A Collection of Stones

Victory Over Darkness

2012-02-04T06:51:00.000-08:00

As soon as we walked by, Tracy stood out to Emily. We asked Tracy if we could pray for her. She explained this wasn't her house where we met her and invited us to come home with her to pray. We agreed and proceeded to walk the dusty roads of Cereleno beside Tracy until we reached her bonda.

Once seated on Tracy's floor (she was embarrassed to explain to us she had no chairs in her home to sit in), we began to explain what it looks like to walk with Christ. We asked Tracy if she wanted to commit her life to Jesus. She said her heart was too heavy. When we asked why, she explained her brother had died 3 days ago. Her mom died when she was 3. Her father when she was 6. She had a 6 year old daughter who was born lame. Tracy's grandmother who had raised Tracy and her siblings after her parents died is a witch.

We got to encourage Tracy that Jesus did not just die to take away sins; He died to take every sorrow and sickness away. His mission was to bind Tracy's broken heart, to grow BEAUTY out of destruction and ash, and for joy and gladness to replace mourning and sadness (Isaiah 61:1-3).

Jesus looked at Tracy in her heavyness and asked to take away her burdens so she could be free. And she accepted! Tracy prayed after me to accept Jesus in her heart. Her prayer in her own words was one of the most authentic declarations that because her life was now for Jesus, she desired for all her friends to know Him also.

Tracy explained in the wake of her brother's sudden death, she told her best friend Irene: "Whoever finds me first God or Devil, I will follow and worship." Guess who found Tracy first? THANK YOU JESUS! Tracy said she felt free after praying to follow Jesus with a smile on her face. We asked her if she knew anyone else who needed to know about Jesus? She said, "Yes, come with me."

She took us straight to her friend Irene's home. Tracy helped us explain Jesus's sacrifice and resurrected life to Irene and then led her best friend and Irene's brother in a prayer to receive Jesus. We invited Tracy, Irene, and her brother to get baptized the following Friday. Tracy showed up with two friends we had never met to the baptism. They both prayed to receive Jesus and got baptized beside Tracy.

There is a battle going on around you. It's not just in Gulu. It's where you live. The question is: are we aware of it? I have lived in Uganda, a highly spiritually-charged atmosphere, for the past five months and I am still amazed by Tracy's testimony. The Devil and Jesus are vying for people's hearts and lives. This is real. I'm glad to know the end of the story... Jesus got to Tracy first. Jesus wins in the end!

Who is the Tracy in your life? How will you help her decide?

"I am confident that neither death nor life can keep me from the love of Christ... His love is stronger than depression and fear." -Laura Hackett ("I Feel His Love")

Worthy

2012-01-31T10:45:00.000-08:00

"Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. They encircled the throne and the living creatures and the elders. In a loud voice they were saying:

“Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise!”

Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, saying:

'To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be praise and honor and glory and power, for ever and ever!'" Revelation 5:11-13

As I listened to David Brymer's new song "Worthy of it All", I got on my knees in abandoned declaration, unable to hold back the tears. It's true -- Jesus, you are worthy of it all. (Click here to give it a listen.)

Some days it is so fun to be living in Uganda serving Jesus. But some days it’s just not. So, what do you do then? What do you do when you just don’t feel like sharing the Gospel another day? What is your driving force when the romantic idea of being a “missionary” is no longer sufficient? What is your heart cry when you miss friends and family back home, but still have four months until you see them again?

Welcome to the end of yourself. This is a place I’ve reached multiple times during our first four months in Gulu. And a place I expect to see again before I leave in May.

Jesus is who He is no matter what nation you live in. He is worthy. He is worth it. For the moments we miss home or American comforts, for the events and relationships we left behind, for both the victories and the failures, for the good days and the downright difficult ones, He is worthy!

Worshiping at Antioch Gulu yesterday, we sang a song in Luo that brought me to tears again (something I have never experienced in a cross-cultural Ugandan worship setting). I heard the Holy Spirit whisper to look at the English translation for the words in my Song Book. You’ll never guess what we were singing:

Jesus you’re worthy to be worshiped
You’re worthy to be prayed to
Jesus you’re worthy to be adored
You’re worthy to be praised
Jesus you’re worthy to be followed
*
Yecu, Yecu, Yecu Ipore me awora
Yecu, Yecu, Yecu Ipore me lega
Yecu, Yecu, Yecu Ipore me adwora
Yecu, Yecu, Yecu Ipore me apaka
Yecu, Yecu, Yecu Ipore me aluba

I wonder in what language the angels are singing "Worthy is the Lamb" right now? Angels, creation, and people of every nation are giving Jesus the glory He deserves. The question is, will I wait until heaven to join into the song or will I start now? Not just in melody with my mouth, but through my life, through my sacrifice, through my obedience to follow Him wherever He takes me. I know my answer now. "Yecu ipore me aluba."

What about you? Today will you join in the ancient heaven song that will continue forever and ever? In whatever challenge you face or whatever predicament seems too great, will you declare He is worthy?

Welcome to our team!

2011-12-13T10:36:00.000-08:00

The first video I've ever made for our team blog. Check it:

http://youtu.be/KEbFNnDMsD4

Two pictures

2011-12-12T07:34:00.000-08:00

Here's a picture of my lovely D (discipleship) group of women on my team.

Second, a picture of how Amy, Jay, and I travel to leaders meetings together.

Lira Part 2: It's not about me.

2011-12-12T07:06:00.000-08:00

This time in Lira I started out with a good dose of food poisoning. [Didn't see that coming]! Our first night in Lira, the guys on my team had to leave the hotel at 3 AM to buy me a soda and some water to settle my stomach because I was dehydrated from throwing up all night. The next day I barely got out of bed and literally did not leave my hotel room due to weakness, dizzyness, and overall yuckyness.

The day I was sick my team came together amazingly. I was so proud of them. They organized a worship night with the Ugandans we had seen come to Christ last month. Everyone said the Presence of God was sweet in the room that night and that they cannot wait to have another worship time when we go back next month.

As I was laying in bed unable to do much beyond walk to the bathroom and drink water, I had the revelation yet again that I do not lead the Lira Outreach team -- Jesus does. The next day I was able to get out of bed, eat toast, and even take a shower. At our morning meeting as the team shared how all our friends from last month were doing: Aaron led 6 people to Jesus, Bonnifer led 6 people to Christ, Immanuel and Geoffrey went home and shared the Gospel with their village, the "Market Men" (as we call them) small group has tripled in size and is still growing.

Wow. Jesus, you are building your church in Lira! In the most unexpected ways with the most unlikely people. We jokingly said upon leaving Lira last month that when were returned in a month, we would find the Market Men either in full revival or starting their own religion. We were beyond happy to find them having multiplied their small group and wanting to start others!

From my day in bed, I got a hold of something that both humbled me and enabled me to rest as never before in ministry. Jesus is completely in charge of my team and what He is doing in Lira. He did INCREDIBLE things the day I was sick. Sure, I prayed a little and worshipped in my hotel room - but even if I hadn't, He still was moving on Ugandan's hearts and empowering my team.

What a relief it's not about me. And it's not up to me. Jesus chooses ragamuffins like fishermen or market men upon which to build His church. Why? Maybe because they get what it takes me a rough night with food poisoning to understand: He (not me) is what people need and He can and will do anything to get through to them. He loves Uganda that much. He loves my team that much. He loves me that much.

Laughing Lira

2011-11-20T09:22:00.000-08:00

When we first prayed as a team for our outreach city Lira (located southeast from Gulu where we live and work), I heard we would be called "Laughing Lira." I think that name has held pretty true.

Weekly here we have a teaching/equipping time we call ARISE. On outreach, we watched a teaching by Steve Backlund on "Joy." Steve teaches that in Psalm 2 (verse 4) God is laughing at the plans of the Enemy because they are ridiculous and will not come to pass. In the same way, we can laugh at the lies that the Devil tries to convince us are true about ourselves or our circumstances. After watching the teaching, we tried to break up into 3 pairs and share individual lies we were believing so we could laugh at how ridiculous they were. It's hard to not listen in to others conversations when you are meeting in a small hotel room... our response team turned into a team laughing party. Every person on the team confessed a silly lie they had let creep into their thought-life and as a team we laughed hysterically - and then laughed some more - at how uncreative the Accuser of the Brethren is. The joy of Jesus in the face of lies, doubt, and discouragement was truly hilarious to us that night!

In total we saw over 20 people give their lives to Jesus for the first time or recommit their lives to Him. We got to baptize 6 men our last day there. What was the most exciting though was that out of the 15 or so Ugandans we led to Jesus - a number of those Ugandans not only understood the Great Commission (Matt. 28:18-20) but then actually obeyed it! They lead other people to Jesus and now are going to teach their own disciples how to obey Jesus. At the end of the week, we all laughed at the lie that God does not have big things planned for Lira. The way He connected us up with key Ugandan men in only one week in Lira who want to share the Gospel with others shows that in fact God has incredible things planned for this city.

Outreach to Lira

2011-11-05T22:11:00.000-07:00

Hey blog followers! I am going to be in Lira for the next week leading one of our three outreach pushes here in northern Uganda. So be eagerly awaiting a report of all Jesus did in Lira sometime after November 11 (when we get back to Gulu and have computer access again). Happy Daylight Savings Time America :)

Waiting, Trusting

2011-10-29T08:15:00.000-07:00

I wrote this for our team blog:

The rain is beautiful in Gulu. You can’t anticipate when it will fall though. Sometimes the clouds loom just above our compound full, gray, threatening a serious storm, but then the winds from Sudan will just blow them past. Other times we go into a shop in town while the sky is full of fluffy white clouds and sunshine, and by the time we are ready to leave the shop, a deluge has begun.

Waiting. Watching.

The rhythm of life here is quite different than the tempo of life at home. People often wait the rain out here wherever the rainstorm finds them. Very, very few have cars to jump in with windshield wipers to turn on and windows to roll up. To travel anywhere in the rain, you need to get ready to be wet, muddy, and cold, either on the back of a motorcycle taxi or even better - on foot.

Listening. Learning.

Sometimes I tough it out and fare the rain like a typical Westerner with my Chacos and raincoat on (if I had enough forethought to pack it, regardless of the color of the sky when I left home). Two times I decided instead to talk to the Ugandans stranded in the rain with me. All of us huddled (usually quite close) beneath what was closest and provided the best shelter from the downpour. Both times I saw women commit their lives to Jesus and had the opportunity to tell them about Jesus’ love.

Resting. Believing.

I have only seen a handful of Ugandans running. They aren’t in a hurry like I so often am—eager to get to wherever I think I need to be to accomplish what I think I ought to be doing. Jesus is teaching me about His timing among a people who so often operate outside the pressures of time. The same God that causes the brilliant lightning storms illuminating the dark night horizon is my God who knows where I need to be and when.

Stretching. Trusting.

Your ways are not my ways Jesus, nor are Your thoughts my thoughts. You are the only One who can heal, deliver, and save every son and daughter You have chosen. Everything is made perfect in Your time. You are nothing but good for me and the people of Uganda.

Out of the book of Acts

2011-10-23T11:08:00.001-07:00

As a team, we are studying the book of Acts... the Holy Spirit did amazing things among the early church. The fun part about pairing faith with action today is that you too get to see the Holy Spirit do unimaginable works for the glory of Jesus!

Two such occasions this past week:
Jesus led J.J. and I both to pray for Rebecca who is the mother of three. She owns a vitamin shop beside the Cerleno market. Rebecca's mother asked us to pray for her ankle which was swollen and painful. We commanded her ankle to be healed in the Name of Jesus. Jesus took all the pain from her ankle! She then asked us if we could buy her reading glasses. We asked if we could just pray for her eyes to be healed? I shared with her that I had worn glasses and/or contacts from sixth grade until a year ago. My friends in Night Elevate prayed for my eyes and now I don't have to wear glasses. I told her that I had faith Jesus wanted to heal her eyes like He did mine. I placed my hands over her eyes and prayed. J.J. said the woman's eyes were twitching while we prayed. When we finished, we told Rebecca's mother to try and read the calendar across the shop that she had not been able to read before. She said now her eyes were ok! She laughed and smiled and shook our hands. We enthusiastically looked her in the eyes and shared: "Jesus has healed you! He loves you so much."

The Holy Spirit led us further down the road to the "residential area" of Cereleno which consists of cement circular huts called bondas roofed with dry grass. Along the roadside was a woman standing alone (very uncommon in Ugandan culture). We introduced ourselves and quickly discovered Stella had once known Jesus but she had "failed in her friendship with God" (her words - not mine). We asked if we could pray that she would know God as a friend again. She agreed and invited us into her one room home to pray with her. J.J. began talking about how much Jesus wanted a relationship with her again. After awhile, I asked Stella what she was feeling in her heart as J.J. was sharing. Stella's response: "I want to be saved."

My instant association was Acts 2:37, "When the people heard this, they were cut to the heart and said to Peter and the other apostles, 'Brothers, what shall we do?'"

Stella prayed to give her life to Jesus again. After she recommitted her life to Jesus, Stella said that many of her neighbors would be saved too. We encouraged her that she could share this message with them the way we had with her. She argued that she was not perfect and did not know the Word of God well enough. We assured her that we were imperfect too and Jesus still uses us. Next week J.J. and I will begin meeting with Stella and her neighbors to study the Bible together. We asked Jesus if He wanted to speak anything to her. J.J. and I shared what we had heard God say. We asked Stella what she had heard from the Father. She reported: "I am His accepted child forever."

Return to Uganda

2011-10-14T05:34:00.001-07:00

I'm sorry that I am just now beginning to blog... this is my blogger commitment to do better!

