For the pleasure of a good story at our final debrief in Houston we were asked to
submit an account of certain experiences for sharing. In the end most were not
read or heard and so i thought i might post a few i wrote. there may be a
repeat or two of previous blogs but hey- i like each one of these and hope you
get a chuckle or two as well.
these first two where to recall a memory of something funny a teammate did.
"investing in Jesus"
so sometimes the worst part about going to bed is that you have to get
up when the sleep is over. going to bed sometimes you find yourself saying I'm
not even asleep yet and I don't want to wake up because you know how tired
you are. sometimes even when you're in bed your subconscious won't let you fully
sleep cause it knows if you are entirely allowed to plunge into dark silent oblivion
known as rest and there will be no waking up. then the morning comes and the
indestructible mesh of mosquito net is a lovely safe haven from the world. who
wants to choose out of that? I mean really, why leave? at least this was Reese's
general reasoning on any given morning...."no I am not getting out of bed- you
can't make me." "Why?" "Cause I just don't want to... I don't. There's nothing
wrong with that." At this point T's patience has run dry or her misunderstanding
that not everyone has been awake since 5 am drives her to the irrational act of
attack. Both T and Nita proceed to penetrate the mosquito net grabbing flailing
limbs in effort to remove the fleece dwelling sloth from her nest.
On one particular occasion in Tororo Reese decides to retaliate for all such
insults assaulted on her in the past. Jess, putting on a Mr. grumpy face protests
in the most pitiful whimper to the reasonable suggestion of "Nita get up!" The series
of conversation that followed was too quick to catch and hardly called for I must say
you two! .....something about justified butt slapping in response to an uncalled for
pantsing. I roll my eyes and chuckle at the same time...before I realize Reese makes
a move one might call pouncing to which Nita retreats beneath the covers. Apparently
Reese has a lot of pent up aggression about this whole thing and is having surprising
success. Normally I am one to remain silent and lay low in hopes of not getting drug
around on the floor and being slapped happy by T however I happen to be sharing
the bed with Nita and instincts just kick in. I swiftly begin shouting things that sound
all too much like what my mother might say and rush to provide assistance. Apparently
I thought the best move would be to grab Nita's thigh and begin heaving her back
onto the bed. T, acting as though she has never seen such an unruly display thinks
she is safe to make a commentary from a far in her bed. To which Reese spins around
saying "hey missy you're still in bed, you can't say a thing" Realizing what a detrimental
move she just made, T shouts under attack, "I'm not tired I'm not tired I'm investing in
Jesus!" All I really remember after that is T wedged between her bed and ours, butt on
the floor and feet in the air.. the rest of us doubled over laughing.
"Jail break"
Not really a story, just an unforgettable image that occurred daily. In Busia the
lock system on our house was in such a way that we had to lock ourselves in at night.
Not just shut the door and lock but rather fix the glass outer entrance and padlock,
close the metal gate and secure the other 5 sliding latches then padlock the top and
bottom hooks and then hide all the keys in the sink. It provided peace of mind I suppose
but the unfortunate feature of the house is that the squatty is outside across the yard.
My beloved roommate and bunk buddy Tara "chai" Borman has a generally unknown
predicament of urgent morning pee. Entirely predictable almost every morning was the
scramble coming out beneath the mosquito tent from across the room, a stumbling
sleepyhead towards the hall, then the horrid moan of our ever complaining door that
sounded like the bowels of a ship at sea. not only one but then the second to access
the front room.. mission 2- find the keys. clang clang jingle- o crap. mission 3- get to the
front door. stumble stumble, walk straight into the same all you bonked into yesterday,
struggle through disorientation, mumble vaguely- ureeka..door! mission 4 -open locks.
in defense of her dignity metal gates are impossible to open quietly in general let alone
while you're sleeping however grabbing the bars and rattling them is not going to free
you, but only summon other foggy groggy squinty mzungus into the front room. Then all
we have is not only one but 5 sleepy people walking into walls aimlessly but with great
determination to get something done. Eventually she would find her way out of prison
and was free to sprint to the squatty. Blast you squatty! Why it had to be across the
yard I could never figure out. I found myself in the same predicament on several accounts
and getting from the front step to being safely inside was a challenge. To the ever
observing Africans over the fence we must have looked hysterical as one mzungu after
another make their way with one foot directly in front of the other, knees slightly bend
trying to be speedy but all around looking like a penguin.
