Day 9: July 15, 2008

I love orphanages. Or Gisimba at least. I understand that it’s really a horrible thing to have your parents die or desert you . . . But to have someone who cares enough to try to fill that void, to grow up with other children just like you, to become family for one another because that’s all you’ve got - this is a beautiful picture of how God takes us into His family in relationship with Him and one another. I love to see how the Gisimba children react to each other - how the older ones watch out for the younger ones, how the teenage girls are best friends with each other, how the boys play (and get in trouble . . .) together.

In music class today the different teams started making up their own team dances for a competition on Friday. Since I’m not precisely talented in the dance department, they designated me temporary camp photographer - much to my delight! I got to watch the children make and fly simple kites, play a game of human tug-of-war that usually ended with everyone falling over, giggling, and all sorts of other things. I loved to simply wander about, camera in hand, and see the brilliant grins on the faces of the children. Oh, my God, how You have blessed me.

There is one child here in particular who has captured my heart. His name is Karim - I would guess him to be around 12, although I really don’t know - and he makes me laugh. He is extremely outgoing, hilariously dramatic, completely uninhibited - and he took it upon himself to escort me nearly everywhere today. His English is broken - though, I must admit, it’s much better than my Kinyarwandan! - but then again we didn’t really need to talk much. One example: As my self-appointed escort, it was Karim’s solemn duty to take me to wash my hands before lunch. He did this very seriously, grabbing my hands and leading me to the dribbling pump with its soapy bucket of water. He then pushed my hands into the bucket, scrubbing ferociously - and the whole while he was most adamantly trying to tell me something that I did not understand at all. Well, instead of going for a translator or asking him to repeat his words in English, I simply took my hands out of the water and splashed him. You should have seen the look he gave me! His eyes got really wide on his now open-mouthed face, he stuttered for a few seconds, then declared quite distinctly, “You are crazy!” Then he ran away, laughing. It was hilarious.

After our much-enjoyed day at the orphanage, we walked down the road back to our hotel. On the way we heard the oft-repeated phrase, “Mzungu! Mzungu!” It means, “White person! White person!” - and it might as well be our names here. Everyone - most especially the children - yell it out to us. But one boy was, well, you could say inspired. He began with the typical “Mzungu! Mzungu!” and when he was satisfied that he had our full attention, he held up by the tail his very unique surprise. It was a rat. A very large, very dead rat. Oh, and how proud he was of it - that and our horrified faces! While we all gasped and stared, he started chattering off something in his language. Couldn’t tell you if he was trying to sell the poor carcass to us or if he was explaining exactly how he’d kill it. But his completely incomprehensible speech soon dissolved into a hysterical fit of laughter - and that’s how we left him - doubled over from giggling, his dead little prize still proudly grasped by the tail.

Safely back at our hotel, we made the desperate decision to venture out one more time on the offer of coffee. Better-than-Starbucks coffee, said Alex, one of our rather Americanized translators (he is currently attending college in the States). So, Chelsea, Lindsay, Charity, Alex, and I bravely trekked downtown and had ourselves some absolutely delicious, very-Western-tasting frappuchinos. After dinner on the hotel balcony, we sat around with Abraham and Barnett, discussing Western and African cultures. And Amy taught us a table clap. I enjoy this group of people You’ve put me with here, Lord - as if Africa itself was not enough! You pour down Your blessings on me. Open me up that I might pour as generously into the lives of others. Amen.

Human tug-of-war.


The children and the kites.


Abraham with his ever-present, necessary? ipod headphones. It's not just an American teenager thing.


Karim.

Day 8: July 14, 2008

Today was our first day of camp at the Gisimba orphanage here in Kigali. Oh, how we longed for our young mountain children with their sweet simplicity and ready amazement! But the Gisimba children are every bit as dear - I think perhaps it was only that we were not quite prepared for the change. We had roughly 100 children, a good portion being both taller and older than the two youngest members of our team (ie: We had teenagers. Lots of them.). Music transcends age and cultural differences, so I think I had the easy job. Sitting there on my bench in the pink cafeteria (I have no idea why they picked that color), strumming my guitar with my now amazingly calloused fingers, and listening to the Africans sing . . . But it was difficult to see the rest of the team struggling. Abraham and Barnett never missed a beat. While the rest of us came to the end of the day shaking our heads and wondering what went wrong, they remained forever positive and encouraging. As Abraham tells us over and over again, “We cannot fail!” And indeed, by the grace of God, we have not.

