Most of my life, I've felt like a turkey living in a world full of ducks. A turkey who spent 20 years learning to get along with ducks, and did a reasonably good job of it. At the very least, even if she didn't ever look like a duck or feel like a duck, she got along reasonably well with the ducks most of the time. Then she moved to a country full of ... rabbits. So she studied the rabbits and learned to hop around and eat lettuce and do other rabbit-y things, and that was kind of fun sometimes, but it was also very hard, and she found herself longing to be around other birds again. Eventually she moved back to Duckland, but when she got there, she suddenly remembered that even though she is a bird, she has never been a duck and never will be a duck, and now she is not only not a duck, she is a turkey that sometimes acts and thinks like a rabbit.

So now she is trying to re-learn how to get along in Duckland, while still being true to her identity as a turkey and also not denying the fact that there are certain things about Rabbitland that she misses terribly. This is difficult. Most of the time my response is to try to act as much like a duck as possible. This is probably not the best response, but for the time being it's all I know how to do.

A poem by Emily Dickinson

I never lost as much but twice,
And that was in the sod.
Twice have I stood a beggar
Before the door of God!

Angels -- twice descending --
Reimbursed my store --
Burglar! Banker -- Father!
I am poor once more.

--------------------

This poem has been on my mind a lot the last few months as I've grieved over leaving a home that was so dear to me. Yes, I am poor once more ... But God is also Banker, and he is Father, and he answers those who beg at his door.

To God Be the Glory

You can’t spend too long in Africa, I think, without coming to the realization that the powers of darkness are very, very real. And yet as a Christian, you can’t spend too long in Africa without realizing that God’s power is far greater than the power of darkness.

A year ago, I prayed as a form of communion with God, but I rarely prayed for anything. I believed He could answer my prayers if He wanted to, but I figured He was pretty much going to do what He saw best, anyway.

But in the past year, I have seen some of the tragedy of human life in a way I have never seen it before. I have fallen to my knees in anguish, begging God to comfort, to heal, to rebuke, and to forgive. And I have seen God’s power change lives in miraculous and startling ways.

I have found that Christ’s love transcends all boundaries. I have found myself teaching God’s Word with passion that could never have originated with me. I have found that the Holy Spirit can and will guide my prayers, my words, and my actions.

A few days ago I was praying with a friend, one of the youth girls. I prayed against slanderous words that have been spoken about her. And I found myself praying, “God, if anyone wants to speak hurtful or untrue things, may that person find his or her lips stuck together!” I would never have had the courage to pray with such boldness before coming to Uganda. God has worked mightily on my heart in the past two years.

I say none of this to brag. I came to Uganda to be an English teacher. I’ve done that, and I’ve loved it. But so much of the work God had in mind for me, I never would have anticipated. To God be the glory.

Sometimes teaching is really fun.

This week I gave my 1^st-6^th grade students the following writing prompt: Imagine you are a raindrop. Describe how you would feel as you fell through the air. Tell where you would land.

Here is a sampling of my kiddos' vivid imaginations:

I would be scared, if I was a raindrop. I would land in a curly dog. (Age 6)

I feel sick, can I feel happy? I will land right there, in the ocean. (Age 6)

I would be happy to be a raindrop but not happy if I connect with anthor one. (Age 7)

I am a ranedrop I get scarde a lot. I allwas fall in the same spot. I land in North America on a Dog. wat a good time I have. I am so happy! The end! (Age 8)

I would land on a dog’s smooth fur or I would land in sombody’s spikey hair (Age 8)

I’m a little raindrop, life like a rolacoster every Day. faling and riseing all the time. sadly it’s the dry season I can’t fall. I imagine falling to the water works. to me it’s like takeing a bath faling in puddles. Wgh! going thue clean sand and soap. finaly I evaporate. What a fun day. (Age 10)

If I was a rain drop, I’d probably faint on the way down. I’d feel way to cold as I fell out of my cloud. I would not be so keen to make a landing. I would like to fall into a puddle to be with my fellow rain drops. It would be nice to fall down into a rainforest so nobody could step on me. A big leaf would be ideal. I would love to evaporate calmly or be a refreshing drink to a squiril. (Age 11)

Sometimes, People are Just People

A couple of weeks ago I visited my friend Mabel at her home. I’d mentioned a few weeks before that I’d like to visit her, but we never firmed up details and I didn’t have her phone number. But regardless of the lack of plans, I hopped on my beat-up bicycle with the chain that kept slipping off and rode the two miles to her neighborhood. I knew vaguely where she lived, but not exactly, so I asked people sitting outside if they could direct me to her house, and eventually I found her.

