Saturday . . . a day of rest and relaxation. So much so that I have found almost nothing to write about today. Just before noon, we had team debriefing for a couple hours, which did seem to drag on a bit. But I suppose that is due more to my lack of interest in meetings than any detriment in the actual structured conversations. One of the things I did appreciate about the debriefing was our time of affirming one another. Jon is amazing at music; Molly never lacks crazy ideas to share with kids; Candice is tirelessly helpful. Etc, etc, etc. It was soothing to hear words of encouragement at the end of a trip that has been at times rather discouraging. I must admit, God, there were moments when I simply disliked being a part of this particular team. Fresh from the unforced cheerfulness of Rwanda, it was hard to adjust at first to a team that gave me the initial feeling of, “Oh, great - I’m back in America again!” But, my Lord, I have seen You bless others through our struggling selves. I have seen the children grin widely because of something we as a team gave them. I have heard Your Name glorified again and again. Here is the positive. You led us all here, Father, so very blatantly, and You have done well to bring us here.
We did get to enjoy one brief shopping adventure this afternoon at a local craft market. I really felt very immensely rich. Although I didn’t want to buy many of the things up for sale, I could have with the money I had with me, and that was the point. I think that is the thing, regardless of how much actual cash you are carrying, that makes you feel wealthy: the ability, with or without the desire, to buy whatever is in front of you. In Africa, they are firm supporters of the bargaining system, which is something I have greatly missed in America and greatly enjoyed today!
Eva and John Paul (two of our favorite translators) spent the afternoon with us. They had been away from camp this last week except for one evening, and it was good to see them again. But, dear God, I feel an ache in my chest when I remember that I have to leave this place - these people. I’ve already said too many goodbyes; must there soon be more? I do not want to say them. These people have filled my days with such radiant smiles and glorious outpourings of deeply sincere love. It is hard to accept leaving them, especially not knowing when we might meet again. But, Father God, I thank You all the more for Home - for the family we shall be when we reach those dear golden shores, for the sweetness of knowing all Eternity awaits us. I have been asked many times how I have stood to say goodbye to so many friends. “Doesn’t it break your heart?” is what they are asking. My unshakable hope in the reality of Your Heaven is my only answer. This world is really only a very short goodbye, if goodbye it must be, and we’ve all of forever to more than make up for that.
For now, Jesus, I ask You to hold my hand. You, my Breath, my Life, You are sufficient. Again and again You have proven Yourself, my Lord. I lack nothing because You are with me. There is nothing in You that I do not have - nothing in You that is incomplete. Jesus, You have my heart. I fall at Your feet and surrender to You my everything. Holy God, take all of me. I am Yours completely. Lead me on, dearest Savior. Amen.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Day 33: August 8, 2008
My precious Heavenly Father, I think I am the richest person in all the world. I do not see how anyone, even with whole bank-fulls of money, could possibly know themselves to be more blessed, more content, more loved than I am. My God, from the depths of my heart, I thank You.
Today was our last day of camp at Nabinoonya. We woke early and tired after last night - but You have blessed us with good health and rest, and we are grateful. This morning just before lunch You granted us sunshine and a nice little breeze that made perfect weather for the treasure hunt we had planned. Molly, Candice, Jon, and I scurried about for half an hour, hiding clues and double checking map coordinates, while the others distracted the kids (I think they were doing some art project). We very nearly lost a clue to an over-zealous camp worker, but after some rather worried searching, we recovered it. Then we lined up all the kids (they had no idea what was coming) and announced our surprise. Their faces pulsed excitement like the beat of their drums, but they listened very intently, albeit fidgeting, while I explained the rules. But the moment I passed the teams their map and first clue, the silence was gone!
As the “genius mastermind” (note: this title may be debatable) behind the idea, it was my solemn duty to dart aimlessly about the camp, trying to be in the right place at the right time to help whatever team was presently in a quandary utterly beyond their skill. I also got to take pictures. Which was a bit difficult in the midst of all that running and laughing and shouting exhortations and giving out hints without being too obvious or too vague. But I did manage a few snapshots - some of them even made it to the camera; the rest are in my mind:
. . . The frenzied way they’d dash from clue to clue, some in each team inevitably lagging behind, panting, but all laughing . . .
The boys leaping on top of the stone elephant (wild and potentially dangerous according to the clue!) . . .
Inside the hut next to the lake, a little girl, in dire straights to find a quality she was thankful for for the little boy sitting next to her, finally blurting out, “I thank God for you . . . because you are handsome” . . .
The girls on the yellow team stretching their arms to the utmost (you could tell by the happy little grimaces they were making) to complete the circle and hug one of the round huts that serve as cabins . . .
. . . The grimaces on the faces of the girls when, for the human pyramid, the boys made them make the first row, so they could climb up on the second! I don’t think they’d ever actually made a human pyramid before . . .
Another team down amongst the grand trees, singing, “Jesus is my King.” (Remember the hated theme song?) I wasn’t anywhere near them, but I heard their voices from across camp . . .
The teams, one and all, launching themselves off the wall, arms flailing, mouths wide open (Because, really, why would you jump off a wall without your mouth wide open?).
Dear God, it was truly marvelous.
After the grand finish of the best scavenger hunt ever (we gave everyone suckers), we enjoyed another delicious lunch of rice and some sort of stew. Although, I do have to admit, the meat was a little iffy. When it takes more than five minutes to chew it, you start wondering . . . At 2:30, we attended a rather long awards ceremony for the academic semester, since, after all, this was a school of children we had camp with. It was quite interesting to hear some of the awards they gave out though. There were the standard, “Best Student in Math,” “Most Improved,” “Best Athlete.” That sort of thing. Then came the “Cleanliness Award.” We decided it was because when you’re working with a school of children who are coming out of, really, very poor homes, you can’t take cleanliness as a guaranteed habit. As the ceremony drew to a close, they invited us all up so we could tell each other thank you for the incredible week at camp. To express their gratitude, the entire group of children sang “Friends Are Friends Forever.” Nothing against Michael W. Smith, but I’d rather hear the African kids sing that song than him any day. Every day of camp, they would start the morning with devotions that included singing. The treasure of hearing truly gifted children join their sweet, clear voices together in sincere worship moved me every time. I do not think I can ever forget the music those children made as they sang in such angelic, effortless harmony.
At the close of the ceremony (and time for us to say goodbye), the entire crowd of children rushed on stage and overwhelmed us with hugs. They are such little darlings. There was one little boy (I think he had been one of the naughtier ones in our music sessions) who was counting the number of hugs he could give Uncle Jon. “One,” he started, then let a few other kids in line have a turn before he snuck back in and counted, “Two . . . three . . .” and so on. Oh, how we will miss them!
We said goodbye to the Brits (though not for the last time!), abandoned our peaceful nunnery, and, with bags packed yet again and hearts running over, returned to Adonai Guest House in Kampala. I am writing this from “home sweet home,” but I think the silence, though restful, is also a bit sad. Our camps are over, it is hard to believe! It seems years ago, and yet only a handful of days, that I left the States. You, Father, have filled my heart with such joy, such love, such dreams, such hope, such gratefulness. I praise You. I told the children today that my favorite thing at camp was their smiles. I love to see them smile, and I thank You, Jesus, for the multitude of grins You have sent my way.
I pray for the children, Lord. I thank You for their dear hearts before You and Your overflowing heart for them. Father God, carry Your children. Wrap them up in Your arms, hold them as the apple of Your eyes, guard them in the shadow of Your wings, keep them close to Your heart every day of their lives. They go tomorrow to their homes for a three-week holiday before returning to school for the next semester. Some of their home situations are not good, and my heart bleeds for the things these children must face. Immanuel, God with us, pour out Your love upon Your children. Amen.
Today was our last day of camp at Nabinoonya. We woke early and tired after last night - but You have blessed us with good health and rest, and we are grateful. This morning just before lunch You granted us sunshine and a nice little breeze that made perfect weather for the treasure hunt we had planned. Molly, Candice, Jon, and I scurried about for half an hour, hiding clues and double checking map coordinates, while the others distracted the kids (I think they were doing some art project). We very nearly lost a clue to an over-zealous camp worker, but after some rather worried searching, we recovered it. Then we lined up all the kids (they had no idea what was coming) and announced our surprise. Their faces pulsed excitement like the beat of their drums, but they listened very intently, albeit fidgeting, while I explained the rules. But the moment I passed the teams their map and first clue, the silence was gone!
As the “genius mastermind” (note: this title may be debatable) behind the idea, it was my solemn duty to dart aimlessly about the camp, trying to be in the right place at the right time to help whatever team was presently in a quandary utterly beyond their skill. I also got to take pictures. Which was a bit difficult in the midst of all that running and laughing and shouting exhortations and giving out hints without being too obvious or too vague. But I did manage a few snapshots - some of them even made it to the camera; the rest are in my mind:
. . . The frenzied way they’d dash from clue to clue, some in each team inevitably lagging behind, panting, but all laughing . . .
The boys leaping on top of the stone elephant (wild and potentially dangerous according to the clue!) . . .
Inside the hut next to the lake, a little girl, in dire straights to find a quality she was thankful for for the little boy sitting next to her, finally blurting out, “I thank God for you . . . because you are handsome” . . .
The girls on the yellow team stretching their arms to the utmost (you could tell by the happy little grimaces they were making) to complete the circle and hug one of the round huts that serve as cabins . . .
. . . The grimaces on the faces of the girls when, for the human pyramid, the boys made them make the first row, so they could climb up on the second! I don’t think they’d ever actually made a human pyramid before . . .
Another team down amongst the grand trees, singing, “Jesus is my King.” (Remember the hated theme song?) I wasn’t anywhere near them, but I heard their voices from across camp . . .
The teams, one and all, launching themselves off the wall, arms flailing, mouths wide open (Because, really, why would you jump off a wall without your mouth wide open?).
Dear God, it was truly marvelous.
After the grand finish of the best scavenger hunt ever (we gave everyone suckers), we enjoyed another delicious lunch of rice and some sort of stew. Although, I do have to admit, the meat was a little iffy. When it takes more than five minutes to chew it, you start wondering . . . At 2:30, we attended a rather long awards ceremony for the academic semester, since, after all, this was a school of children we had camp with. It was quite interesting to hear some of the awards they gave out though. There were the standard, “Best Student in Math,” “Most Improved,” “Best Athlete.” That sort of thing. Then came the “Cleanliness Award.” We decided it was because when you’re working with a school of children who are coming out of, really, very poor homes, you can’t take cleanliness as a guaranteed habit. As the ceremony drew to a close, they invited us all up so we could tell each other thank you for the incredible week at camp. To express their gratitude, the entire group of children sang “Friends Are Friends Forever.” Nothing against Michael W. Smith, but I’d rather hear the African kids sing that song than him any day. Every day of camp, they would start the morning with devotions that included singing. The treasure of hearing truly gifted children join their sweet, clear voices together in sincere worship moved me every time. I do not think I can ever forget the music those children made as they sang in such angelic, effortless harmony.
At the close of the ceremony (and time for us to say goodbye), the entire crowd of children rushed on stage and overwhelmed us with hugs. They are such little darlings. There was one little boy (I think he had been one of the naughtier ones in our music sessions) who was counting the number of hugs he could give Uncle Jon. “One,” he started, then let a few other kids in line have a turn before he snuck back in and counted, “Two . . . three . . .” and so on. Oh, how we will miss them!
We said goodbye to the Brits (though not for the last time!), abandoned our peaceful nunnery, and, with bags packed yet again and hearts running over, returned to Adonai Guest House in Kampala. I am writing this from “home sweet home,” but I think the silence, though restful, is also a bit sad. Our camps are over, it is hard to believe! It seems years ago, and yet only a handful of days, that I left the States. You, Father, have filled my heart with such joy, such love, such dreams, such hope, such gratefulness. I praise You. I told the children today that my favorite thing at camp was their smiles. I love to see them smile, and I thank You, Jesus, for the multitude of grins You have sent my way.
I pray for the children, Lord. I thank You for their dear hearts before You and Your overflowing heart for them. Father God, carry Your children. Wrap them up in Your arms, hold them as the apple of Your eyes, guard them in the shadow of Your wings, keep them close to Your heart every day of their lives. They go tomorrow to their homes for a three-week holiday before returning to school for the next semester. Some of their home situations are not good, and my heart bleeds for the things these children must face. Immanuel, God with us, pour out Your love upon Your children. Amen.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Day 32: August 7, 2008
I am so immensely loved. Jesus, Your love, Your life, Your joy - You amaze me, my Savior. I praise You.
It rained on us this morning towards the end of the first session. A fistful of chilliness came rushing down on us through the tops of the trees, and when we looked up, we saw the low, gray sky moving in. So, we gathered up our drums, guitars, and ourselves, and headed across camp towards the only empty shelter, a slightly leaky hut on a hill beside the lake. From there, we held a magnificent view of the rainy masses thundering steadily towards us, like an army sweeping battalion by battalion onto the battle field. The children huddled close together in jackets and sweatshirts quickly pulled from empty cabin rooms and watched in silent awe the power of creation, all the while doing their best to evade the dripping spots as much as possible. When the silence grew tiresome, they requested a repeat of the story of the princess and the frog. It was the girls who first asked, and I wasn’t quite sure what the boys would think of the idea, so I turned to them with the question, “Do you want to hear a story about a princess?” American boys might have hesitated, thinking it would seem unmanly to be interested in such a tale, but not these boys! “Yes, Auntie!” they enthusiastically replied. So, I told the story. I have never had a better setting or a more rapt audience.
The downpour dissolved before lunch, and the sun burst out with a brilliance that seemed intent on making up for the grimness of before. The two made a lovely contrast. In the meantime, we’d happily found the time to finish preparations for a surprise treasure hunt planned for tomorrow. And, with the sun shining once more, we got to follow through with the water balloon fight we had prepared for everyone, younger kids, older kids, Brits, and Westerners all included! It was fantastic fun filled with cheerful screaming and laughingly-uttered threats, and I’m sure you can imagine we all ended a bit wetter than when we’d begun.
After drying off (ie: changing shirts, but the drenched jeans sadly didn’t have a substitute), we ate, then prepared for our evening of presentations. All the things the kids have been practicing they got to perform tonight in our main hall. It was filled to the brim with rather disorderly rows of plastic chairs, and at a word, the groups would tromp up on-stage to perform as quickly as possible before bashfully scampering back to their seats. And this from children who have sung and danced before hundreds! I found it quite amusing. Jon and I directed music again for our four groups, and they did a marvelous job. We also got to watch the older children (the Brit’s groups) perform short skits, songs, and dances, all of which they’ve created in the past four days. Very impressive! Abraham, Barnett, and Henry were even called up to do a short traditional dance - the, uh, “butt shaking” one actually. The kids positively howled with laughter.