This is actually my very first time being in an orphanage and working with the children there. I already have fallen in love with the children, but the VBS-style camp we are doing, while quite a lot of fun, is not the sort of work I want to do permanently. I love to befriend the kids and laugh with them and share music, but the time is too short. I want to tell them over and over again how much Jesus loves them - how precious they each are . . . I want to know their hopes and fears and dreams - and do everything in my power to point them down Your road for them. One week is not enough.

I would be in a heartbeat the mother - the sister - the friend these precious children never had . . . but I cannot stay. Jesus, I want to show them - to have the chance to tell them that You are the father - the mother - the friend - the brother they never had (or lost in the genocide), and You will be with them always. This is my heart: to share with the children that You will never leave them or forsake them. That love - Your love - never fails. With such a message, I could go to all the children of the world. Because though I might have to leave them, You never will!

During a talk about futures yesterday, Abraham encouraged me to pray that You would make absolutely clear to me Your will for my life - Your place for me. And that Your place would include everything I have - my love of children, the horses, art, music, photography, traveling, writing. I’ll give them up for Your glory, or I’ll use them for Your glory - whichever You prefer. To spend my life - exhaust my life - for the sake of Your kingdom, for the sake of Your children - this is my desire. Dear Jesus, lead me on.

The precious little children.

Day 7: July 13, 2008

Today we saw some of life in the city of Kigali, Rwanda. We started off the day at an African church. Concrete floors, plastic chairs, moveable sound system - and, really, after what we’ve seen this past week, it felt very advanced! We each got our very own interpreter as we had been a bit lax and slept past the English service at 8:00. The African speaker for the day was a traveling pastor named Willy who loved to shout “Hallelujah!” and tell funny stories. Parts of which we understood. There was a little girl in a beautiful dress who before and after the service held my hand. She didn’t really say anything; she just walked up and picked me as the special white girl who got to hold her hand. The service ended after less than 2 ½ hours (which rather surprised me, as I’ve heard how long African church services can be), and we went to spend a short while being very touristy at a local craft market, then ate out at a delicious, though I think rather Western, restaurant.

And then came the hardest part of the trip thus far. This afternoon we visited the Rwandan Genocide Memorial.

Brief history lesson. In the mid-1990's, Rwanda endured 100 days of unspeakable terror as one tribal group ferociously attempted to annihilate the other one. Hutus vs. Tutsis - and the two groups had been so closely bonded previously that it was literally neighbor killing neighbor, father killing son, husband killing wife. I remember in the mountains at Gisenyi some of the kids - Peter included - saying that they had lost parents, siblings, or both in the genocide. At the time they were just a line of rather sad words - but not anymore. Now I’ve seen the pictures; I’ve read the stories; I’ve heard the voices of people who were actually there and somehow survived. The soldiers went from village to village, house to house . . . and if they found a Tutsi, they would beat, rape, mutilate, burn, and ultimately kill.

These are some of their stories . . . A boy was left, so badly beaten he was unable to walk, for two days in the bush - left to agonize, left alone - and then they came back and killed him. Another boy had to run for his life as his friend, whose legs had been disabled, was shot to death on the road behind him. A church was bulldozed, by order of the priest, with hundreds of refugees locked inside. Others were thrown, still alive, into mass graves - some 10 bodies deep - and covered with stones until their screams were silenced. Men known to have AIDS raped any Tutsi women they could find to infect them with the disease. People in neighboring Uganda saw dead bodies floating down the river. An orphanage here in Kigali hid 400 refugees in the rafters, under the beds, in toilets until the 100 days of terror were over. This is Gisimba, the place we get to go and work this coming week. When the soldiers came to the orphanage to separate the Hutus from the Tutsis, the children refused to split up. Their headmaster had told them they were all brothers and sisters, and they believed him. The streets - the very streets I have walked, the streets teeming with chatting people and rushing boda-bodas - they said these very streets 14 years ago were empty. Silent. Even the birds did not sing.