I thought about the differences between visiting a friend in America and visiting a friend here in Uganda. In the US, I would never dream of dropping in on a friend unannounced. Especially now that I don’t live in a college dorm. But here, a visitor is always a welcome interruption.

Mabel is a tall, friendly young lady of about 19 years old. She goes to school Monday through Friday, works on Saturday mornings, and sings in the choir at church on Sundays. She is always smiling. And when I arrived at her house that afternoon, she rushed to send a neighbor to the store to get me a soda and some matoke—plantains, which is the food for special occasions and special visitors.

Her mom, wearing a bright red and purple dress, a white head covering, and a brown apron, stepped away from her outdoor charcoal stove to shake my hand vigorously and tell me how welcome I was to her home. Neighborhood children, some relatives of Mabel’s, some just curious bystanders, came by to see if it was true that a mzungu woman was sitting on Mabel’s couch.

Once the stream of relatives and curious children had died down, our conversation turned to deeper matters. She told me about how her family had struggled to find money for school fees since her father had died the year before. We talked about the comfort the knowledge of God’s love brings during troubled times. I told her about my favorite Scripture, Matthew 6:33: “But seek first God’s kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”
Then I asked her what things keep Ugandans from seeking God first, and her answer surprised me: Greed.

“Everywhere you go,” she said, “Africans just want money. They will lie and cheat and steal because they just want more and more money. And even if they get money, they still want more.”

Does that sound familiar?

Substitute the word “Americans” for “Africans.” It fits, doesn’t it?

What an interesting commentary on human nature. Wherever you go, in cultures as widely different as American and Ugandan, sometimes, people are just people.

Turn, turn, turn

It’s mid-November. The leaves on the trees have not turned red or orange or even brown. There’s no brisk bite to the air. No desire to walk a bit more quickly to get out of the chill. No need for blankets or scarves or wool sweaters. No looking up at the grey clouds and wondering if they might, just this once, contain snow.

I didn’t expect to miss seasons so much.

It’s not that Mbale doesn’t have seasons at all. We have the rainy season, and we have the dry season—perhaps more aptly called the slightly-less-rainy season. As December approaches, the rains are letting up a bit, and the sun seems to be burning a bit more brightly than it did last month. Sunscreen becomes a necessity instead of just a good idea.

It’s not that I miss the cold that much. No, I think what’s more troubling to me right now is that it’s mid-November, and I don’t know what happened to August, September, or October. Without the subtle transition of summer to fall, fall to winter, time seems to slip by unheeded. Or bound past in jack-rabbit leaps. I don’t know which—and that’s the problem. I didn’t realize how much I depended on crunchy leaves and hot chocolate and daffodils to divide life into orderly, manageable amounts of time.

The changing of seasons means not only the passage of a year, but the passage of a lifetime—the boundless energy of youthful spring, the summer and fall of adulthood, and finally the winter of old age, which then gives way for the next generation of spring chickens. But here, I feel ill at ease with this analogy. Things can’t age, can’t mature at their proper time, in the land of perpetual summer.

We Love Uganda Days

My housemate Jennifer and I have what we call “We Love Uganda” days. These are the days when the following sorts of things happen:

-The power has been on a maximum of 12 hours a day for the last three weeks, off altogether for 3 days, and then – just two days after it came back on – the electrical company comes by to try to disconnect you for not paying a bill that you never received.

-You make macaroni and cheese (from America!) … only to find out that the milk you made it with has gone sour.

-Your dog dies of some mysterious tropical doggie illness.

-You come home from a bike ride muddy, sweaty, and greasy … only to find that the water has been turned off and you can’t take a shower.