To start off the performances, the Brits had showed a five-minute movie clip of pictures and verses made into a love letter from God to us. It provided the perfect intro to the songs I got a chance to share, once again, with the children. Into the hush of a large group of very silent children, I sang first the Kinyarwanda song (as some of these children hail from Rwanda), and then the Luganda song. It was so quiet, and then they just erupted in cheering and clapping all the way back to my seat. I was touched, my Lord - albeit, a bit embarrassed. To see their hearts so moved . . . moved me. I thank You, Jesus. I praise You for this opportunity to share.
The man who was filming for the evening (a man in his forties, I would guess, who I also learned later is the cook at the MFL school) came up to me afterwards and said, “God bless you,” with such a big smile on his face. He said the song made him cry. A group of older girls (one of which, if you remember, was Rachel, who “preached” at the bonfire) thanked me for the song, then quite energetically encouraged me to sing more in Luganda - to even learn the language - and to go back to America and record the song so I could send it back to them. My Lord, it was such a support for me to hear these children urging me to do exactly what You had already put in my heart to do once I return to the States.
But nothing moved me more - as Karim’s silently offered piece of candy had in Rwanda scant weeks ago - than when Douglas saw me. He is the same Douglas who wears a funny little black hat and who was sick not so many days ago. He looked over at me and said simply, “I’ve never heard a mzungu (“white person”) sing in my own language before.” It was as if all the children of Africa looked up at me with that one sentence and said, “We just want to be loved. Will you love us?” And, oh, God . . . that is why I sang. To be able to touch these precious children in the deepest way possible through music in words that they understand in their hearts. To give them this small gift that You have given me - and through the gift, to show them that they are most sincerely, most deeply adored. To be able to share with them in the language they know the truth of Your love and care for them . . . I thank You so very much, Jesus.
Dear Emma came to give me a big hug - and carry out my guitar again. He carries my guitar everywhere - he is not the first willing volunteer for this task - and it is a simple token of his appreciation, and I am touched. He came to sit by me at lunch earlier, while I was on the wall eating with a group of other mzungus. The dear child steered himself over and plopped down right next to me as if he couldn’t possibly belong so well in any other place at camp.
The children came for their goodnight hugs, and then we had to leave - and so hurriedly too! - as it was late and it had been rather a long day. So there you have it - a God-blessed day of moved hearts . . . of touched lives. May we be changed to become more like You. Your character, Jehovah, is magnificent. Your plans and the work You put into motion is so fascinating, so fantastic. I stand in awe of You tonight - of what You have done, what You are doing, what You will do.
* Note from today: Since returning to the States, God has given me the opportunity, not once, but twice, to share the Luganda song with children from Uganda who have come here to Nebraska with different choirs to sing and raise awareness for their brothers and sisters back home. Each time I sing for the children in their language, I am deeply blessed, and I praise God that He has allowed me to continue singing to the African children even back here in America. As of right now, I have not gone to the studio to record the song for the children, but I have complete confidence in God that He will provide the opportunity when His time is right.
It rained on us this morning towards the end of the first session. A fistful of chilliness came rushing down on us through the tops of the trees, and when we looked up, we saw the low, gray sky moving in. So, we gathered up our drums, guitars, and ourselves, and headed across camp towards the only empty shelter, a slightly leaky hut on a hill beside the lake. From there, we held a magnificent view of the rainy masses thundering steadily towards us, like an army sweeping battalion by battalion onto the battle field. The children huddled close together in jackets and sweatshirts quickly pulled from empty cabin rooms and watched in silent awe the power of creation, all the while doing their best to evade the dripping spots as much as possible. When the silence grew tiresome, they requested a repeat of the story of the princess and the frog. It was the girls who first asked, and I wasn’t quite sure what the boys would think of the idea, so I turned to them with the question, “Do you want to hear a story about a princess?” American boys might have hesitated, thinking it would seem unmanly to be interested in such a tale, but not these boys! “Yes, Auntie!” they enthusiastically replied. So, I told the story. I have never had a better setting or a more rapt audience.
The downpour dissolved before lunch, and the sun burst out with a brilliance that seemed intent on making up for the grimness of before. The two made a lovely contrast. In the meantime, we’d happily found the time to finish preparations for a surprise treasure hunt planned for tomorrow. And, with the sun shining once more, we got to follow through with the water balloon fight we had prepared for everyone, younger kids, older kids, Brits, and Westerners all included! It was fantastic fun filled with cheerful screaming and laughingly-uttered threats, and I’m sure you can imagine we all ended a bit wetter than when we’d begun.
After drying off (ie: changing shirts, but the drenched jeans sadly didn’t have a substitute), we ate, then prepared for our evening of presentations. All the things the kids have been practicing they got to perform tonight in our main hall. It was filled to the brim with rather disorderly rows of plastic chairs, and at a word, the groups would tromp up on-stage to perform as quickly as possible before bashfully scampering back to their seats. And this from children who have sung and danced before hundreds! I found it quite amusing. Jon and I directed music again for our four groups, and they did a marvelous job. We also got to watch the older children (the Brit’s groups) perform short skits, songs, and dances, all of which they’ve created in the past four days. Very impressive! Abraham, Barnett, and Henry were even called up to do a short traditional dance - the, uh, “butt shaking” one actually. The kids positively howled with laughter.
To start off the performances, the Brits had showed a five-minute movie clip of pictures and verses made into a love letter from God to us. It provided the perfect intro to the songs I got a chance to share, once again, with the children. Into the hush of a large group of very silent children, I sang first the Kinyarwanda song (as some of these children hail from Rwanda), and then the Luganda song. It was so quiet, and then they just erupted in cheering and clapping all the way back to my seat. I was touched, my Lord - albeit, a bit embarrassed. To see their hearts so moved . . . moved me. I thank You, Jesus. I praise You for this opportunity to share.
The man who was filming for the evening (a man in his forties, I would guess, who I also learned later is the cook at the MFL school) came up to me afterwards and said, “God bless you,” with such a big smile on his face. He said the song made him cry. A group of older girls (one of which, if you remember, was Rachel, who “preached” at the bonfire) thanked me for the song, then quite energetically encouraged me to sing more in Luganda - to even learn the language - and to go back to America and record the song so I could send it back to them. My Lord, it was such a support for me to hear these children urging me to do exactly what You had already put in my heart to do once I return to the States.
But nothing moved me more - as Karim’s silently offered piece of candy had in Rwanda scant weeks ago - than when Douglas saw me. He is the same Douglas who wears a funny little black hat and who was sick not so many days ago. He looked over at me and said simply, “I’ve never heard a mzungu (“white person”) sing in my own language before.” It was as if all the children of Africa looked up at me with that one sentence and said, “We just want to be loved. Will you love us?” And, oh, God . . . that is why I sang. To be able to touch these precious children in the deepest way possible through music in words that they understand in their hearts. To give them this small gift that You have given me - and through the gift, to show them that they are most sincerely, most deeply adored. To be able to share with them in the language they know the truth of Your love and care for them . . . I thank You so very much, Jesus.
Dear Emma came to give me a big hug - and carry out my guitar again. He carries my guitar everywhere - he is not the first willing volunteer for this task - and it is a simple token of his appreciation, and I am touched. He came to sit by me at lunch earlier, while I was on the wall eating with a group of other mzungus. The dear child steered himself over and plopped down right next to me as if he couldn’t possibly belong so well in any other place at camp.
The children came for their goodnight hugs, and then we had to leave - and so hurriedly too! - as it was late and it had been rather a long day. So there you have it - a God-blessed day of moved hearts . . . of touched lives. May we be changed to become more like You. Your character, Jehovah, is magnificent. Your plans and the work You put into motion is so fascinating, so fantastic. I stand in awe of You tonight - of what You have done, what You are doing, what You will do.
* Note from today: Since returning to the States, God has given me the opportunity, not once, but twice, to share the Luganda song with children from Uganda who have come here to Nebraska with different choirs to sing and raise awareness for their brothers and sisters back home. Each time I sing for the children in their language, I am deeply blessed, and I praise God that He has allowed me to continue singing to the African children even back here in America. As of right now, I have not gone to the studio to record the song for the children, but I have complete confidence in God that He will provide the opportunity when His time is right.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Day 31: August 6, 2008
You give us beautiful days, Jesus. I thank You from the bottom of my heart.
Today we tried the very American game of Capture the Flag with the kids. It sort of worked. They quickly caught on to the idea of pouncing on anyone who came over to their side from the other team. The idea of themselves racing across the line in search of their hidden flag was a bit more abstract. With such lopsidedly defensive philosophies in effect, it was rather humorous to see them standing there on either side of the line, trying to taunt and tease the other team into coming over, all the while themselves being too nervous to make the attempt! Nobody actually won in the end, but they all went to lunch afterwards smiling, so I think it’s fair to count it a success.
Jon and I practiced the songs with the kids in their groups again today . . . It is actually the nearest yet I’ve come to being annoyed with the children. There were an aggravating few in each group - in one group, practically the whole lot of them! - who were just so lazy. They would sing and dance so obviously half-heartedly, and I would encourage them to put some energy into it, and they would - for all of five seconds. But the moment I looked away, they were back to their lackadaisical half-efforts. They were being so . . . so American! And then I had to laugh at myself. Was it really possible that in only a few short weeks, I had accustomed myself so utterly to my almost-hero status with the dear little black children that when they responded to me like they might a normal, everyday teacher, I was offended?
In less serious news, the red team cut out the falsetto “washes, washes” part from their song today. We took a popular vote, and, with the duetist’s hearty approval, the measure passed to cut the improv. Their reasoning behind the decision they told me quite earnestly, “But, Auntie, we will lose the competition. We will lose!” I was more or less heartbroken, but we were in a democracy, and there wasn’t much I could do unless I had issued a presidential veto or rigged the votes. I didn’t think as a role model I should stoop to that.
At the close of our sessions this afternoon, we crowded into our bus with the Brits to go for a quick view of the MFL school-in-progress building site. You see, the school where they are now teaching the former choir children is so small, they are in desperate need of new facilities. They hope to have the project completed by January - but that will depend largely on finances. I love to walk through half-finished buildings, and it was very impressive to know that the hardworking Africans had done all this work with nothing but hand tools! I’m sure any construction workers back in America would be even more impressed than I was.
We returned to the camp with dusk settling in, and ourselves perhaps a bit sleepy - but what was coming next would be worth every hour we were going to miss of sleep! After enjoying a lovely dinner, we gathered our plastic chairs into a circle for another true African bonfire. The children danced and sang for us - clapping all the while and every so often letting out an ear-piercing chant/shriek of some sort that sounded very tribal and would take a lot of courage to do at a church in America. Those who had something special to sing to us, or say, all got a turn. I have to admit, when the two mid-teenage boys got up to sing and their voices cracked, the audience was not very kind to them. But our hearts were touched. A young lady, Rachel, stood up in the face of all her peers and preached something that sounded very like a sermon. We had our turn too, as they rather unexpectedly invited us up to try our best at copying a dance we had seen them do. We call it the “butt shaking” dance, and it’s rather self-explanatory. I should add also that I for one failed miserably in my imitation - and I’m sure I was not the only one! Judging from our audience’s laughter though, I’d say we were a huge hit!
So, the day - and the evening especially - was full of laughter and fun. But I do not think I ever had more fun today than I did with a little boy named Emma (yes, I know, it’s a girl’s name; we were confused at first too). This evening before the bonfire, he volunteered to help me get my guitar. As the sun had gone down already, the hall leading to the room with my guitar in it was quite dark. If there was a light switch, I never saw it, and neither of us had a flashlight. So, we decided to make a game of it. We’d creep halfway down the hall, whispering furiously to one another to, “Be quiet!” Then, at any moment the impulse took us, we’d pretend we saw some huge, terrifying monster, scream something unintelligible that meant, “Run for your lives!!” and tear back down the hall for all we were worth. It took all of ten minutes to actually gain the safety of the room, dive under the table, grab the guitar, and dash out again in one piece. It was hilarious!
I thank You for this day, my Lord. For all their quirks and irritations, these children are utterly precious. Lead me to love them as You love them. I cannot capture today in words. I am tired, and everything in this past month is starting to blur together. But I love You, and I love what You are doing. I will follow. My Good Shepherd, lead me on. Amen.
Oh, and Douglas said he was feeling better today. I praise You for that.
Our attempt at Capture the Flag.
At the end of the game . . . Pretty sure you could call this a good ending.
The school-in-progress building sight.
Every brick made and laid by hand. Impressive, isn't it?
Today we tried the very American game of Capture the Flag with the kids. It sort of worked. They quickly caught on to the idea of pouncing on anyone who came over to their side from the other team. The idea of themselves racing across the line in search of their hidden flag was a bit more abstract. With such lopsidedly defensive philosophies in effect, it was rather humorous to see them standing there on either side of the line, trying to taunt and tease the other team into coming over, all the while themselves being too nervous to make the attempt! Nobody actually won in the end, but they all went to lunch afterwards smiling, so I think it’s fair to count it a success.
Jon and I practiced the songs with the kids in their groups again today . . . It is actually the nearest yet I’ve come to being annoyed with the children. There were an aggravating few in each group - in one group, practically the whole lot of them! - who were just so lazy. They would sing and dance so obviously half-heartedly, and I would encourage them to put some energy into it, and they would - for all of five seconds. But the moment I looked away, they were back to their lackadaisical half-efforts. They were being so . . . so American! And then I had to laugh at myself. Was it really possible that in only a few short weeks, I had accustomed myself so utterly to my almost-hero status with the dear little black children that when they responded to me like they might a normal, everyday teacher, I was offended?
In less serious news, the red team cut out the falsetto “washes, washes” part from their song today. We took a popular vote, and, with the duetist’s hearty approval, the measure passed to cut the improv. Their reasoning behind the decision they told me quite earnestly, “But, Auntie, we will lose the competition. We will lose!” I was more or less heartbroken, but we were in a democracy, and there wasn’t much I could do unless I had issued a presidential veto or rigged the votes. I didn’t think as a role model I should stoop to that.
At the close of our sessions this afternoon, we crowded into our bus with the Brits to go for a quick view of the MFL school-in-progress building site. You see, the school where they are now teaching the former choir children is so small, they are in desperate need of new facilities. They hope to have the project completed by January - but that will depend largely on finances. I love to walk through half-finished buildings, and it was very impressive to know that the hardworking Africans had done all this work with nothing but hand tools! I’m sure any construction workers back in America would be even more impressed than I was.