-jenessa lynn
Without a queen the locust swarm
Turned the ground to black,
Descending like a shadowy tower opon a fish's back.
And scattered the sticks who crawled
Like snakes in the sand,
As the red clay took the form of a lizard,
Who rushed like a moth to the flame of my open hand
(My little world...in my sad little world...)
Then a speckled bird humbly inspired
Ran across the road when it could have flown,
And it made me smile.
And at the water's edge, Babylon;
As we lay and slept,
The river wept for you, Zion!
The stones cry out,
Bells shake the sky!
All of creation groans...
SHHHH!
Listen to it!
Messes of men in farmer poverty;
Not much for monks, but we pretend to be;
Share a silent meal and a pot of chamomile.
Gypsies like us should be stamped in solidarity.
And I held you in my fond but distant memory,
While waiting for the Mother Hen to gather me,
Who regretfully wrote:
"You have a decent ear for notes,
But you can't yet appreciate harmony."
O porcupine, low in the tree; your eyes to mine:
'You'd be well inclined not to mess with me.'
And at the garden's edge beneath a speechless sky,
As his friends slept,
Jesus wept - and it's no wonder why.
You wanna be set free?
You wanna set me free?!
Well that can only come from
A union with the One Who Never Dies.
[In my little world, in my sad little world, I patched a plaster wall
In my little world, I was waiting, just dying
to take offense at something.
In my little world, in my little world, in my sad little world
This is all there is in my little world.
In darkness a light shines
On me.
In darkness a light shines
On you.
Oh what'd I say?!
I never gathered figs from a thorny branch,
(Oh what'd I say?!)
I never picked a grape off a bramble bush!
(Oh what'd I say?!)
For the past five; almost six years now,
(Our Lord is come!)
You haven't once looked at me with kindness in your eyes;
(Oh what'd I say?!)
And you say Judas is a brother of mine?
(Oh what'd I say?!)
Oh, but sister in our darkness a light shines!
(Oh what'd I say?!)
And all I ever want to say for the rest of my life,
(Oh What'd I say!)
Is how the light is GOD!
(Our Lord is come!)
And through I've been mistaken on this or that point,
That light is God.
from a group of artists i very much admire- mewithoutYou [listening to the recording is highly recommended]
ps- i am currently beginning to create a website for all interested in viewing photos of my trip- arrival date yet to be determined (not too soon in the future but coming). it will included photos of team family, ministry, friends, places, me (of course) and some... basically everything
having come home is not what i anticipated- though in part that in itself was fully expected. i haven't done half the things i've wanted to nor half the things i should
among them would be updates and blogging, though i guess it's no huge surprise they are what fell by the waist side. but nonetheless God is still speaking and caring for me as always, i just haven't been disciplined in telling you about it. for those of you who do not know since i left the states i have been ill with something no one can seem to identify. it has been fairly unforgiving but not all days go to waste. i find myself at home in this land between sky and wheat field with a wind strong enough you'd half expect it to blow your cares away. not truly up to going out much i've been helping mom not burn the cinnamon buns, baking for someone who might want a cake in the next few days, learning the piano like i've wanted to forever, discovered a love for photography and can't stop rhyming for life of me. me and time are becoming well acquainted and we pass it mostly by waiting, or at least that's what it seems. this time of rest has excellent benefits like reading my Bible till i'm full, or praying for life, for family, for friends and the future i've been very wary to think of.
to be honest i mostly shy away from what i've got inside. it's just so thick and i mean really what do you say? i've gotten the understanding nod and the reassuring- it must be hard returning to affluence- and i think i must sound like every other world traveler returning with a burden no one knows how to help carry. ya the money is apparent and the root of unthinkable evils but for some reason that's not what brings me to tears. but can i pinpoint what exactly that might be? no i couldn't if you straight up asked me. i could give you an idea if you're willing to listen and maybe bear a fit of rage or two. however i don't want to guilt or to paralyze, but only to inspire cause that's when people move forward i've realized- when they feel hope you see . i saw the needs, the abundant needs, which was what i asked for essentially. i wouldn't give it back, this perspective, this constant slideshow of the destitute; it's just really hard cause now i've seen the need but how to answer it i have no idea. there is a love that redeems injustice but so many with the responsibility and capability to act don't even truly understand the meaning of grace let alone humbly accept it for themselves- not saying i do entirely either but i discovered i didn't when i thought i did.