Returning to Uganda has been like reconnecting with a dear friend. In many ways, I feel like I picked up where I left off: learning cultural idiosyncrasies, eating posho, talking "Ugandan English." But in other ways, I am learning how northern Uganda is quite different than its south. For starters, heat and sunshine are in greater abundance in this part of the country. Also, any sort of consistent supply of electricity or anything dairy are far more sparse here.

Jesus has been up to much since we have arrived. I look forward to updating you on a weekly basis of all the ways He has been faithful to me, our team, and the Ugandans He leads us to.

For this week, my most encouraging encounter was with a woman in the market whose name I cannot even pronounce. She called to J.J. (my teammate) and I to come and pray for her. She did not speak English but her friend Grace explained that this woman had broken her leg a few years ago. Her leg had never fully healed and still hurt her tremendously as well as made her lower back ache. We asked Jesus to heal her leg. When we finished praying, the woman opened her eyes wide with a huge white-toothed smile across her face (an extremely atypical response in a culture that predominately suppresses emotion). Her friend answered that she was feeling "ok now." We asked further questions to discover that in fact all pain had left both her back and leg. I asked if she could walk to see if the pain was really gone (something she was not able to do before we prayed). As this woman walked with no pain around her stall in the market, she and Grace laughed and held hands.

Isaiah 66:2 "'Has not my hand made all these things, and so they came into being?' declares the LORD. 'These are the ones I look on with favor: those who are humble and contrite in spirit, and who tremble at my word.'"

Owl love Jesus

2011-03-04T22:05:00.000-08:00

For the past year, I've tried to love the Castro family in South Waco well who I first befriended in my Afterschool program and later led to Christ one seemingly random night on an outreach in Elevate. So when the opportunity presented itself for Maria, oldest girl of nine in her family, to be a part of Ignite weekend (Antioch's 5th & 6th grade retreat), of course I wanted her to go and be a part.

Only problem was: she needed a leader to go with her and that leader needed to be me. When I found this out, my body was thinking... we can't do this. I had been fighting off a cold for almost a month now and was needing some rest to fully recover. But when I stopped and prayed about it, I felt the Holy Spirit prompting me to say yes and that He would sustain me.

My prayer going into the weekend: Jesus, may Maria's life be changed. May I come out of this weekend more healthy than when I came into it. (Realizing full well that for the second half to become a reality, God was going to have to do something miraculous. A middle school retreat is no one's idea of a good place for a little R & R)

The weekend was incredible. We did everything from eat out at IHOP with the girls, play glow in the dark dodge ball, worship, study the Word, rake the Nelson's leaves, compete in the Quest's version of the Amazing Race. 11 fifth grade girls. 3 leaders. 3 bedrooms. 4 beds. Lots of floor space and sleeping bags. A supernaturally answered prayer on behalf of Nicole's vehicle. It was a blast. We even made owl necklaces that became our team "symbol" for the weekend. ("Owl love Jesus"! Get it?)

The entire weekend Maria kept saying she didn't want the weekend to end. At the end of the weekend, I asked Maria what was her favorite part? She said it was eating out at IHOP. That's when it hit me. I don't think any of the other 11 girls in our group would have answered that way. But for Maria's family, when you are paying for 11 people to eat out, you just don't do it that often. Jesus, forgive me for my ingratitude for what I have and enjoy without even realizing!

After Maria got picked up by her mom and I was driving home, it hit me. I'm not sick anymore! What a miracle. After little sleep, constant activity, and tons of screaming (the good kind not the "get quiet" and "simmer down" kind although that happened too:), I actually felt better. God does not lie. And I'm so thankful.

But the coolest part was the following Thursday (that's the night we hang out in South Waco with the Castros and other friends we've made along the way) when we went over to Maria's house, she was wearing her Ignite t-shirt, her Owl necklace, taking notes in her Ignite journal. Even cooler, Maria had already showed and taught her mom everything she had learned about love from the weekend and then went on to teach all her sisters while we were there that night.

Owl love Jesus. Why? Because He uses people like me who all they know how to do is show up (sick or not) and be willing.

Healing Papa

2011-02-10T20:26:00.000-08:00

My father Mark Story is a very healthy man. He eats right, runs regularly, etc. Thus his four week bout with pneumonia was unusual. But the Doc said rest and rest my Daddy did. So when his pain was getting worse after four weeks of rest, he knew something was up. Daddy went back to the doctor who realized what had looked like pneumonia was actually blood clots in his lungs. The remedy: shots of blood thinning medication and then pills for the same purpose for six months.

Day one on the shots: Daddy passes out. And can't stop throwing up. Not good. He calls his doctor who advises him to admit himself to the hospital. To the hospital he went. After a whole day at the hospital, no new info but anti-nauseous medicine is a gift from God :)

The second day my dad was in the hospital my church was holding a corporate fast. At the noon prayer service, I felt God nudging me to look at Isaiah 61:2-3. Didn't have my Bible so I borrowed Tara's (Jesus cares about the details because my translation doesn't read like this). Check verse 3:
³To grant those who mourn in Zion,
Giving them a garland instead of ashes,
The oil of gladness instead of mourning,
The mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting
So they will be called oaks of righteousness,
The planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified.

When I read that, I instantly put the Bible down and started praising Jesus for my Daddy's healing.

My brave Papa only spent 2 nights in the hospital. He went home the day after Jesus highlighted this verse to sing over my Dad. Thank you Jesus that you came to smother my life in the oil of gladness!

God showing up in the workplace

2011-01-09T22:00:00.000-08:00

About a month ago, a woman I work with had immense back pain to the point that she could not get out of bed. She managed to come to work that day on some medication and with a heat pad on her back. Michael Ann suggested she, Christina, and I pray for our coworker's back.

We all laid hands on our coworker and prayed for Jesus to heal her back. When we were done praying, her face was shocked and she said her back "really did feel better." Jesus has clearly touched her in a powerful way, even beyond the physical. Her face was marked with peace and surprise that Jesus could love her in that way.

Stepping in

2010-11-23T21:29:00.000-08:00

Deep breath... A year ago in Night Elevate Joe Ewen prayed that God would release my creative anointing. Like Sarah, I laughed. Yet in faith now I'm stepping in to this word and starting to explore what creative ways Jesus wants to stretch me this next year.

Example A: Reopening this blog. Up until now, I have recorded here tales of my "mission work." Suppose that the definition of a Christian "mission" is not necessarily international in its origin. But that my mission in fact could be living right here in Waco simply being obedient to the next thing Jesus asks of me.

I recently had the revelation that where I live in Waco (among an incredible group of people pursuing Jesus and everything He has for them) I see God do INCREDIBLE things on a pretty regular basis! So regular that I sometimes forget what He has done through or around me.

This will be my log of the incredible yet normal ways Jesus Christ shows up to heal, save, and restore people to His original intent - a life-saving, love encounter with Him.

Last Sunday in Kabale

2009-02-21T04:40:00.000-08:00

When Jessica, Precious, Moreen (pictured in that order to my L and R) and I arrived, the youth were already thoroughly enjoying some pre-service worship on the churches new “machines” (speakers and stereo system – my parting gift to further the minister of Kigezi Baptist Church).

Sam and Kenneth called me into the office for a pre-service meeting. Sam explained this was a special meeting and that there were various special songs, speeches, and prayers in honor of my final Sunday with them. They explained the only thing that was expected of me was to say a few words dedicating the machines and saying “bye” to the Christians. I was thankful to find out that speech would take place towards the beginning of the service. That way I could get my part over early and it would be out of the way so I could enjoy the service without the fear throughout that I was going to break down crying at the end with my final speech.

Picture of me giving speech with Spencer actively translating

The youth sang a song about how they would never forget and how I should never forget them. Everyone from 26 year old Alex to 5 ½ year old Bob were up in front of the church with a mix of smiles and tears wishing me farewell. A beautiful and sad song. The church choir also sang one of my favorite songs in Rukiga about how Jesus Christ our Savior is who we hold onto into our hearts. It was wonderful! I was so thankful Laura Slater videoed it so that I can keep remembering their words, their faces, their praise to their Taata (Daddy) and King.

Kenneth gave a very gracious speech about how I had been a daughter, sister, mom, and parent to the people in the church – not just youth but all. Agatha presented me with a small gift on behalf of the whole church, which I was instructed not to open until I was with my parents in America. (Which I have respected up til now!!!!)

Laura also gave me (for the second time) a book that she helped orchestrate. Johnson and Sam got letters from various youth in both churches thanking me for work or gifts I had been a part of during my time in Kabale. When I got home from Kamakanguzi and read all the scribbled, hand-written notes (my favorite is the one from Vanessa (Grace) who is only just 4! Clearly, written by her 13 year old brother Adam but decorated with many squiggly “V” “v” … at the bottom of the letter). Laura pasted all these letters into a book with a picture of me preaching on the front and Spencer translating at my side. The first page is a collage of pictures of each youth and the verse:

I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with you, because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. Philippians 1:3-6

Alex gave a great sermon about the purposes of God and how everything happens according to God’s plan, even my departure! To conclude the service, we had a cultural dance. Usually this involves everyone going outside and one skilled drummer taking position to beat the rhythm for the dance. But perhaps because everyone wanted to participate, Simpson put a tape into the tape player and everyone started dancing!!! Agatha (Mom) loves to dance but she wasn’t. So I went and took her hand and we started dancing together.

Laura got a great video you should check out.

I love thinking in moments like these of King David being undignified in his adoration in dance before the only One whose opinion counts. It’s definitely a dying to your white self-type thing to say, I don’t care what the youth say or how many stories they tell about the Sunday Liz danced. It was a delight to dance for the Lord with my brothers and sisters in Christ. A delight I will not soon forget.

Final picture of me and Kigezi Baptist deacons after service (first row: Richard, Sam, me, Agatha second row: Alex, Kenneth)

Girls Spend the Night

2009-02-21T04:37:00.000-08:00

Moureen, Jessica, and Precious has been anticipating this night for awhile (as had I). Moureen being a meat lover, I made enough hamburgers for the girls to be MORE than satisfied, emboga (vegetables), omuceeri (rice), and obutunda (passion fruit) juice. When the girls arrived, supper wasn’t quite ready so I started them on painting their nails and then continued the last minute preparations in the kitchen. Let’s just say, everyone has some nice looking toes at church the next day.

The girls teased me as being “a mzungu” for eating supper when there was still daylight. For most Ugandans, they eat dinner anywhere between 8 and 12. They explained to me that since they often don’t take breakfast, supper is eaten late so as to carry a person until lunch the next day. So I joked that perhaps this was lunch for them and we would eat supper in a couple hours.

Next, it was movie time. We started with Becoming Jane. I explained it was quite sad but they said they were in the mood, so we went with it. After Becoming Jane, the girls ate the remaining hamburgers, rice, and veggies. I made pancake mix for the morning. Then we started Pride and Prejudice with the agreement that we would stop halfway through so the girls could give me a lesson in Bakiga dance.

Moureen and Jessica both did their best (before starting P&P) to discuss with me the possibility of my return to Uganda. For instance, if I found a husband who loved Uganda as much as I do, couldn’t I come back with him to be missionaries together in Kabale? I explained that I was open to go where ever the Lord asked me to go but that I was not certain He would call me back to Kabale. All three girls began to cry as the realization of my going continued to sink in further. Time for the movie!

We finished the movie and went to bed. I wanted to get all the sleep possible to prepare myself for the tears and attention my last Sunday (the next day) at Kigezi Baptist would hold. Jessica and Precious shared the guest room. Moureen slept in my bed and I slept on the floor.
7:30 alarm came quite early. I got out of bed and started getting things ready for breakfast.

Once breakfast was under way, I woke up the girls. I thought I might have to drag Moureen out of bed since she is notoriously a hard sleeper and a very very difficult person to rush to do anything. But she got up only after two morning greetings from me. Not bad ☺

I was really not feeling well. My stomach the last two or three weeks I was in Kabale was not ok. I think it was probably due to the stress and sadness of leaving. But this particular Sunday it was worse than usual. God bless Jessica for helping me with most of the dishes the night before and Sunday morning. I managed to drink a little juice and eat one kabalagara (small, deliciously sweet bananas). I wore the teal shirt Ami had brought me from India and Mama Adam’s long black sweater that she had lent me the day before when it had started to rain while I was at their house saying goodbye.

Before we left, I gave the girls each a bag of some clothes, a shower cap (such a big deal to them because they only wash their hair once in a week if it’s not treated and even less than that if it’s treated or braided), and a few other items. I thanked them for being like sisters to me and that I would always be praying for them. I could tell everyone was very near tears so I quickly requested to pray for them.

After the prayer, the girls were crying harder than before. I gave each one of them a hug and told them I loved them. Then we set off walking. I told the ladies we were four very “smart” abahara (girls). They laughed.

Youth Leaders Meeting (Arcadia)

2009-02-20T13:23:00.000-08:00

All eight of us piled into a four-door sedan for the drive out to Arcadia Cottages. Alex and Simpson sharing the front seat. Hajabu driving. Richard, Gerald, Moureen, and Jessica all sandwiched in the back with me on Jessica’s lap. Off we went over the steep hills one must climb to see the beauty of Lake Bunyonyi.

Upon reaching there, the boys instantly befriended an Arcadia employee and the girls made their own fun taking pictures, telling stories etc. The youth leaders explored all that Arcadia had to offer and then it was time for supper!

Everyone enjoyed their cuisine of choice. Afterwards with time growing short, I challenged the youth leaders with Luke 6:43-45. Everything that we say comes out of the heart. So the question is what is in your heart? Is it the substance from which God can bring forth fruit? Or is it thorny and bitter that stings and offends those whom encounter it.

I will never forget Alex’s speech. It still even now seems like a dream. He asked the forgiveness of the entire youth leaders for often missing meetings and dodging responsibilities with obviously false excuses. Alex also confessed he has a problem with ekiniga (anger). And that this anger often causes him to sin so to pray for him in that struggle.

