Dear Friends who Pray,
The first of May finds Scott in Southern Sudan, hopefully Bor, though we have had little communication during the nearly two weeks of this trip. The first of May finds me packing for departure—along with the rest of our diminished team (many already traveling) we will leave here Wednesday to head for the southwest corner of Uganda, a cool crater lake where the Church of Uganda has a tourist/retreat project that offers reasonable accommodation, peace and reflection, food and bird watching. Scott, Michael and Kim should intersect with us on Friday. I’m ready!!! From there we head out to Bwindi, the national park where almost half of the world’s known remaining mountain gorillas live. For our 20th anniversary we are splurging on gorilla permits, allowing us to hike into the woods and see these famous animals. With the travel and going to Kampala for restocking supplies at the end, this will take us away from home for two weeks.
Diesel fuel has been in short supply country-wide due to a pipeline breakage, the general inefficiency of a country where things are difficult to manage combined with enterprising hording of the supplies which are left . . .so I’d appreciate prayer that we will have enough fuel to drive to places of rest. And since I’m not usually the primary driver and solely responsible for passports, money, locking up, packing, tires, etc. . . I’d appreciate prayer for the trip. We and our team need a Sabbath, to climb into the hills away from the crowds, to pray and sleep and eat and be restored. Please do pray for a real Sabbath for all of us in these next two weeks. And be patient if you don’t hear from us, we’ll be disconnected for most of the trip, at least until Kampala (though still reachable by cell phone).
It’s still about 36 hours until we leave . . . And 3 of 4 kids are sick. So I’m grateful for any and all prayers.
Love,
Jennifer
Monday, April 30, 2007
Grieving Harriet
Harriet Thungu will die today. I made a decision I have rarely been willing to make and the weight of it combined with the grief of defeat has left me drained. Her parents asked to take her home. When I arrived this morning she had clearly made a turn for the worse, with gasping agonal respirations. So I agreed with them, their weeks of anxiety and work needing closure in the comfort of their own home environment. We sent her home with some milk and medicine but I know she will be dead within a few hours, maybe she is already gone. She never really woke up since admission, there was no clear response to antibiotics or anti-TB medicine. Her hot little five-year-old girl body did not look ravaged by disease like so many others, it was just devoid of her person as she lay in coma. Both parents (and her father’s second wife) were present most of the time, caring, hoping, then despairing. I wanted to cry with them but felt restrained by the onslaught of other patients and the crowd of the ward. So I expressed my sorrow as best I could and said goodbye.
When my niece was in the ICU in America in February, the patient in the bed next to her had a similar presentation to Harriet’s, sudden convulsion leading to the diagnosis of a brain tumor. This little American girl, though, had immediate scans and referral to the best hospital in the world, surgery by the most skilled surgeon, and was likely cured. Harriet lingered for a month of guesswork and patched-together care before she slipped into unrecoverable demise. Having seen both worlds makes it hard for me to accept the suffering of Harriet and her family. My public health side says that if this was indeed a brain tumor, the prognosis was terrible here in Uganda and the cost of care could be better spent to save hundreds of lives from simple preventable causes. But my justice side still cries out at the contrast between Johns Hopkins and Nyahuka Health Center, and the irrelevant chance of birth in Maryland vs. Bundibugyo. Some days I’d rather not know the reality, rather not see the family gathering up the limp body of a still-struggling child, rather not watch them head burdened back to their village.
When my niece was in the ICU in America in February, the patient in the bed next to her had a similar presentation to Harriet’s, sudden convulsion leading to the diagnosis of a brain tumor. This little American girl, though, had immediate scans and referral to the best hospital in the world, surgery by the most skilled surgeon, and was likely cured. Harriet lingered for a month of guesswork and patched-together care before she slipped into unrecoverable demise. Having seen both worlds makes it hard for me to accept the suffering of Harriet and her family. My public health side says that if this was indeed a brain tumor, the prognosis was terrible here in Uganda and the cost of care could be better spent to save hundreds of lives from simple preventable causes. But my justice side still cries out at the contrast between Johns Hopkins and Nyahuka Health Center, and the irrelevant chance of birth in Maryland vs. Bundibugyo. Some days I’d rather not know the reality, rather not see the family gathering up the limp body of a still-struggling child, rather not watch them head burdened back to their village.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
I see the moon, strange lands, and term breaks
Remembering old songs my mom used to sing, from her own childhood and maybe related to WW2 romantic separations, the theme being that the moon shines on us and those we love in distant lands. I think that wistfulness came in war time partly due to lack of information and communication. In the 21rst century many people who travel can stay in touch so easily through email and phone calls . . . But not in Southern Sudan. I have had a couple of very short messages to know the WHM travelers are fine, but nothing like the actual communication I crave. So when I walked outside tonight and saw the hovering brightness of the nearly full moon I thought of Scott also seeing the same moon, then remembered those old songs. A small glimpse of that longing for connection which they express. . .