i've come to think that satan would love this whole thing to be too big to approach, that it's not processable because there's just so much. of course that's not true. i know that God's work in the last 8 months is impossibly intricate but my journey was specific and ordained and He is a faithful patient Father who helps. that's basically what i tell myself. it just takes courage to stay steady at the helm for a greater good i may not see yet by always choosing to believe and trust that God is a God of redemption and healing, he loves freedom and craves justice. the difference between our desires and His is that He gets what He wants all the time, i just dont understand. I know God has made us specifically and certain things make more angry and broken than others. our project coordinator has said that is a gift of holy rage. he'd say some things are worth gettin mad about in the world and the question is what are you doing with that? i think it can hardly be worth the foam at the mouth if it's just an emotionally charged spew. God calls us to do something, and of course it takes a certain level of sobriety amid the emoting to hear the answer to our asking the right questions. i fear i speak above my head- i dont know the answers to this process by all means (though as a good hipster christian does, i've read a few good books...) i've heard it said that if you can find your holy discontent and do something about it, life gets pretty exciting. this morning at 4 AM i think i may have found something....and the abundance of life that one moment brings when God speaks, is enough hope for me to truly know, it's going to be okay.
as i perched on my bed at 4:30 this morning partially hovering i'm certain, i typed rapidly on my laptop attempting to account for my thoughts (cause everyone knows you never remember in the morning)--most of it is top secret, i trust you understand, but i thought i'd share a small hint for anyone remotely interested. ( warning: i can be fairly philosophical after 11PM so this is me at my best)
in my humble opinion, art is beauty and beauty is art.
alongside this thought it appears to me that there is so much out there claiming to be such, but hardly deserving this distinction.
So then is it the term art that we flippantly bestow or is it rather just too easy to be classified as beautiful?
maybe things that aren't so pretty or easy to look at deserve more credit than those.
can something be beautiful without being art and can art be art without exuding some form of beauty?
of course one could cliche and announce beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
and so behold, we are none to judge
for the Creator is the one to say what is most pleasing
Today at breakfast I was overwhelmed by the fact that I live closely with 10 other people.
As T would put it "we're like up in each other's grill," all the time! At one point in
eating my banana there were four different arms reaching around my head and across my plate.
I had a sudden fear my banana was going to get hit and go flying through the air onto
someone else's plate. Sometimes I just want to stand up and yell "Don't touch me, stop
touching me, stop it!" Usually as the eleven of us crowd the table (that's only designed
for 8) we are able to navigate an interested dance of passing and reaching and elbows and
story telling at unnecessary volumes but not this morning.
At one point I finally decided to be proactive and get out of my seat for the Blue Band because Kathleen just wasn't hearing me. Turns out T was also on the hunt. I grab it for my bread which causes her to turn around and chase it. Realizing her game I playfully passed it back, then of course to further the joke "forgot" I wasn't finished and retrieved it once more. Outbursts of frustration came from her side of the table however I was determined to have my turn all by myself. Jessica, who had been watching the whole thing, steps in as T becomes unruly. Jess witnessed my recent stomping away from the table almost choking on my banana because T innocently asked to share my chair. Not only can I not have tea without spilling I have to do it with someone one my lap. Predicting an illogical reaction from myself, Jess hurls herself at T to prevent interruption of me spreading my Blue Band. Instinctively I grab the tub and leap over a chair to escape. With a quick shoulder check I see T approaching fast so I make a break for the door. Clutching my bread, Blue Band and a knife I take off round the house as she chases me shouting threats as I throw back snarky retaliations. (I realize running with knives is bad but mom I had no choice other than extreme desperate measures). I round the counter to the back and almost run into June our cook. Stopping abruptly I defend my self with my butt and kindly finish as quickly as possible. I set the tub down and retreat through the back door leaving T on the porch. Huza I have my chair back.