God has told me that if I would intercede for the youth for an hour a day until I left that I would see them reconciled. Father, forgive me forever doubting your faithfulness. Your goodness to the youth of Kabale continues to astound me ☺

Bye bye Kamakanguzi

2009-02-08T11:39:00.000-08:00

February 1st was my last Sunday at Kamakanguzi Baptist Church. My friend Wilson (who has helped train the youth in Muslim Evangelism) preached a rather rousing message on giving. Let’s just say, people were wiggling uncomfortably on their benches.

When we reached the end of the service, Johnson invited me to come up to the front if I wanted and say something to the whole church. Anticipating this Ugandan formality of speech making and giving, I was thankful for Luke 6:20-22.

"Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Blessed are you when men hate you, when they exclude you and insult you and reject your name as evil, because of the Son of Man."

Kamakanguzi as a church has faced tremendous abuse and persecution since they are the only Baptist church in their area. Therefore, the big Anglican churches in their sub-country resent and actively oppose and insult it. I both comforted and encouraged them that if they are "hated" for Jesus Christ, then they are doing something right! Since after all, "that is how their fathers treated the prophets" (v. 23).

I sat down before I could tear up. Relieved to have finished my part. Johnson then pulled out a two page hand-written speech on notebook paper, which he then began to read on behalf of the whole church. The letter was in English so Precious translated. I was praying that neither Johnson nor Precious could cry, so that I could keep it together. Because if either one of them cried, it would be over. Many in the congregation were already shedding some tears.

They gave me a gift wrapped in plastic caveras (bags) to open "when I reached in America." I gave the churches two drums to help further their ministries there (and replace their old drum that had holes in it). The youth had prepared a few songs to say goodbye. The songs were in Rukiga but one of the song’s titles roughly translated: "You are going and leaving with us who?" Precious and Richard told me later I was blessed to not understand all the Rukiga, otherwise, I would have been crying along with the rest of the congregation.

The women had also prepared a song but because they were crying so hard (most especially Joy), they were not able to sing it. But they did still want to present a cultural dance which I was so pleased to hear! Something JOYFUL amidst all the crying and goodbyes. I love it when the Bakiga dance. And Kamakanguzi loves to dance!!!

On the second song I joined in. Feeling a little silly, the akazungu (little white person) trying to dance like an African but I know it blesses them to see me try. And let’s get serious, it’s just fun.

A Night at Bushara Island with Ahumuza

2009-01-27T09:11:00.001-08:00

We boarded a boda boda together. Precious holding my lavendar Jansport on her lap like a baby and me straddling her and the motorcycle trying not to be hit by too many raindrops. So much for a warm drive to the lake. We reached the dock and found the boat was not around. But thank you Jesus, Denis was there to arrange for another boat to take us to the island and we were on our way.

When we arrived, Precious and I ordered the roasted chicken for two people for 7 PM and then went to check out our tent options. We decided on Bou Bou by default, since our guide lacked the key to the Sunbird Tent. So Precious closely examined each and everything about the tent and then asked if I would show her down to the pathway that surrounded the island. On our way, we stopped so I could show her the Jacana Dock where I took the picture of Lake Bunyonyi that has adorned the background of my Dell for most of my time in Uganda.

She had never seen deck chairs, so I showed her how wonderful they were and we soon settled into a conversation I should have locked our tent for since I never made it back up to read the book I brought. All the better though! We had a great conversation about marrying someone because he was rich while he was not a Christian was absolutely no guarantee of a good life. However, to marry a man even if he was poor but who was a Christian was indeed a more likely guarantee that she would be respected and cared for by her marriage partner (not common in Ugandan marriages!!!!).

Soon enough, it was time for dinner. Shortly after we arrived at the restaurant, they brought a metal pot to our table. Inside was a roasted chicken in its entirety (minus the head of course). Quite a challenge to saw through the tough Ugandan hen, so we asked for a machete. Seriously.

After much conversation over dinner, it was time to head to the tent. We got our flashlight and started slowly down the path. Back in the tent, we talked late, late into the night. Sometimes after 2 AM, an estranged college mate called Precious. He wanted to talk to who Precious was sleeping with, so she handed me the phone. I greeted him in Rukiga and he asked me a few questions which I answered satisfactory. I handed back the phone so happy that he had no clue Precious was sleeping with akazungu.

Before we slept, Precious asked me if she could thank me right then, since as it got closer to when I was departing, she would not be able to thank me. She launched into a five point thank you for assisting her in school, encouraging her as a person, giving her some clothes, advising her in life, and mostly for teaching her more about God and what His Word said. The whole time during her speech she was hiding so that I couldn’t see her tears.

She told me they were tears of happiness? I then thanked her also with silent tears for being the friend and encourager the Lord knew I needed in Uganda.

It was hard to sleep after saying goodnight. Knowing how much our friendship meant to both of us and how difficult it will be to keep in touch over the vast distance culturally and geographically between America and Uganda.

Christmas Eve

2009-01-27T08:58:00.000-08:00

That's right I'm blogging about Christmas Eve a month and three days late. But you know, I live on African time these days :) If that is too tough on some of you in the West, please just skip over this entry and forgive me!!!

Waiting on the Lord most of the morning for what He wanted to preach about the shepherds and the angels Luke 2:8-20. I had the plan to spend Christmas Eve with the Slaters and JJ Davises, since I would be spending Christmas Day with Precious and family. But first I needed to get some gifts for Precious’s family (i.e. poscho for Mukaka, gnuts and rice, and of course kabalagara). And also I was to pick up my Christmas skirt made out of a beautiful katingi I bought at the "akatare" (market).

Exactly when I was leaving home, Moureen arrived asking to get a certain shirt from inside which she had left there because she wanted to wear it for Christmas. Frusturated (and already late) I hurriedly unlocked the house, gave the shirt to Moureen, and offered her a ride on the boda boda I had called to take me into town.

As we rode, I described to her my beautiful Christmas skirt I was going to pick up. Because of my enthusiasm I guess, Moureen asked to come see the final product, since she would not see it on Christmas (she worships from the town church and I was going to preach at the village church). Nothing could have prepared me for what we found inside the tailor’s shop.

The kind Congolese woman who had been recommended highly and that I had hired to make my skirt was sitting amidst towers of cut katingis that had not yet been sewn. She had a handkerchief to her nose and looked ill. Surprised I greeted her and asked her if she was not feeling well? She explained with tears in her eyes, in fact she was not sick but a few days earlier her shop had been broken into and thieves had taken every last one of her sewing machines!

This was such a blow to her business, not only because now she was without any way to sew together the piles of fabric that laid around her tears. But also that she was robbed at Christmas, the very busiest season for a tailor in Uganda was absolutely devastating. She explained she would have to close her doors and move back to Congo and start over.

After trying my best to comfort her, we began digging through the baskets and piles of cloth for my beloved katingi. Checking again and again, it was nowhere to be found. Could the thieves have taken my katinigi too? But why mine and not others? After much suspense, we found it hidden in a cupboard. She refunded the deposit I had paid her and advised me to take it to any tailor. Assuredly, she told me, "Any tailor can understand the cuts I have made and finish it before you."

Walking out of the shop I resigned my sad little heart that I wouldn’t have a new skirt for Christmas after all. A disappointment but certainly not an insurmountable one. Moureen insisted she knew of somebody who might be willing to try, even on Christmas Eve. I figured it was worth a try. I still had about an hour before I was due at Slaters for Christmas Eve dinner.

When we arrived at the tailoring shop she had in mind, I realized the tailor was a friend who I had met when preaching alongside at Nyabikoni Secondary School! A woman of incredible faith who lost her husband and daughter to a terrible battle with AIDs. She now mothers many in Kabale and speaks at various schools counseling students to beware of prematural sex and the hazard of contracting HIV.

She looked at the pieces of fabric I held in my hands and told me she would try. Thank you!!! She told me just pick out a new design from the wall. As I turned to look at the wall, I was startled to find sheets and sheets and sheets of designs that covered from floor to ceiling on a whole wall and a half of the shop. How would I ever find the design I had initially selected at the other shop?

Halfway through the designs, Moureen and I decided - I better just pick another design because this was going to be impossible. I found two that I liked and explained to Medas (my preacher lady/tailor friend) and she said if I came back in an hour it would be finished. WOW.

So off I rushed to the akatare to buy presents for Johnson and family. Moureen was sweet and walked me more than halfway, since we took a way that I had never walked before to the market. Town was busier than I’ve ever seen it. Trying to cross the street with all the bicycles, motorcycles, trucks, minibuses, and cars was quite a feat. The market was like an angry beehive of activity and people bargaining, packaging in caveras (plastic bags) and charcoal bags, boarding vehicles and motorcycles. I managed to get everything I needed from one vendor.

While I was trying to pay, Mama and Daddy called. I told them if they could call me in a half hour that would be way better. They agreed. I packaged my purchases in a box and found a reliable boda boda. Gave him STRICT instructions to be careful otherwise I would get off (there are so so many accidents around Kabale at Christmas time. One of the youth had been hit and fell off a boda boda only days earlier). By the protection of God’s angels, we reached home where I deposited my gifts and then continued on to the tailoring shop.

I found the skirt was just about to be ready. Medas was ironing it when I arrived and needed only to sew on the button. I talked with Moureen while waiting and ran through my Christmas Eve to-do list sitting on a tailoring stool. I was tired! It had been one busy day. Busier than I thought it would be. After twenty minutes or so, the skirt was ready. I hugged Moureen Merry Christmas and thanked Medas incessantly. It was truly a gift of her time. (You can see the beautiful product below as well as my beautiful friend Erin:)

As I walked away from the tailor shop to catch another boda boda to the Slater’s house (where I was already late), Mama and Daddy called again with Betty and Grandfather in the background. I boarded a boda boda while talking with them. Nearly falling off on the ascent up Makanga, I warned the boda boda "mpodra mpodra" (slowly by slowly)! When I reached at Slaters, I paid the boda, told Grandfather I loved him, finished talking to Mama and Daddy, then entered the Slater house. Dinner was all set. A delicious Christmas Eve of lasagna.

Learning

2009-01-27T08:54:00.000-08:00

My Daddy in Heaven is the only one I need to hear a "good job" from. Any other encouragement is secondary and just an added bonus of the Lord’s goodness to me.

The Hammock

2009-01-27T08:48:00.000-08:00

January Meetings.

Jaclyn and I in the hammock with the Davis girls laying all over us. Singing lullabies. Watching Elliot break dance on the trampoline. Gorgeous Kampala sunshine. Not too hot. Just right.

If I had the gift of pausing time, you better believe I would have for this moment.

Webare Nohire.

2009-01-01T01:40:00.000-08:00

The night before Christmas I wrapped and organized gifts for both of my families – one box for my Ugandan family and another for my missionary family. I reviewed my sermon for the next day and wrote out my notes. By then it was way past bedtime and soon enough Santa Claus might be popping in, so I hopped into bed anticipating all that the next day would hold.

My merry Christmas morning started with washing dishes, ironing my new kitenge, and worship. A busy morning but not a bad one. Precious soon arrived in her new Christmas blazer and freshly braided hair with her food and clothes to take home. Next Dennis, the taxi driver, came promptly at 10:30 and assisted us to load the various Christmas goodies into the car. I delivered with glee the box for Slaters and JJ Davises then we continued on to Kamaganguzi.

On the way Dennis was explaining to us that many people were unhappy this Christmas. When we asked why, he began to discuss how because America lost so much in Iraq the dollar was cheap and, therefore, the rest of the world was suffering. Quite an intriguing, international perspective for a Kabale taxi driver. As a result, he went on to say that to buy and slaughter a cow to eat for Christmas (a common practice among “societies” in Uganda – organizations…

5 people at the start of the service (including me). Packed church by the finish.

Precious and me choir “Twesige Yesu” Rukiga & “No one Else But You” English song

Sheferds and angels message

Pictures after service with Muzee in his Converses

Running after Christians to give Mama's candy canes out

Beautiful car ride to Johnson’s village

Greeted by Mama Precious and Angela at the church

Little Trust carrying Precious’s bag

Balloons and three tree branches for Christmas decoration and "trees"

Discussing with Simpson over sodas and obushera

Mukaka 1 & 2 – Asking me if I had a bottom row of teeth, marveling that my eyes moved to look around the same way hers did, and even that I laughed the same way that she laughed. Observing Precious and I’s similarities in size. Touching my baby hands. Convincing me to stay and marry one of their sons. Simpson in particular. Mukaka said she would buy me cooking stones to cook on with firewood, since I told her I didn’t know how to light or cook on a sagiri (the common charcoal stove).

Chai and supper then bed. Precious pulling her mat in to sleep with me in her room/guest room. Talking into the night about Ugandan construction methods and how to hand anxious thoughts over to the Lord – perhaps a key reason as to why I was there?

Waking up in the morning remembering where I am, listening to United Pursuit Band, realizing Precious was still sleeping. Convincing Timothy to be my friend as he sanded my bedside.

Long, long, long discussions with Johnson in the sitting room (similar to other Christmases!!!!:)

Taking pictures of the kitchen, getting a tour of the compound.

Giving gifts and explaining their uses (Slim Jims and Snickers). Delighted by Christmas tree decoration!!

Lunch with amakoroni, discussing Native Americans, then tugyende. Receiving gift of pumpkin and ebihimba.

Drive to Wycliffs. More obushera, enkoko soupo, prayed over Melon, Gerard arrived just in time. Photographs and departure.

Jesus, get me off the Polar Express!

