Food for the Hungry

34Then the King will say to those on his right, Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.
35 For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me,
36 I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.
37 Then the righteous will answer him, saying, Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink?
38 And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you?
39 And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you? 4
0 And the King will answer them, Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.
- Matthew 25:34-40

One of our great joys and privileges comes in providing food to the HIV+ women of the WHM Kwejuna Project for the Prevention-of-Mother-to-Child Transmission of HIV. Today 150 women came forward to receive a bag of 40 pounds of beans, two mosquito nets, a bag of salt, and for about a third of the women, a long-term contraceptive injection. Luring these women out of their homes to receive food is no small challenge, as we know from previous surveys that as many as 90% of women who are found to be HIV+ through testing in prenatal clinics never tell ANYONE-not their husbands, mothers, sisters, neighbors.... So getting the opportunity to talk to them, encourage them, teach them, weigh them, test their kids for HIV, and just make sure they're alive is no small miracle.

At the distribution today, our visiting team from the States (including our Executive Director, Bob Osborne) received women in groups of 3-5 who responded to their offer for prayers. Sharing their hearts, their fears, their worries...holy moments. One woman came in with huge purple shiners under each eye. Her husband beat her to a pulp because he said she was shaming him by coming to receive food through the Kwejuna Project. She took her beating, but came anyway. Was it for the $20 worth of beans or because she knew it was a place she would be respected and encouraged? Probably for the beans, but the love and respect may help.

There are a lot of pictures of these precious women and their kids here.

(PS-The food given out to women today was made possible through a generous gift from a donor at the Redeemer Presbyterian Church of New York City)

Safe Arrivals

The Bartkovich family arrived in Charlotte NC a bit the worse for wear, after what sounds like one of the most horrific two days of travel ever, involving lost bags, airline strikes, vomiting twins, a broken stroller, and missed flights. The EU is publishing the sad plight of illegal immigrants who try to sneak out of Africa to Europe as a way to thwart the flow, so perhaps we should post the Barts’ story as a similar discouragement to missionaries who want to leave the field! Seriously we are thankful that they made it safely home, even though it was a difficult trip. Continue to pray for their rest and refreshment, for their vision and connection.

Meanwhile as they landed in the US, a team of seven visitors took off for Bundibugyo. We have been affectionately referring to them as “the Big Dogs” because this team includes our Executive Director, Ministries Director, two Board members, and a missions pastor of a supporting church.. Thankfully they understand that we are still frayed around the edges, and are here to love and encourage us. Two hours ago they touched down on our airstrip after what sounds like one of the most spectacular MAF flights ever, right over the peaks of the Rwenzoris. They left winter and landed in a typical dry season day, with blazing temperatures and a hanging pall of dust, squwaking motorcycle horns and heaped baskets of market day traffic. Right now they are headed for a quick tour, weaving through the chaos of market day to sign in with our local government (a required security measure) and to greet Melen, the widow of Dr. Jonah. They brought her a framed copy of the upcoming WHM Harvester which features his story, a lovely gesture for which I am grateful.

I will close with the words of Nicholas Wolterstorff, from his Lament for a Son, which provide an appropriate posture for entering life in Bundibugyo:
The Stoics of antiquity said: Be calm. Disengage yourself. Neither laugh nor weep. Jesus says: Be open to the wounds of the world. Mourn humanity’s mourning, weep over humanity’s weeping, be wounded by humanity’s wounds, be in agony over humanity’s agony. But do so in the good cheer that a day of peace is coming.