On days like this, Jennifer and I sit down and tell each other why we love Uganda, because otherwise we might forget. Our reasons include:

-Teaching the youth class at church

-Walking up the road in the late afternoon and seeing the sun reflecting off the waterfalls on Mt. Wanale

-When two women just passing by the church on a Sunday morning feel compelled to come in

-Days when your students have “ah-HA!” moments

-Matoke (cooking bananas) and beans

-Playing cards all afternoon when the power is out

-Living two hours from the Nile

-Watching people from every tribe and nation come to learn more about Jesus

-Bicycle taxis

-Frogs that sing lullabies in muddle puddles in the back yard

-Children who laugh with you while you’re out running

-Friends who drop by unannounced during school holidays

We’ve had a lot of “We Love Uganda” days lately … it’s a good thing we love it here so much.

Ugandalish quiz, pt. 2

(If you live or have ever lived in Uganda, please don't answer!)

Here are a few snippets of Ugandan English I've heard this week. See if you can guess what they mean:

1. I was trying to revise my daughter.
a. I was helping my daughter study.
b. I wanted to change my daughter's mind about something.
c. I was helping my daughter move out.

2. Will you give me a push?
a. May I borrow some money?
b. Will you help me start my car?
c. Will you walk partway with me?

3. I need a short call.
a. I need the bathroom.
b. I need to use the phone.
c. I need to talk to you briefly.

Home again, home again, jiggity jig

(Aside: Now, the problem with the title of this entry is one that’s common to missionary types: where, exactly, do I mean when I say “home”? Fortunately the repetition of “home again,” in this instance, can be more than a mere euphonic device – it can allow me to reference two signifieds with a single signifier!)

Okay, enough nerdiness. First, apologies once again for the delay between entries. I’ve fallen out of the habit of blogging, but I hope to get back into it for at least a little while. It tends to go in cycles, I’ve found.

Anyway, I spent the summer at “home” in America, and now I’m “home” in Mbale. I thoroughly enjoyed three months of family, rest, milkshakes, 24-hour grocery stores, driving, air conditioning, and not being called "mzungu," but I'm happy to be back here as well.

I'm having some difficulty uploading photos right now, but hopefully I'll be able to do that soon.

At the beginning of last week, my roommate Jennifer, Shawn Tyler, and I drove up to Nimule, Sudan, where Messiah Theological Institute, based here in Mbale, has an extension school. There are three Kenyan men, David, Kennedy, and Martin, who work as missionaries in Nimule. David and Kennedy work on church planting and discipleship in Nimule and the surrounding areas. Martin is an eyeglass technician who organizes and runs outreach clinics in rural areas.

The purpose of the trip was primarily for Shawn to teach a Bible course at MTI-Sudan. Jennifer and I accompanied him to encourage the missionaries and so that we could see the work there and report back on it. When we left we honestly weren’t sure what we’d be doing.

After an eight-hour drive, we arrived at the Ugandan side of the border, where Kennedy met us to help with immigration. Kennedy greeted all of the officials by name—a huge plus in dealing with East African bureaucracy. We made it through the Ugandan border with no difficulties. Then we drove ten or fifteen minutes further before we reached South Sudan.

The area between the two borders is a political no-man’s land. When the fighting in South Sudan was at its worst, Uganda pulled back its borders to create a buffer zone from the turmoil. Now, years later, there’s still a stretch of land that neither side wants to claim.

That was the first sign we saw of the region’s lingering unease.

The second sign was desolation. Kennedy told us that only in the last two years have people begun moving back to the Nimule area. Before that, the town was nearly empty. To us, the town looked like it still was empty. A few shops, a few people on bicycles … but mostly, nothing was there.

The mission station is outside the town a few kilometers. As we drove through, we saw the typical East African village sites—little huts with thatched roofs, women carrying babies on their backs, goats munching on grass. But where were the maize fields? The vegetable gardens? The signs of people at work? Dennis explained that many of the people now living in Nimule have spent their whole adult lives in refugee camps. They don’t know how to farm or raise crops, because they’re accustomed to living on handouts. So even now that their homeland is peaceful again, they aren’t able to fend for themselves.


So for the most part, what we saw and did in Sudan is … not much. There’s not much to see, and not much to do. What we did was listen, learn, and ponder.

To fill our time, Jennifer and I played with the kids at the nursery school that meets on the church compound. We sang VBS songs like “Wrapped Up Tied Up Tangled Up”, taught them to sign “Jesus Loves Me”, attempted to play Duck Duck Goose, and of course took lots of pictures. (Jennifer is posting them on her blog at: http://www.xanga.com/jenruth_21)

We took pictures for ID cards for the MTI-Nimule students. I tried to help prepare dinner one afternoon, but my cabbage-cutting skills are distinctly under par. We sat and talked the women, but Swahili was the only language we had in common, and none of us spoke just a ton of that.