This was the Rwandan genocide. I met people - I spoke with people - I laughed and shared and played with people whose family members died this way. Dear God, how my heart bled for them! For Peter - for Paul - for the man with the unpronounceable name who played my guitar. I see the colorful streets of Kigali - I remember the captivating village nestled in the breathtaking mountains . . . and I cannot imagine them filled with blood. I cannot imagine the terror - the sorrow - the silence. How You must have wept over them. Dear God, how Your heart must have burst to welcome those suffering children into the peace of Your everlasting arms. The babies that were crammed into pots and beaten to death. Dear God, how did You stand it? Seeing each tear, understanding each terrified heartbeat, hearing each agonized cry? This is why Your Son died, yes? Because of the agony Jesus suffered, we never have to be in torment alone. They did not die alone . . . but it is hard to accept the way they died.

I do not know what Your purpose was in bringing me here, my Lord. But I ask You to show me - lead me to the place You have prepared that everything I have to give might be used - poured out - given up gladly. For the sake of the children and for the glory of Your name. Amen.

Day 6: July 12, 2008

We awoke this morning to our last day at Gisenyi school in the beautiful blue Rwandan mountains. It was sports day for all the children, grades kinder (kindergarten) through P6 (junior high). The past two days we have only had charge of P5 and P6, so it was quite fun - and a bit scary! - to see our audience triple. Whether due to mental capacities or just plain fun, my team voted me into the kindergarten group - approximately 30 kids. Ages 6 and 7. And none of them spoke English. I walked into the classroom at the beginning of our session to see all those bright eyes staring out of serious black faces and thought, “What am I going to do with these children for the next hour and a half?!”

We started by introducing ourselves and taking a nap. Or pretending to take a nap. With lots of rather loud snoring, of course. That broke the ice, so then we tromped outside (Follow the Leader) for slightly altered versions of Simon Says, Duck-Duck-Goose, and Red Light-Green Light (we called it Go-Go-Stop). This last game was my favorite. I’m not quite sure the kids fully understood all the rules, cause I had to yell “Stop!” several times before they would actually cease moving towards me. And even then they’d try to sneak a couple steps. But what made the game so much fun was at the end - when they all caught me. I think a little piece of rice must feel that way when it is discovered by a group of roving ants. First they converge on the helpless little thing, then they all have to touch it, and then wherever they go - well, the rice doesn’t have much of a choice, does it? It follows along. I now fully understand the term “swept away by the crowd.”

Amy also taught our happy little group a chant of sorts. It started in the Dominican Republic, then traveled to Alaska, and has now quite definitely made its mark in Rwanda. We have no clue what, if anything, it means. You start off by cupping your hands around your mouth and yelling at the top of your lungs, “Oh ma chay chay!” It then progresses from there. The kids loved it!

But even the thrill of “Oh ma chay chay!” must pale in comparison with what happened next in our day. We wrapped up our very enjoyable sessions and headed out to the soccer field for a surprise from the children. They instructed us all to sit on the rather steep hillside so we could look down below at the large group of children. We all had our cameras at the ready . . . And then they danced for us. Never in my life have I seen such a dance. Some of the older children came out in tribal dress, and they had carried their cow-skin drums out, of course; a large African lady in a bold orange dress led the songs, and even my little kindergartners clapped spiritedly.

I think the thing I loved best was not the dancing in and of itself - fascinating as that was - but the looks of absolute delight on the children’s faces. There was one boy in particular. His name is Paul, and he was one of our very capable group leaders. Every leaping step he took was accompanied by a brilliant smile that quite literally took up his entire face. He was beaming, and just sitting there watching him grin was captivating.