Why we so strongly desire a share of Blue Band I am not sure. It is a product the deceivingly resembles butter or margarine but doesn't claim to be either anywhere on the label. It accurately reads "rich in vitamin A spread." We aren't entirely sure what exactly we are eating. I think I will miss our times around the table t be honest. Ever since Mexico Uganda 2 has had a running joke about John 21:12, sometimes it's an adventure :)
The following is a blog written and posted by Kyle Blount- I feel he presents his thoughts well and Istand with him on several points. It is a pretty good commentary on a large aspect of the trip. However, please keep in mind it is only a PART of the trip and not an indication of the entire tone of our stay in Africa. Lastly, there are a lot of contemplative thoughts here that are worth spending time reflecting on. please enjoy
As I have begun to sort through the seemingly endless files of my brain containing events, thoughts, and the like from the entirety of this trip, I have begun to realize one thing: Right now, I have no idea how to begin putting things in their place. I do not mean to say that everything needs to be wrapped up with a nice bow on top- to do so would be to be incredibly dishonest with myself about the trip; some of the things that have happened just can't be wrapped up into a nice, neat package- but I do believe that there should be a peace and quietude upon reflection once they have been fully addressed with God. For me, that time has not come. I am sure that during debrief, much of that process will begin. But I am equally sure that the process will be much longer than just a few days- a whole lifetime, perhaps. And that is completely O.K. with me, but there is a certain peace I am seeking before I leave the continent of Africa. By God's grace, I know He will provide for me in that process what I need to be where he wants me to be when I leave in a week, though this may not be exactly what I was hoping for. Let me share with you though a few of the thoughts I am having through the process.
This morning, I preached at True Vine for the main service about some of the most blatantly unbiblical things I've seen in my time here. I shared the message that God revealed to me about this church concerning prayer (Matthew 6- how not to pray), the rejection of the prosperity gospel, and fighting the Spirit of Performance. During my preparation time, I was reflecting about how this message was different from previous messages I've preached, how often I've preached, and what my ministry has entailed. In Busia, we battled the Spirit of Religion; in Mbita, that of Jealousy and Greed; and here in Tororo, the Spirit of Performance. As I thought back, I realize how much I've preached and how much of our ministry has involved the people within the church, and it quite disappointed me. Don't get me wrong, I love encouraging other believers, but much of that time has felt like a battle, and as I alluded to earlier, it has been a battle against these spirits that unfortunately have quite a grip even upon the Christians placed in the highest places of authority. Battling these spirits and speaking truth into these situations was not exactly how I pictured my trip. I thought I would be ministering alongside the local believers, not only to them. I thought I would be doing a lot more practical ministry and less teaching and preaching, and it's discouraging when almost every time you stand up to speak and share Biblical truth, you see evidence within a day or two that no one heard what you had to say, or if they did, they did not listen and seek to apply it to their lives. But apparently, preaching is all "ministry" means to many Christians in East Africa. The whole process, to be honest, has made me rather disillusioned with the African Church (not that I'm that much more into the American Church), but what are we supposed to do when the people we're to be working with are the ones who give us the hardest time and the ones who most warmly welcome us are the ordinary believers and even those outside of the church? (And why is this the case, both here in Africa and in America? That brings up another whole line of chastisement for myself and the rest of the Church today, which I will not go into at the moment.) The whole time has been exhausting, and it has certainly taken its toll on me. You become quite disillusioned when time after time you move to a new ministry sight, think that everything will improve when you join these new people only to come to find out that they have their own problems, just as egregious as the place before. I don't know why that surprised me- we all have our struggles- but it did. By the grace of God, He has given me the strength to continue running in times like the service this morning, even when all I want to do is go to sleep. I am very glad that this is not a permanent arrangement. I know I ought to have a more kingdom-minded perspective on my time that would be more positive and be more cognizant of the honor that God chose me to go through these things because He knew I could hand them and He had big things to teach me this year. But, sometimes that perspective gets lost in the mess my time in Africa has been. That's not to say I would change anything about it, because I do believe that God has had purpose in all things for my good, but it has not been easy.
And as I was thinking about all of these things, I realized how I continue to always assume that I am in the right in every situation that we have encountered. Sure, the confirmation coming from the Spirit and from the discernment of my team has encouraged me unto that end, but I know that I have not always been in the right. I believe that most of the time I have stood for truth by the guidance of the Holy Spirit, but I know I have not been perfect unto that end for the entire five months. It's hard to create the disconnect between passionately speaking out again the Pharisee-esque behavior displayed in so many of the people with whom we've come into contact and our personal actions, to maintain enough humility to recognize my faults in the midst of fighting for truth and the purity of the gospel. God has definitely given me the identity of being a warrior for speaking His truth and correcting the gross perversions of the gospel that I come into contact with (even if all I can do is speak whether or not anyone is actually listening), and that has been an awesome calling upon my life (even the African names I have been given, "Mwanzi", "Mushindi", and "Galoch" all mean "Conqueror" or "Victor" in Lugandan, Swahili, and Luo, respectively). But, I know I have not always done everything right. Though I have pursued to know the gospel in its purity- only what God speaks to us through His word, devoid of cultural slants, personal biases, or any other superfluous, distracting doctrine- am I being hypocritical for standing up and preaching against the cultural perspectives that blind others from another culture to the Biblically-based truth when I am still so bound by my own cultural background and perspectives? I suppose that's one of the most challenging things about cross-cultural ministry and one of the greatest obstacles we all must individually seek to conquer. But, I didn't write this blog to complain about what a difficult time we had or to rag on the people we were with this past five months.