Today’s encouragement came from the book of Ruth. Eugene Peterson writes in his introduction that after the dramatic hero-filled stories of the first 7 books of the Bible, here is a story of a normal woman, an insignificant person whose faithfulness opens her to be used to bless the nations. The words of Boaz in the second chapter jumped out: “I’ve heard all about you, how you left your father and mother and the land of your birth and have come to live among a bunch of total strangers. GOD reward you for what you’ve done—and with a generous bonus besides from GOD, to whom you’ve come seeking protection under his wings.” [Then a TCK (third-culture-kid) moment—I shared with my kids how meaningful those words are to us and they just looked at me, finally saying in effect that they live right here with their mother and father and the land of their birth and no strangers . . . . ]
Lastly, CSB is now on a three-week break. One of the boys we sponsor came to see me today, serious and nervous. He is a true orphan, his mother died of AIDS long after his father had already passed away. He has been passed around with various relatives, staying with this brother or that sister, blending in respectfully and trying not to cause too much trouble. But the brother he most recently shared a room with took a wife while he was at school this term, which means he’s no longer welcome in that space, so ended up in a noisy and crowded room full of the rest of the family’s small kids, and no bed. His words were: I don’t think I can manage to study in the chaos. So we brainstormed about various relatives and where he might stay, if I provided the mattress. My concern is that he stay connected with some family and that someone care whether he’s home by dark and whether he’s eating. I really like this boy, but I can also see that as my students become more attached to our family and comfortable staying around the school and our home, they have a harder time going back. In some small part that may be a healthy tension of rising expectations; it may also be a true pressure the culture exerts on someone whose expectations are rising, to pull them back down, put them in their place. As teenage boys become the most educated members of the family, those without strong father/uncle/clan elder influences can be at a loss for how they fit in. This culture is all about family and hierarchy and we challenge that with education. Eye opening for me. Of my oldest two students, one has basically stepped into the provider role for his widowed mother, caring for her and his siblings. That is good. The other is much more independent—his widowed mother remarried and his relatives run an alcohol business from their home, also not conducive to health and study, so we rent him a small room adjacent to their compound where he can sleep in peace while still eating with them. The paying of school fees has bound us in complex ways to these boys, and relationship takes no break between terms.
Today’s encouragement came from the book of Ruth. Eugene Peterson writes in his introduction that after the dramatic hero-filled stories of the first 7 books of the Bible, here is a story of a normal woman, an insignificant person whose faithfulness opens her to be used to bless the nations. The words of Boaz in the second chapter jumped out: “I’ve heard all about you, how you left your father and mother and the land of your birth and have come to live among a bunch of total strangers. GOD reward you for what you’ve done—and with a generous bonus besides from GOD, to whom you’ve come seeking protection under his wings.” [Then a TCK (third-culture-kid) moment—I shared with my kids how meaningful those words are to us and they just looked at me, finally saying in effect that they live right here with their mother and father and the land of their birth and no strangers . . . . ]
Lastly, CSB is now on a three-week break. One of the boys we sponsor came to see me today, serious and nervous. He is a true orphan, his mother died of AIDS long after his father had already passed away. He has been passed around with various relatives, staying with this brother or that sister, blending in respectfully and trying not to cause too much trouble. But the brother he most recently shared a room with took a wife while he was at school this term, which means he’s no longer welcome in that space, so ended up in a noisy and crowded room full of the rest of the family’s small kids, and no bed. His words were: I don’t think I can manage to study in the chaos. So we brainstormed about various relatives and where he might stay, if I provided the mattress. My concern is that he stay connected with some family and that someone care whether he’s home by dark and whether he’s eating. I really like this boy, but I can also see that as my students become more attached to our family and comfortable staying around the school and our home, they have a harder time going back. In some small part that may be a healthy tension of rising expectations; it may also be a true pressure the culture exerts on someone whose expectations are rising, to pull them back down, put them in their place. As teenage boys become the most educated members of the family, those without strong father/uncle/clan elder influences can be at a loss for how they fit in. This culture is all about family and hierarchy and we challenge that with education. Eye opening for me. Of my oldest two students, one has basically stepped into the provider role for his widowed mother, caring for her and his siblings. That is good. The other is much more independent—his widowed mother remarried and his relatives run an alcohol business from their home, also not conducive to health and study, so we rent him a small room adjacent to their compound where he can sleep in peace while still eating with them. The paying of school fees has bound us in complex ways to these boys, and relationship takes no break between terms.