We returned to the camp with dusk settling in, and ourselves perhaps a bit sleepy - but what was coming next would be worth every hour we were going to miss of sleep! After enjoying a lovely dinner, we gathered our plastic chairs into a circle for another true African bonfire. The children danced and sang for us - clapping all the while and every so often letting out an ear-piercing chant/shriek of some sort that sounded very tribal and would take a lot of courage to do at a church in America. Those who had something special to sing to us, or say, all got a turn. I have to admit, when the two mid-teenage boys got up to sing and their voices cracked, the audience was not very kind to them. But our hearts were touched. A young lady, Rachel, stood up in the face of all her peers and preached something that sounded very like a sermon. We had our turn too, as they rather unexpectedly invited us up to try our best at copying a dance we had seen them do. We call it the “butt shaking” dance, and it’s rather self-explanatory. I should add also that I for one failed miserably in my imitation - and I’m sure I was not the only one! Judging from our audience’s laughter though, I’d say we were a huge hit!
So, the day - and the evening especially - was full of laughter and fun. But I do not think I ever had more fun today than I did with a little boy named Emma (yes, I know, it’s a girl’s name; we were confused at first too). This evening before the bonfire, he volunteered to help me get my guitar. As the sun had gone down already, the hall leading to the room with my guitar in it was quite dark. If there was a light switch, I never saw it, and neither of us had a flashlight. So, we decided to make a game of it. We’d creep halfway down the hall, whispering furiously to one another to, “Be quiet!” Then, at any moment the impulse took us, we’d pretend we saw some huge, terrifying monster, scream something unintelligible that meant, “Run for your lives!!” and tear back down the hall for all we were worth. It took all of ten minutes to actually gain the safety of the room, dive under the table, grab the guitar, and dash out again in one piece. It was hilarious!
I thank You for this day, my Lord. For all their quirks and irritations, these children are utterly precious. Lead me to love them as You love them. I cannot capture today in words. I am tired, and everything in this past month is starting to blur together. But I love You, and I love what You are doing. I will follow. My Good Shepherd, lead me on. Amen.
Oh, and Douglas said he was feeling better today. I praise You for that.
Our attempt at Capture the Flag.
At the end of the game . . . Pretty sure you could call this a good ending.
The school-in-progress building sight.
Every brick made and laid by hand. Impressive, isn't it?
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Day 30: August 5, 2008
We have a simple song we do with the kids that goes like this: “It’s a great day to praise the Lord/ It’s a great day to praise the Lord/ It’s a great day to praise the Lord/ Walking in the light of love.” It’s perfect for kids who don’t know English very well, cause they don’t really have to remember that many words - plus it’s upbeat with fun actions (I get a workout anyhow). Well, today was a great day to praise the Lord. I am so grateful, Father. You have given me a fascinating summer to play with Your precious children and reach out to them with Your amazing love. I am blessed.
Today the green, red, yellow, and brown teams began writing their own songs. Jon and I decided it worked so well at Bugolobi, we might as well do it again! The songs are to be sung on Thursday this week, and today is already Tuesday, so we felt a bit rushed to come up with ideas, but the children did well. No “I love my shirt because it is good,” but the kids are incredibly talented. We have a song about “kingdom safari” (our theme for camp), an upbeat praise tune, and an “It’s a happy day” song that sounds suspiciously like the original “Oh, happy day.” But my new favorite is a very serious song from the red team, our naughtiest bunch of them all. They sing with great gusto, “The blood of Jesus washes us clean,” and then two of the more mischievous boys came up with the echo, “Washes, washes” which they sing in hilarious falsetto.
Story-time with the girls commenced precisely on schedule (ie: I might have forgotten all about it, much to my chagrin, had not the girls come in search of me). This time we wisely forsook the ant-infested picnic blanket for a safer spot on the wall under the shade. After the fairytale (about a mouse named George who fearlessly - accidentally - vanquishes a fierce dragon), I sat with one of the girls for nearly an hour, listening to her tell various stories, riddles, and jokes. She went nearly page-by-page through the telling of Corrie ten Boom’s The Hiding Place. I don’t think I’ve ever known a child so avid about reading. In the midst of all the story-telling, I even forgot to get her name!
I also sat with a boy named Douglas, who had on, I think, the coolest hat I’ve seen in Africa. It made him look part gangster, part French artist, and it fit him perfectly. Douglas wasn’t feeling well today, so we skipped out on watermelon together and enjoyed a bit of peace and quiet away from the crowds. I promised him I would pray that You heal him tonight - as, really, we didn’t bring him all the way out to camp so he could be sick the entire time, and it would be a shame for him to miss out on things. So, dear Father, heal Douglas tonight; may he wake up tomorrow refreshed in body and spirit. You are God. Amen.
Today the green, red, yellow, and brown teams began writing their own songs. Jon and I decided it worked so well at Bugolobi, we might as well do it again! The songs are to be sung on Thursday this week, and today is already Tuesday, so we felt a bit rushed to come up with ideas, but the children did well. No “I love my shirt because it is good,” but the kids are incredibly talented. We have a song about “kingdom safari” (our theme for camp), an upbeat praise tune, and an “It’s a happy day” song that sounds suspiciously like the original “Oh, happy day.” But my new favorite is a very serious song from the red team, our naughtiest bunch of them all. They sing with great gusto, “The blood of Jesus washes us clean,” and then two of the more mischievous boys came up with the echo, “Washes, washes” which they sing in hilarious falsetto.
Story-time with the girls commenced precisely on schedule (ie: I might have forgotten all about it, much to my chagrin, had not the girls come in search of me). This time we wisely forsook the ant-infested picnic blanket for a safer spot on the wall under the shade. After the fairytale (about a mouse named George who fearlessly - accidentally - vanquishes a fierce dragon), I sat with one of the girls for nearly an hour, listening to her tell various stories, riddles, and jokes. She went nearly page-by-page through the telling of Corrie ten Boom’s The Hiding Place. I don’t think I’ve ever known a child so avid about reading. In the midst of all the story-telling, I even forgot to get her name!
I also sat with a boy named Douglas, who had on, I think, the coolest hat I’ve seen in Africa. It made him look part gangster, part French artist, and it fit him perfectly. Douglas wasn’t feeling well today, so we skipped out on watermelon together and enjoyed a bit of peace and quiet away from the crowds. I promised him I would pray that You heal him tonight - as, really, we didn’t bring him all the way out to camp so he could be sick the entire time, and it would be a shame for him to miss out on things. So, dear Father, heal Douglas tonight; may he wake up tomorrow refreshed in body and spirit. You are God. Amen.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Day 29: August 4, 2008
I thank You for this day, my Lord. You are so incredibly good. We are moved now, out in a nunnery near Nabinoonya (nab-in-own-yah), the camp where the children from the MFL (Music for Life) primary school are staying. Molly and I get to share the only American room on floor three, territory of the British team. We are enjoying their accents and our humorous cultural clashes immensely! We met them a couple times last weekend, but they spent the week at a different school in Kampala while we were at Bugolobi. Now for this week we are with them at Nabinoonya - only they will be working with the older kids, and we will be working with the younger kids. Lord, may we be a blessing to each other. Amen!
We started our second camp this afternoon, set in the gorgeous grounds on Lake Victoria. My Western team has charge of the younger children, P1 through P4, and we found them rather other than what we expected. I think we have gotten so accustomed to the immediate acceptance and thrilled responses (no matter how insignificant the act we had just performed!) from the African children that we forgot to prepare ourselves for Africans who have toured America. All the MFL kids at this camp are former choir children and have been to America, so they act a little more like Western kids (ie: harder to impress and less talkative initially). But, God, they are still dear, sweet children, and I ask that You bless them through us this coming week.
I spoke to a young boy, Hosea, today and discovered that he is from the blue mountains in Rwanda. He actually knows Minani and some of the others from Gisenyi that I met during our very first camp in Rwanda. Oh, how that gladdened my heart! My King, I lay myself down at Your feet, giving You all that I am. I ask, Father God, that You use me. These children have been abundantly blessed by so many people in so many ways already. They have recorded songs and sung before thousands and met famous people and been on TV. But they do not need to be loved any less than the rest. They are still children, dear children who are unsure of their place in life - unsure of who they are and what makes them beautiful - and most without a whole family behind them. Lead me on in Your heart, dearest God.
I think my very favorite part of the day was late this afternoon. We had run through our sessions and were now waiting an open hour to simply hang out with the kids before we packed ourselves into the bus and made our way back to the nunnery. The line from Shakespeare, “Get thee to a nunnery!” comes to mind, but that is beside the point . . . I was wandering a bit aimlessly past a group of young teenage girls sitting on a blanket under a tree when they called me over. “Auntie, tell us a story,” they immediately requested. I thank God that creativity is something my mind never lacks! The first tale I could come up with was “The Princess and the Frog,” so I began, flicking a continuous wave of curious little ants off my pant legs as I did so. I must say, you might have found the story slightly altered from the original version as I couldn’t quite remember exactly the way it was supposed to go. But when I had finished, they must have enjoyed it for they asked me for another one. I promised a second the following day.
You Whose love is better than life, I thank You for this day - for another day to be alive in Your life. I thank You for the moments, Jesus. May I live them all for the glory of Your name. Amen and amen.
The hill where we called our group of P1-P4's to introduce ourselves and start the day.
Barnett (one of our African team leaders) trying out for the part of Willy Wildman. :-)
A wall separating manicured lawn from a steep hill that dived its way down into Lake Victoria. It made an excellent seat.
Our first game with the children. "Hippos and rhinos." Basically the two sides would line up, march towards each other, then run away screaming.
We started our second camp this afternoon, set in the gorgeous grounds on Lake Victoria. My Western team has charge of the younger children, P1 through P4, and we found them rather other than what we expected. I think we have gotten so accustomed to the immediate acceptance and thrilled responses (no matter how insignificant the act we had just performed!) from the African children that we forgot to prepare ourselves for Africans who have toured America. All the MFL kids at this camp are former choir children and have been to America, so they act a little more like Western kids (ie: harder to impress and less talkative initially). But, God, they are still dear, sweet children, and I ask that You bless them through us this coming week.
I spoke to a young boy, Hosea, today and discovered that he is from the blue mountains in Rwanda. He actually knows Minani and some of the others from Gisenyi that I met during our very first camp in Rwanda. Oh, how that gladdened my heart! My King, I lay myself down at Your feet, giving You all that I am. I ask, Father God, that You use me. These children have been abundantly blessed by so many people in so many ways already. They have recorded songs and sung before thousands and met famous people and been on TV. But they do not need to be loved any less than the rest. They are still children, dear children who are unsure of their place in life - unsure of who they are and what makes them beautiful - and most without a whole family behind them. Lead me on in Your heart, dearest God.
I think my very favorite part of the day was late this afternoon. We had run through our sessions and were now waiting an open hour to simply hang out with the kids before we packed ourselves into the bus and made our way back to the nunnery. The line from Shakespeare, “Get thee to a nunnery!” comes to mind, but that is beside the point . . . I was wandering a bit aimlessly past a group of young teenage girls sitting on a blanket under a tree when they called me over. “Auntie, tell us a story,” they immediately requested. I thank God that creativity is something my mind never lacks! The first tale I could come up with was “The Princess and the Frog,” so I began, flicking a continuous wave of curious little ants off my pant legs as I did so. I must say, you might have found the story slightly altered from the original version as I couldn’t quite remember exactly the way it was supposed to go. But when I had finished, they must have enjoyed it for they asked me for another one. I promised a second the following day.
You Whose love is better than life, I thank You for this day - for another day to be alive in Your life. I thank You for the moments, Jesus. May I live them all for the glory of Your name. Amen and amen.
The hill where we called our group of P1-P4's to introduce ourselves and start the day.
Barnett (one of our African team leaders) trying out for the part of Willy Wildman. :-)
A wall separating manicured lawn from a steep hill that dived its way down into Lake Victoria. It made an excellent seat.
Our first game with the children. "Hippos and rhinos." Basically the two sides would line up, march towards each other, then run away screaming.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Day 28: August 3, 2008
The hardest part about being here in Africa is dreading what I’m going back to the States to. I have been filled up to overflowing here, my Father. Blessings have poured down on me, wave after refreshing wave, each one crashing down with a powerful sweetness that quite happily takes my breath away. The children with their brilliant smiles and eager hugs - the African translators with their contagious joy and open hearts - Minani and Karim and Afisa and John Paul. Do they understand how deeply they have touched and blessed my heart? I feel I have never known how to love before I came here - but here it is all effortless and joy-filled and the farthest thing from a burden I could possibly find. There is no service I render here; it is all simply an unavoidable overflow of You filling me.
But, my God, when I think of going back to Nebraska . . . ah, the dread is so thick, it leaves me nearly ill. I feel choked - like I can hardly breathe. It is not that I am not blessed in Nebraska; I am quite richly blessed, and daily, there. Then why? Because I don’t have a job that I know and find pleasure in. Because I don’t get to be with friends very often. But mostly because . . . I feel so useless in Nebraska. The little acts of happiness that bring me such joy here - songs and play and laughter and brilliant grins - they are, I don’t know - is it too busy? - in America for such things. They do not need me; already they cannot find enough time or space for the things they do have. The children I so delight in serving - the open-hearted people I love to just spend time with and try to give back to with the same generosity that they have given to me - it seems that these things are unwanted in America. Superfluous. In America I am supposed to get a job and make money so I can pay for things. In America I am not married and have no children, and so all the other families go to their homes and entertain themselves, and I am left with no forgotten, homeless children to stay and find joy in Your incredible creation and thrill my soul with their precious laughter.
At church this morning, the pastor talked about a lot of things. But at one point he brought up that verse where You promise to put the lonely in families. Well, there You have it. That’s me. I am blessed to come from an incredible family who finds joy in each other and in You - but my heart is with the children who have never known such a home. I would without hesitation say goodbye to my family for the rest of my life if it would bring me to the children who do not know what a family is. But where do You want me, Lord? Where are You leading? What do You have for me to do?