As I said before, I truly desired to spend more time with people outside of the church. One of the biggest themes that I, and our team as a whole, have adopted is the idea of relational ministry. Really, this just means ministering to them the way that Jesus ministered: by forming relationships (though not with the ulterior motives of creating a "convert"), loving people with the love of Christ, modeling our lives in faithful obedience to God out of love, and challenging them to seek the Lord for themselves. We did have a few opportunities where we were able to minister relationally, and those were blessings to me. It's amazing to see the fruit of such ministry and experience the joy that comes even just from forming those relationships upon whose basis you will be challenging individuals at a later date. It's hard to do here in East Africa, though, because other Mzungus have taught the Africans very western ideas of ministry. Crusades, home visits, and evangecubes made unfortunate frequent visits. Now, these things in and of themselves are not bad, but the way they are administered can be horrific. I was appalled the first time I heard someone say that we could only spend five minutes at each house that we visited and that if the people were not willing to "accept salvation", whatever that means, within those five minutes, we were to move on. I was even more appalled the first time we went to a crusade (which, by the way, is a TERRIBLE name for a ministry activity...do we study history?) and heard the preacher screaming (and I mean screaming) from a make-shift platform into a microphone in the middle of the market about the horrors of hell that faced everyone who was listening to him unless they repented now and received salvation (and then proceed to speak the next day about what a successful day it had been during house visits because of the number of people who accepted salvation). I'm not one to sugarcoat anything, especially the reality of hell, but have we not yet learned that that kind of hell-fire and brimstone message only creates scared individuals trying to please God with their efforts rather than living in His grace and obeying Him because they love Him? That approach certainly does not display the love which Christ calls us to (remember that it's the second greatest commandment, right behind loving God?), and screaming it from a platform at the masses does not display "speaking the truth in love" as we're instructed to do in Ephesians 4:15. When did anyone, in Africa OR America, think it was OK to reduce individual souls, children of the King, created in His image and loved by Jesus just as much as any one of us into a number on a piece of paper by which to measure the "success" of a day? That's NOT OK!! When did we replace the word "disciples" in Matthew 28:19 with the word "converts" or "Christians" i.e., "Go and make converts of all nations..."? What is needed in Africa (and America for that matter) is not more evangelism done in some loveless manner directed at creating a nice number to put on paper at the end of the day to make ourselves feel good about what we've done, but people dedicated to loving the children of God not in fellowship with Him at this moment (whether they go to church or call themselves "Christians" or not) and CREATE DISCIPLES who are committed to obeying and serving Christ because of their great love for Him. Are you beginning to see that the Church in Africa and America really aren't that different? The same problems plague both parts of the body, and both groups need a call to return to the foundations of our faith- not to be caught up in the formulas of religion, our own pride, our desire for wealth and financial prosperity, but the radical love given to us by God that should cause us to love and obey Him in the most radical ways imaginable.
But, as I have reflected, I know that this trip was more about my relationship with God and what He had to teach me than about the ministry we have done, and I certainly have learned a great deal- more than I could probably relate in ten thousand blogs. I have realized recently how I have lost certain aspects of walking in the Spirit and other things I've learned on this trip while going through the trials of our time in Africa. I just finished re-reading Crazy Love by Francis Chan, and it served as a wonderful reminder of why I'm here, what I'm doing, and the things I should be pursuing. So, I am dedicating this last week of my time in Africa to personally seeking to return to those things that have fallen by the wayside and begin once more to walk in the Spirit as God solidifies all that He's taught me and done in my life through this time. I would appreciate your prayers as I continue to sort through and process the entirety of this trip and seek to allow God to end this disquietude I feel in my heart. I know that this is a very long blog, and I appreciate all of you who read all of it! God bless!