After the traditional dances - one of which was a courtship dance that had us all laughing till we could scarcely breathe - the entire school sang song after song for us. They had been sitting in the grass watching the dances with us, but now they all stood to their feet, clapped their hands, jumped up and down, spun in circles, and made a very joyful noise. The sound of those children’s sweet, animated, very loud African voices was amazing. Watching them, I felt I had given nothing at all - given up nothing at all - compared to the vastness of their open hearts. What is a paltry $6,000 in the face of such a gift? Their generosity, their return thankfulness was priceless, beyond measure. I treasure it.

We left Gisenyi early in the afternoon, saying goodbye to our dear friends, and bumping down the winding road back to Kigali. But I left a part of my heart up in those blue mountains. I can never wholly belong to myself again.

One more blurb, and then I am done. I have gotten to know - and greatly enjoy! - the other members of my team. I would so like to briefly share them. There is Amy, who shares my strange sense of humor, and so we laugh constantly. She is fearless with the children and willing to try almost anything new. Lindsay is very adventurous and rather blunt, which I like - and loves to serve, especially in art. Chelsea is a definite teacher with her organization and patience, and she is amazing with kids, especially the young ones. Charity has a heart to follow after God and share His love with everyone around her. Sarah is the youngest - with brilliant gifts in music and dance and an incredible amount of enthusiasm. Abraham and Barnett are our African leaders, and they are joy - strength and encouragement and confidence and laughter. Prossy and Eva are also African, and they have been ever so helpful with cultural differences. Like when they explained to us about the underwear.

You have put together a most fascinating team, Lord. And You knew exactly what You were doing when you brought us all safely here. How beautiful it is! Continue Your work, my Lord. Continue Your work. Amen.

"Oh ma chay chay!"


Paul's brilliant smile


Paul dancing with his brilliant smile (he's the one on the far left)

Day 5: July 11, 2008

I am writing this in the pages of my trusty old journal. It is back with me once again - thank You, God! I have never been so consciously grateful for things like notebook paper, warm pajamas, clean socks, and a toothbrush. There were two things I most missed the last three days; they were my very own Bible and my toothbrush.

Today was another beautiful day at the Gisenyi school here in the lush, hazy mountains of Rwanda. The thing that touched my heart the very most was actually a running conversation I had with a Rwandan student named Peter. He is one of our translators, and his real name is not Peter, but Minani, which means “eight,” because he was the eighth child to come into his family. He helped in our music sessions today - playing the African drums and encouraging the children to dance more extravagantly, which they are very good at once they get past their shyness.

Peter was also interested in learning to play the guitar, and I gladly gave him a very basic lesson. We continued the lesson after lunch, joined by a man from the village who plays the guitar, I think, better than I do! Imagine - way out in the mountains where most of the villagers do not have consistent electricity or running water, and yet somehow this man had learned to play the guitar - and play well! The three of us sat there for nearly two hours, and not a moment of it was I wishing to be elsewhere - this, though an enormous game of Capture the Flag was going on in the soccer field.



Some more precious memories from today . . . Sugar cane came for the children today: a surprise desert before lunch (you would never get away with that in America!). Straight out of the ground, cut into fat 18-inch sticks, complete with yellow bark-like covering. The children were ecstatic - though I’m learning that it doesn’t take much! Oh, and we got some too. Our next feat was figuring out how to eat it. Imagine being given a fat stick, told there was sugar inside, and you just had to chew past the outer layer of wood first. How the children laughed! They did try very sincerely to help, leading by example when they realized how utterly clueless we were, but they couldn’t help giggling outright at the faces we made.

Once I’d been more or less properly instructed in the ways of sugar cane eating and heartily laughed at, I was called over to a grassy knob by three teenage boys. I sat down with them, and we ate our sugar cane - rather, we bit off chunks of the stuff to suck the juice out, then spat the remainder on the ground - and tried to communicate with the limited words we have in common. We also sang “Jesus loves me” - via their request - and tried some others. One of the boys even took me aside and launched into a veritable sermon about how much Jesus loves me and that He came to earth to die and take away my sins. I was speechless.



As I write this, I am sitting here on my bottom bunk with the haziness of a mosquito net pulled down around me, listening to the Africans downstairs singing. And beating out their heart’s rhythm on the drums. I love hearing the Africans sing. I love that they sing with the fulness of their voices - on or off key - I love that they are forever clapping and swaying. Of all the things I am learning to love about Africa, I think it is their music I like best.