My latest hopeful vision is to bring the dear children of Africa songs written especially to them in their own language. From sharing the two songs You inspired me to write, I have been blessed to see how deeply it affected the children to hear a foreigner singing a song for them in their own language. They are starved for love - true, unadorned love that reaches into their hearts and promises simply itself - and this is one way You have given me to love Your precious kids. So, I want to take my two songs back to America and get sponsors to pay for the studio recording of these songs, and then send them back here for the children of Africa. But all this is expensive, yes? And I do not know if anyone would want to support such a thing. Is it really necessary? I am not offering food or clothes or clean water or education. There are other organizations doing that, and their work is so crucially important. They are saving lives. What am I doing? But I cannot get over it; this is my dream.
How to go about this or what might come of it, I don’t have the first clue. I’m no good at the practical side of things. My Lord and my God, teach me to follow You closely. Teach me to trust You fully. Back in Kigali on one of our last nights there, I told my Rwanda team that this trip was about me trusting You. Only now, as I get closer to leaving, it’s getting harder. I trust You with the hearts of these dear children because I have seen how much You love me, and I know You do not love them any less. But there are things that I dread about going back to America, and I know You do not always save us out of the valleys of pain. You never leave us, but You do not always rescue us in exactly the way we want You to.
Dear God, teach me to trust You. Amen.
*Additional note to this entry: As I was reading this over and typing it out, these thoughts came to mind: Trust and obedience go hand in hand. You cannot trust well unless you obey well, and you will find hard to obey what you do not trust. Do not ask God to help you trust Him more unless you are willing to obey Him more. If you commit to full, surrendered obedience to Him, you will find your trust in Him deepening. The two are inseparable. The old hym "Trust and Obey" is full of marvelous, unfathomed truth.
But, my God, when I think of going back to Nebraska . . . ah, the dread is so thick, it leaves me nearly ill. I feel choked - like I can hardly breathe. It is not that I am not blessed in Nebraska; I am quite richly blessed, and daily, there. Then why? Because I don’t have a job that I know and find pleasure in. Because I don’t get to be with friends very often. But mostly because . . . I feel so useless in Nebraska. The little acts of happiness that bring me such joy here - songs and play and laughter and brilliant grins - they are, I don’t know - is it too busy? - in America for such things. They do not need me; already they cannot find enough time or space for the things they do have. The children I so delight in serving - the open-hearted people I love to just spend time with and try to give back to with the same generosity that they have given to me - it seems that these things are unwanted in America. Superfluous. In America I am supposed to get a job and make money so I can pay for things. In America I am not married and have no children, and so all the other families go to their homes and entertain themselves, and I am left with no forgotten, homeless children to stay and find joy in Your incredible creation and thrill my soul with their precious laughter.
At church this morning, the pastor talked about a lot of things. But at one point he brought up that verse where You promise to put the lonely in families. Well, there You have it. That’s me. I am blessed to come from an incredible family who finds joy in each other and in You - but my heart is with the children who have never known such a home. I would without hesitation say goodbye to my family for the rest of my life if it would bring me to the children who do not know what a family is. But where do You want me, Lord? Where are You leading? What do You have for me to do?
My latest hopeful vision is to bring the dear children of Africa songs written especially to them in their own language. From sharing the two songs You inspired me to write, I have been blessed to see how deeply it affected the children to hear a foreigner singing a song for them in their own language. They are starved for love - true, unadorned love that reaches into their hearts and promises simply itself - and this is one way You have given me to love Your precious kids. So, I want to take my two songs back to America and get sponsors to pay for the studio recording of these songs, and then send them back here for the children of Africa. But all this is expensive, yes? And I do not know if anyone would want to support such a thing. Is it really necessary? I am not offering food or clothes or clean water or education. There are other organizations doing that, and their work is so crucially important. They are saving lives. What am I doing? But I cannot get over it; this is my dream.
How to go about this or what might come of it, I don’t have the first clue. I’m no good at the practical side of things. My Lord and my God, teach me to follow You closely. Teach me to trust You fully. Back in Kigali on one of our last nights there, I told my Rwanda team that this trip was about me trusting You. Only now, as I get closer to leaving, it’s getting harder. I trust You with the hearts of these dear children because I have seen how much You love me, and I know You do not love them any less. But there are things that I dread about going back to America, and I know You do not always save us out of the valleys of pain. You never leave us, but You do not always rescue us in exactly the way we want You to.
Dear God, teach me to trust You. Amen.
*Additional note to this entry: As I was reading this over and typing it out, these thoughts came to mind: Trust and obedience go hand in hand. You cannot trust well unless you obey well, and you will find hard to obey what you do not trust. Do not ask God to help you trust Him more unless you are willing to obey Him more. If you commit to full, surrendered obedience to Him, you will find your trust in Him deepening. The two are inseparable. The old hym "Trust and Obey" is full of marvelous, unfathomed truth.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Day 27: August 2, 2008
Our taxi came at 9:30 this morning, after giving us a lovely time of sleeping in and relaxation. Actually, it was more of a bus than a taxi - big enough that we each got our own little “couch” (two small seats squashed together). I almost felt famous. Our drive took us out of the winding bumpiness of Kampala roads onto a slightly less bumpy stretch of road leading us to the Nile River. It was a very pleasant trip - couldn’t have been better, except that I did rather have to go to the bathroom. You’d think if I could handle a 13-hour bus ride to Rwanda, a 1 ½-hour ride would be no problem, but with some things you never can tell . . .
We arrived at the Nile, rushed down the hill to the nearest toilets, and only then - feeling ever so much more comfortable - did we stop to stare in awe at the scenery. We had stopped at a touristy place where several small waterfalls interrupted the broad flow of the powerful Nile. Lush trees of all kinds teemed along the rolling green shores. On an island of sorts across the way was a great swarm of bats that flew up in an amusing uproar of zigzags the entire time we were there. Beyond that the long green hills rode away to hazy blue on the horizon. And above that was the sky, a great roiling mass of deep, deep blue that poured towards us and threatened a fierce downpour. But the sun held out stubbornly for a while longer while we stood, and we basked in the river’s beauty, caught so dazzlingly in this conflict between sunshine and storm.
We went as near as we dared to the power of the river, but frequent danger signs with skulls and crossbones warned us away. A couple locals showed off for us by jumping without any hesitation into the seething mass of water and riding their jerry cans or kayaks over the falls. They probably do this all the time and think it’s relatively simple, but I couldn’t help it - I was very much impressed.
The voice of the falls was as captivating its face, and what with the gorgeous flowers, the birds calling, and the sweet breeze, I could have stayed in that little paradise all day. John Paul goes to a university in Kampala that he calls “heaven on earth” because of its gorgeous landscaping. I think we discovered another “heaven on earth” today.
But the time did come for us to go - only after we had taken what pictures we could of the beauty. But film never does serve to enhance the reality of the thing, and so we could not take quite all of it with us as we walked away, even for all the photographs we took. God’s creative genius is something man can never hope to match. We can only stand in awe of You - yes, and give back in thankfulness what You have given us.
We loaded back into our buses (the British team was spending the day with us, but had come in their own bus) and took a short drive to a nearby restaurant. The moment we sat down to eat our delicious food, it began to pour. It rained hard and furiously for a good half hour, and we sat under the high tin roof of the restaurant (there weren’t any walls) and listened to the rain come clattering down. But as we finished our meal, the rain let up almost entirely and teased the sun into an effort at shining again. It was enough for us to take a boat ride down the Nile to find the source of the river. It’s a place where the big, wide lake (Lake Victoria) and the big, wide river meet, and there’s just a rocky island of sorts to mark the spot. But just being on the Nile was exciting enough. Threat of alligators and all. We did see a little baby by the way. Baby alligator that is. Swimming along right next to the shore. It was only about a foot long, and I think I might have been tempted to pick it up except that it was too far away and someone in our group had seen the mother earlier.
And that was our trip to the Nile River. Between an African safari and a boat ride down the Nile River - and this doesn’t even take into consideration the dear children and the African people - I feel not only deeply, deeply blessed, but downright spoiled! God, I thank You.
Us at the Nile.
The restaurant where it poured.
We arrived at the Nile, rushed down the hill to the nearest toilets, and only then - feeling ever so much more comfortable - did we stop to stare in awe at the scenery. We had stopped at a touristy place where several small waterfalls interrupted the broad flow of the powerful Nile. Lush trees of all kinds teemed along the rolling green shores. On an island of sorts across the way was a great swarm of bats that flew up in an amusing uproar of zigzags the entire time we were there. Beyond that the long green hills rode away to hazy blue on the horizon. And above that was the sky, a great roiling mass of deep, deep blue that poured towards us and threatened a fierce downpour. But the sun held out stubbornly for a while longer while we stood, and we basked in the river’s beauty, caught so dazzlingly in this conflict between sunshine and storm.
We went as near as we dared to the power of the river, but frequent danger signs with skulls and crossbones warned us away. A couple locals showed off for us by jumping without any hesitation into the seething mass of water and riding their jerry cans or kayaks over the falls. They probably do this all the time and think it’s relatively simple, but I couldn’t help it - I was very much impressed.
The voice of the falls was as captivating its face, and what with the gorgeous flowers, the birds calling, and the sweet breeze, I could have stayed in that little paradise all day. John Paul goes to a university in Kampala that he calls “heaven on earth” because of its gorgeous landscaping. I think we discovered another “heaven on earth” today.
But the time did come for us to go - only after we had taken what pictures we could of the beauty. But film never does serve to enhance the reality of the thing, and so we could not take quite all of it with us as we walked away, even for all the photographs we took. God’s creative genius is something man can never hope to match. We can only stand in awe of You - yes, and give back in thankfulness what You have given us.
We loaded back into our buses (the British team was spending the day with us, but had come in their own bus) and took a short drive to a nearby restaurant. The moment we sat down to eat our delicious food, it began to pour. It rained hard and furiously for a good half hour, and we sat under the high tin roof of the restaurant (there weren’t any walls) and listened to the rain come clattering down. But as we finished our meal, the rain let up almost entirely and teased the sun into an effort at shining again. It was enough for us to take a boat ride down the Nile to find the source of the river. It’s a place where the big, wide lake (Lake Victoria) and the big, wide river meet, and there’s just a rocky island of sorts to mark the spot. But just being on the Nile was exciting enough. Threat of alligators and all. We did see a little baby by the way. Baby alligator that is. Swimming along right next to the shore. It was only about a foot long, and I think I might have been tempted to pick it up except that it was too far away and someone in our group had seen the mother earlier.
And that was our trip to the Nile River. Between an African safari and a boat ride down the Nile River - and this doesn’t even take into consideration the dear children and the African people - I feel not only deeply, deeply blessed, but downright spoiled! God, I thank You.
Us at the Nile.
The restaurant where it poured.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Day 26: August 1, 2008
Dear God, I thank You. I thank You. It is hard to believe that it is Friday already- that we have had our last day at Bugolobi school and have said goodbye (or “sula bulunji” - “goodnight”) to the dear children for the last time. It seems we only just started. Has it really been an entire week?
I have more priceless treasures to add to my little stash. As I was packing myself into the van with my teammates to leave Bugolobi this afternoon, two very dear children pressed these notes into my hands. What I gripped in my hand went straight to my heart. Their words, exactly, are these:
Dear Auntie Rebecca
I will like to greet you and thank you in Jesus’s name
I will like to greet your country and all others
But don’t forget the kingdom of God
I enjoyed music so much. and I want thank for teaching us good voice (*not sure here if he meant he liked my voice or that I taught them to sing well :-))
I will like to thank for your time which you have taken to teach us music
Great (*greet) for your family
I will pray for you every day and I will miss
look down is a nice picture of a hen for you
From Nazir GB green (*meaning he was on the green team) please I have stop there Bye
God bless Auntie Rebecca and his family
Greet for me every one in your family
How is your family
And this letter, lovingly wrapped up in a homemade envelope:
Dear Auntie Rebecca,
I love you so much, I thank you for your loving for good smally for your good songs and for smat, (*not sure what the “smally” and “smat” mean, but she was grateful for them)
I thank you for lugada’s (*Lugandan) songs
you was so greatful
My mother was happy and told me to write for you are (*a) letter bat (*that) thank you very much
may God bless you allways
She went on in the back page to give me a verse that I would love to share with you if I could understand it, but as it's in Lugandan, I have a little trouble with the translation. But the hearts of these children continue to amaze me. When was the last time you got a Bible verse just for you from a ten-year old? Or a greeting in Jesus' name from a young man who is scarcely in his teens?
The program this afternoon went very well - all 3 1/2 hours of it! It was originally meant to be, I think, two hours long. Oh, and we started thirty minutes late because not even half of the parents had come by the time we were supposed to begin. This African way of keeping time really makes me laugh. The children were given their very own pencil cases, a pair of socks, some small school supplies, and - I think, the most appreciated - a mosquito net. (Malaria is rampant here, largely because of the lack of preventative care.) They were so utterly grateful for our simple gifts - gifts made possible by people back West who are not even here to see the dear beaming faces. They said again and again, “Thank you . . . We are overwhelmed . . . May God bless you . . . Thank you so much.” I was overwhelmed by their gratefulness. To think - we in the West have so much, yet are grateful for so little. Here in Africa, they have so little, yet are grateful for so much.
Dear God, bless these dear children and their families! I thank You for the time at Bugolobi. I also thank You for our team. Regardless of our weaknesses and areas of struggle, You blessed people through this team. And in the process You were glorified. That is the point.
“Then this city will bring Me renown, joy, praise, and honor before all nations on earth that hear of all the good things I do for it; and they will be in awe and will tremble at the abundant prosperity and peace I provide for it.” - Jeremiah 33:9
I have more priceless treasures to add to my little stash. As I was packing myself into the van with my teammates to leave Bugolobi this afternoon, two very dear children pressed these notes into my hands. What I gripped in my hand went straight to my heart. Their words, exactly, are these:
Dear Auntie Rebecca
I will like to greet you and thank you in Jesus’s name
I will like to greet your country and all others
But don’t forget the kingdom of God
I enjoyed music so much. and I want thank for teaching us good voice (*not sure here if he meant he liked my voice or that I taught them to sing well :-))
I will like to thank for your time which you have taken to teach us music
Great (*greet) for your family
I will pray for you every day and I will miss
look down is a nice picture of a hen for you
From Nazir GB green (*meaning he was on the green team) please I have stop there Bye
God bless Auntie Rebecca and his family
Greet for me every one in your family
How is your family
And this letter, lovingly wrapped up in a homemade envelope:
Dear Auntie Rebecca,
I love you so much, I thank you for your loving for good smally for your good songs and for smat, (*not sure what the “smally” and “smat” mean, but she was grateful for them)
I thank you for lugada’s (*Lugandan) songs
you was so greatful
My mother was happy and told me to write for you are (*a) letter bat (*that) thank you very much
may God bless you allways
She went on in the back page to give me a verse that I would love to share with you if I could understand it, but as it's in Lugandan, I have a little trouble with the translation. But the hearts of these children continue to amaze me. When was the last time you got a Bible verse just for you from a ten-year old? Or a greeting in Jesus' name from a young man who is scarcely in his teens?