Need builds community

Yesterday, in the market, strolling along with a friend from the hospital, asking for help.  Need builds friendship.  Self-sufficiency, though an American ideal, does not lead to real relationship.  Most days I forget this, feeling I am here to meet others’ needs, to have answers to illness, to bring resources against ravages of poverty.  But yesterday I found community in the unlikely exercise of shopping.  I’m not a shopper.  I wear whatever my sister hands-me-down, or departing missionaries as they clean out their wardrobes for packing.  I’ve never had a nice African outfit made, somehow in 14 years managing to avoid the (for me) discomfort of choosing cloth and hiring a tailor.  But with Ndyezika’s wedding approaching, I could put it off no longer, and so I took the plunge..  There is a nurse at the hospital whom I have known for many years.  My respect for her grew when she was one of the only people willing to come and visit Melen after Jonah died.  Though we’ve worked together I never asked her for anything . . . But yesterday I told her that I noticed how nice she always looks, and wondered if she would assist me in commissioning a dress.  So I moved from doctor/in-charge to fashion-deficient unsure outsider, and let her guide me through the process.  It was actually sort of fun.  We took off our shoes and sat on a mat among heaps of material scraps, in the shade of a shop near the market where two middle-aged women sit side-by-side pumping their treadle Singer sewing machines.  Though the machines look like something you’d see in an antique store or museum in America, these ladies manage to turn out lovely tailored dresses from the bright African cotton prints.  It took about an hour of negotiations, discussing sleeve style and length, and what hem-line would be appropriate for my figure.  I was measured in every dimension, the numbers jotted on a scrap of material in what appeared to me to be a random order, and all rather similar, so who will remember whether this one is my shoulder to elbow length or my waist?  Oh well.  We’ll find out on Tuesday what comes out.  I found it refreshing to be just another woman in the market, watching people walk by, with a toddler who did not fear hidden injections crawling behind me, leaning up against my back in the typical no-personal-space manner.  Later I walked over to my neighbor’s to ask her to cook lunch for the visitors on Monday, and later still to another neighbors’ who had called me in to talk about the unruly behaviour of their 12-year-old daughter, and whether I could have a talk with her..  It was one of those rare afternoons of feeling that in spite of all the national/racial/educational barriers that exist between me and my surroundings, I can occasionally experience true community.  And a reminder that the beginning of those interactions is need, MY need, which allows people to relate to me.  Even Jesus asked the woman at the well in Samaria for a cup of water.  I need to remember that.

Visitors in the Dark

Here is what Eugene Peterson writes on Psalm 30:   ‘ “The man who in the darkness took in the dark guest to sit by his fireside finds in the morning that she is transfigured and her name is Gladness.”  (Alexander Maclaren)   Hard experience offered to God results in the discovery that joy and blessing permeate life. ‘

I love that image.  We’ve had hard experience recently . . . Goodbyes, sorrow, loss, change, transition, sickness.  But instead of bemoaning it, let us offer it to God, and find that when the night is over the light of day reveals the trials to be truly transformed to joy.  As a team we’re barely recovered from the exhausting pull of goodbyes, we plunged ahead into the first week of the Pierces in charge of CSB, Jack and Julia began their studies there for the first time, the nutrition and Kwejuna projects that have been dampened by Ebola are now revving back up to full speed, and tomorrow a team of seven US visitors lands to see the way the Kingdom is working itself out in Bundibugyo.  All of that seems a bit stressful, but we are praying by faith to see Gladness.

It's official...Ebola is over

News agencies around the world are carrying the news from yesterday's press conference at Uganda's Ministry of Health in Kampala where Dr. Stephen Malinga announced that the waiting period to mark the end of Ebola in Uganda is now over.
The Reuters news service is one of many carrying the story.
Next Wednesday, the Official Party will happen in Bundibugyo...prayers at the graves of the fallen health workers, singing, dancing, eating, and speeches, speeches, and more speeches!