Day 4: July 10, 2008

Today is my birthday. Truthfully, I very nearly forgot - only when I recalled enough to think that this day is the 10th of the month, and this month is July - well, then I remembered that it was my birthday. Up here in the beautiful blue Rwandan mountains with the children, I do not think I could ask for a better birthday setting - even if I did forget the birthday part of it.

I have been incredibly blessed, dear God. I am tired physically after a long day with the children. But, oh, what a day! I do not think that I could jot it all down, so I will only touch on the highlights and omit a more detailed schedule of things. In a day of golden sunshine, there were several particularly bright, happy spots. Such as . . .

After two rather long 45-minute sessions with the children, we took a much-appreciated half-hour break. Amy and I wandered over to a nearby wooden bridge with the thought of dangling our feet over the edge. Little did we know that two white girls dangling their feet over a bridge is practically a celebrity event in the Rwandan mountains. Soon we had a silent, staring crowd, mostly children, forming a half-circle behind us. And that with us just sitting there! Thinking quickly, I began to collect a small handful of sticks, leaves, and other debris that happened to be within arm’s reach. When I had enough, I pelted the tiny missiles one-by-one into the very brown, rushing creek below. I would cheer when my projectiles actually hit the water, as the brook was quite narrow, and the children responded with some smiles. But something more was needed. Deftly, I dug into my camera case for the pen I always carry on me, found myself a rather large piece of wood (about an inch tall), and commenced with drawing a smiley face, complete with spiked hair. Handing it to a nearby child, I motioned to him to throw the thing overboard. That accomplished, I drew another smiley face on my hand. But then, of course, the children saw this and wondered if quite possibly they could have a smiling face on their hand too. You can imagine the results. Very soon I could see nothing at all but the dark skin of hands outstretched towards me as the owners of these hands waited patiently for the imprint of their very own little face. If you ever are in the mountains in Rwanda and happen to notice children running to and fro with smiley faces drawn on their hands, you will know why.

Later that afternoon, we had another artistic gathering as a face/arm/hand/leg painting party was underway. Amy, Lindsay, Charity, and I called up all our talent - which was quite extensive, let me tell you! - to draw with handy little watercolor pencils on the children waiting around us. As the children did not speak English and we spoke neither French (the official language in Rwanda) nor Kinyarwanda (the less-official but well-known language in Rwanda), we had some difficulty determining what exactly it was the frantically-gesturing children in front of us wanted drawn on their impatiently-upheld body parts. I did manage to learn and retain a grand total of one word. The Rwandan word for heart is “umatima” (pronounced oo-mah-TEE-mah).

After face painting, it was time for something a bit more active. Commanding the kids to form a circle - and then using hand gestures when words didn’t work - we eventually had them all standing still and listening. That’s when we started the Hokey Pokey. It was a big hit! I don’t mean to say that the children loved doing the actions . . . but they did find obvious joy in watching us do the actions! Asking our translator to explain the meaning of the words to the children also proved somewhat interesting.

So, those were the highlights of my first day at camp in Africa. Rwanda is a gorgeous country, and the children are beautiful. Lord, give me strength for tomorrow.
Celebrities.

Umatima.

The Very Un-African Hokey Pokey.

Day 3: July 9, 2008

This morning I woke up in Kigali, Rwanda. I went out on the third-floor balcony armed with my Bible and journal, sat down in the dawning sunlight (after taking some pictures, of course), and spent a lovely quiet time with You . . . Oh, how much a day changes things!

Tonight I am scribbling these words out on a scrap of paper because I am a good three-hour drive from my journal, and I cannot read my Bible because it is temporarily MIA as well. I’ve left the whole lot of them in my stuffed backpack (along with things like clean clothes and shampoo) at the orphanage in Kigali. Oops. For myself, I am no longer in Kigali. I am way up high on the Rwandan mountainside, preparing for our first day of camp tomorrow. I do not know that I have ever felt so deserted before - so forsaken - and I can imagine it is but a taste of what the Christians in some countries feel when their Bibles are forcibly torn from then and destroyed before their eyes. I also can better appreciate the motives of those who fill prison walls with their mental ramblings. I feel like a vital part of me is missing.