The program this afternoon went very well - all 3 1/2 hours of it! It was originally meant to be, I think, two hours long. Oh, and we started thirty minutes late because not even half of the parents had come by the time we were supposed to begin. This African way of keeping time really makes me laugh. The children were given their very own pencil cases, a pair of socks, some small school supplies, and - I think, the most appreciated - a mosquito net. (Malaria is rampant here, largely because of the lack of preventative care.) They were so utterly grateful for our simple gifts - gifts made possible by people back West who are not even here to see the dear beaming faces. They said again and again, “Thank you . . . We are overwhelmed . . . May God bless you . . . Thank you so much.” I was overwhelmed by their gratefulness. To think - we in the West have so much, yet are grateful for so little. Here in Africa, they have so little, yet are grateful for so much.
Dear God, bless these dear children and their families! I thank You for the time at Bugolobi. I also thank You for our team. Regardless of our weaknesses and areas of struggle, You blessed people through this team. And in the process You were glorified. That is the point.
“Then this city will bring Me renown, joy, praise, and honor before all nations on earth that hear of all the good things I do for it; and they will be in awe and will tremble at the abundant prosperity and peace I provide for it.” - Jeremiah 33:9
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Day 25: July 31, 2008
I hardly know what to say anymore - and this from a compulsive writer! It’s just that Africa . . . the dear voices of the children, the strong and true heartbeat of the drums, the full-blown grins of my dark-faced friends, the early-morning call from the mosques, the brilliant flash of swooping birds, the vibrant tangles of trees - they have all become such a part of everyday life. I thrill at them, but I think I often forget there is any world without them. Cornfields and land running straight and hill-less to the horizon seem like something from a dream. I am in Africa, and nothing else matters.
Today at camp was good because it is always good. I am with children in Africa, and we get to sing songs and invent hilarious games to play - and how could that be anything but incredible? I thank God for this. Jon and I helped our five groups of children put the finishing touches on their songs today. We are planning to hold a program tomorrow afternoon for their parents and relatives, and the kids are understandably excited. Although, I must say, this didn’t exactly make their attention spans at practice any better! Yesterday, Jon brought a small handheld recorder to our sessions, and we taped all of the kids singing their songs - both for the sake of the children and the sake of our memories! You should have seen how intently they listened today when they heard their voices coming across on the tape player. And then how they laughed at themselves! One obvious (and usually out-of-tune) voice would for a moment drown out all else, and the whole group of them would erupt in giggles.
But they are amazingly talented. They have come in a very short three days (we didn’t begin our song writing until Tuesday) from a blank piece of paper to an entire song composed, with harmony and actions - most of which they managed with only the slightest help. And in the midst of all this, we still found time to play our silly games. We’ve made up several since coming here. The freeze game, where Jon plays his guitar and harmonica simultaneously (yeah, wish I could do that . . .) and then when he stops at some undetermined point in the music, the kids all have to freeze. They’re very good at that one. Then there’s the variation of Simon Says, only it’s to music, and no one’s really saying anything. You just have to copy everything the leader does. Jon plays his guitar and harmonica simultaneously to that one too. Or their favorite of all: “Oh ma chey chey!” It’s a chant I learned from Amy in Rwanda who learned it at camp in Alaska, and before that it was in the Dominic Republic. We have no idea what it means, but the kids love it.
Jon prayed tonight during devotions that You bless these children. I second that. He asked that You protect the seeds that have been planted. Yes, protect and grow, dear God. Amen! They call the children of Africa the forgotten children - the lost children - the abandoned children. They are some of the neediest, hungriest, poorest kids in all the world. But I’ve seen these children, God, and they’re just kids. Just like the kids in America - just like kids anywhere - all they need - okay, besides food and clothes and clean water and stuff like that - they just need to be loved. To know that someone cares very specially for them.
I thank You for bringing me here.
Today at camp was good because it is always good. I am with children in Africa, and we get to sing songs and invent hilarious games to play - and how could that be anything but incredible? I thank God for this. Jon and I helped our five groups of children put the finishing touches on their songs today. We are planning to hold a program tomorrow afternoon for their parents and relatives, and the kids are understandably excited. Although, I must say, this didn’t exactly make their attention spans at practice any better! Yesterday, Jon brought a small handheld recorder to our sessions, and we taped all of the kids singing their songs - both for the sake of the children and the sake of our memories! You should have seen how intently they listened today when they heard their voices coming across on the tape player. And then how they laughed at themselves! One obvious (and usually out-of-tune) voice would for a moment drown out all else, and the whole group of them would erupt in giggles.
But they are amazingly talented. They have come in a very short three days (we didn’t begin our song writing until Tuesday) from a blank piece of paper to an entire song composed, with harmony and actions - most of which they managed with only the slightest help. And in the midst of all this, we still found time to play our silly games. We’ve made up several since coming here. The freeze game, where Jon plays his guitar and harmonica simultaneously (yeah, wish I could do that . . .) and then when he stops at some undetermined point in the music, the kids all have to freeze. They’re very good at that one. Then there’s the variation of Simon Says, only it’s to music, and no one’s really saying anything. You just have to copy everything the leader does. Jon plays his guitar and harmonica simultaneously to that one too. Or their favorite of all: “Oh ma chey chey!” It’s a chant I learned from Amy in Rwanda who learned it at camp in Alaska, and before that it was in the Dominic Republic. We have no idea what it means, but the kids love it.
Jon prayed tonight during devotions that You bless these children. I second that. He asked that You protect the seeds that have been planted. Yes, protect and grow, dear God. Amen! They call the children of Africa the forgotten children - the lost children - the abandoned children. They are some of the neediest, hungriest, poorest kids in all the world. But I’ve seen these children, God, and they’re just kids. Just like the kids in America - just like kids anywhere - all they need - okay, besides food and clothes and clean water and stuff like that - they just need to be loved. To know that someone cares very specially for them.
I thank You for bringing me here.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Day 24: July 30, 2008
I have discovered that, as each group of children comes and sits down in their chairs, if I stand in front and say, “Good morning!” very enthusiastically, they will all jump to their feet and respond with, “Good morning, Auntie Rebecca!” I then ask, “How are you today?” And they say, “We are fine, thank you.” Slight pause and a few rather shy looks, then, “And how are you, Auntie Rebecca?” I say, “I am fine, thank you.” Then they all sit down. I think every school in America should start off each class period this way. It is very cute.
I wrote another song for the children. This one is in Lugandan, as that is a language that all the precious children at the Bugolobi school will understand. I have given it to John Paul to translate, and I hope to have it back tomorrow, as I am a bit nervous that I will not know how to say all the words well enough by Friday, our last day here. But it is not the perfection of my singing that matters, but the heart and truth of the words.
Father, teach us how to give our all to You and You alone. Teach us to be caught up in nothing but You and You alone. This team is . . . busier . . . than my Rwandan team. We have so many projects and plans and preparations that must be done in the evening to get ready for the next day - and they are very good things, which the children will be grateful for, no doubt - only it seems that these things are taking up all our time and leaving us with little laughter. Little spontaneity and enjoyment. Like the difference between Martha and Mary, I wonder if we are so caught up in doing that we have not found time enough to simply, quietly sit at Your feet. See to it, my Lord, that we do not miss the point. You are so awesome, so holy, and You are worthy of all our worship all our lives.
And for my heart, Jeshua . . . I have fallen in love with these people here. Some few in particular, of course - but the African people as a whole. The land. The music. The bright eyes and dark faces. I have a dream of finding my castle in the mountains and opening it for these precious children. Of using horses and art and writing and music and drama - everything You’ve given me, Lord - to reach the children with Your great love. The dream becomes more clear here, Lord, than it has ever been before, and I praise You for that. But I still cannot see the way to it, Father. You must lead me on. Prepare the way for me to go. I follow after You. My heart is captivated by You - by Your face, Lord God Almighty. May my every word, every thought, every deed be pleasing in Your sight, my King. Amen.
Bugolobi school facing the dark storm clouds rolling our way. If you can see the little smudge of yellow shirts on the far left, that's where we held music class.
Remember the monkey I was telling you about . . . Yeah, well. Meet Lloyd.
What Jon and I do.
Some of the dear children. It is actually quite difficult to get any pictures of them when they are not looking at you and smiling fabulously.
I wrote another song for the children. This one is in Lugandan, as that is a language that all the precious children at the Bugolobi school will understand. I have given it to John Paul to translate, and I hope to have it back tomorrow, as I am a bit nervous that I will not know how to say all the words well enough by Friday, our last day here. But it is not the perfection of my singing that matters, but the heart and truth of the words.
Father, teach us how to give our all to You and You alone. Teach us to be caught up in nothing but You and You alone. This team is . . . busier . . . than my Rwandan team. We have so many projects and plans and preparations that must be done in the evening to get ready for the next day - and they are very good things, which the children will be grateful for, no doubt - only it seems that these things are taking up all our time and leaving us with little laughter. Little spontaneity and enjoyment. Like the difference between Martha and Mary, I wonder if we are so caught up in doing that we have not found time enough to simply, quietly sit at Your feet. See to it, my Lord, that we do not miss the point. You are so awesome, so holy, and You are worthy of all our worship all our lives.
And for my heart, Jeshua . . . I have fallen in love with these people here. Some few in particular, of course - but the African people as a whole. The land. The music. The bright eyes and dark faces. I have a dream of finding my castle in the mountains and opening it for these precious children. Of using horses and art and writing and music and drama - everything You’ve given me, Lord - to reach the children with Your great love. The dream becomes more clear here, Lord, than it has ever been before, and I praise You for that. But I still cannot see the way to it, Father. You must lead me on. Prepare the way for me to go. I follow after You. My heart is captivated by You - by Your face, Lord God Almighty. May my every word, every thought, every deed be pleasing in Your sight, my King. Amen.
Bugolobi school facing the dark storm clouds rolling our way. If you can see the little smudge of yellow shirts on the far left, that's where we held music class.
Remember the monkey I was telling you about . . . Yeah, well. Meet Lloyd.
What Jon and I do.
Some of the dear children. It is actually quite difficult to get any pictures of them when they are not looking at you and smiling fabulously.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Day 23: July 29, 2008
Today with the children was dear. You created us a lovely day of clouds and coolness, so the music and games groups could be outside much more comfortably. I believe it was an answer to prayer. Molly told me she specifically asked You for cooler weather (after her sunburn from yesterday), but little did we imagine You’d make it cool enough to rain! But the rain was lovely too, so we thank You, Jesus.
In music Jon and I aided the kids in writing their own group songs. We had instructed them yesterday to go home and think very hard about what they might want to write a song about and bring their ideas back today. I’m sure most of them forgot, but we did have a few shy volunteers who raised their hands and murmured their thoughts. Inevitably we had to ask them to speak up. Their ideas, however timidly submitted, were brilliant. The red group wanted to say, “Jesus is so great - Amen!” The yellow group sang about Jesus doing miracles and healing people. The brown team said, “Thank You, thank You, thank You,” over and over again, then listed off reasons why. The black group, a rather naughty bunch of all the youngest children, wasn’t quite confident enough for English but said a good deal of wisdom in their, “Yesu atuyamba mubizibu.” Translation: “Jesus helps us in trouble.” And then the green group came for their brainstorming session. It went like this:
Me: “Green team, you remember you were supposed to go home yesterday and think of a very good idea for a song, yes?”
Green team: “Yes, Auntie.”
Me: “We will write your song today. It will be a very good song - a great song, yes?”
Green team: “Yes, Auntie.”
Me: “So, what would you like to write about?”
One arm shoots straight up into the air. It’s a young boy, and he looks fairly confident. I pick him, and he says loudly, “Our shirts!”
Me (notice the raised eyebrows): “You want to write a song about your shirts?”
The boy nods. There are a few giggles.
Me (looking at the rest of the group): “Are you sure? You are going to write a song about your T-shirts?”
Green team (enthusiastically): “Yes, Auntie!”
Me: “And what would you like to say about your shirts?”
They think about this for awhile, then another hand goes up. “I love my shirt. I saw that it was good.”
(I’m pretty sure he was almost quoting Scripture here.)
From there, the suggestions poured forth. “Everywhere I look, I see green like my shirt.” “The fruits we eat are green, and they are very nice.” Not quite sure what that means about the shirt, but oh well! “Green is my favorite color.” And on and on. We waded through the flood of eagerly presented ideas and finally came out with this: “I love my shirt because it is good. I love my shirt because it is good.” And then the boys sing, “It’s greeeeeeeen! It’s greeeeeeen!”
I think it’s my favorite song.
In music Jon and I aided the kids in writing their own group songs. We had instructed them yesterday to go home and think very hard about what they might want to write a song about and bring their ideas back today. I’m sure most of them forgot, but we did have a few shy volunteers who raised their hands and murmured their thoughts. Inevitably we had to ask them to speak up. Their ideas, however timidly submitted, were brilliant. The red group wanted to say, “Jesus is so great - Amen!” The yellow group sang about Jesus doing miracles and healing people. The brown team said, “Thank You, thank You, thank You,” over and over again, then listed off reasons why. The black group, a rather naughty bunch of all the youngest children, wasn’t quite confident enough for English but said a good deal of wisdom in their, “Yesu atuyamba mubizibu.” Translation: “Jesus helps us in trouble.” And then the green group came for their brainstorming session. It went like this:
Me: “Green team, you remember you were supposed to go home yesterday and think of a very good idea for a song, yes?”
Green team: “Yes, Auntie.”
Me: “We will write your song today. It will be a very good song - a great song, yes?”
Green team: “Yes, Auntie.”
Me: “So, what would you like to write about?”
One arm shoots straight up into the air. It’s a young boy, and he looks fairly confident. I pick him, and he says loudly, “Our shirts!”
Me (notice the raised eyebrows): “You want to write a song about your shirts?”
The boy nods. There are a few giggles.
Me (looking at the rest of the group): “Are you sure? You are going to write a song about your T-shirts?”
Green team (enthusiastically): “Yes, Auntie!”
Me: “And what would you like to say about your shirts?”
They think about this for awhile, then another hand goes up. “I love my shirt. I saw that it was good.”
(I’m pretty sure he was almost quoting Scripture here.)