ps-thank you kyle- you're a wonderful brother and friend
In Africa things just never slow down, the longer we're here the more that happens. One day
after another. There is no easing in or out of it. I've gotten generally accustomed to
relating like an African (i guess, though people still often misunderstand me), now if
people show up early for things it almost seems unkind and I'd rather them be an hour late
than early, the team goes out to eat at a westernized restaurant and we all have gas problems
for the next few days, I can't seem to sleep in past 7 now and dancing is a daily activity
(o and so is eating as a family and sharing a bed) however when I think about it in a big
picture I still just don't understand the culture, more so I don't understand the hardship
and oppression that to everyone is normal, it's life, it's home, it's part of being African.
It is still so strange to see a child take charge of other children with the authority of a
parent and with more aggression than even I would take if I had little ones of my own.
We visited an orphanage yesterday - it houses over four hundred kids and all they seem to eat is fillers...Ugali( a flour and water mixture that expands in the stomach basically and makes
you feel full but has very little nutritional value...a staple), chapati (flat bread)
porridge and rice. With so many children and not nearly enough teachers the older ones
patrol the little ones. No one gets enough attention and no one sees if "toys" are stolen
or if one falls or get bitten by a bug..they just have to deal with it. The facility is
horribly run down and I find it so troubling to see children with nothing, no clothes, no
parents, no hygiene. They don't have toys- I saw one boy blowing spit bubbles onto the
pavement occupying time, amusing himself...so dirty. The orphanage is called Smile
Africa and the team has visited a couple times before having lived at True Vine in January.
This was my first encounter. I could hardly interact with any of the children, I didn't
play or run around or sing songs or push kids on swings. I just stood there, wandered this
way and that just observing i guess; watching the dynamics between the kids, observing their
reactions to the attention from the rest of the team, watching the teachers. I found myself
staring at the tiny little bundle on the floor. I could have gone over and picked her up, normally I would have but instead I stared. Inside was a little girl probably 14 months
old (though it's hard to tell cause they are all smaller than they should be, much smaller).
She was sleeping in the middle of the cement slab which was an eating area twenty minutes
ago. Someone might step on her. I glance to the right to the sound of crying and there is
another tiny naked bay, probably only 2. He's sitting in the middle of nowhere crying. Why? What's wrong? Are you hungry? Do you just hurt cause the worms in your stomach are
eating you alive? Are you sick? Or did you just suddenly realize that you are in the
middle of nowhere and no one even knows you're there. I'm sure someone would care but no
one knows about you, no one seems to even see you. So many questions are running through my head as I stare. Does anyone else see this? Surely I'm not the first one to notice you but then why doesn't anyone answer your crying.? How often does this happen? I'm so sorry. I was pulled out of this daze to a sudden burst of tears from a child over in the field who had been pushed over or hit or stepped on. With no one to give hugs I would go over and pick them up until the crying subsided but by that time there was another in need of comfort. I'd go from one to the next- helping with owies and bug bites, swollen faces and hurt feelings. It was like I had no choice- my instincts kicked into breaking up fights and wiping tears, giving hugs and holding heads. Maybe the next visit will be easier. Did I ask to see this? Was I asked to witness this? Now that I've seen them what do i do? Now that I've seen I have a responsibility. What they need- I just don't know. Of all I've seen in Africa this is most tragic. How can I come home? I once was blind but now I see and I've changed. How can I come home and not be bitter- no want to vomit at the society I come from, at the mentalities we obliviously indulge in, thinking
it's normal. I come from the richest society in the history of the world, now I've seen this - this earthly kingdom is so upside down.
In order to heal injustice, to remedy the wrongs of this world, the antidote is not merely to insert justice. We must insert love, which in Christ is above all things, that the hurts of humanity may be soothed. That is why Christ came to the world, not to bring a just earthly kingdom, to reconcile injustice, but to love with an everlasting love that heals gaping wounds and scars alike, that injustice might not be merely righted but redeemed. Jessica Becker
Psalm 22:1-2, 42
Psalm 130
With vacation over the time had come to make our way back to Uganda. Little did we know the adventure was definitely not finished.