And then I was flipping through my guitar music (which I do yet have with me) and I read these words: “Your love is amazing, steady and unchanging/Your love is a mountain firm beneath my feet.” And You, God, reminded me that in the midst of this loss- almost as though a dear friend had died! - that it is You. It is You, it is You, and it is You alone - and that is all I need. If that is all I have, then that is more than enough. I must say, I do not like being here in this village way up in the breathtaking mountains without my Bible - my journal - and other niceties like my toothbrush. I do not want to socialize with people either. I want to sit in a corner until I feel better - more in control, more able - less deserted. But You have not - and will not desert me. You prove Yourself faithful in all things, and You are proving Yourself faithful again. Who expected such a lesson in this place?! I pray that You bring my things here quickly and safely. But in the meantime - or if I do not see them again till Saturday, when we return to Kigali - You are with me. You are faithful, oh my God. Please help me to remember that.

P.S. Thank You for seeing that my camera did come with me. I am deeply grateful for the ability to take pictures!

Sunrise in the breathtaking Rwanda mountains.

The hills surrounding our little school in the valley.

The guest house where I stayed, for two nights and three days, without anything but the clothes on my back, my guitar, and my camera. One clarification: We were housed in the brick structure, not the wooden one. :-)

Sun setting beyond the mountain road.

Day 2: July 8, 2008

Today I spent a rather long time - 13 uninterrupted hours - bumping through rich African countryside on a bus that took me from Kampala, Uganda, to Kigali, Rwanda. Prossy, the African who met me yesterday at the airport, came with me. Rather, I came with her. And this is what I learned from a day of observing the African people.

The morning began at 5:00 a.m. with the haunting music of the Muslim’s call to prayer projected over the loudspeakers. But even the non-Muslims were up early, striding down the pre-dawn streets with firm, fearless steps, their tightly-clutched coats and hats the only thing betraying their idea of cold. Cars, motorcycles (called “boda-boda’s”), and van taxis (“matatus”) sped through the already bustling streets, most, but not all, with their headlights shining brightly. Our cross-country bus - on which I was most obviously the only white person - left at 7:00. Right on time, which, I think, is rare for Africa.

I spent the next 13 hours with my nose plastered to the windowpane, my eyes burning, and my heart full of wonder. With the dawning of the sun, the Africans gathered in their shops or the men sat on their boda-bodas, talking in happy, shivering groups. The Africans are also a humorously honest race. Inside our bus was a salesman of sorts, who, shortly after we started our journey, stood up and energetically began selling his wares. I didn’t understand a single word he said, but it soon became quite evident through various hand gestures, facial expressions, and rather interesting sound effects, that he was selling medicine so you wouldn’t have to go to the bathroom. Oh, no, there was no bathroom on this bus. I had rather hopelessly asked Prossy about that beforehand, and she had answered gravely, “Pray to God that you don’t have to go.” We did stop a total of three times on the trip, and I thank God for that!

Trying to ignore the animated salesman, I stared out the window. The fields were now full of dark-skinned men hoeing the ground around the tall yet straggly looking corn and leafy banana trees - or digging drainage ditches in the red earth next to the road - or, stick in hand, herding along little families of long-horned cows. As the sun reached its peak, shirts appeared on the roadside, over bushes, or hung on fences - anywhere but actually on.

Meanwhile, the women could be seen with baskets on their heads, hips swaying, the bright fabric of their clothes visible for miles. Where they came from or where they were going, I’m not quite at all sure, but they were everywhere, both in town and country, forever walking with baskets balanced effortlessly on their heads. The children ran down the roads with them, but not for work. Bike tires and sticks became toys, soccer balls flew back and forth in the yard, or stubborn goats at the end of a rope fought against the pull of their merciless little tyrants. But one and all stopped and stared, wide-eyed, as our bus passed with its trailing cloak of red dust.