2008-12-19T11:41:00.000-08:00

(Note: This is not a knock on Polar Express. I actually love the book and its beautiful illustrations - and the movie is not bad either)

You might be surprised to know that the Christmas holiday is just as busy for me in Uganda as it is in the U.S. It's fine if you don't believe me, but I can assure you this statement feels quite true. Perhaps the type of "busy" is different. I'm not at Super Target scrounging the discount aisles for suitable gifts to give extended family. But I'm still up til late wrapping precious gifts like a package of Craisins all the way from the U.S. or a used dress to give away to a friend. There are still various holiday functions to attend, both with Ugandans and other missionaries.

None of these things are bad. In fact, they are quite a gift in and of themselves. Jesus has taught me so much about how joyful it is to give with a willing (and happy) heart. I wrapped certain presents smiling to myself about how much I know the gift will mean to the person it is intended for. Even Christmas parties or gatherings are such a blessing. God does not desire for us to live alone. He has designed us to be in community. And what a rich and unique community He has given me in Kabale.

My one complaint though and the reason for the title of this entry is simply to point out the one flaw in my own holiday season thus far which I would like the Lord to help me remedy. And that is my prayer, Lord, let me not get too busy trying out different Christmas cookie recipes, teaching Precious and Agatha Western Christmas songs, and even preparing sermons that I forget to worship you. The very reason that I am here in Uganda. The very reason that I live. The very reason that I am who I am.

I was hanging out with the Lord the other day and we were talking about loneliness. I asked Him why is it that so many people get lonely around the holidays? The explanation He provided me was so simple yet something I had never ever thought of before. The holiday of Christmas celebrates Immanuel - God with us. Therefore, everyone who is not actively experiencing God with them will experience an acute lack of companionship, because of Christ's absence and the void that His lack leaves in the hearts of men.

My prayer for you and for me is whether you are snuggled up on a couch next to your loved ones or an ocean away from them, you will experience the fullness and the majesty of Immanuel this Christmas. God is with you. God is with me. That is the wonder of this season. Not presents, not fellowships, nor spectacular and dazzling Christmas sermons, not even really great Christmas movies.

Jesus, let me take time even amidst the good things I could be doing to stand in awe that you are ever with me, you have never and will never leave me, and you are ever fighting for my good. Help me to keep off the Polar Express...

Taxi Prophet

2008-11-24T09:54:00.001-08:00

I got in a minibus taxi praying that it would be able to pass through the MTN marathon-blocked roads to drop me at church downtown. It soon became evident that the pace in which we were moving and then waiting extended lengths of time for more passengers was not going to get me to church in time. As we sat in yet another Kampala traffic jam (worsened by closed roadways for the marathon) I looked back at perhaps the most elderly woman I have ever met in my battles and adventure with public transportation in Uganda. She looked atleast 70 or so, if not older, which for here is quite remarkable to live to be such an age!

The woman was looking out the window at a young girl in a faded, dirty dress with no shoes on who was looking through the grass on the roadside for grasshoppers (known as “ensenine” – a delicacy and treat caught and sold around the rainy season when they are available in greater numbers due to the weather). The girl was clearly not in the safest of areas looking for grasshoppers, most likely sent out by a parent, as she was located directly over a deep ditch and directly next to a congested, traffic-infested road. It seemed this ancient woman seated on the row behind me was expressing concern for this young, shoeless girl.

I looked back at her only long enough to be greatly surprised by her age as well as what she was looking at. She turned around to see me looking at her and so I turned around promptly.

Seconds later, a powerful, strong voice starting speaking in perfect English about our (the passengers in the minibus) need for God. I was absolutely flabbergasted.. Maybe there was another passenger in the back seat whom I had not seen? How could this elderly woman speak with such power? And an even more perplexing question, how did this old woman know such wonderful, clear English???

Her message continued as I continued to be more and more amazed how disturbingly true and penetrating were this ancient’s words on the enticements of the evil one, the purpose of the church and the gifts and talents with which we have been blessed, as well as the great love and care God has for each one of us.

I began to wonder… is this her job? An assignment from God? How long had she been preaching like this on the taxi or did she start when I boarded? What prompted her to preach with such energy and boldness from the back row of the minibus? In typical African preaching (which I have come to love dearly), she ended most of her sentences with Amen? Hallelujah? Searching for just one in the minibus who would agree in their spirit with her words opening up the Kingdom of God to us. Our own Sunday taxi service right there stuck in traffic.

I think there might have been only one, lonely “Amen.” But she could not be deterred. This grandmother or perhaps great-grandmother was singing and preaching to a God she knew clearly outside of the usual two hour Sunday morning. This God had prompted, was prompting her to share with all of us in the taxi that morning that HE was indeed real and indeed will be coming back.

As we stopped to let out another passenger, she tapped me on the shoulder asking if I had been to such and such church. She could have sworn she saw me passing by before. I assured her I was not a regular in Kampala and, in fact, lived in Kabale. She was delighted to hear me speak Rukiga to her. And commented she knew I was a “saved person” as I told her what type of work I was doing in Uganda.

I wish I could tell you her name but somehow it has escaped my memory. All the better though. Since truly, I don’t think you could convince me she was human. Her gray, twisted, shabbily braided hair, her crutch which helped strengthen her deboarding of the taxi, the way each and every person in that taxi was eager to help her get where she needed to go. If she wasn’t an angel, she is certainly very near to be.

Even while we were talking about what I was doing in Kabale and my duration in Uganda, an attractive, well-dressed Ugandan woman passed the ancient a slip of paper. I felt almost protective over this divine, taxi prophet seated behind me and was afraid it might be a note asking her to simply be quiet. It soon became obvious though that the note had been a question about the ancient’s message, perhaps even a personal question about this young lady’s life or her thoughts about God.

The ancient’s response was so true to who she was and what she was about in this moment. “Honey, God is in control of everything. Don’t be disturbed by anything else. Trust Him. He’s in control.” Such cliché and empty advice from a person who doesn’t live it. But I don’t think there was a question in that lady’s mind or my own that this taxi prophet could not only say those words, she lived them.

As I watched her hobble away with a large plastic bag of something mysterious, a crutch under her left arm, and her bent frame illuminated by mid-morning sun. I uttered a silent prayer that I have often prayed when encountering an ancient like the taxi prophet. “Lord, let me be like that when I’m 70.”

Even let me be like that now! I want to have the boldness and love for Jesus to be able to board a taxi and preach, “The Kingdom of God is near,” even without the slightest encouragement from anyone around me or an affirming, “Hallelujah!”

Karibu to Nyanamo

2008-11-08T04:10:00.002-08:00

I promise I actually do things in Uganda other than attend weddings. But let’s face it, these weddings are so out of the ordinary that it’s hard to fight the urge to record it. That way when I’m telling my grandkids about all the weddings I took part in while living in Uganda, they can KNOW Mukaka (Grandma) is not making this stuff up. These stories are truly too good to exaggerate. Unadulterated, they stand quite outrageous in their own right.

My fourth Ugandan wedding: China, the pastor of a Baptist church in Nyanamo (a villaged located about a 1.5 hour drive south from Kabale) was finally “officially” wedding his wife, the mother to their two precious children.

I rode in Kirk Slater’s vehicle there with Agatha, Sam, Richard, and Johnson. Kenneth had gone a day earlier as he had to attend to his best man duties. Moureen and Jessica had also gone early (after MUCH coaxing) to help cook and get the place ready for the wedding.

The view around Nyanamo Baptist Church and on the drive there were absolutely spectacular. Check the picture above (that sadly doesn’t do it justice). When we reached the church, we found Jessica and Moureen haggered and annoyed. Apparently, everyone in the village though these two “city girls” had been hired to cook like caterers and therefore refused to help in any way with the cooking. They informed us that the “abagore” (wedding party) needed help getting ready for the service. Moureen and Jessica were too busy cooking and overseeing the cooking fires to tend to the abagore, thus Mama Adam (Agatha) and I were drafted.

We had been asked to buy lip gloss and powder in town to bring for the bride. Since neither Agatha or I had ever seen the bride, it was a tough decision which powder would best suit her skin tones (obviously, this is Uganda so we are talking black or brown here) but we chose black. Mukama asimwe – the bride was indeed black. So when we finally found out who the bride and her matron (maid of honor) were, we gathered them into a private room and began sorting through the canvas bag of dresses for her wedding dress. The dress was at least four sizes too big, but no one really seemed to mind. We arranged he dress, the veil, and Agatha began applying powder. There were atleast 15 children all crowded around touching me (“a kazungu, akazungu” they kept saying. Translation: A little white person, a little white person!!) and watching the bridal festivities.

Finally, we shooed all the children out and asked for the other maids and flower girls. We picked out dresses for them and then the Agatha and Liz Salon OFFICIALLY opened. I was given the duty of powdering everyone’s faces to perfection. From the flower girl to the matron, I did my best. Agatha had brought her eyebrow pencil which she generously used to outline everyone’s eyebrows and lips (in black – that’s the thing to do here) and then applied the cherry lip gloss we had picked out for the bride. There was one little girl in particular, I think she might have been related to one of the bridesmaids, anyway, she was crying and crying outside the door that she did not get her own dress or make-up done. So Agatha and I powered and lip-glossed her, as if she was an abagore. She later even tried to follow the flower girls in the procession into the church.

As we were powdering and preparing each lady, three different times China and Kenneth opened the door to see what in the world could take these women so long! Finally, we moved to the church. Kirk drove the bride, matron, and flower girl in the vehicle and the rest of us were on foot.

The wedding was quite wonderful in the small, mud church great rejoicing and noise-making over the couple finally marrying publicly and thanksgiving to Jesus. Afterwards, it was on to the reception which Richard and Spenser (who we picked up on the way – he had managed to get enough money to transport him to Muko Market but then was walking to Nyanamo, welllll over an hour’s walk) had completely decorated and set-up.

I found Mama Adam eating some Irish potatoes and meat supo in secret. She was clearly not feeling well. I shared some Irish potatoes with her, not knowing when else I would get a chance to eat – or if I would even want to later. This was a problem since we were supposed to be the ones cutting and serving the cake at the “high table.” I had done it at Mama Adam and Sam’s wedding, but that was with much direction from others and really just following what the people around me were doing. But to do it on my own – yikes – I would say I’ve done my best to integrate into the culture but I’m not a Mukiga just yet.

Therefore, we coerced Jessica and Moureen to help who emerged from the kitchen enshrined in their “party clothes” just at the right time (Thank you Jesus). When the time came, we made our way to the high table. As we were making our way there, Moureen said, “Liz, you are cutting the cake.” EXCUSE ME! But it was too late. The knife was handed to me and I just listened to the persistent whispers of Jessica behind me as to how big of pieces to cut and where they should go. China served his wife cake and visa versa. Then Sam hissed, “Soda..” Oh ok, soda. So I poured Fanta Orange in two glassed for them to give to one another.
As I was cutting the cakes, I looked up at Richard he was giving me a signal with his hands that I could not understand. While cutting, I realized the stand to the cakes (much like a candle obra) was incredibly unsteady. We’re talking a teeter-totter. And I have to use both hands to cut the cake, so I was just trusting the stand would not topple over and that the two other cakes on either side of the main one would not fall off!

I just kept cutting, cutting, and cutting some more. “Small pieces Liz, smaller pieces,” I kept hearing from behind me. Here people don’t get a proper slice of the cake like what we would call a slice of cake. They get a bite. Literally. So with a fork, Jessica, Moureen, and I rapidly sliced the three small cakes into bite-sized slices for the many guest present.

After the reception, everyone had to eat. And Jessica, Moureen, and I were responsible to make sure the special guests and most especially the abagore got something to eat first. We went to the cooking fires and found no clean plates and no one willing to serve. Really? So I tied the sash of my dress behind my back so as not to dirty it and started helping a lady who had been drafted to wash the dishes to dry them. Everyone was just standing around while these huge sauce pans of food were sitting out. So Moureen, Richard, and I with the help of one man from Nyanamo started serving the plates. Which involved hunching over this humongeous vat-like sauce pan and scooping out hot, hot white rice with a bowl and plopping it on a plate. We were busy for sure.

Agatha came to tell us, “Kabale people are about to go. So get a plate and eat, because we are leaving in 10 minutes.” By now, I had no appetite. Partly, because I had been running around most of the day but also because I had seen the way the plates were being washed and dried – and was unsure what type of sanitation conditions my food would be sitting in. Thus I passed.

Finally, the original 6 of us got in Kirk’s vehicle, but this time we were joined by Spenser, Moureen, Jessica, and Kenneth. We were quite a lively band. Moureen and Jessica kept swearing that was their LAST village wedding to help at. Mama Adam was doing her best not to get sick (she gets quite car sick) and the rest of us were laughing and talking about the different parts we had played in the day.

Kampala

2008-11-08T04:10:00.001-08:00

Teeth cleaning downtown with Dr. Deo. Have boda boda will travel, even through rush hour traffic with my knees nearly being taken off by the pick-up next to me.
Walking through downtown. Is this Manhatten???? The traffic is sure the same but the landscape – not so much!Latte with a heart in it (Café Pap).

Random remembrances on a rainy day

2008-11-08T04:05:00.000-08:00

Things I don’t want to forget…

Long meetings by twilight through the church windows.

Lightening in the clouds overhead is the only light for the road

Boda boda in the pouring rain… garden watered.

On the taxi ride back from Kamuganguzi, avoiding the cockroach crawling over the taxi seats that none of the other 7 passengers seemed to notice (or mind?).

Getting giddy over the purchase of bright green, plastic watering can.

Saturday morning, a cup of tea and some granola in bed. Although my life experiences are quite different here, some things remain the same. I still love to sleep in Saturday mornings (when possible!!!) and wake up slowly with a cup of tea and some sweet love songs to Jesus..

Visiting Johnson in the village

2008-10-11T12:51:00.000-07:00

A hand in the mud is better than a muddy bottom!