Friday, April 27, 2007
On spears and empowerment
Today Bundibugyo celebrated International Women’s Day, about two months late, but better late than never. Uganda was launching an awareness and policy campaign to draw attention to the connection between violence against women and girls, and the disproportionate burden of HIV/AIDS borne by women and girls. One of today’s speakers claimed that in Uganda the prevalence of HIV infection in 15-19 year old girls is nine times higher than in boys of that age group, which reflects of course the pairing of teenage girls with older men, often in exchange for school fees or other financial assistance. Each district elects a women’s representative to parliament, and ours was the guest of honor today in the usual four hour parade of speeches, dances, songs, dramas, blazing sun, pressing bodies, unruly children, blaring low-quality sound systems, obsession with protocol, and tedium that comprise any official celebration. Scott wanted us as a mission to be present and I agree that the Gospel speaks to the status of women in a society, so we should support this day, in spite of the cost of being absent from home (thanks to Scotticus who entertained and supervised), plus the cost of being fingered by curious children constantly, fanning away the fumes of a nearby garbage dump and the fly-clouds which accompany the crowd.
Well, being empowered is rarely comfortable I suppose. And the first step in addressing injustice is to name the grievance, to recognize the wrongness of infidelity, physical abuse, denial of property rights, etc. that are the normal lot of most women. Perhaps the most interesting moment of the day came when one of the half-dozen drama/dance troupes marched out. I recognized at least half of the dozen or so faces, women who attend our local church. It was a bit surreal to hear the same women who lead hymns in the choir sing about condom use while waving the foil packets. But for the next song they whipped off their outer silk-kitengi wraps to reveal traditional grass skirts worn for dancing, then picked up spears. I have seen A LOT of traditional dancing here, but never seen a woman hold a spear. The dance enacted women hunting for food and then fighting in a war, finally killing and disarming the enemy. They sang boldly that as women they were capable of fighting for themselves. I’m not sure what Jesus would have thought . . . But I suspect He would have been more in tune with their energized awareness of their value, than critical of the symbolic violence of their demonstration. The crowd was mesmerized, it was a rare creative, unexpected moment, to see new concepts expressed in dance.
Well, being empowered is rarely comfortable I suppose. And the first step in addressing injustice is to name the grievance, to recognize the wrongness of infidelity, physical abuse, denial of property rights, etc. that are the normal lot of most women. Perhaps the most interesting moment of the day came when one of the half-dozen drama/dance troupes marched out. I recognized at least half of the dozen or so faces, women who attend our local church. It was a bit surreal to hear the same women who lead hymns in the choir sing about condom use while waving the foil packets. But for the next song they whipped off their outer silk-kitengi wraps to reveal traditional grass skirts worn for dancing, then picked up spears. I have seen A LOT of traditional dancing here, but never seen a woman hold a spear. The dance enacted women hunting for food and then fighting in a war, finally killing and disarming the enemy. They sang boldly that as women they were capable of fighting for themselves. I’m not sure what Jesus would have thought . . . But I suspect He would have been more in tune with their energized awareness of their value, than critical of the symbolic violence of their demonstration. The crowd was mesmerized, it was a rare creative, unexpected moment, to see new concepts expressed in dance.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Harriet Alive but not Well
Some people asked for an update, I know I’ve been reluctant because I keep hoping that I’ll have a dramatic praise to report. The fact that Harriet is even alive is amazing. She is getting “intensive care” which for us means ng tube milk feeding to keep her alive. She is opening her eyes half-way and moaning, has more cough and responsiveness. I called another hospital across Uganda which as a CT scanner but they did not want me to send her until she is more stable (which seems like a classic catch-22). I drained an abscess on her hand today but that was a secondary problem from an old IV (though a testament to how bacterial this place is). I started her on anticonvulsants, no real change. Today I’m starting anti-TB therapy since she presented with severe respiratory tract symptoms first. Could this all be TB? I don’t know. Could it be a tumor? Possibly. So I’m trying to keep her alive, treating anything that is treatable, praying for her daily or more, and waiting on God, not always very hopefully or patiently. Thanks for asking.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
4 down, 13 to go
The home alone report: about a third of the way through the long stretch. Only a snippet of news from Sudan confirming safe arrival, heat, good contacts and lots to see. Meanwhile back on the ranch . . . Luke was the fourth team member to succumb to a very nasty virus last night, headache, chills, fever, nausea. I’ve been anxious about each person who falls ill, second-guessing myself on advice and management and not wanting to miss something dire like malaria or meningitis . . So in that way each additional sick person makes the likelihood of a bothersome but survivable pathogen higher, and is oddly reassuring. Unless the additional person is me of course! I’m realizing how much I depend on Scott’s second opinion particularly for adults, and missing the ability to process team needs with him. Not to mention the handful of sick neighbors and friends who seem to collect in my kitubbi at 8 am and 6 pm daily, or the complicated cases at the hospital like a teenage boy with a startlingly opaque chest xray, or emails about bank account numbers that I don’t deal with normally. 9 more days feels very long.