It is difficult to distinguish girls from boys here in Eastern Africa, for many of the young girls, even teenagers, have their heads shaved. The babies are usually pantless, sometimes shirtless, and play near the doorway under their mothers’ watchful eyes. African doorways are a unique and fascinating thing. They stand, dark and open, in the mud brick walls with two little windows cut out on either side, and almost always there is room for an open-mouthed child, a sleeping dog, or a graceful woman.

The men who were not in the fields seemed to congregate in places with bikes or motorcycles, and they took meticulous care to wash their modes of transport. At school, the uniformed, often barefoot children who had raised their flags earlier in the day now scurried about outside or straggled in after walking home for their lunch break. The goats and cows, some staked out, others free, were forever fat and munching on the wild green grass or whatever is edible in a trash heap.

The sunset found us over the border high in the mountains and down into Rwanda, just outside Kigali. Now the shadows lengthened, sprinting down the rolling hills, shirts and coats were pulled back on, and cows gathered under the rough-cut boards of stables and sheds. One even stood pleadingly in the house doorway, just hollering to be let in! The workers still in the fields splashed water on their plants from surrounding irrigation ditches. Then they gathered up their daily handful of tools and began the walk back up the mountains, ever following the twisted red dirt paths. And still the women walked with their hips swaying and baskets balanced expertly on their heads.

By now the sun had set completely, the air had cooled off until it was almost chilly, and we had reached the capital city of Rwanda. Here, foot traffic gave way to cars, boda-boda’s, and matatus once again, most, but not all, with their headlights on.

Prossy and I arrived safely, if a bit cramped and flustered. There was some small confusion as to where our team was meeting us, and as Prossy’s cell phone had just died, we now had no way to contact them. So, we waited in the darkness of the rather crowded gas station where the bus had unceremoniously dropped us, saying a polite “no, thank you” to the frequent offers for a taxi ride. A police man wielding a night club finally came to our rescue and brought us a phone. But by then our long-waited-for team member had faithfully appeared and whisked us off to the nearby hotel where we met the rest of the team and, after various other consultations and business, fell wearily to sleep.

Day 1: July 7, 2008

Today I came back to Africa. The words themselves thrill me. The colorful friendliness of these dark, proud people . . . the odd-shaped trees enlivening an already jubilant landscape . . . the very redness of the earth bleeding with passion and strength. Dear God, You have gifted me a rich and captivating treasure by bringing me back here.

I come exhausted. After 48 hours of noisy solitude, 7 different airports (5 of them international), 6 airplanes, sporadic food and even more sporadic sleep . . . I was met at the airport by two complete strangers - and we nearly didn’t find each other! - and they took me to Machindi, the training home/school for the newest African Children’s Choir getting ready to come visit America this September. We are here on the side of a hill in a happy little compound with 22 darling African children. I met them all, and then they showed me some of their dances - all spontaneous! - and tried to teach me some of the moves, but I’m afraid that didn’t go over so well. I met Christopher and Peace and Illuminate and all the rest, but I haven’t remembered all their names.

This afternoon was spent taking a glorious African-style bath, which, regardless of the rather cool temperature of the water, worked wonders with the layers of airport grime. The remainder of the day was spent with the children. They are so beautiful - with their brilliant, sincere little smiles and their shy welcomes.

My most treasured part of this evening was joining them for their devotions. They met in the little white-washed room with concrete floor that serves as their classroom/dining room/dance and song lessons room/and recreational area. And these little 8-11 year olds worshiped! To the pounding beat of the hand drums, they sang, they danced, they clapped, they raised their hands, they closed their eyes . . . and worshiped You. I’ve rarely if ever seen worship so enjoyed before - so utterly delighted in - so honestly, so humbly, so joyfully accepted. No wonder You told us to become like little children.

My prayer, God, is that You would teach me to worship like that - with simple sincerity, passion, and joy . . . My hope is that I can see those dear children worship You again. This is enough for now. Today was fantastically colorful - and I’m sure tomorrow will be something new yet again! But for now, this is enough. Thank You.