That’s what I always say anyway. Laura Slater and I went to visit Johnson (a deacon and interim pastor at Kamuganguzi Baptist Church) and family at his home in the village. Sam and Agatha as well as Kenneth and Judith, the two other deacons and their wives accompanied us. To reach there Laura had to traverse in her nice-sized Land Trooper across a narrow bridge made of a few pieces of timber stuck into the mud on either side of the bank. Talk about a leap of faith! But with prayers, God got us over the bridge. Next we came to a bridge even more narrow than the last. We all decided that was a good place to get out and cross on foot. So we locked the car and left it. The walk to Johnson’s house was not a strenuous one. I was happy to have Laura with me as the 10 or so village children followed the bazungu in wonder. I’m more used to being the only one stared out, since I’m usually the only bazungu. Nice to share the stares with someone else for a change J

When we reached Johnson’s house, we were greeted by his beautiful wife (picture to prove so below!), his two older daughters (who follow Simpson and Precious), Precious, and Mukaka (Rukiga for grandmother). I had long anticipated meeting Mukaka (Johnson’s mother). Simpson and Precious both have told me stories about how she can quote scripture as if she’s reading it to you. She can’t go anywhere without her Bible. And she has a big sack of used Bibles, since she reads them so much that they wear out and she has to buy new ones. Mukaka was wearing a bright blue gown with a tie around to match. Very regal. Not how I had imagined her. She greeted us with a traditional Rwandan dance and a hymn (she is Rwandan, but married Johnson’s father who was Ugandan).

Soon after arriving, a fabulous Bakiga feast was placed in front of us. A whole bowl of Beef Supo (a meat stew that is an incredibly expensive delicacy for them to serve us, especially in such a great quantity!!), Bean supo, G nut supo (my favorite made out of ground up peanuts – DELICIOUS), ebiribwa (sweet potatoes – quite different than our American version though), emonde (Irish potatoes), ebitokye (matoke which is like a plaintain banana grown in abundance here, dodo (a pricey type of greens grown locally, and omuceeri (rice).

I did my best to sample a little bit of everything. Finally I have resigned myself that I will never be able to eat the “mountain” of food that my Ugandan friends can. They literally make a mountain of food in their bowl with their choice of supo on the side, and can eat all of it in one sitting!! If I ate that much at one meal, you would have to roll me out of their house. Most of my Ugandan family understand that about bazungu so that they don’t get offended when I don’t serve myself as much as they would like me to eat. They still loving telling me I’m fat though. Everyone is so happy that when I return to America everyone will be able to see that African food treated me well… in other words, helped me put on a few extra pounds.

Around when we started eating (1:00 or so) it started raining and the rain continued until nearly 5 pm! By that time, Laura had developed a serious headache. Her purse had been flooded by the small streams that came through Johnson’s door due to the immense amount of rain. Thus her camera, the automatic alarm disarmer, and her phone were all quite damp (the Lord got each particular device working again though, thank you Jesus!). Even though it was still drizzling a bit, we decided now was our best chance to go if we were to reach home before dark.

Sam who pretty much acts as my Ugandan dad said, “Liz, PLEASE be careful the walkway is so slippery from the rain. Should I help you?” I insisted that I was ok. So first me, then Laura, next Agatha continued mpodra mpodra (slowly by slowly) and I was doing fine until suddenly I felt the mud start to slip beneath by well-placed Chaco. Before I knew it I was down, but having fallen a few times in similar situations I am more skilled at falling now then when I first came! I managed to catch my fall with my right hand, rather than plop my entire skirt and self into the mud.

Johnson said, “Wow Liz, you know how to exercise!” Not exactly the type of exercise I would like to seek out, but I guess he’s right!? Anyway, my hand was covered in beautiful reddish-brown mud that I managed to wipe off in some nearby grass. Our party said, “Liz, your hands look like ours do after we’ve been digging (code word for hoeing) all day in the fields!!!” I said, “Well good! Now everyone can look at me and wonder did this bazungu really get this dirty from digging??”

Anyway, we managed to reach the car slowly but safely from there. Even hydroplaning on MUD, we slowly made our way back to Kabale. Sam got out and directed like a well-trained traffic controller at the airport how Laura could make it across the fallen timber bridge that was now quite slick and muddy with a surging brown (mud) stream beneath it.

Needless to say, it was quite an adventure. I had left home that morning at 11:00 am and got back home at 8 pm. Heated up some leftover lasagna for myself and then started fine-tuning my sermon for the next day, my first time to preach ever at Kigezi Baptist Church. Quite an adventure.

Maid in Kampala

2008-09-18T05:17:00.000-07:00

For those who thought big weddings only happened in the U.S., please allow me to put the record straight. This month I had the ... ehm.. ehm... privilege of taking part in a wedding that altogether cost about 20 million Ugandan shillings (equivalent $13,000 U.S. dollars). How did I get involved? Well that is a good question! Let's see, where can I begin???

It all started when I went to speak at Nyabikoni Secondary School. There's a Christian organization ("society" as they would call it) in many Ugandan schools known as Scripture Union. Spencer was the chairman for Scripture Union at Nyabikoni Seconday and so I agreed a few times to visit and teach. Scovia, the bride (pictured L), was the matron (teacher sponsor) for Scripture Union. We exchanged phone numbers. She visited me at the Slater's. I visited her family for an afternoon. The whole time she kept telling she was going to be getting married this next year and asking if I would still be in Uganda the following September? When I finally told her yes, she began joking that I would have to be in her wedding. Ugandans like to tease and honestly I assumed this was all just a joke.

Well turns out, it wasn't! Try as I might to get out of being the token bazungu in the wedding, I felt that ultimately it would sever my relationship with the school to refuse to be in Scovia's wedding. Thus the story of Maid in Kampala was born.

I've explained a bit of this in other blogs so I'm going to be brief in my description of Ugandan weddings. Basically there are three different events, well four really. First, the introduction where the bride price (dowry) is negogiated between the bride's parents and the groom and his parents. Second, the giveaway is when officially the bride's family says, "Ok, you can have her - for real." Traditionally this takes place the night before the actual wedding since following the giveaway ceremony technically she belongs and is entrusted to the groom. Last, is the actual wedding. This usually involves a ceremony at the church and then a reception to follow. Often the reception is hosted in the village.

Scovia's wedding took place in Kampala, however, which is quite the opposite to the village. Kampala is the capital of Uganda and the most Western part of the whole country. It even has a mall! Can you imagine? :) The Baganda tribe primarily resides in Kampala and its surrounding areas. Traffic there is even worse than DFW at rush hour. Seriously. I'm not exaggerating.

So to set the background a wedding in Kampala is a very different thing than an average Ugandan wedding in the village. The giveaway ceremony took place in Kabale. I wore a traditional dress to take part in the ceremony (see above). The wedding took place the following weekend in Kampala.

To start off, I took a boda boda (motorcycle taxi) to the salon to reach there by 8 AM. Upon arriving there, two women began applying more gel to my hair than I think has ever put on it before. Then one began twisting and combing my hair so as to form two different zig-zags on the top of my head to match the other maids. Next was to attach the fake-African hair peice also known as a WEAVE. One lady styled the weave as the other sewed it on my head with black thread and some pretty serious bobby pins. Scovia said she picked out that color weave to "coordinate" with my natural hair color... Riiight.

Next a man got to work on my toes and fingernails. The color of the day: Legally blonde pink! My favorite. After that, I went to put my dress on. Scovia had us fitted for two different dresses: one for the wedding and the other to change into after cutting the cake. Still don't understand the whole dress change idea. I mean, in the States for the bride and groom to change that makes sense since often they are traveling to their honeymoon following the reception. But why the bridesmaids need to change is still beyond me? Scovia, however, decided at the last minute she didn't like the dresses she had picked out for the wedding. Therefore, she simply found 8 of the same type of dresses and had them for us to try on the best fit morning of the wedding. Needless to say, I was glad Renee Davis had insisted on me taking a safety pin and emergency sewing kit with me. It was muchly needed for some damage control.

Last but certainly not least, time for make-up! I was really interested to see how the salon would try to do my make-up. They first used a razor for my eyebrows - that part made me a little nervous to say the least. Then they put on some Barbie clear-shiney gloss over my lips, bright pink lipstick, brown lip pencil which was a bit questionable but I figured what the heck. But then she started applying black lip liner. I had to start laughing. When she realized how dreadful the black was turning out on my lips, she tried coloring in my lips with the black pencil. Finally, I couldn't hold back. I put up my hand and said, "Nyabo, the black is too much. Please can you rub it and try again? No black please." She concured saying she had thought the same thing and was just about to remove it. Hmm.

I strapped on my wrap around white heels that had to be tied just below the knee and off we went. While we were waiting for the car downstairs, I was handed a necklace, earrings, and bracelet - all matching white and pink plastic pearls - to put on. The worst last addition were lace gloves that had just one loop for the third finger and itched like crazy. We made a unanimous maid decision to only wear one! Thank you ladies. After, we all piled on top of one another in an SUV and sped to All Saints Church in downtown Kampala.

If you arrive late, the priest will simply sign the marriage certificate and leave! So it was a big rush at the salon and speeding to the church to get there on time. We managed to begin just 5 minutes tardy. Now that is NOT what I call African time. The service was brief but pretty. I was surprised to see how few guests were in attendance. But it's very common here for people to skip the church service (because it's too early - always remember African time) and just show up for the reception to see the dress changes and get some free food. We took pictures outside the church and then were swept away to a photo studio. Who knew there were photo studios in Kampala? I sure didn't.

After that, we had about 3 hours to kill until the reception was supposed to start. Scovia explained in Kampala people have their receptions in the evening. I wish I had known about our four hour wait in the Sheraton Gardens. My strapless dress didn't provide much cover from the sun for this fair-skinned Ugandan maid and of course I hadn't put on sunscreen because I assumed I wouldn't be needing any inside the church! Silly me. 3 hours turned into 4 then 4.5. Scovia and Lloyd (the groom) wanted to make sure everyone had arrived at the reception before we did. You know, African time again. It didn't help that the Sheraton wouldn't allow us in to go to the bathroom. I had a ton of fun speaking Rukiga with the precious 5-year-old flower girl and she liked telling me she was "Five hens old." Sweet girl.

FINALLY, it was time to travel to the reception located at Uma Showgrounds. I was pleasantly surprised to find Renee Davis's van in the lot. Yay - a bazungu friend with which to share in this experience. We have her to thank for the pictures on this blog; she documented everything with my camera since I couldn't very well being a maid and all.

Ugandan weddings consist of one thing in particular and that is speeches, speeches, and then some more speeches. Every important guest must be personally recognized. All the family members have to say something. Much like in the U.S., except often the speeches here go on forever. I was so thankful in this instance they did not. The MC really, really enjoyed making comments about the mazungu in the wedding. Good times :)

Then it was time to eat - YESS! First time since 6 AM that morning. And the food was good. Fish, pasta, even fruit for dessert. Not at all the typical cuisine at a Ugandan wedding. I loved it. The biggest thing at a Ugandan reception is first that everyone gets meat to eat and second that they get some cake ("omugate" in Rukiga). Scovia and Lloyd had 6 cakes all with sparklers on top. It's the maids responsibility to serve the cake but there were so many of us (8 in all) that some of us just stood by the cake eating little by little. I happened to be one of the latter. Ugandan cake just can't compare to American, but it was still nice to have something to nibble on.

After cake, time to change! All of us girls huddled in the back part of the abagore (wedding party in Rukiga) tent. And put on the hot pink, striped top and skirt you see to the left. Then it was time for the giving of gifts. And to finish the abagore dance - also not traditionally Ugandan but again this was a Kampala wedding. An entirely different thing. I had a good time dancing with the other maids. The Baganda do this really cool type of dance where they move their hips and shoulders a lot. It's neat. Called "calypso." But my favorite dance partner (pictured to the L) was my friend the precious five-year-old flower girl.

Thus this Maid in Kampala was spent. Shortly after the last dance, I slipped back into my skinny jeans, jersey shirt, and flipflops and took off back to Renee Davis's house so that she could carefully cut (with some SERIOUS scissors) the weave out of my hair. I wish you could have seen how big and crazy my hair was from all that gel and how tight they had pulled it back. But for my personal sense of dignity, I have chosen not to include those disturbing photos here. If you are really curious to view these pictures which display me to be the true Texan that I am (BIG big hair and all), ask me when I'm back in America.

THE END

A Cupcake in Congo

2008-08-31T13:13:00.001-07:00

This year I celebrated my birthday in three countries at once.

Let me back up a little bit... my 24th birthday this year fell on the last day of the True Love Waits Conference at Kigezi Baptist Church. Thus Laura Slater and I decided to carve out some good girl time BEFORE August 30 and make the trip to Kisoro to climb one of the mountains in the Virunga range.

We picked Mt. Sabinyo (~3,668 m) out of the three mountains in the range because it was the most technically challenging AND because if you reached the top, there was a a specific spot where you could stand in Uganda, Rwanda, and Congo all at the same time.

When Laura and I showed up the morning of the climb, we quickly realized we were not alone. 4 backpackers who had done nothing but hike, swim, and climb their way through Africa would be hiking up the mountain with us as well. About 1.5 hours into the ascent, Laura and I felt like we might not make it. Originally we had just given Charles, our porter, the heavy bag with all our water for the day in it but at the 1 hour mark we handed him the lighter backpack with our snacks in it as well. Trying to free up whatever weight or strain might be slowing us down. Meanwhile 3 of our 4 companions were flying up the hill. Eventually we all mellowed out to a decent pace.

In Rufambira (the local language), they call Mt. Sabinyo "old man's teeth." Because the mountain has not one but three peaks. Therefore, at each peak, we stopped for a quick snack and a look at where we had come from and where we were headed. For a lot of the climb, we were consumed by the mist surrounding the mountain. The last 30 minutes of the hike was simply climbing locally-made ladders up the steep face of the third peak. Talk about getting over my fear of heights!!!

