glory . . . The unseen becoming clear as we persevere through our light afflictions. I can’t explain how that should happen, but please pray for faith that it will.
The 9th of October is Uganda’s 44th Birthday. And this month marks 13 years since we Myhres moved to Uganda. As you think of these anniversaries, please PRAY.
Love,
Jennifer for the team
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