“. . . And if you honor it by not going your own way and not going as you please or speaking idle words, then you will find your joy in the Lord, and I will cause you to ride on the heights of the land . . .” - Isaiah 58:13, 14

Counting Down to Day 1

Well, I’ve decided to do this a bit differently. I’ve so very many stories to tell, and they’d most likely come out a bit scattered if I didn’t organize them somehow. So, the organization is going to take the form of days. Beginning with today as, well, not quite Day 1 - I had to get there first - but I started journaling in the airport, so I might as well start off my story there. It goes like this:

Pre-Day 1:
Well, I was going to wait till I got to Africa to write, but I’ve been in various airports going on 48 hours. Seeing wave upon wave of faces, none of them familiar. I always knew I disliked airports, but in the past two days, it has grown to a vehement aversion that has me close to swearing that I’ll never fly again. Really, boats are the way to go.

I engaged in a brief, rather polite conversation with the lady whose seat was next to mine on the first flight from Omaha to Atlanta. I also said “hi” to the little boy who sat next to me across the Atlantic. Other than that, it has been a lot of “excuse me”’s and smiling briefly at strangers. I cannot get away from the sound of voices, yet they are none of the voices that matter to me. I am glad that my Jesus is with me, for otherwise I should be all alone, and it is a big world.

I did discover one happy little refuge in the airport “multi-faith prayer room.” The first two I sat in were greatly appreciated for their silence and serenity. In the third, I ran into a Middle Eastern man who, I think, was supposed to be praying towards Mecca. But upon my entrance, he first stated that I needed to remove my shoes, then asked what I was looking for. I left before I could further offend him.

Food is a scarcity. I long for fresh fruits and vegetables to complement the loaf of bead my mother baked for me. But all in vain. You must get fish, greasy and fried, enormous sandwiches with pickles, relish, and other little nasties, or the sickeningly sweet candy that is everywhere. Even if any of this did sound appetizing, it’s all outrageously expensive. But I don’t think I can starve in less than three days, so I am not too concerned.

I have walked until my legs and back are sore, but my feet have been holding up wonderfully. Sleep has been rather fitful - though sweet and dreamless when it comes. I have been so weary and taken up with silently enduring each following step that I nearly forget I am headed straight to Uganda - the country I begged my King to allow me to visit last year. I feel I ought to be enthralled, yet I cannot rid myself of a pensive sort of melancholy. Perhaps this is a gift for now, for I do not think I would wish to search out just exactly how much I dislike these airports and how insufferably lonesome it all is. But I do not think that this stoic philosophy will guide me well with the children in Africa. Dear God, I hardly even know why I am going! Last year, I dreamed of it with bright hope and passion. This year I go - silently, willingly enough, but disturbed in part. I am willing, my Lord, but I do not know why You want me to go. I am praying that in Africa, You will make this clear to me.

“For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.” - II Corinthians 4:17

There and Back Again

Praise the Lord! And then if you were in a church in Africa, you might say, “Amen!” And then I might say, “God is good!” And you would say, “All the time.” Then I would say, “All the time.” And you would say, “God is good, and that is His nature. Woo!”

Welcome to Africa! I am actually writing this back in the States, but I think I left key parts of me back in Uganda and Rwanda - things like my heart. The trip was amazing. I am having a hard time imaging trying to share with you all the incredible things that happened, but I’m sure it will come together all in good time. For this first bit, I’d just like to say again an enormous thank you for all your prayers and support. I have been very richly blessed.

Also, I really do mean to praise the Lord for all the awesome things He has done. I intend to share with you some of the stories I’ve brought back with me from Africa, but for this first bit, I’d simply like to thank God for . . .

Extremely willing and perhaps only a bit less able hair designers (ie: the happy children at Gisimba orphanage in Kigali, Rwanda)


Protection from thieves, murderers, rebels, strangers . . . and very weird-looking, ugly birds that rather reminded me of dinosaurs. Or Bat Man.


In all the miles and miles of traveling - via airplane, taxi, my own two very dirty feet, or via bus (and I heard some rather interesting tales of highway robberies that occur frequently on the African continent) - I lost absolutely nothing. God is good.


The rich beauty of Rwanda and Uganda.


More later . . .