We were all so pleased to reach the top. Everyone laid out the food that they had and we "feasted" on the top of Mt Sabinyo. The guide showed us where the border to Congo technically started. So Laura and I aligned ourselves so that we could have lunch in the Congo.

After we had finished eating, Laura asked me to go stand in the spot where I was in Congo, Rwanda, and Uganda all at the same time so she could take a picture of me before we started the descent. She took that picture but then whipped out of her backpack a carefully tupperwared birthday cupcake for me that she had snuck all the way up the mountain (on the porter's back).

Our climbing companions and Laura sang happy birthday to me with the Ugandan guide, porters, and guards (carrying guns supposedly for wild animal purposes). We tried to light a candle on top, but as you can imagine, it was kind of windy considering we were on the top of a mountain!! That cupcake was incredible though. So after taking our group photo on the peak, I sat down in Congo to enjoy my DELICIOUS birthday cupcake.

I don't think anything has ever tasted so good. After you've climbed for 5 hours, it's pretty hard for food NOT to taste good -- especially as you are anticipating the 4 hours it will take to hike back down the mountain.

This Blogger's blues and memories too

2008-08-07T12:21:00.000-07:00

I can't believe I've only written on this thing 3 times this year and it's already August. I beg you readers to extend me some grace. It took me 10 tries to finally be able to even access this page to write something to you tonight. I know... excuses, excuses.

Well I don't have time to write out something poetic or even that profound. Only to point out that I think that no matter where you are or what season of life, the Lord sends you sweet tastes of fellowship and fun in the strangest of ways. The more I learn about God and I's relationship, the more I understand the deep importance of recording things He has done in my life, words He has spoken, and hardships He has strengthened me to endure.

This blog is about none of those things important milestones in particular. It's simply a quick jotting of moments from my past months in Uganda I don't want to forget that hopefully will amuse you as well.

Wide-eyed exchange with Kenneth as the pick-up truck accelerated full speed uphill on the unpaved, ditch of a road to Bufuka Primary School (with 30+ youth STANDING in the truck bed).

Seeing with absolute surprise a desperate, hungry-looking mosue scamper across my friend Kampurira's cement floor and suppressing a scream, while still trying to intently listen to her concerns about her sick infant, as the mouse literally ran by my feet more than once.

Singing Rukiga hymns and laughing with the youth and others in the bed of the school truck full of Kigezi Baptist Christians on the way home from Kellen's burial.

Elliot Slater picking me a bouquet of partially dead flowers and a "flag" (aka a stick) to cheer me up when I was sick - again.

My conversation with the youth before biblestudy about the trials of a boarder student at school in Uganda. Hearing recounts of having to literally hide one's socks and toothbrushes away so they could not be stolen by other students to be sold outside the school. The most hysterical account was of a bean and poscho strike once (the beans hadn't been cooked properly) when this youth and all the other students at her school threw their bowls of uncooked beans and poscho on their school headmaster's house!

Walking between Sam and Agatha all the way down Makanga Hill in the rain beneath my hot pink Target umbrella.

Moving my stuff to the Sorenson's house with Annette and Precious. Precious carrying my huge REI backpack by only one strap which was inside out. Annette hekad (tied with a cloth on her back) Seth and pulling Elliot's red toy wagon with my moving boxes inside.

Listening to Jessica yet again give me a hard time for having "baby hands" and "baby feet" (while I do have petite hands and feet, they are by no means of baby proportion!). Then waiting for her then to recount the time during our church's prayer week when the women washed one another's feet and when I started to splash the lady beside me's feet with water, all the youth started snickering "baby hands, baby hands." Talk about spoiling the moment!

Laughing with the deacons about how Johnson still signs the guestbook at the village church on Sunday after he preaches (even after "pastoring" the church for nearly a year now). Quite a long visit I might say.

Shocking Elena, Richard, and Moureen when I busted out my best, most obnoxious "Mazungu, how are you?" impression. Key technique: hold your nose and then talk through it. That's how most Ugandans (who are not personally familar with white people). Still to this day indulging their requests to hear it again: "Mazuuungu, how-r-u?"And enjoying their laughs of delight.

digging lessons

2008-05-08T03:39:00.000-07:00

As I packed my bag with a snack, Nalgene full of filtered water, and sunscreen, I couldn't help feeling a bit anxious as my mind wandered back to Brian Davis's comment: "Oh my gosh Liz, you've never used a hoe before? The youth are going to have so much fun with that."

The "program" (as a good Ugandan would say) for Saturday was clearing land in the village so that Kamakanguzi Baptist could start preparing the foundation for their future church building. Work days are nothing new to me, but to dig like a Ugandan with a hoe was a totally different thing in which I was quite "green" (Ugandan for inexperienced).

Laura Slater who frequently gardens and grows delicious green things like zuchini, broccoli, lettuce, parsley, peas, and spinach which we can't find in the akatare (market). She ran to get her hoe and had me practice swinging it into the air over my left shoulder into the yard just beside our kitchen. After 3 swings, Skip Sorenson hooted (honked) the horn. Time to go. Laura wished me luck as I hurried through the pass-through of the Slater's gate and into Skip's pick-up.

We squished over 20 people into the truck and then made the short journey to Kamakanguzi. The drive is one of my favorites in Uganda. I am blessed to get to make it a few times a month. As you leave Kabale, the hills become less populated and even more vibrantly green. It's beautiful.

As we turned onto Kabahesi Road (where Kamakanguzi Baptist is located), I could already see women surrounding the small "kitchen" behind the church. They had been working on making us lunch since early morning. We all piled out of Skip's vehicle and unloaded the hoes. It was evident there were not enough hoes for each member of Kigezi Baptist present as well as the Kamakanguzi members who were also there to work. I went up to see if I could help the ladies prepare lunch and I was handed Emily or "Kato" (Rukiga for the younger of twins).

Emily is the more difficult of the Davis twins. In Uganda, the best way to pacify an upset baby who needs to sleep is to tie her/him on your back. You get a katengi (piece of colorful African fabric that can be used as a covering over your skirt when working or in this case as a baby carrier), you lean over until your back is parallel to the ground, you balance the baby on your back, then you tie the katengi to secure the baby so that her arms and legs are tucked in and her head is supported. (I have been advised to take a katengi back with me to the States so that some day when I have babies of my own I can use this ingenuous way of carrying them around.) So I tied Emily to my back and talked with the ladies while they cooked while rocking my body up and down to sooth the constantly crying Kato. A half hour later due to my body warmth and her pacifier, Emily finally went to sleep. Right at about that time Jessica came around the corner of the pastor's house.

"Liz, everyone is asking when you are going to come assist them?"

I told her I had just been helping put Emily down for a nap and that I was coming! So I made my way down the steep drive to where everyone was busily clearing the grass with the most amazing hoe swinging I have ever seen. I asked to borrow a lady's hoe who was resting. She agreed with a smile. As I positioned myself between Richard and Gerard (the two youth I knew would be least likely to make fun of me), I requested a hoeing lesson. Realizing that if he taught me to swing the hoe over my shoulder he might get hit in the head with a hoe (they dig less than a foot away from each other), Richard showed me how to lift the head of the hoe straight up and then allow the weight and momentum to cut into the grass and dirt we were trying to clear. As I lifted up the hoe the first 3 or 4 times, I looked down the line and every single youth and adult alike was watching my first attempt at digging. They had huge grins across their faces.

As laughter sounded along the line, everyone got back to digging. Mpodra mpodra (slowly by slowly) I started to get a rhythm. I was so thankful for the work gloves Skip had brought for me. I could already feel the rough wood of the hoe rubbing blisters on my right hand as I moved along the handle to either tear into the grass or pull at the grass roots/dirt. I was using an old hoe that liked to hold onto the dirt and grass I was digging into. As I dug, more and more dark black soil continued to rain down on me into my shirt, in my hair; I was a mess. Richard noticed and offered me his "I love Jesus" hat to cover my hair. Sheepishly, I accepted.

A couple times while we were digging, the rain started to fall. I thought about getting my raincoat in the car but as I looked around me, no one else was breaking for the rain. So as it continued to fall, I kept on digging. The sprinkle was quite refreshing. A little while later though, the gray ominous clouds overhead really began to rain. Everyone ran for the metal shed where Kamakanguzi Baptist stores the mud bricks they are accumulating to build their church. We all found a seat on a brick and compared the blisters on our hands. The break was nice and the rain removed most of the humidity that had been so heavy in the air. After it stopped, we were back to work. However, my Asics now weren't just covered in dirt, they were sinking into the mud. That was when I wished I had the rubber gumboots that so many of the women wore to dig in. The youth suggested I just remove my tennis shoes, since most of them were digging barefoot. Fearing my questionable aim when hoeing, I decided to keep my shoes on so as to avoid losing a toe or two.

After awhile, I got to really enjoy digging. I think many of the youth were even surprised that I didn't give up after my first feeble swings. It was nice to be doing some manual labor for a change. What I found much more challenging was clearing the grass that we had dug up. Instead of lifting the hoe high over my head and bringing it down to cut up the land, we now had the task of dragging all the dirt and grass we had pulled up down the hill. This involved only lifting the hoe about waist high repeatedly in order to to slowly guide huge pieces of soil and grass down the hill.

One by one we were beginning to take longer and longer breaks looking towards where we hoped lunch would come from. Eventually, Moureen and I went to check on it. And we were happy to find the Kamakanguzi ladies and youth washing the green plastic bowls so we could eat. Lunch was ready! Rice, beans, ground nut sauce (peanuts), poscho (flour and water mixture with the consistency of mashed potatoes), and sweet potatoes have never tasted so good. I remembered once Skip had told me that obushera, the local drink made out of dried sogum, tasted best after a long day of digging in the field. Typically, I would choose chai (tea) over obushera but today I decided to try out Skip's theory. He could not be more right. Generally, just one bitter taste of obushera is enough to make my stomach turn, but, after digging in the field all afternoon, the cold and thick drink could not be more enjoyable.

Successfully soothing Emily to sleep on my back. Digging. Drinking obushera. I think in that moment I felt more like a Bakiga (tribe I work with in Kabale) than I ever have before.

The next day the youth leaders told me I could now dig even better than them. I know they were just flattering me. But I have to say that I do think Richard and Gerard's digging lessons in the end were rather effective. Seeing the faces of my Ugandan fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters smile with glee as I dug alongside them taught me an even greater lesson though. The joy that comes from working alongside those you love.

Gulu

2008-03-24T06:05:00.000-07:00

For those who it may concern, the infamous night commuters (filmed by Invisible Children… if you haven’t seen the movie, check it out) are still there. But they don’t commute anywhere now. In fact, they can’t go anywhere. They don’t have parents, because the LRA killed them or drove them crazy out of fear. They don’t have homes because for some, they were chased away from their auntie’s house who couldn’t afford to feed them or got fed up with their boyish ways, for others the LRA came and burned down their hut with everything they owned (sometimes even their own family members) inside. They can’t go to school, because in Uganda you have to pay to go to school and they have no money. They don’t have skills to get work, because they didn’t go to school and have no way to pay money in order to attend a vocational/craft school to learn a trade like tailoring or carpentry.

So in the very same building where they use to sleep within the protection of Gulu from Joseph Kony and the LRA, is where they still remain. The night commuters now are stuck in a place between childhood and adult. Having seen far more than any adult ever should, but having none of the abilities or emotional/mental capacities an adult should possess. There are certainly organizations around to help these “street kids” as they are most often called now. But how can you help all of them? At the shelter where I was they get one meal of poscho and beans a day. A meager sustenance for boys who are 12 and 13 years old and should still be growing, but instead have remained the same size as 9 and 10 years olds. They have only the thrill of a pick-up football (soccer) game to look forward to. As Kony now roams the land of southern Sudan, these boys and their families still live under an overwhelming fear of his potential return.

Over the past week, a team of 30 of us tried our best to love the people of northern Uganda. Some taught those who work with the trauma victims how to best do so. Others helped to facilitate a camp for the street kids to enable them to tell their story and start to sort through the terrible things which they have experienced – and are still experiencing.

A 13-year-old boy in my group shared the story of how he and his father were abducted by LRA troops and forced to march through the bush until absolute exhaustion. He told us he got so tired, however, he managed to just keep walking. But his father couldn’t manage the long distance. He finally asked the LRA officers if he could rest. They questioned him, Did he really want to rest? At the point of collapsing, the man said yes. So the LRA officers strung him up on a tree and put him to rest – with a machete – before his own son’s very eyes.

Later the Ugandan national soldiers opened fire on the LRA, this boy was able to escape and run back to his village. There he told his mother all that had happened to his father. The mother who was pregnant at the time went into labor upon hearing the tragedy of her husband’s death. However, her labor was too soon and she was still far from any medical assistance. She died in child birth, along with the child inside of her.

This is the story that my friend, this 13-year-old boy, has seen. This is his life.

One day we drew pictures in chalk of various examples of conflict. All 6 of the boys in my group drew LRA soldiers shooting kids out of trees, cutting womens’ legs off with machetes, and on and on and on… I soon realized these were not imaginary scenes that these adolescent boys were creating. These were memories. These chalk-drawn victims had names, had limbs missing, had been shot dead by the LRA.

As we drove away at the end of the week, I could see one of the 12-year-old boys in my group looking at our bus as we reversed out of the center. His expression was closed. His eyes were watching every small movement of our bus as we slowly moved further away.

These boys need our help. But more than anything, they need your prayers. I would ask them at the end of every day: what can we pray for? There answer was always the same. Pray that we can find families. Pray that we can leave this place. Pray that we can go to school. Pray that the mango vendor won’t beat us when we are hungry and we steal from him. Pray that we don’t continue to be thieves. Pray for us to be good children. Pray. Pray. Pray.

What they are really saying: Pray that God has not forgotten us.