Circles of quiet
We prayed through Psalm 94 this morning—which in the Message includes the phrase “providing a circle of quiet within the clamor of evil”. That image moves with me through the day. Circles of quiet confidence and trust, safe islands within a world gone awry. Team is that way. Family is that way. Snatches of musical praise. Finding a child who nearly died of malaria still alive today. A mother with AIDS happily showing me her baby’s negative test results, the baby clapping and babbling oblivious of her brush with a fatal disease. The intent listening of a diminutive 13 year old boy who had accompanied his little brother to the clinic and was taking responsibility for his complicated antiretroviral regime after the death of their mother and illness of their uncle. A waft of breeze at dawn as the sky melted eastern pink.
We need those circles of quiet, because evil does clamor. My heart draws away from the cacophony at times; how much better to move into the clamor bringing my own quiet with me, then invite others into the circle.
We need those circles of quiet, because evil does clamor. My heart draws away from the cacophony at times; how much better to move into the clamor bringing my own quiet with me, then invite others into the circle.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
On sums in the universe
Last night as we put the kids to bed, there was significant unhappiness expressed about the fact that Scott is traveling to Sudan for almost two weeks. Quite reasonably they did not relish the idea of being home alone with me! In that moment we were reminded that this is not a zero sum universe, where someone always loses if another gains. The balance of good and bad, of forces for good and evil, goes beyond what we can see and plan. The trip can bring about good for the plans of World Harvest to move into this war-ravaged country, and our family can still be intact and healthy and thriving. At least that’s what I believe in print; in my heart I’m probably feeling just like the kids were. Kim and our field director Robert Carr are already in Goli, and Michael and Scott drove to Kampala today to fly up to meet them in Sudan tomorrow. In addition to Goli and Yei, over the following ten days they will be in Rumbek, Aweil, and Bor, hoping that tongue-tripping names on a map translate into real people who stretch our concept of God’s grace, real places of beauty and need, real vision for the role of our tiny mission.
Meanwhile back on the home front we’re meeting for short daily prayer times that God would lead through this trip, and for our own needs here (Psalm 91!). The whole doctor/parent/team leader/remote living package challenges us as a two-person partnership, so compressing down to one leaves me feeling weak. Scott’s last to-do list item was a phone call to a supporter that he’d been meaning to make for some time, and did not want to leave undone as he packed last night. This turned into an invitation for us to write up a proposal for major new funding for the desperate needs at Christ School. Not yet a done deal clearly, but a very promising open door, and in God’s tenderness timed well to remind us of His provisions for all our needs.
The One who infuses the cosmos with energy move money and glory using a higher math.
Meanwhile back on the home front we’re meeting for short daily prayer times that God would lead through this trip, and for our own needs here (Psalm 91!). The whole doctor/parent/team leader/remote living package challenges us as a two-person partnership, so compressing down to one leaves me feeling weak. Scott’s last to-do list item was a phone call to a supporter that he’d been meaning to make for some time, and did not want to leave undone as he packed last night. This turned into an invitation for us to write up a proposal for major new funding for the desperate needs at Christ School. Not yet a done deal clearly, but a very promising open door, and in God’s tenderness timed well to remind us of His provisions for all our needs.
The One who infuses the cosmos with energy move money and glory using a higher math.
Friday, April 20, 2007
On Faith as a Substance
Harriet continues to struggle on that line between life and death. Every morning I arrive at the hospital hoping for news of a miracle, but every day I find her hot little body and vacant eyes. After ten days of IV fluid and antibiotics we’re now giving her milk by an ng tube. I know many people have prayed for this little girl. And I don’t know what faith looks like here, what kind of substance should it have? Confidence in healing? Or confidence in God’s goodness? Habakkuk determines to rejoice even if the fig tree does not blossom and the fields yield no food (Hab 3:17). David declares God’s ability to work trust and gladness like the “season that grain and wine increased” in a time of conflict and betrayal (Ps 4). Harriet is not my child. If she were I know my heart would not be able to calmly consider the substance of faith, instead I would be hanging on to that substance in the turbulent and threatening sea. Keep praying.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Sunrise Mourning
Link here http://scotticcus.blogspot.com/ to read team mate Scott Ickes’ poetic reflections on the struggles of the weekend here.
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