Caught the night bus from Mombasa. It was like a horrible ride at an amusement park. You get on and are trapped for the entire adventure, no getting off, no going back. There should have been an entrance sign reading "Welcome aboard Nightmare to the Middle of Nowhere." We got on at 9:00pm excited to get to Uganda. Our entry pass read 16 hours; that's long but the scenery is more than peasant and I got a seat with a window that opened. First sign of trouble- a red glowing clock above the driver. Wasn't pumped that when I'm bored I can watch the minutes go by but the torturous feature of it was the invasive beep literally every second. The kind that an alarm clock makes to wake you up in the morning, combined with the "your laundry's done" buzzer on the dryer. How are we expected to get any sleep on this night bus? I felt like I was standing behind a dump truck backing up but could do nothing to move out of the way.
Seeing as it is dark by 7:00 every day there was nothing to occupy my mind really and wanting to savor my ipod batteries until a moment of desperation, I attempted to rest. Luckily when that went sour I had a wonderful seat buddy for excellent conversation but of course that only lasts so long and finally we dozed off around 1am. We had uncertainties about this charter in the first place considering its rickety nature so it could have been expected that we'd break down. The bus makes regular stops to begin with, which usually involves being jolted awake by sudden interior lights accompanied by foggy disorientation, lots of people shuffling about and loud vendors trying to sell you soda and peanuts through the window; however when we came to a halt in the middle of the road I got worried. The next five hours were and adventure in themselves. Now not only were we unable to exit this ride, we weren't even moving forward. It did cross my mind to take the opportunity to sleep however the front door was left open and the bus began filling with insects -big ones. The kind that go directly for the lights and then dive bomb to the floor only to soon wake up and do it all over again. This happens till they are so mixed up they fly recklessly around the cabin most of the time at a blinding speed right for your face. I was also a little distracted by the rest of the Africans exiting the bus and catching passing mtatus, leaving us alone with our Swahili speaking driver. It can't get any worse can it I thought to myself with sarcasm and then it began to rain. I laughed because I felt like Jane from Disney's Tarzan stuck in the jungle. At this point I regretted having a fully functioning window next to me. In an attempt to avoid the dripage I curled up beside T and fell asleep.
The sun rose by 7 and due to lack of ventilation and 11 very warm travelling mzungus I had to get off the bus. Turns out there was a magnificent Bougainvillea tree right beside the biggest Baobab I've seen just outside. And beside that was a carving shop/gallery where I picked up the most beautiful bowl. The man gave us a tour of the hut out back which was stuffed full of giant carvings of tribal men and stump stools. There were little giraffe figurines, a satchel of elephants and a pile of rhinos with a little zebra peeking out the side. I pulled him out, he was a handsome little guy so I gave the man a few shillings and stuffed him into my raincoat pocket. Finally help came and things looked hopeful. We were promised that the bus we'd catch in Nairobi would take us all the way to Tororo considering we missed all our connections. With the smell of rain and the breeze in my face we sped off to Nairobi looking forward to a bathroom and a free breakfast voucher. However turns out this wasn't just an amusement ride but also a rollercoaster. You reach the crest with excitement in your stomach then plunge. I got locked in a bathroom that had no lock, no toilet paper and no water; breakfast was dry bread with a mysterious roll of hash. I was grateful for the tea and eggs though, and hey it was free. Our fearless faithful leaders tracked down some water and we were off on the 1 o'clock bus.
Next stop Kisumu to meet Paul and Erin for the rest of our belongings to move to Uganda. The road is long but we travel as friends. Point of advice: don't drink soda on a bus with no bathroom. The afternoon drive was somewhat pleasant however on one certain stop throughout the day I paid my 5 shilling to use the squatty in the rain but before the line is through Alison comes running up announcing the bus is pulling away. We boot it back and I ask the driver how far to Kisumu. He replies 90-200 KM- that could mean a long time considering the roads and the rain. O NO! I took my seat realizing the moment for the ipod had come and I was glad for full batteries. We finally pulled into the "station," I leap off the bus in the dark and there is a man standing in front of his restaurant. He grabs my hand and tries to seat me before I can say a word. I try to get directions to the bathroom if there is one and he points me to the back, but all I find around the corner is a woman slaughtering a chicken. She tells me it's too late and the only bathroom is closed for the night. Not acceptable! At the point I thought to myself just don't stop moving. Randomly heard someone say bathroom and I followed across the street to the squatty near the passenger lounge. O Boy. Having finished we loaded our stuff onto the bus in the wicked storm only to find out the deal we had with the bus line didn't exist. We had a ticket to the border. The End. Thank heavens for Paul, he stood in the station arguing with the teller as we huddled under an umbrella until we heard the bus honking heavy threats of leaving. I ran over and stood half in the door half not yelling over the rain for him to please stay put. Kyle did a good job making sure our tempered driver understood we had been travelling for 24 hours and needed to make sure we could get where we needed to go.