While I was there, I was appalled as they told me that everyone in Uganda believes (thanks to some scientist’s opinion printed in the paper here and read over the radio) that the world is going to end December 12, 2012 when a planet/asteroid is going to collide into the earth.

I told my 6 new friends – these shy, football-loving, courageous boys – that they need not fear. That rumor or opinion is simply not true. The world will not end by a planet colliding into the earth. We are not waiting for that. What we are waiting for is even more terrible.

We are waiting for the Son of God, Jesus Christ Himself, to return to earth and judge all of humanity. Therefore, we do not have to fear the world ending by asteroid or planet blast! If you believe in Christ, you have only to wait with expectation and pray for the day when He returns.

While I watched their little features gradually relax at this news, I wished in my heart – if only I could take away the other fears they have. The deeper fears of the LRA returning, of no one ever loving them, of living at the center as street kids forever… that is really when I realized the only way to resolve their fears is to pray.

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

I taught my friends when you are afraid, when you are worried, when you can’t sleep at night. Remember this verse. Paul suffered indescribable pain for Christ and eventually died for His faith. Paul knew what it was to be anxious. But yet he writes this advice to the Philippians. Don’t be afraid. When you are afraid, worship and pray. Why? So your problems and fears won’t be there anymore? No, better. Because when we pray, the very peace OF GOD that does not even make sense to this world or our worried mind’s will protect us from our fear!

I fully believe after staying in Gulu for one week that the LRA and the meaningless mutilation they inflict on their own people is from Satan. These kids living in Gulu are in a land of such darkness, oppression, and fear that very nearly suffocates you from all hope. Therefore, I beg you to pray. Pray for Jimmy, Patrick, Walter, Sunday, Brian, and David. Pray that they would not fear, but that the very peace of God would guard their fragile hearts and minds by the awesome power of Christ. Ask God to defeat Joseph Kony and to stop this epidemic of fear in Uganda.

Again, I beg you.

Pray.

Conference

2008-01-31T11:11:00.000-08:00

Often my best time for reflection is on the back of a “picky” (motorcycle taxi) at the end of the day coming home from the church. As I sit like a Ugandan lady should with both legs on one side, knees together, I can turn my head to watch the sun setting behind the hills of Kabale. The town is beginning to look a little hazy as the mist descends that will cover it into mid-day tomorrow. The hills look almost unreal through the mist as the sun covers them in its creamy afterglow. I love my ride home at dusk, because when I look at those hills I know (often with much relief) that my day is ending. I cherish this last look at Kabale for the day because it reminds me of where I am and why.

God is at work here in Kabale. I know this because I can feel His presence in my life and watch Him changing me. And also I get to see Him slowly transform youth into true worshippers of Him. This past weekend Kigezi Baptist hosted a youth conference. Due to the terrible unrest in Kenya, fuel prices are exorbitant in Uganda right now. This meant that many youth who had planned to join the conference were unable because their churches could not afford the increase in transportation costs to get them here. Nonetheless, youth came from Kamkanguzi, Kisoro, Mbarra, and even Runkigiri to study how to love God with our whole heart, soul, and mind – and how to love one another (Mathew 22:37-40).

A youth from Kisoro named Richard and I were the main speakers. The first day our focus was “Loving God.” I mean, can there be a better topic to teach on? Of course, up until the wee hours of morning, I was preparing as the Lord led me in how to communicate to Ugandan youth the reason why we actually want to love God with our entire being. That morning I woke up feeling exhausted yet excited about the message the Lord had given me to share. I ate a small breakfast and was just preparing to go when all of a sudden I felt like I was going to be sick. I ran upstairs to my bathroom. Who really wants to get sick in a bathroom that is not your own? Let’s just say, I got sick.

But the conference started in 45 minutes and I had wanted to get there in time to take breakfast with everyone before worship began at 9. So I downed a glass of water and packed a small water bottle also. I took porridge for breakfast with the youth then entered the church for worship. As the praise continued, I gradually began to feel worse and worse. I began praying, Lord, you gave me this message to speak to the youth. If you want me to deliver it, I need your strength. Thankfully, when they called me forward to begin teaching, they placed a podium at the front of the church. I thought to myself, if all else fails, I can just lean on the podium through my talk and then sit down.

I was blessed to have Sam, a founding member of the church, a deacon, and a “father” to the youth, translating for me. My message? In short: Christ told the church in Ephesians thanks for working hard for me, but you’ve forgotten one important thing amidst all your ministry – ME. God designed it that we love Him as our first love because when you love something first that means you put it before everything else. If we love God with our entire heart, soul, and mind, we will then be faithful to Him which ultimately guides us into greater blessings from Him. God’s pretty smart. He knew what He was doing when He laid out the commandments. Christ calls it the first and greatest commandment because our love for God is of first and greatest importance to the heart of God.

By the time I was wrapping up, I had already debated twice just leaving the church to go to the bathroom to get sick and then coming back and finishing. Thanks to prayer and the Lord’s grace, I didn’t get sick one way or another in front of all the youth. As I said my last few points, I wondered if there was even any color left in my face? I leaned on the podium and managed to utter, “Katushabe” (“Let us pray”).

Following the prayer I exited the church as quickly as possible, shaking the hands of those nearest to me and responding to some of the youth, I grabbed Jessica’s hand. “Jessica, you need to show me to the nearest bathroom because I’m about to get sick.” She led me to the cement box next to our church that functions as a unisex urinal. I found one of the youth inside who complimented me on my teaching. Quite impatiently, I said thank you and then asked her if she was finished. After a revolting 5 minutes there, I was able to walk out with only my porridge breakfast still remaining in my stomach.

Why did I get so sick??
- I did eat some pork that was strangely prepared at a Ugandan friend’s house.
- I hadn’t slept a whole lot the week leading up to the conference.
- The evil one came into the world to steal, kill, and destroy… which includes a message that God desires to use to encourage and admonish His youth.

Regardless of the cause of my sickness, the Lord gave me the strength to communicate His truth. I praise Jesus Christ that He is so much greater than Satan and any darkness that would keep the youth from knowing the fullness found in God’s love. After emerging from the cement-not-so-portable potty, I found Sam standing outside the church office talking with some youth. He stopped his conversation and came over to me. “Liz, thank you, really thank you.”

“For what Sam?”

“Even when you leave this place, years after you are gone from Africa, you words will remain here. Me I feel like I cheated the youth because I picked even more than they could have about how I can love God. Thank you really Liz. Thank you.”

I am comforted in knowing that the Lord’s love for Uganda is so great that He will not let the faults of a redhead missionary or even the diarrhea distress of a conference stop Him from adding others to the kingdom of heaven. The aim of God the Father’s heart is to add more worshippers of His Son Christ!

Thank you Jesus that in you we are more than conquerors - both in this life and the age to come. No matter what may come, I take heart that You have overcome this world. Lord my God, give me the heart of David: "I will not sacrifice to the LORD my God... offerings that cost me nothing." 2 Samuel 24:24

My First Ugandan Wedding

2007-12-22T09:20:00.001-08:00

Saturday I went with Rene (fellow WorldVenture missionary who was asked to be the matron for Caroline and Eric's wedding) to the dress shop. Here you either buy or rent the bridal gown and "maids"/"matron" dresses. The seamstress informed us she had made a mistake on Rene's receipt and that they had actually given away Caroline, the bride's, dress, so Caroline would have to come by sometime that day to get refitted for another gown. With Caroline busy preparing other things in the village for the wedding, this presented quite a challenge to the bride and her matron! But Caroline managed to skip lunch and walk the 2+ hour walk into town to be refitted for a second bridal gown and then return to the village to continue preparing for her visitors the next day.

The first thing I did Sunday morning (after getting ready for church) was to get a spool of the Davises's best Christmas ribbon and some wire and start decorating their minibus. We put a huge bow on the front and the back, but the most essential decoration I'm told is two strips of ribbon which make a V on the hood of the car. Once I had finished securing the van's colorful ribbon decor, it was now ready to be the wedding party's escort.

On our way to church, the Davises and I picked up Caroline and her son Isaaya from God's Mercy Unisex Salon. After delivering her to the church, she told us that she actually had only gotten her hair done because she had forgotten to bring enough money to get her make-up done... and that we had left her two bridesmaids at the salon who had also been ready.

Meanwhile, the baby dedication for Isaaya their son is just beginning.

Here it is very common for a couple to have a "night ceremony" or in other words a common law wedding. A couple is assumed to be unofficially married once they have been living together for some time and especially once a child is produced. The reason so many people even faithful Christians opt to get married this way is because the "official wedding" here in Uganda involves an elaborate expense to the bride and groom's families that most if not all cannot afford - even after borrowing money from every relative, friend, and acquaintance they can find. The typical official wedding involves: I. Introduction II. Give Away III. Ceremony/party at bride's home IV. Ceremony in the church V. Ceremony/party at groom's home. The most important aspect of all of these is the Bride Price (basically an African-version of dowry) where the groom's family must give the bride's family a million and more Ugandan shillings as well as a cow or a few goats in order to compensate her family for loss to them as a daughter.

Caroline managed to make it into the church to sit beside her soon-to-be (official) husband Eric as the pastor's dedicated Isaaya to the Lord. Then she and her two maids Moureen and Elena (two of the youth) and Rene all disappeared to prepare themselves for the wedding. While waiting, those of us in the church now having sat through a church service and a baby dedication were getting a little antsy. Different people took turns leading us in Rukega praise songs to pass the time.

Finally, the wedding party gathered outside the church. First to process in was Julie (Rene's 6-year-old daughter) the flower girl who carried a neon green felt flower surrounded by white netting. Next was Caroline in her rented-gown complete with veil, then behind her carrying her train were Rene, Moureen, and Elena. Everyone gasped to see Elena's skirt. It was at least four sizes too small. The stitching had been ripped and resown on the side. I found out later that the shop had given Elena the wrong dress. So Rene at the last minute had to get Judith, one of the Kigezi deacon's wife, to resew the seam so that Elena could fit into it for the wedding. The thing that was most bizarre to me were the bright red headbands complete with small, red ribbon flowers and beads which Moureen and Elena wore on their heads. With short African hair that could not grip the headbands, it looked quite unusual.

The ceremony itself was quite similar to a wedding in the States (Caroline's brother was there to give her away, the pastor had prepared a message about marriage, the couple exchanged their vows) except for the part when the pastor says, "You may now kiss the bride" was absent. Couples don't kiss in Uganda. Seriously. Yeah... I know, I don't get it either.

Afterwards, the wedding party had their picture taken on the church compound by Brian (Rene's husband) the photographer. Then, I piled into the van with the Davis family so we could drop off Brian and the five children (because of the Ebola scare going on, they decided not to take the children to the village) and pick up the beautiful wedding cake Rene had made for the couple. She had even christened it with a cake topper of an African bride and groom.

We returned to the church to pick up the wedding party and whoever else could squeeze into the van and then we proceeded to honk the entire way to our destination - a tradition for the car containing the bride. Rene had a difficult time as Caroline and Eric's house was all the way at the top of a hill overlooking Lake Bunyonyi. Driving four-wheel drive on pot-hole filled, unsteady roads in a van, discerning Rukega directions, and honking all the while.

When we reached a place where we could park, Kenneth instructed us to take all the ribbons off the car because they would not be safe there. Then we began the trek from the car to their home. As people often are in the village, houses are rarely close together especially when you go further up into the hills. After climbing over and traversing across three hills, we saw the smoke of the charcoal stoves that had been cooking our lunch all day, we heard the beating of the drums from the visitors/family already waiting for the wedding party there, as well as the crackling of the loud speakers that accompany any respectable African party.

Upon our arrival, the wedding party took their position in the cushioned seats at the front of the tent (tarp held up by sticks). The visitors from the church, myself included, took the other seats around them. The ceremony involved toasts from the family and members of the wedding party, wedding gifts of money into a basket from every relative/friend/acquaintance, the bridge and groom feeding one another cake, as well as serving their grandparents and parents the first pieces of wedding cake. The youth myself included performed traditional Bakega dances which was truly incredible to watch - I participated as "hands" with the other youth (aka I clapped to keep the beat).

After the wedding program, the sun was beginning to set over Lake Bunyonyi I was shepherded along with the bride, her matron and maids, to a side room where we were seated on a foam mattress (the only kind here in Uganda) to wait for our serving of the feast. And feast we did. Heaping bowls of matoke (green bananas which they serve like mash potatoes), omuceeri (Rukega for rice), goat and cow MEAT (a luxury item here often looked forward to at wedding festivities), g-nut sauce (my favorite: ground nut/peanut creamy sauce they put over rice and poscho), cabbage (they shred and cook in vegetable oil), and irish potatoes. The obushera (grainy drink with floaters that look like ants) was brought out in vats where people would simply dip their mug in for another go. Obushera the first few days is more grainy but as the days go on it ferments and begins to taste that way. Let's just say the obushera being served at the wedding was more than a few days old.

My absolute favorite part of the wedding was when I sat down to try some of Rene's obushera (and then decided to avoid getting a mug of my own!) with the youth and some of their parents who had been seated in a different room. We all just sat around and laughed and teased one another about the way Anivious had danced the traditional dance with Richard, how I was shying away from the three day old obusher... Skip another missionary called to see how Rene and I (the two mazungus at the wedding party) were doing and we passed the phone around so every member of the church there could greet him.

Once we got a text that Emily (one of Rene's 6 mo. old twins) was refusing the bottle, it was time to go. We thanked Eric and Caroline and their parents/grandparents for having us and feeding us so well. Then the entire Kigezi Baptist Church hiked up and over the three or so hills it took to get us to their home. On the way back, I was able to see Mt. Muhavura (one of the mountains in a range right on the border to Rwanda) the clearest I have seen it since being in Uganda. Its silhouette against the pinkish-orange dusk with the reflection of the sky on Lake Bunyonyi was such a blessing from God to Rene and I at the end of a long yet wonderful day.

