African Muzungu

In my 6 1/2 years living in Africa, I’ve seen some really hard times. But this year has been different. A steady stream of one emergency, trial, and conflict after another has kept my spirit weary. Each one has not held the intensity or trauma that I’ve experienced in past years, but it’s been the never-ending tension that’s so hard. With at most a couple days of calm between each new struggle, the weariness of body, mind, and spirit has been overwhelming at times. From confronting malicious lies about me among the teachers, to grieving over the consequences of sin in some co-workers. From having to be the vet for my kittens (including learning how to put in a sub-cut IV, give injections, and do post-op care), and burying the ones that died in my arms, to cleaning out the fridge that either switches off, spoiling all the food, or freezes all the fresh fruit and veggies. From dealing with sullen teenagers in class, to battling the spiritual warfare that imprisons many of my teac...

After I graduated from Moody, I thought I had learned pretty well what the word ‘perseverance’ meant. Don’t get me wrong, it sure did take a lot of perseverance to get through those 4 extremely busy, challenging, painful, and rewarding years. But this year ‘perseverance’ has a fresh meaning for me. Even before I moved to Kamonkoli, and ever since, one crisis or illness after another has reared its head. It’s been only a matter of days or hours between the dimming of one and the start of another. From common colds to Malaria, this year has had a constant stream of different illnesses. I’ve struggled with my health for so much of my life (thankfully nothing life-threatening!), and often thought about why Jesus would allow me to be sick so much of the time. Especially when I’m stuck in the bathroom and need to be teaching a lesson in 10 minutes! :) But I do wonder if part of the reason is to allow me to experience the miraculous power of utter dependency on Jesus. I’ve had days when th...

I moved to the village. Well, as they say here, 'somehow' the village. As someone aptly noted, our office compound in Kamonkoli is "like town in the village." It’s not brick or mud huts with tin or thatch roofs. It’s not dirt floors, or pit latrines. It’s not cooking outdoors on charcoal stoves. It’s indoor plumbing, and normal (for here :) ) windows and doors. It’s the same furniture and decorations that I had in Mbale. It’s carpet in the bedroom, and a bathtub and shower. My bedroom But it is also hand carrying water in jerrycans. Because city water hasn’t reached us here in months so the only way to have running water is if the one and only firetruck in the region brings water to fill the tank. And even then, everything other than showering is done with jerrycans in order to conserve water. It is learning that a toilet needs 10 liters of water (a half a jerrycan, or more than 20 lbs of water) in order to flush...and learning how many times you ...

I've never seen such compassion in a child's eyes as I did that day. I had woken up on a Saturday morning feeling pretty awful but not wanting to miss AWANA that day. So I drove myself to Kamonkoli, determined to grit my teeth and push through the pain. By the time I navigated the mess of a 'road' we're calling a highway these days and arrived at the church, my endurance was already tottering. I climbed out of my Rav4 and weakly handed over the bags of supplies to one of my boys to carry into the church. The kids were already singing, jumping, and clapping in the sanctuary as they exuded the excitement that comes when our teams of western visitors are around. 10 minutes in, and I knew the tears converging behind my eyes would soon make a full appearance. Crying and tears are just not understood or accepted here, and I knew how uncomfortable they would make the kids. I stepped outside behind the church and vainly struggled to hold back the flow. Just then, two of m...

We were playing together. I would hide, she would find me, I would tickle her. I loved every minute of it, and her grin and giggle told me she did too. Then, as she ran around the corner, it happened. She ran her forehead straight into the corner of the metal window frame. I heard the thump and came around the corner to see her small hand clutching her forehead and her eyes filled with pain. But she didn’t shed even a single tear. Usually when a Ugandan child is hurt, they are immediately told not to cry, distracted from the pain, and sent away to continue playing. I can’t do that. I’m thankful for a mother who tenderly comforted me when I was in pain, and believe that is exactly what God would have me to do for these kids too. So I ran to her, knelt down and pulled her into my arms. Silently, she buried her face in my neck as her father watched on. With hand pressed against her swelling head, and face pressed against my shoulder, she quietly waited for the pain to reduce. If ice ...

Each day I fight for forgiveness all over again. A month ago, my backpack was stolen from a locked car in a guarded lot during a quick shopping trip. A thousand 'what if’s' and 'I should have’s’ have gone through my head, but what’s passed is passed. Still, I have struggled each day to forgive the ones who robbed me, as each day I look for something, only to remember it was in the backpack. So many small things that to him would hold little value, but for me are an unending frustration. During that first week, Jesus's grace abounded, and as I went through the motions of replacing the two biggest items: my laptop and my passport (!!), I was surrounded by His supernatural peace. I looked for the miracles and found them. I hadn't carried my Moody Bible this time (which I always do!). At the last minute, I left my cross-stitch at home. Somehow, the thieves missed my iPhone which was in the seat pocket under the croissants which they also stole. The irreplaceable thing...

It’s only 7 more days until I’m on a plane back to Uganda. After 9 months, it hardly seems possible. People keep asking me if I’m ready. My answer? Not yet. But that’s what the next 7 days is for, right? ;) I knew these last weeks would fly by fast, as they always do. And as always, I’m left scrambling till the end! But I think I should be packed more than I am. I’ve only been doing it for 9 months!   I can’t remember ever being so nervous-excited to go back. There is so much I’m happily anticipating and thrilled about, but as you might imagine, there’s also a good bit of nerves. I know there are awkward, painful reminders waiting for me when I get there. I’ve seen some of the hard, the painful, the scary of being on the front lines of ministry, and I know things don’t necessarily just get easier from here. But I have walked with Jesus through suffering, and I know I just have to look beside me to find Him there again. I’ve never had to do that so constantly ever before in my ...

Holidays are so different here. I know, understatement of the year, right? But it’s true. There’s a part of me that after living with the extreme poverty and suffering of third-world Africa just cringes with the amount of consumerism and greed shown by our culture, especially around the holidays. Right now, the stores are filled with an odd mix of leftover Halloween costumes, turkeys, and Santa Claus figurines. They’re symbols of the frenzy of the American holiday season.  But there’s also something really special about the hoopla around holidays, especially in the church.  Most churches really try to take advantage of the constant reminders of consumerism to focus on what the real value and point of the holidays is. Being in America you just can't get away from the reminders of the holidays, whereas in Uganda it's easier for one day to be just like another. This year, I'm cherishing the opportunity to savor the festivities, always remembering what is most important. I ...