Fully drenched and without any sort of arrangement we eventually got on the bus, waved goodbye to Paul Erin and Jared and set off for the border I guess. Point of Advice #2- don't tick off the driver, he has a lot of control over your life or at least the well being of your stomach. Our final stretch was most unpleasant. On the verge of running out of airtime we began calling for a ride. We were supposed to catch up with a driver at the border at 3pm but we left Kisumu at 11pm. A couple of days earlier God provided a random driver to help us surely He could do it again. If we hadn't been praying before then we certainly all started. Reese ended up finding extra minutes in the battery compartment of her phone no one could account for. Also due to the volcano in Greenland some of our contacts were denied a flight home that day and where able to give us some numbers. Forty minutes before reaching the border we confirmed a ride. They met us on the Kenyan side with warm hugs and smiling faces, walked us through and had vans waiting on the other side. Praise God! We could have been stranded in the night with all our stuff and one guy to ten girls at the order of all places. But by 1:30 we had tea and bread in a house with lights and people overjoyed to see us and us them. Asleep by 2:00am. Praise God from whom all blessings flow. I must admit I was pretty crabby by the end of the day but I rest in peace knowing I have a God who sees me, that will never leave me and I am not alone...not only that, I have really good friends.
We are soldiers; it's behind all of our eyes. It is a frustrating position to hold but we are the chosen ones, chosen honorably, chosen to fight injustice. With that though our eyes are opened, and forever ingrained in our hearts is the injustice that we see. The heaviness of the honor comes from the obligation to fight in the battle. In a way we did not choose this, but by the King we have been chosen to represent Him and we cannot reject the call. How have we gotten into this mess? Here we don't go to church, we are church. Sometimes I feel like the lowly violin players in one of the last scenes of titanic singing of hope as the hull cracks and the mast moans under the pressure. The body is seemingly succumbing to disunity and pettiness under the threatening hopelessness of the church or is it the oppressive yoke of religion or is it just injustice? It is not hopeless, this I am certain of because with Christ nothing is hopeless and joy is always an option. "...we rejoice in the glory of God. More than this we rejoice in our suffering, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God has poured out His love into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us." (Romans) We've been in the middle of it for long enough to see its destruction. We could not simply dip our toes into the water; we had to dive into this sea of religion to see its realness and to conquer our fear and blindness of it. We are being trained: to know it, to recognize it and to fight it. But with it comes exhaustion and defeat that reminds us it is not by our own efforts that we can fight this. We are not the heroes, we are just soldiers. Without Him we are dead, we are blinded, and we are lost. Lord could I not have simply lived contently in my ignorance; I never asked to fight, I only wanted peace. We have been chosen and called to fight, not with words but with actions. We have been called to not only bring the truth but to believe it and live it; for if we speak it, shouldn' t that be an indication of our beliefs? And if we truly believe it, does it not affect our ways of life? For what is religion if it's not a way of life? If it is not rooted in a deep love and desire to satisfy the one who has justified us? It is a bunch of empty actions and we become relentless clanging symbols-from my experience here I only see religion causing people to fall away from truth. Where have we gone wrong? Religion, it is killing the world, it is destroying the name of Jesus. How do I deal with seeing Jesus crying because His own body is killing him? What do we do, how do we fight this? We love. We approach this brokenness with compassion and humility. We seek His will everyday and realize that this is not our battle and that all will be reconciled. I have to trust God fills in the gaps. "The Lord will cause His majestic voice to be heard and the descending blow of HIs arm to be seen." (Isaiah 30) I have to listen and be obedient. "In returning and rest you shall be saved, in quietness and trust shall be your strength...your Teacher will not hide himself anymore but your eyes will see your Teacher. And your ears shall hear a word behind you, "this is the way, walk in it," when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left." "Every stroke of the appointed staff that the Lord lays on them will be to the sound of tambourines and lyres. Battling with brandished arm, He will fight with them." (Isaiah 30).
Isaiah 42:5-9, 43:1-5, 10
Italics- "We Are Soldiers" by Tara Borman - thank you T for helping me process life and express my heart.
--good friends
paul and his wife Erin on his birthday