Fraying, Tuesday afternoon thoughts

The toll of the heartaches begins to catch up and demand payment.  The weekend of goodbye was everything it should have been:  memories, fun, shared pictures in a fantastic slide show by Luke, laughs at take-offs on game shows and a Toby Mac rap, gathering around to chat and swim, gathering around to pray.  Expressing thanks from the heart.  Celebrating milestones.  One glimmer of hope in the midst:  David did a satirical New Vision front page that roasted Kevin in a way that made me laugh so hard I couldn’t breathe, which hasn’t happened a lot lately.  It’s great that we get to KEEP him and his creative humor.  But when the time finally came that could be put off no longer, when all the other team mates had said goodbye and pulled away, our families finally had to part ways.  Joe was still relatively cheerful, he and Jack more inseparable in the last few days than they had been for months, Joe joking about Jack’s spine-crushing hugs.  Classic Bundibugyo, Savannah left with a fever, so our final five minutes involved pricking her finger for a malaria test.  Nate was worried about his little cars getting packed, and keeping close tabs on his mother’s presence.  Louisa looked wilted, she is a girl with a high capacity for friendship and loyalty in spite of conflict, and I think her world rested heavily on Liana and Naomi.  Watching Karen hug JD started my tears, which kept flowing as we gave our final hugs.  By the time I got to Kevin I was too numb to even talk.  And so they drove away (well, they came right back for a forgotten chameleon, and THEN they drove away).  We discussed this week:  is transition a natural part of the created world, or a symptom of its brokenness?  We knew it was coming, we prepared, we entered into the process, we persevered through, but now on the other side of goodbye I find my spirit frayed.

Not a great condition to begin to face the rest of life.  Today was Jack and Julia’s first day at CSB.  I accompanied them down this morning, not sure of proper protocol.  A moment’s pause on how strange our life is: for breakfast I cooked eggs that were one of Luke’s two graduation presents (the other was a tree seedling), here are my two youngest children starting secondary school ahead of their time, wearing clunky regulation black shoes and second hand clothes from the market, breezing through a cluster of men in camouflage armed with AK 47’s as if it was nothing (because it is nothing, just the normal night patrol of UPDF coming off duty), dodging a goat nursing its baby in the middle of the dusty road, then nervously standing with clusters of other students as they make their way into a classroom with ripped screens, dusty floors, a chalkboard painted on one wall, choosing a hard wooden bench, waiting, no teacher but some helpful upper class students instructing them on where to find benches to carry into the room.  And so begins their CSB career.  As we walked down to the classroom block some girls greeted Julia by name and said “don’t be afraid, we’ll watch out for you.”  That was nice.  But on top of everything else, it was hard to leave them there.  I take comfort in the fact that Jack is an intimidating bulk of a brother body guard.  But I admit the sheer grit of moving forward through life had experienced some unraveling this week.

Ndyezika Triumphs!!!! And other good news.

Today’s HAPPIEST of all: Ndyezika PASSED!!!!!!!! Hallelujah, literally. Thanks to all his prayerful fans out there. He took the only remaining exam yesterday, then waited nervously while it was graded. Late last night he found out the good news. Now he’s registering officially as a Laboratory Assistant. It will still take months if not most of the year to be recognized, apply for open positions in Bundibugyo, and get on the Ministry of Health government payroll. But he’s done with the training, and we are so thankful to celebrate this success.

Today is the final day in the 42 day count-down post-discharge of the last Ebola patient. Tomorrow the epidemic will be declared officially over. But this being Bundibugyo, the organization of the party to commemorate the end took longer than expected, so the official party is not for another week. Meanwhile there was only one empty bed in the Paeds ward this morning. Weddings that were delayed are starting to reorganize, I know of three in the next few weeks. Students are back in school in full force. Life is finally going on.

Ndyezika's Final Attempt

Tomorrow, Monday, the 18th, Ndyezika will attempt to pass his laboratory assistant certifying exams once again.  Last time he was nearly there, so this time he only has to repeat one portion of the exam.  The director of our lab with whom he has worked for these past months assures me he is capable and ready . . . But we know that Ndyezika struggles in the pressure of the exam setting. Please pray for him to remain calm, to remember what he has learned, and to find favor in the eyes of the examiners (it’s pretty subjective).  If he passes, then he can apply to be PAID for the job he’s essentially already been doing at the health center.  And since his Ebola-delayed wedding is now rescheduled for March, it would be very helpful to have this behind him as he starts his new life.