From there, the suggestions poured forth. “Everywhere I look, I see green like my shirt.” “The fruits we eat are green, and they are very nice.” Not quite sure what that means about the shirt, but oh well! “Green is my favorite color.” And on and on. We waded through the flood of eagerly presented ideas and finally came out with this: “I love my shirt because it is good. I love my shirt because it is good.” And then the boys sing, “It’s greeeeeeeen! It’s greeeeeeen!”
I think it’s my favorite song.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Day 22: July 28, 2008
Welcome to day one of camp at Bugolobi school! What a difference from Rwanda - but I cannot say the children are any less dear. They met us this morning with such happy smiles and lights in their eyes like we were their favorite thing this year. It was quite endearing. We walked through the wide open double doors to the sound of their voices raised in song, echoing through the church. They start off every morning with a beautiful mixture of recitation and song. We heard Psalm 23 quoted brilliantly and flawlessly by 120 young voices, something that might have been the Ugandan national pledge (not quite sure about that one), and a prayer of blessing for all of us. And then they pray in a heartwarming way with every voice speaking aloud, until, at an undetermined moment, one voice will rise above the others, thank God quite sincerely, and then we all say, “Amen!”
Then it is our turn. We do not start off the day half so well. First, it is a skit, where Jon runs out into the middle of the children where our “stage” is and tries valiantly to read his lines as Willy Wildman without laughing. Then I come skittering out with a blue mask that is supposed to be over my face, but the eye holes are too small, so I tip it up over my hair instead. I get the honor of being Willy’s rather scattered assistant, Lloyd. The monkey. If I didn’t enjoy acting so much, it might be a bit of a trial. But hearing the dear children’s giggles makes up for any lack on the grandness of the lines!
After singing our theme song, which, regardless of the truth in the words (they’re rather simple; we just sing “Jesus is King” approximately 500 times with a couple verses about safari animals thrown in for good measure), I have already come to dislike intensely, we split into our five groups and go our separate ways. Jon and I are in charge of the music, and Jon is an excellent guitar player - which leaves me with the singing and, um, dancing. Dancing might be a bit too generous a word. The children were amazing and picked up on the songs quickly. I think, however, that we will not be able to teach songs for all 45 minutes of our sessions day after day. It is not enough variety.
Which brings me to the hardest part of today - the part that was not all smiles and sunshine. Well, there was sunshine, but it felt more like sunburn after nearly four hours of sessions outside. The day was simply long. I was tired, Jon was tired, and Molly (in charge of games outside on the rocky driveway) was tired. Which is not so surprising. Only I think maybe we were more tired than we had to be. If we could just change the schedule, switch things up a bit, perhaps it would not be so hard on us - or the children, who were rather beginning to lose it by the fourth session. Forty-five minute periods of games, music, dance, crafts, and Bible stories - it sounds like a school schedule! So some of us thought maybe we could revamp the schedule - make it easier and, in the process, hopefully more fun. Only not all the team agreed, and, after several rather strained moments of discussion at the end of the day, we still hadn’t come to any compromise. It was rather sad actually. I’m sure we all came here for the glory of God and the sake of the children . . . but to see such division in a team that has come together under Your guidance . . . What do You want me to do, Lord? It is hard not to compare this team with the Rwandan team - so much easier to just write them off as too difficult and long for Rwanda again. But did You not bring us all here together in Uganda just as You had brought us all together in Rwanda? Surely, You did not do it so we could fight each other.
So, I see now the indispensable necessity of unity in the body of Christ - of flexibility and the willingness to give up your own personal preferences for the sake of the whole. How will the world know we are Christians except by our love? How will the children know that we love them if we cannot love each other? Oh, if only the Church could remember this always! Your children are in disharmony, God, and that is not Your purpose. That is not Your heart. The longest recorded prayer of Jesus is about what? - about unity in the family of God. He says, “I pray . . . that all of them may be one, Father, just as You are in Me and I am in You. May they also be in Us so that the world may believe that You have sent Me. I have given them the glory that You gave Me, that they may be one as We are one (John 17:20,21).”
This is my prayer. Amen.
Then it is our turn. We do not start off the day half so well. First, it is a skit, where Jon runs out into the middle of the children where our “stage” is and tries valiantly to read his lines as Willy Wildman without laughing. Then I come skittering out with a blue mask that is supposed to be over my face, but the eye holes are too small, so I tip it up over my hair instead. I get the honor of being Willy’s rather scattered assistant, Lloyd. The monkey. If I didn’t enjoy acting so much, it might be a bit of a trial. But hearing the dear children’s giggles makes up for any lack on the grandness of the lines!
After singing our theme song, which, regardless of the truth in the words (they’re rather simple; we just sing “Jesus is King” approximately 500 times with a couple verses about safari animals thrown in for good measure), I have already come to dislike intensely, we split into our five groups and go our separate ways. Jon and I are in charge of the music, and Jon is an excellent guitar player - which leaves me with the singing and, um, dancing. Dancing might be a bit too generous a word. The children were amazing and picked up on the songs quickly. I think, however, that we will not be able to teach songs for all 45 minutes of our sessions day after day. It is not enough variety.
Which brings me to the hardest part of today - the part that was not all smiles and sunshine. Well, there was sunshine, but it felt more like sunburn after nearly four hours of sessions outside. The day was simply long. I was tired, Jon was tired, and Molly (in charge of games outside on the rocky driveway) was tired. Which is not so surprising. Only I think maybe we were more tired than we had to be. If we could just change the schedule, switch things up a bit, perhaps it would not be so hard on us - or the children, who were rather beginning to lose it by the fourth session. Forty-five minute periods of games, music, dance, crafts, and Bible stories - it sounds like a school schedule! So some of us thought maybe we could revamp the schedule - make it easier and, in the process, hopefully more fun. Only not all the team agreed, and, after several rather strained moments of discussion at the end of the day, we still hadn’t come to any compromise. It was rather sad actually. I’m sure we all came here for the glory of God and the sake of the children . . . but to see such division in a team that has come together under Your guidance . . . What do You want me to do, Lord? It is hard not to compare this team with the Rwandan team - so much easier to just write them off as too difficult and long for Rwanda again. But did You not bring us all here together in Uganda just as You had brought us all together in Rwanda? Surely, You did not do it so we could fight each other.
So, I see now the indispensable necessity of unity in the body of Christ - of flexibility and the willingness to give up your own personal preferences for the sake of the whole. How will the world know we are Christians except by our love? How will the children know that we love them if we cannot love each other? Oh, if only the Church could remember this always! Your children are in disharmony, God, and that is not Your purpose. That is not Your heart. The longest recorded prayer of Jesus is about what? - about unity in the family of God. He says, “I pray . . . that all of them may be one, Father, just as You are in Me and I am in You. May they also be in Us so that the world may believe that You have sent Me. I have given them the glory that You gave Me, that they may be one as We are one (John 17:20,21).”
This is my prayer. Amen.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Day 21: July 27, 2008
“How good it is to sing praises to our God (Psalm 147:1) . . . to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to seek Him in His temple (Psalm 27:4) . . . Blessed our those who dwell in Your house; they are ever praising You (Psalm 84:4) . . . The Lord is good to all; He has compassion on all He has made (Psalm 145:9) . . . Who is this King of glory? The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle. (Psalm 24:8) . . . The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love (Psalm 103:8).”
And I praise you, Father God, for the absolute, astounding truth in all these words. Amen!
Today was Sunday, and we went to church this morning. The same church that the dear children at the Machindi training center attend - the same children who will be touring the States soon, the children I have stayed with twice now. They dance and sing with such passion in church just as they do in their nightly devotions, and it is an absolute joy to join in worship with them.
My God, You have met me in Nebraska, in China, in the Philippines, in England, in Mexico, in Oregon, in Rwanda. And today You met me in Uganda. Everywhere I go, You are with me. That was the point of the sermon this morning: the God Who abandons not. But even before the sermon, during one of the worship songs that I’d never heard before, there came suddenly sweeping over me an all-consuming sense of Your nearness. I have felt it before, and it is one of the sweetest things in all the world. It was the captivating picture of You simply looking at me and saying in absolute truth, “I have made you, and I will carry you . . . I am your Father; you are My child. Follow Me . . . Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart . . . When you are weak, then I am strong . . . I will never leave you or forsake you.” Your words, my Lord, brought tears to my eyes. Your words are the reason I can carry on - the reason behind any good I might do - the reason I am here in Africa. You are so very good.
The pastor said again and again that God never abandons us - even when it seems like He has - that waiting is good - that what God has started, He will finish. And it was like You were saying to me, “Don’t be afraid of what’s happening next. I will be with you, so what is there to fear?” “When God is for us, who can be against us?” I don’t know what You have for me after this trip, Lord. I did not come to Africa to stay - not this time around anyway - but being here is such a joy . . . Well, surely there is nothing in the Western world I could possibly enjoy so much as being right here! But I must go back at the end of this trip, yes? Dearest God, You tell me there is nothing to fear. You will be with me. You will be with me. And You will be with me. So, there is nothing to fear.
I praise You, Jehovah, for speaking to me today. I thank You for Your incomparable greatness, for Your utter faithfulness, for Your tender mercy. Everlasting God, I worship You. Remind me, oh Lord, my Savior. Teach me to remember Your promises to me - Your promises that are faithful - Your promises that are true - Your promises that never fail. Change me here for eternity, Sovereign, that I might be ever closer to You. Your love for me is wonderful; I know this full well. As You have loved me . . . so, Father, may I love . . . Karim, Alex, Eric, Minani, Charity, Sarah, Eva, Prossy, Jessica, Molly, Jon, Miriam, Candice, LeeAnn, Kathy, John Paul, Henry . . . the list is endless. Teach me to love with Your love, dear Jesus. You have overwhelmed me with Yours. I am humbled by Your concern - wrapped up in Your arms - captivated by You - by Your love for me. Lead, Savior - lead me on. Amen.
And I praise you, Father God, for the absolute, astounding truth in all these words. Amen!
Today was Sunday, and we went to church this morning. The same church that the dear children at the Machindi training center attend - the same children who will be touring the States soon, the children I have stayed with twice now. They dance and sing with such passion in church just as they do in their nightly devotions, and it is an absolute joy to join in worship with them.
My God, You have met me in Nebraska, in China, in the Philippines, in England, in Mexico, in Oregon, in Rwanda. And today You met me in Uganda. Everywhere I go, You are with me. That was the point of the sermon this morning: the God Who abandons not. But even before the sermon, during one of the worship songs that I’d never heard before, there came suddenly sweeping over me an all-consuming sense of Your nearness. I have felt it before, and it is one of the sweetest things in all the world. It was the captivating picture of You simply looking at me and saying in absolute truth, “I have made you, and I will carry you . . . I am your Father; you are My child. Follow Me . . . Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart . . . When you are weak, then I am strong . . . I will never leave you or forsake you.” Your words, my Lord, brought tears to my eyes. Your words are the reason I can carry on - the reason behind any good I might do - the reason I am here in Africa. You are so very good.
The pastor said again and again that God never abandons us - even when it seems like He has - that waiting is good - that what God has started, He will finish. And it was like You were saying to me, “Don’t be afraid of what’s happening next. I will be with you, so what is there to fear?” “When God is for us, who can be against us?” I don’t know what You have for me after this trip, Lord. I did not come to Africa to stay - not this time around anyway - but being here is such a joy . . . Well, surely there is nothing in the Western world I could possibly enjoy so much as being right here! But I must go back at the end of this trip, yes? Dearest God, You tell me there is nothing to fear. You will be with me. You will be with me. And You will be with me. So, there is nothing to fear.
I praise You, Jehovah, for speaking to me today. I thank You for Your incomparable greatness, for Your utter faithfulness, for Your tender mercy. Everlasting God, I worship You. Remind me, oh Lord, my Savior. Teach me to remember Your promises to me - Your promises that are faithful - Your promises that are true - Your promises that never fail. Change me here for eternity, Sovereign, that I might be ever closer to You. Your love for me is wonderful; I know this full well. As You have loved me . . . so, Father, may I love . . . Karim, Alex, Eric, Minani, Charity, Sarah, Eva, Prossy, Jessica, Molly, Jon, Miriam, Candice, LeeAnn, Kathy, John Paul, Henry . . . the list is endless. Teach me to love with Your love, dear Jesus. You have overwhelmed me with Yours. I am humbled by Your concern - wrapped up in Your arms - captivated by You - by Your love for me. Lead, Savior - lead me on. Amen.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Day 20: July 26, 2008
Today we went out to visit the grounds where we’ll be holding our second week of camp. It’s really quite a lovely place, situated on Lake Victoria, decorated with brilliant flowers and towering trees - and we even saw a few curious monkeys! We met the team from the UK there; they will be working with the older kids at camp, while we will have the younger. Very randomly, one of the girls visiting that team was someone I’d met just briefly while living out in Oregon. What a funny world.
As two nationalities colliding in yet a third cultural setting, we went down the long list of our differences: KFC, American football vs. what the rest of the world calls football (ie: soccer), soda or pop, and don’t you dare call those things you’re wearing pants! It was great fun. We threw a mostly-empty water bottle around for entertainment when the conversation lagged, climbed dexterously on top of an elephant (too bad it was made of stone), played a group name/memory game that made us all laugh, and ate a very good - very Western - lunch. Sandwiches, Pringles, and chocolate chip cookies - yum! Did I forget to mention that the food was incredibly healthy? And, if that wasn’t enough, it was Ben’s (from the British team) birthday, and someone had whipped up a delicious chocolate cake which we promptly, and possibly unwisely, devoured.
So, the day was what I might call more “Western” than any day here yet. Good, but not quite African. Except for the monkeys. I think, dear God, that the hardest part of this journey is the in-between stages. I love to be with the children - to sing with them, to watch them dance with such delight, to play random games, all the while watching those brilliant rays of pure laughter flash like fireworks over their faces . . . But to sit here apart from them, remembering the ones I have known and looking forward to those I have yet to meet, and holding them all out to You in my heart, while it breaks - this is the hardest part.
Our one and only elephant sighting in Uganda. They even let us take a free ride! . . . Hm.
My first sighting of chocolate since coming to Africa (Well, other than the $4.00 candy bars for sale at a store in Rwanda). I do not think I have to put my reaction in words.
A couple glimpses at the gorgeous camp grounds.