We managed to get 22 people in the van for the ride back! We were thankful to have so many since it was after dark and very unsafe for two mazungu ladies to being going anywhere on their own. I sat on Vingye's lap (the mom to Kato and Kakuru - twins who are part of the Kigezi youth) in the back seat. Everyone had at least one extra person sitting on top of them. All 22 of us sang worship songs in Rukega at the top of our lungs all the way back to Kabale.

One of Eric's family members got a ride into town with us also. Apparently when he was getting out, he asked Sam,"Are you people always this happy??"

Thanksgiving

2007-11-28T10:00:00.002-08:00

The day started with a bold knock on my bedroom door. Did Anivious really forget to take the day off?

I looked at my cellphone. 8 AM exactly. She’s even an hour early! My alarm was set to go of in five minutes (just in time for me to get up and enjoy the leftovers of the Slaters’ breakfast). Annoyed I said, “Yes, come in?”

It was Laura. Relieved I sat up in bed. “We’re about to start eating some ‘Volcano Eggs’ and bacon. I thought you might want to join us while it’s still warm.” Bacon in Uganda? Yes, PLEASE. I would certainly like to be there for that.

I jumped out of bed. Turned off my alarm set to go off in two minutes and hurried downstairs in my light blue and yellow flannel PJs with a University of Texas (the real UT) Tennis t-shirt – a combination warm enough for cool Kabale evening with no heat.

After getting a cup of (filtered) water to take my vitamins, I take my place at the table between Austin and Elliot. Seven year old Grant says to me across the table, “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had as good of bacon as the first time Austin made bacon.” I think to myself. Austin is nine years old and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him make bacon. But I keep such thoughts to myself.

Elliot grabs my left hand. “Miss Liz, let’s pray! I’m hungry.” As Kirk carries a nice-sized serving plate of sunnyside eggs and bacon to the table. Each member of the Slater family, including Seth (who is just one), holds the hand of the person on either side of them and Laura thanks God for all the blessings we have been given over the past year.

After “Amen,” Elliot asks if I can cut up his egg for him, but to make sure and cut around the yolk so he could pop it with his own fork. I followed my instructions ever so carefully, handed him his unadulterated yoke with sliced egg whites, then served myself some egg and bacon.

Before breakfast, we had gotten a text from the Davises – recently returned missionaries who reside in Kabale. Brian had made donuts for his 5 kids and had also invited all who wanted to partake of the Slater family (myself included). Although my craving for a doughnut was great, I had committed to help Laura cook our Thanksgiving meal in an effort to actually acquire some culinary skills, an aspect of my life that has been remiss these past 23 years. So I sent Grant as Laura and I’s ambassador that should there be any leftover doughnuts, if he could kindly retrieve two to bring back to his Thanksgiving chefs, we would be much obliged.

With the time already reaching 10 AM, Laura and I decided to forego on showering until after we had atleast stuffed the birds and put them in the oven. To find a turkey in Uganda is rare, not to mention extremely expensive. Therefore, in place of one giant turkey, we made three smaller chickens. I helped Laura make the stuffing, frying the celery (from her garden), mushrooms, parsley, seasoned bread pieces, and chicken bits on the stove. Next we stuffed the tiny chickens as best we could, covered them in butter, and then put them in the oven to cook for the rest of the morning.

Next, we thought we should both shower while there was still time before the cooking got really intense. I was so pleased because right before I got in the shower the power came back on which meant I got to blow-dry my hair (a luxury these days now that the electricity had become extremely inconsistent).

…………………..........

We managed to get the green bean casserole made complete with cornflakes (Arabian brand, not American Kelloggs) on top, sweet potato casserole made with Ugandan sweet potatoes that are more of a purplish-red color and have a quite different taste, frog-eye salad (homemade marshmallows, fruit, Laura-made miracle whip, and pasta), chicken with stuffing, salad (spinach leaves from Laura’s garden). For dessert, we enjoyed rhubarb (not so traditional but grows really well here) and pumpkin pie.

The young Indian couple Moona and Ami who own the best grocery store in town – Royal Supermarket – came to join us with their one year-old Arian. They had never celebrated Thanksgiving before, so it was fun to get to show them just exactly how much food we eat on this fine holiday and why everyone just wants to sit around and watch American football after lunch.

After eating, Grant and Austin (and Kirk) enjoyed showing Moona how to play Wi sports. I got to talk to my family via phone who were on a beach in Alabama! Funny how my Thanksgiving in Africa was much cooler as I talked to them on the Slater’s veranda in Rhodes College sweatpants, a long sleeve shirt, and a sweater.

That evening it rained of course. Because it’s Kabale amid the rainy season. After the rain though, I looked out my window and saw the most faint and delicate rainbow arcing over our neighbor’s roof. I ran to get Laura and Elliot so they could enjoy it also. It was the first rainbow I have seen since I arrived in Uganda. It took awhile to explain to Elliot what a rainbow was and where to look for it, but eventually we could all see the rainbow and he was calling out all the different colors he could see.

Laura said, “Liz, it’s like God made that rainbow just for you.” Its position in the sky and the brief time it was visible, I think she might be right. Only from my window on the she second-story of the Slaters’ house could the rainbow be seen.

This Thanksgiving I am thankful that God knew me before I was born. I’m thankful that for some reason He deems me worthy to be His mouthpiece to His youth in Uganda. I’m thankful that He placed me in Kabale with the Slater family to be a part of their lives for a year. I am thankful for His faithfulness to show me His glory whether through a rainbow out my window, the perfect design of His plan for my life, or just the quiet knowledge that the Creator of the Universe delights in me. I thank God this Thanksgiving for His faithfulness unto me.

Come Lord Jesus, with your perfect justice, come!

2007-11-21T09:08:00.000-08:00

It is commonly known that many Ugandan girls like nice things like “smart” clothes or expensive food but are unable to buy them on their student or day-worker income. These girls find “sugar daddies” or rather “sugar daddies” find them. Men who can pay for the girl’s nice clothes, expensive food, or even her costs of education in exchange for sex.

“… And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly…” Luke 18:6-8

Uganda has free public medical care which means that if you go to a government hospital technically you should receive free medical care there. The Kabale Hospital is located only a five-minute walk from where I live. If you go there, you must wait all day to see a doctor because there are so many patients there for the free care. However, if you get the chance of seeing a doctor, whatever medicine is prescribed to you they are never able to give you since all the free (government-purchased) medicine has been stolen to supply the private medical clinics in Kabale where patients, of course, must pay for the medicine. Many people know what ailment they have after eventually seeing a doctor, but they don’t have the means to buy the tablets (pills) or injections (vaccine/shot) to remedy their illness from the pharmacy or private clinics.

“… And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly…” Luke 18:6-8

Families here frequently have anywhere from four to twelve children. Many of these families have one –maybe two parents– who work and a garden or field from which they harvest most of the food which they eat. If the dad is an alcoholic or unable to work, the family is often desperate for any way to produce more income so they can buy more food for the 12+ mouths in their family that need to be fed. Therefore, 10-years-old girls (and younger) are given away in marriage in exchange for the marriage price (varies according to how much the daughter “is worth” based on her education/beauty) that is paid by her husband upon receiving her as a wife. In other words, the daughter’s marriage price aids the family’s struggling financial situation. The man they are given in marriage to can be anywhere from 20-50. I know of a girl from this kind of family who gave birth to her 45-year-old husband’s first child when she was just 9.

“… And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly…” Luke 18:6-8

Anivious, my language teacher, recently had her cell phone stolen. She took it into the shop for them to fix a malfunction in the phone. When she returned a few days later, the shop was closed up and everyone said the man had left for Kampala. Needless to say, she never got her phone back. When I asked her why she didn’t report her stolen cell phone to the police, she told me that she didn’t want to waste the money filing a report. You see, in order for the police to pursue any case, you must first pay them to even file a report that something of yours’ has been taken. Then depending on who has stolen it or how much you pay the police to look for your cell phone, you might or might not get your cell phone back. But probably not. So Anivious said she simply wasn’t going to involve the police. Basically, she couldn’t afford to.

“… And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly…” Luke 18:6-8

Please PRAY for God to bring about justice for His children in Uganda. I am crying out in the night, but I need you to be praying in the day that God will see that the youth of Uganda get justice… and quickly. My constant intercession for these youth is that “when the Son of Man comes,” He will indeed find faith on the earth here in Uganda.

The Kigezi Baptist youth

2007-11-12T07:01:00.001-08:00

Simple Pleasures

2007-10-23T10:18:00.001-07:00

Some days when I wake up and go through my morning routine, I am halfway to whereever I am going when I realize I am the only white person walking on the road. I notice people are greeting me and my reply is far different than the English “How are you” that was once second-nature. I look to my left or to my right and I see rows of sloping green hills terraced with postage-stamp farming plots and ruddy orange dirt roads. It is only then a few hours into my day that I have the revelation, Liz, you are in Uganda!

I guess I am thankful for moments like these because it means that life here in Kabale is beginning to feel more normal. If I need something from the store for example, I put Keens on my feet, cover every part of my skin that will even think about seeing the sun in SPF 30, and walk down the road, past the crazy lady on the corner (Kidding I am not), down the steep decline to Royal Supermarket where I usually encounter a couple generators outside because the power has gone out again. I greet the young Indian man who runs the store, squeeze by the Ugandan worker who is often standing directly where you need to be, and search down the three-aisle shop for a dust-covered package of spaghetti noodles or if I am really treating myself, a semi-melted, not so crunchy KitKat. To check out, I must battle the European tourists buying cheap wine and salami who enter around lunch hour by the truckload on their way to see the giant gorillas two hours away at the Uganda-Congo border. The total of my purchases always amounts to more than a 1,000 – shillings, mind you, not dollars (exchange is roughly 1700 shillings=1 U.S. dollar). I bring my messenger bag with me to throw in whatever I buy, usually the least-crunched container of Pringles I could find and a notebook for my Rukega lessons. Tell the little girls who always follow the “mazungu” halfway up the hill that I really don’t need any bananas today but maybe another time. Then, hike slowly back up Makanga Hill, greet the crazy lady, share the sometimes dusty/often times muddy dirt road with the occasional vehicle and less occasional motorcycle (“boda boda”). Enter the little pass-through in the Slaters’ big red, metal gate. Say hello to Bo and Kess the giant German shepherds who guard the house. And I’m home again.

Clearly the particulars to my life are quite different here. But I can’t complain. I enjoy the small town of Kabale. I can get most anywhere if I’m willing to walk a good 30+ minutes up and downhill to get there. Although if I’m willing to pay and ride side-saddle, there is always the option of getting a boda boda to take me wherever I need to go. There are days when I wish I could walk down the street without feeling a town full of interested eyes following my person, but that’s just simply life as an American in rural Uganda. The people here are fascinated by the mazungu (white person). Coming back from teaching a biblestudy, I was walking up Makanga Hill with my language teacher/interpreter Anivious. A “saloon car” (how they refer to compact cars) going the opposite direction stopped next to us and rolled down its window. The driver quickly explained to Anivious in Rukega that his two kids dressed in their tidy school uniforms (complete with matching backpacks) had been wanting to greet a mazungu for some time now. So I said, “Agande?” Meaning how are you. They said, “No, no, in English!!” So the freckled circus animal relented to the little voices’ request – “Hello. How are you.” Black faces looked at one another with wide eyes then giggled as their dad insistently chanted, “Webare, webare” (thank you, thank you) to the mazungu for greeting his children.

I must confess I have found great delight when I am literally surrounded by choruses of “Mazungu, how are you?” to respond in Rukega, “Ndigye (I am fine). Agande?” And to watch their little mouths drop when they hear the mazungu respond to them in their own language.

My life here is full of simple pleasures such as these.

Rainy Dusk in Kabale

2007-10-14T16:17:00.000-07:00

Agandes and closing market chatter echo off the tin roofs of town.

Honking of scattered saloon cars harmonize with the birds’ constant conversation between tree and flight.

Rain clouds drift by Maconga Hill only to invite their looming friends behind them.

Sun glows its cream-colored “carde” on the clouded mist over Anglican Hill.

Catholic Hill’s green and brown patchwork cloaked in the smoke of dinner preparation.

Noisy pickys in the distance drive home those who can afford a thousand shillings.

Malaria mosquitos hover as families eat.

Anticipation

2007-08-26T13:19:00.000-07:00

As I register for health insurance, order a Rhodes transcript, and ask the HP police for a "good conduct" letter, the small details of my daily life are beginning to point towards the fact that I leave for Uganda in about three weeks. Typing this post from the comfortable air-conditioned place I've called home for the past 18 years and my parents just two rooms away from where I'm sitting, it is impossible to predict how different my life will be this year in Kabale.

One thing I do know: I am so excited!

I will arrive in Kampala, the capital of Uganda, September 20th. The next time you here from me I will be posting from a Ugandan internet cafe or perhaps even better from the Slater's home (the family who I will be living with) in Kabale.

summer love

2007-07-11T06:47:00.000-07:00

How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what are...

1 John 3:1

This summer the Father is teaching me what it means to be his child and "how great" his love is for me, Elizabeth Story, as well as how great his love is for you. I think that if I really believed every single day that the Creator of the Universe lavishes his love on me and calls me His child, my life would look pretty different.

Although sometimes I have a hard time believing God loves me, He is faithful and helps me to remember that I am truly His child. Since sending out my first support letters on June 4th, over 75% of my $25,026 budget is committed! Your prayers and donations have been huge reminders of how great the Father's love is not only for me, but also for the youth of Kabale who I will be working with this year.

I can't thank you enough for supporting what God wants to do in Uganda and also for reminding me of how beautiful it is to be a child of God. "And that is what we are!"