They're Off

The Bartkovich family drove out in a convoy this morning: first a truck of CSB teachers, about half the staff, whom Kevin invited to hike over the mountain trail with him and spend the night in Fort Portal. Then JD and a few team mates in cars, who will drive instead of hike to Fort. The rest of the team was asked to wait and join them in Fort Portal tomorrow at the newly renovated Mountains of the Moon Hotel for a final day of goodbyes. God has really answered prayers to make their week between announcing their resignation and driving out a great time of honor and closure. In spite of the abrupt timing, the students, the staff, and the team have all had significant opportunities to spend time thanking the Bartkoviches for their sacrificial service. We were privileged to be allowed to attend both the final chapel time for the all-school goodbye on Wednesday, and the staff dinner last night. At chapel the girls sang a few original compositions with words like “goodbye is the saddest word, I shake my body to you” and a chorus naming each family member with dramatically acted tears. Kevin recounted the challenging history of the school, remembering days of anxiety over the ADF rebels, months of evacuation to the safer side of the mountains, riots after football matches, locking wills with the corrupt sports administration, the pain of firing teachers who had abused their position to take advantage of young girls . . . And also the triumphs of four consecutive trips to the national football tournament, of ever improving scores on national exams, of the emergence of the school as the top academic institution in the district.

Last night the staff room was lit by candles (low solar weather these days), we sat on hard wooden chairs and benches in a big circle with tables of amazingly delicious food prepared by the school’s new caterer Pamela in the center, with crates of lukewarm sodas, toddlers running until they fell asleep in their parents’ arms, friendly chatter. After dinner about a third of the staff stood up to make speeches which lasted for a couple of hours, thanking Kevin for his work and JD for her behind-the-scenes advice to him. Several spoke of getting to know Kevin over the last couple of years in a deeper way, getting beyond his intimidating persona and becoming his friend. Others were grateful for what they had learned about leadership or teaching, grateful for opportunities to do new things, to get feedback on their teaching, to improve. Others were pleased that the school’s success had lessened their embarrassment among their Kampala colleagues over being from Bundibugyo! And several mentioned that they know all missionaries will leave here, and that this is THEIR school, their work now to carry on.

Scott is chairman of the board, and the Pierces attended as the incoming headmaster; we came in that official capacity, but for deeper reasons too. We wanted to be part of honoring the Barts, to bear witness to their accomplishments, to stand with the staff in their grief, to embody the reality that the mission remains even when key people leave. I found it harder than I expected. Of course the last hour retrospective comes in rosy colors that make us all question: so why leave? In many ways it is harder to see someone go after watching the Ugandans they work with speak so highly of their service, after getting a rare glimpse of the connection Kevin has nurtured with the staff. And the more their accomplishments are lauded, the more panic I feel about what we will do without them! Afterwards I found the school secretary on the porch in the dark alone, and though I couldn’t see her well I suspected she was crying. So I put my arms around her and she broke down in convulsive sobs. Like my kids, she wonders, why do people have to leave? How many more missionaries can these kids or these Ugandans give their hearts to and then say goodbye?

After it was all over, at nearly midnight, Kevin quietly gave his office keys to David. So as of today, the transition in leadership is official. Please pray for the school, for the Pierces, for the CSB leadership team, for us. We will all make some grave mistakes that the Barts would have had the wisdom of experience to avoid. The students, and some less mature staff, may push the limits to see what they can get away with now that Kevin is gone. Yet the reality of the story of this world is that God takes things that are hard, painful, wrong, deathly . . . And makes them new, brings good out of sorrow. We need hope to believe that a year from now we’ll be able to look back and praise Him for the new things He will do at CSB, and in all of us.

A Quote from Nouwen

Mortification—literally, ‘making death’—is what life is all about, a slow discovery of the mortality of all that is created so that we can appreciate its beauty without clinging to it as if it were a lasting possession. Our lives can indeed be seen as a process of becoming familiar with death, as a school in the art of dying. I do not mean this in a morbid way. On the contrary, when we see life constantly relativized by death, we can enjoy it for what it is: a free gift. --Henri Nouwen, A Letter of Consolation

A small mercy, a glimpse of redemption, to ponder that the pain of death, of goodbye, of change, of loss, even though representing wrongness in our world, can become a way God loosens our grip on the temporary and fills our hearts with a longing for the eternal.