As two nationalities colliding in yet a third cultural setting, we went down the long list of our differences: KFC, American football vs. what the rest of the world calls football (ie: soccer), soda or pop, and don’t you dare call those things you’re wearing pants! It was great fun. We threw a mostly-empty water bottle around for entertainment when the conversation lagged, climbed dexterously on top of an elephant (too bad it was made of stone), played a group name/memory game that made us all laugh, and ate a very good - very Western - lunch. Sandwiches, Pringles, and chocolate chip cookies - yum! Did I forget to mention that the food was incredibly healthy? And, if that wasn’t enough, it was Ben’s (from the British team) birthday, and someone had whipped up a delicious chocolate cake which we promptly, and possibly unwisely, devoured.
So, the day was what I might call more “Western” than any day here yet. Good, but not quite African. Except for the monkeys. I think, dear God, that the hardest part of this journey is the in-between stages. I love to be with the children - to sing with them, to watch them dance with such delight, to play random games, all the while watching those brilliant rays of pure laughter flash like fireworks over their faces . . . But to sit here apart from them, remembering the ones I have known and looking forward to those I have yet to meet, and holding them all out to You in my heart, while it breaks - this is the hardest part.
Our one and only elephant sighting in Uganda. They even let us take a free ride! . . . Hm.
My first sighting of chocolate since coming to Africa (Well, other than the $4.00 candy bars for sale at a store in Rwanda). I do not think I have to put my reaction in words.
A couple glimpses at the gorgeous camp grounds.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Day 18 & 19: July 24-25, 2008
And now we are waiting. These past two days have been spent in an almost dreadful slump of inactivity - after all the games and adventures and conversations and randomness of Rwanda. I have met my new team that I will be working with here in Uganda, but I’m afraid I do not really think of them as my team yet. My real team was in Rwanda . . . I hope I will not hold this mind set for very long though.
Yesterday I met two of the people on my new Uganda team. They are Molly and Candice, and we went for a walk up to the Catholic church that sits on top of the hill nearest us. The view was breathtaking, so we took some pictures. We also saw a little cluster of children playing soccer, and they were very curious about us, but also rather shy. Back at the very nice, if rather small compound of the Adonai Guest House, where we will be staying during our time in Uganda, Molly and I sat out on the front porch and enjoyed the lovely view, the warm sun, and the blue, blue sky. We stayed out there for several hours, talking about life and whistling at a friendly African Gray with a flashy red tail who came to say hi.
Today I met the rest of our team. LeeAnn, Kathy, Jon, and Miriam arrived early this afternoon, straight off the plane and understandably jet lagged. I am already noticing the differences in teams - but, of course, they would not be the same! This Uganda team will be wonderful too, only in a different way than in Rwanda.
After a very relaxed, easy morning (for the sake of all those with jet lag), we went out for a short visit to meet the happy children at the Bugolobi school, where we will be for five days of camp next week. When we pulled into the driveway and came to a stop, the first thing we heard was the pounding of many little feet and a cacophony of eagerly shouting voices. For several seconds, we saw nothing and were rather wondering what all the commotion was about. Then the children flew around the far corner, arms waving wildly, wide grins on their faces, as they rushed to welcome us to their school. Oh, and we felt very welcomed indeed. Although, I must admit, it was a bit heartbreaking, staring down into their dear black faces and knowing I would not be seeing any faces I knew.
Camp at this school will be different from camp in Rwanda. Here, we have no separate rooms - no open soccer field outside for games. The Bugolobi school meets, for lack of their own facilities, in a spacious, open-roomed church. Our game area is the rather rocky parking lot out front, and I believe music class is to be held under the overhang of the long front porch. The children who attend this school are the children who are too poor to afford the public schools. Music for Life works hard to provide them with shoes (which are often lost before the end of the term) and a good meal for lunch. The children walk to school, and some of their homes are very far away. We are going for home visits later this week.
But for now we are simply here at the guest house, getting to know one another slightly - although, truly, I think we spend more time preparing for next week and writing home, neither of which I am very good at. Lindsay (from the Rwanda team) came at dinner - and it lifted my heart to see someone who could reminisce with me. In the swirl between heartbreaking change and thrilling expectation for what is next, I am simply blessed.
The new team (plus a few happy additions from here in Uganda, including Sarah, who's in the pink on the right).
The view from the top of the hill. You're staring into downtown Kampala there.
The view from my bedroom window.
Our friendly African Gray.
Yesterday I met two of the people on my new Uganda team. They are Molly and Candice, and we went for a walk up to the Catholic church that sits on top of the hill nearest us. The view was breathtaking, so we took some pictures. We also saw a little cluster of children playing soccer, and they were very curious about us, but also rather shy. Back at the very nice, if rather small compound of the Adonai Guest House, where we will be staying during our time in Uganda, Molly and I sat out on the front porch and enjoyed the lovely view, the warm sun, and the blue, blue sky. We stayed out there for several hours, talking about life and whistling at a friendly African Gray with a flashy red tail who came to say hi.
Today I met the rest of our team. LeeAnn, Kathy, Jon, and Miriam arrived early this afternoon, straight off the plane and understandably jet lagged. I am already noticing the differences in teams - but, of course, they would not be the same! This Uganda team will be wonderful too, only in a different way than in Rwanda.
After a very relaxed, easy morning (for the sake of all those with jet lag), we went out for a short visit to meet the happy children at the Bugolobi school, where we will be for five days of camp next week. When we pulled into the driveway and came to a stop, the first thing we heard was the pounding of many little feet and a cacophony of eagerly shouting voices. For several seconds, we saw nothing and were rather wondering what all the commotion was about. Then the children flew around the far corner, arms waving wildly, wide grins on their faces, as they rushed to welcome us to their school. Oh, and we felt very welcomed indeed. Although, I must admit, it was a bit heartbreaking, staring down into their dear black faces and knowing I would not be seeing any faces I knew.
Camp at this school will be different from camp in Rwanda. Here, we have no separate rooms - no open soccer field outside for games. The Bugolobi school meets, for lack of their own facilities, in a spacious, open-roomed church. Our game area is the rather rocky parking lot out front, and I believe music class is to be held under the overhang of the long front porch. The children who attend this school are the children who are too poor to afford the public schools. Music for Life works hard to provide them with shoes (which are often lost before the end of the term) and a good meal for lunch. The children walk to school, and some of their homes are very far away. We are going for home visits later this week.
But for now we are simply here at the guest house, getting to know one another slightly - although, truly, I think we spend more time preparing for next week and writing home, neither of which I am very good at. Lindsay (from the Rwanda team) came at dinner - and it lifted my heart to see someone who could reminisce with me. In the swirl between heartbreaking change and thrilling expectation for what is next, I am simply blessed.
The new team (plus a few happy additions from here in Uganda, including Sarah, who's in the pink on the right).
The view from the top of the hill. You're staring into downtown Kampala there.
The view from my bedroom window.
Our friendly African Gray.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Day 17: July 23, 2008
I left Rwanda today. If it broke my heart to do it, still, it had to be done. I am glad You have plans that I know nothing of, or I should want to stay forever in Rwanda at the cost of missing all that You have for me if I leave.
We left at 8:00 a.m. - Lindsay, Abraham, and I in a taxi to go catch our bus. But first Abraham needed to make a quick stop at the orphanage for something he had forgotten yesterday. And so, unexpectedly, I saw Karim yet one more time. Only it was all rather pathetic - like something you might see in a movie, and, indeed, that is nearly what it felt like - for I was under strict orders not to actually go into the orphanage, and he could not come out. So, there we were, me in my hated taxi and he behind the hated iron gate of the orphanage, and all we could do was look at each other. I think his face is permanently etched in my mind. Dear God, when will You take me to see the dear boy again? I pray it is soon.
The bus ride was long - but happily not as long as my first Uganda-Rwanda bus journey! The scenery was every bit as breathtaking as I remembered, and the beauty rather soothed the ache in my heart. Every thought was a song, a memory, a prayer for the dear people I am leaving behind. There is a song that goes, “Some day we’ll walk upon the streets of gold.” This is my hope.
And so the Rwanda team has gone our separate ways. I am writing from Kampala, Uganda; Lindsay is in the same country, but not with me; Chelsea, Charity, Amy, and Sarah are all on a plane or in an airport somewhere between here and the Western world. They have become like sisters to me, and now we part. I thank God for Heaven! Oh, for the dearness of Home where God shall wipe away every tear from our eyes . . . Help us, gentle Savior, to glorify Your name here on earth - to consider how we might spur on one another towards good deeds in Christ. Amen!
Kampala is beautiful - more spread out than Kigali, bumpier roads, less traffic lights, more English . . . My heart burns - bleeds for what I have left behind. My Jesus, help me not to look back. To remember, yes. Always. How could I forget? But to live fully in the day You give me. To be all here in Uganda with this new team I will be meeting tomorrow - even as I was all in the happy days in Rwanda with my team there. I pray Your tenderest love and mercy on Karim - on Eric - on Alex - on Afisa - on all the girls who are flying . . . Jesus, wrap us up in Your arms.
We left at 8:00 a.m. - Lindsay, Abraham, and I in a taxi to go catch our bus. But first Abraham needed to make a quick stop at the orphanage for something he had forgotten yesterday. And so, unexpectedly, I saw Karim yet one more time. Only it was all rather pathetic - like something you might see in a movie, and, indeed, that is nearly what it felt like - for I was under strict orders not to actually go into the orphanage, and he could not come out. So, there we were, me in my hated taxi and he behind the hated iron gate of the orphanage, and all we could do was look at each other. I think his face is permanently etched in my mind. Dear God, when will You take me to see the dear boy again? I pray it is soon.
The bus ride was long - but happily not as long as my first Uganda-Rwanda bus journey! The scenery was every bit as breathtaking as I remembered, and the beauty rather soothed the ache in my heart. Every thought was a song, a memory, a prayer for the dear people I am leaving behind. There is a song that goes, “Some day we’ll walk upon the streets of gold.” This is my hope.
And so the Rwanda team has gone our separate ways. I am writing from Kampala, Uganda; Lindsay is in the same country, but not with me; Chelsea, Charity, Amy, and Sarah are all on a plane or in an airport somewhere between here and the Western world. They have become like sisters to me, and now we part. I thank God for Heaven! Oh, for the dearness of Home where God shall wipe away every tear from our eyes . . . Help us, gentle Savior, to glorify Your name here on earth - to consider how we might spur on one another towards good deeds in Christ. Amen!
Kampala is beautiful - more spread out than Kigali, bumpier roads, less traffic lights, more English . . . My heart burns - bleeds for what I have left behind. My Jesus, help me not to look back. To remember, yes. Always. How could I forget? But to live fully in the day You give me. To be all here in Uganda with this new team I will be meeting tomorrow - even as I was all in the happy days in Rwanda with my team there. I pray Your tenderest love and mercy on Karim - on Eric - on Alex - on Afisa - on all the girls who are flying . . . Jesus, wrap us up in Your arms.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Day 16: July 22, 2008
Today was my final full day in Rwanda . . . for now, at least. I pray, God, that You give me the opportunity to come back here. I could hardly stand to live all my life and not see Karim again - and Afisa and Minani. And the breathtaking mountains. Rwanda’s heart has become deeply lodged in my own, and it pains me to leave these people. My strength is in You, and that is what is carrying me through. That is all.
Before taking one last trek up to the dear orphans lodged on the side of a Rwandan hill, I went for an unexpectedly humorous diversion into downtown. Amy, Chelsea, and I were standing out in the white polished hallway of a rather ritzy mall when a random stranger approached us. He looked to be in or nearing his early twenties and began by introducing himself and asking who we were, where we from, etc. Now in Africa, this is not strange. What was strange was what he said next. Somehow he turned the conversation towards money, and then he said this: “You in America have a lot of money. In Africa we think in our minds that you are rich. You have more money; we kill you and take your money. I think you are very rich; I kill you.” This might have been rather alarming, the implied threat and all, except that our young friend managed to say all these words with a friendly smile on his face and in a very pleasant voice. Amy and I were trying so hard not to laugh . . .
Well, after that rather interesting conversation, we went out for lunch at our favorite buffet-style restaurant (also the only buffet-style restaurant we know in Rwanda). Then, as the sun’s rays lengthened in the west, I walked up to the orphanage alone. The children were there, as well as some others from my team, and we played games and made faces at each other - took pictures, smiled lots, didn’t really say much at all. After awhile, I took Karim aside, sat him down, and went through a list of Bible verses with him. All the things I wanted to say - things like, “I commit you to God (Acts 20:32),” and, “I will not forget you (John 14:18).” I’m not sure if he understood exactly, for we didn’t have a translator with us, though we were using a Kinyarwanda Bible. But he has the list, and if he does not understand now, I pray that You open his heart and mind so he will understand some day.
As the sun set over the hill, we sat there on the low wall - Karim and I, Abraham, two funny little girls who were imitating his every move, and some others who came and went. The stars entered, twinkling, one by one, and the sky went from blue to dusk to black. It was getting time to go, and none of us wanted to. Karim, who had been silent for some time now, stared off into the distance, and then he put his head in his hands. He had already asked me several times, “Tomorrow, Auntie - you go from (he meant “to”) Uganda?” And I kept saying, “Yes. Yes.” And he would groan and shake his head. But now he asked again, and when I answered, he sniffed, wiped his eyes, then put his head on my shoulder, crying, “No, Auntie. No, no.”
Dear God in Heaven, if my heart is breaking at the thought of leaving this one child, how does Your heart break for all the forgotten children of the world? How does Your heart cry when You see them hungry and abandoned and homeless and without hope? How did Your heart bleed to turn Your back on Your very own Son? I told Karim that I would not forget him - that You loved him very much - that he was never alone. I sang, “Ibuka . . . urukundo niruhemuka,” again and again. I do not know if it was enough, Lord, but I gave what I had.
Then I heard someone crying behind us, and I turned, and Afisa was standing there all alone, just looking at me and sobbing. So I stood up and brought her over, and she sat on one side, and Karim sat on the other side, and I put my arms around them both, and they cried and cried. I said to Afisa much the same as I’d told Karim, and I sang to her also. She put her head in my lap, and Karim wrapped my arm around his shoulders. We stayed that way for an uncounted time as the stars sang overhead in spite of darkness. Tonight at least, dear Lord, these dear children did not have to cry alone. They no longer have to face life without knowing what comfort means. Oh, but Father, Your children . . . Your precious, precious children. Your children need You, oh Father. Do not forsake them. Do not leave them as orphans. Come and rescue them - comfort them - provide for them. Be their Father, dear Lord. With all my heart, I ask this of You. Amen.
Before taking one last trek up to the dear orphans lodged on the side of a Rwandan hill, I went for an unexpectedly humorous diversion into downtown. Amy, Chelsea, and I were standing out in the white polished hallway of a rather ritzy mall when a random stranger approached us. He looked to be in or nearing his early twenties and began by introducing himself and asking who we were, where we from, etc. Now in Africa, this is not strange. What was strange was what he said next. Somehow he turned the conversation towards money, and then he said this: “You in America have a lot of money. In Africa we think in our minds that you are rich. You have more money; we kill you and take your money. I think you are very rich; I kill you.” This might have been rather alarming, the implied threat and all, except that our young friend managed to say all these words with a friendly smile on his face and in a very pleasant voice. Amy and I were trying so hard not to laugh . . .
Well, after that rather interesting conversation, we went out for lunch at our favorite buffet-style restaurant (also the only buffet-style restaurant we know in Rwanda). Then, as the sun’s rays lengthened in the west, I walked up to the orphanage alone. The children were there, as well as some others from my team, and we played games and made faces at each other - took pictures, smiled lots, didn’t really say much at all. After awhile, I took Karim aside, sat him down, and went through a list of Bible verses with him. All the things I wanted to say - things like, “I commit you to God (Acts 20:32),” and, “I will not forget you (John 14:18).” I’m not sure if he understood exactly, for we didn’t have a translator with us, though we were using a Kinyarwanda Bible. But he has the list, and if he does not understand now, I pray that You open his heart and mind so he will understand some day.
As the sun set over the hill, we sat there on the low wall - Karim and I, Abraham, two funny little girls who were imitating his every move, and some others who came and went. The stars entered, twinkling, one by one, and the sky went from blue to dusk to black. It was getting time to go, and none of us wanted to. Karim, who had been silent for some time now, stared off into the distance, and then he put his head in his hands. He had already asked me several times, “Tomorrow, Auntie - you go from (he meant “to”) Uganda?” And I kept saying, “Yes. Yes.” And he would groan and shake his head. But now he asked again, and when I answered, he sniffed, wiped his eyes, then put his head on my shoulder, crying, “No, Auntie. No, no.”
Dear God in Heaven, if my heart is breaking at the thought of leaving this one child, how does Your heart break for all the forgotten children of the world? How does Your heart cry when You see them hungry and abandoned and homeless and without hope? How did Your heart bleed to turn Your back on Your very own Son? I told Karim that I would not forget him - that You loved him very much - that he was never alone. I sang, “Ibuka . . . urukundo niruhemuka,” again and again. I do not know if it was enough, Lord, but I gave what I had.
Then I heard someone crying behind us, and I turned, and Afisa was standing there all alone, just looking at me and sobbing. So I stood up and brought her over, and she sat on one side, and Karim sat on the other side, and I put my arms around them both, and they cried and cried. I said to Afisa much the same as I’d told Karim, and I sang to her also. She put her head in my lap, and Karim wrapped my arm around his shoulders. We stayed that way for an uncounted time as the stars sang overhead in spite of darkness. Tonight at least, dear Lord, these dear children did not have to cry alone. They no longer have to face life without knowing what comfort means. Oh, but Father, Your children . . . Your precious, precious children. Your children need You, oh Father. Do not forsake them. Do not leave them as orphans. Come and rescue them - comfort them - provide for them. Be their Father, dear Lord. With all my heart, I ask this of You. Amen.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Day 15: July 21, 2008
I got to go on my very first African safari today . . . Oh, and how well I remember the exotic thrill the words held for me in America! Visions of lounging, well-equipped with sunglasses and camera, in a white, open-sided vehicle, racing down a wide dirt road while elephants trumpeted before us and lions roared behind. Unfortunately, the real African safari required waking up at 5:30 a.m., carrying breakfast with us, and slumping half-awake in a black (not white) jeep with tinted windows for two hours before arriving, still half-awake, at the park. On the up side, we did get to witness a beautiful African sunrise slowly sailing itself over the Rwandan hills.
Once in the park, we stopped for the quick addition of our very own guide and a bathroom break. Then it was back into the black jeep with tinted windows as we bounced our way down the very winding red road - path, rather - in search of something amazing. The very first thing I saw of any interest was a rather skinny tail swishing itself across a rather large bottom connected to some unknown African animal on top of a hill. We never did figure out what that thing was, but when we went in for a closer look, we found zebras. Wouldn’t you know - they look just like they do in the zoo. Only these were real wild zebras, and that made all the difference in the world. Wild zebras are much more fascinating. Even though they didn’t do much more than look at us, eat, and swish their tails and stomp at the flies. We took some pictures, properly oohed and aahed, and loaded ourselves back into our little jeep.
Bouncing along some more we next saw some graceful little deer-like creatures that they call impalas. The babies frolicked along with their mothers, and all skittered away whenever we got too close. Again, we properly oohed and aahed - but, truth be told, soon tired of the little things as they were everywhere. After a couple more hours of bumping in our seats and straining our eyes out the window, we ran into a family of baboons. I have to say, baboons are rather ugly. They walked right up to us - our guide was trying to convince us they were just like dogs, but I don’t think any of us believed him - then climbed the tree we were standing next to. A few more pictures and some oohs and aahs, and then it was down to the lake on a hunt for hippos. We found them too - slumbering lackadaisically on the shore, and, really, not doing too much of anything very impressive. We snuck up as close to them as we could get - which wasn’t very close, as the trees and swamp blocked our path. Disappointed, we headed back to our vehicle. But as we all piled, once again, into the jeep, our guide suddenly began jumping up and down, whistling, and yelling. We turned around, startled. What was he doing? And then we saw. He was trying to rouse the hippos. Nearly a minute of frantic hollering later, his efforts paid off as the four fat hippos raised their massive heads and swivelled their twitching ears to peer at us. They must have been disgusted at what they saw, for they immediately turned their rather enormous bodies, waddled into the water, and disappeared.
And that was our African safari. A bit of a change from my visions of stampeding elephants and lolloping lions, but it was good. So, thanks, Lord. Your creation is fascinating - sometimes breathtaking and sometimes just plain weird - but always interesting. I am blessed. African safari indeed! Who would have thought?
My amazing team on our African safari.
Wild zebra.
Cute impalas.
Ugly baboons.
Fat hippo.
Once in the park, we stopped for the quick addition of our very own guide and a bathroom break. Then it was back into the black jeep with tinted windows as we bounced our way down the very winding red road - path, rather - in search of something amazing. The very first thing I saw of any interest was a rather skinny tail swishing itself across a rather large bottom connected to some unknown African animal on top of a hill. We never did figure out what that thing was, but when we went in for a closer look, we found zebras. Wouldn’t you know - they look just like they do in the zoo. Only these were real wild zebras, and that made all the difference in the world. Wild zebras are much more fascinating. Even though they didn’t do much more than look at us, eat, and swish their tails and stomp at the flies. We took some pictures, properly oohed and aahed, and loaded ourselves back into our little jeep.
Bouncing along some more we next saw some graceful little deer-like creatures that they call impalas. The babies frolicked along with their mothers, and all skittered away whenever we got too close. Again, we properly oohed and aahed - but, truth be told, soon tired of the little things as they were everywhere. After a couple more hours of bumping in our seats and straining our eyes out the window, we ran into a family of baboons. I have to say, baboons are rather ugly. They walked right up to us - our guide was trying to convince us they were just like dogs, but I don’t think any of us believed him - then climbed the tree we were standing next to. A few more pictures and some oohs and aahs, and then it was down to the lake on a hunt for hippos. We found them too - slumbering lackadaisically on the shore, and, really, not doing too much of anything very impressive. We snuck up as close to them as we could get - which wasn’t very close, as the trees and swamp blocked our path. Disappointed, we headed back to our vehicle. But as we all piled, once again, into the jeep, our guide suddenly began jumping up and down, whistling, and yelling. We turned around, startled. What was he doing? And then we saw. He was trying to rouse the hippos. Nearly a minute of frantic hollering later, his efforts paid off as the four fat hippos raised their massive heads and swivelled their twitching ears to peer at us. They must have been disgusted at what they saw, for they immediately turned their rather enormous bodies, waddled into the water, and disappeared.
And that was our African safari. A bit of a change from my visions of stampeding elephants and lolloping lions, but it was good. So, thanks, Lord. Your creation is fascinating - sometimes breathtaking and sometimes just plain weird - but always interesting. I am blessed. African safari indeed! Who would have thought?
My amazing team on our African safari.
Wild zebra.
Cute impalas.
Ugly baboons.
Fat hippo.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Day 14: July 20, 2008
We went to church this morning where the tall pastor with the large gray suit jacket spoke in French and the short interpreter in the pale pink shirt spoke English and said “cree-aye-ture,” my new favorite pronunciation of the word “creature.” In Christ, we are a new cree-aye-ture, made to rule and reign, to “take captive every thought,” to guard our minds. Just as last week the pastor talked about guarding our hearts. Thank God for these messages.
The rest of the day was spent in rest. Sarah went to a local shop to get her hair done up in African braids, and she was gone for seven hours. Imagine spending nearly one third of the day getting your hair done! The rest of us watched a movie. Afterwards, I went out on the balcony with my guitar. Amy joined me after awhile, and we spent a good long hour or so singing song after song. The calluses on my fingers are so tough now that I can play for a couple hours, and it doesn’t hurt. I think I am quite proud of my calluses. When finally we put the guitar away, we broke out the cards, learning a new form of Spoons - we might call it Forks - with Eric (one of our translators), Chelsea, Amy, Abraham, Sarah, and Alex. It was great fun. Just after 5:00, Sarah (whose hair now looked very nice and African), Lindsay, and I went for a ramble and got lost - but happily so, for it wasn’t at all dangerous, and our hotel is on top of a rather prominent hill. So we could see where we were going to; the trick was finding the correct narrow, winding road to lead us there.
When we arrived safely back at the hotel, it was nearly time for Sarah’s 18th birthday party. We had gotten a cake and made a card (well, Chelsea managed the cake, and Charity created the card). My teammates decided to turn it into a party for me as well, since I’d forgotten it before, for they gave me a sweet, hilarious card that I will treasure. And since it was Sarah’s birthday, she got to invite some kids from the orphanage, one of which, very happily, was Karim. So they came to the hotel as the sun was falling over the high western hill opposite our hotel, looking for the first time rather shy and apprehensive and out-of-place. Karim grinned when he saw me and gave me a big hug. It was a lovely party - lots of singing to each other, taking pictures with the rather blinding camera flash, joking, and eating cake with thick icing! Abraham, Alex, Eric, and the other boys fulfilled the Ugandan tradition of throwing the birthday people in the air one time for each of their years. Twenty-six times. Unbelievable.
After cake, Karim came to sit by me, and we played the dot game - where you add lines to the dots and try to complete more boxes than the other person. Then it was time for the orphans to return to their orphanage, so they left, but they did rather look like we were expelling them from their most beloved place on earth. How sad their faces grow when it is time to say goodbye! I think I can see them all one last time on Tuesday, as that day is free and I know some others from the team are planning to visit the orphanage then. I would like to see Karim especially, of course, and tell him that everything good he loves in me is from You - that You love him so much - that You are constant joy and peace - that You are life everlasting - that You are his Father. I want to tell him to read his Bible every day and talk often with You - and lead well and justly - and be kind and fair with the other children . . . and know that I will never, can never, forget him. That his smile and laughter and the generosity of his heart have changed my life. Father God, if I can talk to Karim on Tuesday, I ask You to give me the words to say, to write. Give me a verse to share with him. I love all the children, but this one boy has touched my heart. Show me how to respond . . . And thank You so much for today. We as a team got to share this evening about what the trip meant to us: highlights, lessons, etc. It was beautiful to see how You have brought us all together for the glory of Your name. We praise You, dearest Lord. Amen.
The rest of the day was spent in rest. Sarah went to a local shop to get her hair done up in African braids, and she was gone for seven hours. Imagine spending nearly one third of the day getting your hair done! The rest of us watched a movie. Afterwards, I went out on the balcony with my guitar. Amy joined me after awhile, and we spent a good long hour or so singing song after song. The calluses on my fingers are so tough now that I can play for a couple hours, and it doesn’t hurt. I think I am quite proud of my calluses. When finally we put the guitar away, we broke out the cards, learning a new form of Spoons - we might call it Forks - with Eric (one of our translators), Chelsea, Amy, Abraham, Sarah, and Alex. It was great fun. Just after 5:00, Sarah (whose hair now looked very nice and African), Lindsay, and I went for a ramble and got lost - but happily so, for it wasn’t at all dangerous, and our hotel is on top of a rather prominent hill. So we could see where we were going to; the trick was finding the correct narrow, winding road to lead us there.
When we arrived safely back at the hotel, it was nearly time for Sarah’s 18th birthday party. We had gotten a cake and made a card (well, Chelsea managed the cake, and Charity created the card). My teammates decided to turn it into a party for me as well, since I’d forgotten it before, for they gave me a sweet, hilarious card that I will treasure. And since it was Sarah’s birthday, she got to invite some kids from the orphanage, one of which, very happily, was Karim. So they came to the hotel as the sun was falling over the high western hill opposite our hotel, looking for the first time rather shy and apprehensive and out-of-place. Karim grinned when he saw me and gave me a big hug. It was a lovely party - lots of singing to each other, taking pictures with the rather blinding camera flash, joking, and eating cake with thick icing! Abraham, Alex, Eric, and the other boys fulfilled the Ugandan tradition of throwing the birthday people in the air one time for each of their years. Twenty-six times. Unbelievable.
After cake, Karim came to sit by me, and we played the dot game - where you add lines to the dots and try to complete more boxes than the other person. Then it was time for the orphans to return to their orphanage, so they left, but they did rather look like we were expelling them from their most beloved place on earth. How sad their faces grow when it is time to say goodbye! I think I can see them all one last time on Tuesday, as that day is free and I know some others from the team are planning to visit the orphanage then. I would like to see Karim especially, of course, and tell him that everything good he loves in me is from You - that You love him so much - that You are constant joy and peace - that You are life everlasting - that You are his Father. I want to tell him to read his Bible every day and talk often with You - and lead well and justly - and be kind and fair with the other children . . . and know that I will never, can never, forget him. That his smile and laughter and the generosity of his heart have changed my life. Father God, if I can talk to Karim on Tuesday, I ask You to give me the words to say, to write. Give me a verse to share with him. I love all the children, but this one boy has touched my heart. Show me how to respond . . . And thank You so much for today. We as a team got to share this evening about what the trip meant to us: highlights, lessons, etc. It was beautiful to see how You have brought us all together for the glory of Your name. We praise You, dearest Lord. Amen.
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