Please pray for South Sudan. The UN’s World Food Program and Refugee Councils still have a strong presence in the Nimule area. The Sudanese people are managing to survive right now because of emergency aid from those sorts of organization. But what the people of South Sudan need more than aid is practical education to help them get back on their feet. The work that people like David and Kennedy and Martin are doing is fantastic, but so much more is needed.

"God can make good use of all that happens."

“Other things, other blessings, other glories. But never that. Never in all the worlds, that. God can make good use of all that happens. But the loss is real.”

I’m currently reading Perelandra, one of the books in C.S. Lewis’s Space Trilogy. It’s a beautiful book, and if you haven’t read it I really think you should. But by way of synopsis, it’s about a man who visits a sinless, unfallen world with the task of assisting it in staying unfallen.

In the quote above, Ransom, the main character, ponders what would have happened if Adam and Eve hadn’t sinned—but realizes that he can never know. It’s a theme that runs through the book—that we can never know what would have been, but we know that whatever does happen, God uses for His glory. Because Adam and Eve sinned, Christ came in the form of man. Satan bit His heel, but Christ crushed Satan’s head.

Several years ago, a wise woman passed onto me something that her wise mother had once told her: “You can’t make a mistake so big that God can’t either fix it or use it.” God has proven the truth of that statement to me over and over. It’s become perhaps the cornerstone of my theology. And yet, the mistakes are real. The longing for restoration is real. The loss is real.

I feel like what I spend my life doing is trying, with all my might, to ease the pain of that very real loss. On my selfish days that consists of hiding in my room using jazz music to drown out the world. But on my better days, I hug, listen, encourage, bake, and teach, all with the goal of lessening the pain. What I can do isn’t enough. I know that. But if I can lead more people to the truth that God can and will redeem all that happens, I guess it’s worthwhile.

Jackson

Today after worship, I went with some of the youth to Remand Home, a juvenile detention center near the church.

We visited with the boys in small groups—told them about Jesus, prayed with them, listened to their stories, if they were willing to share.

One boy, Jackson, told us that he hadn’t committed the theft that had landed him in the home, that he’d been framed by an enemy of his family. He said that these enemies had killed his father when he was a small child, because they suspected the father of being involved with witchcraft. Whether his father had been involved in witchcraft or not, it was clear to us that he’d come from a background where fear and the occult reigned, and where the love of God was unknown.

Jackson asked us how he should respond to those enemies. And possibly the most difficult answer I’ve ever had to give was: Forgive them. Love them. Pray for them.

He told us that he didn’t know how to pray, and so we offered to pray with him and for him. And he told us that he believed that Jesus was the Son of God.

Please pray for Jackson and his ongoing spiritual development. He clearly longs for the peace of God to transcend the fear and anger and revenge that have been such a part of his life.

Dear Ugandan government:

I have a fantastic idea! You should double the price of work permits for NGO workers in your country without telling anyone. That will make it more difficult for people to come into your country to help educate your citizens, and cause immense frustration for NGO workers who are already here. Who wouldn't benefit from that?

Sincerely,
Emily

A few photos

Jennifer, Brooklyn, and me by the Nile River -- Jinja, Uganda


Little Patrick at Kitale Children's Home

The newborn baby of Bosco and Nancy, houseparents at Kitale.


Our night watchman Benard, his wife Juliet, and their two little girls. One of the girls, Deena, is schedule to have surgery for a cyst early next month.

Scripture autobiography

Earlier this afternoon, I was doing an exercise for ladies' Bible study -- the assignment was to write a personal purpose statement, a mission statement of sorts. To brainstorm, I started listing Bible verses that I've memorized and meditated on at various points since my baptism 8 years. The result was not exactly a statement of my life's purpose, but perhaps more of a scriptural autobiography? Each of these verses God placed on my heart to draw me closer to him during a specific situation or a season:


“Trust in the Lord with all your heart; lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.” (Proverbs 3:5-6) (15 years)

“To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given to me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me, but he said, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly in persecutions, in hardships, in trials, and in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.” (1 Cor. 12) (17 years)

“But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” (Mt. 6:33) (18 years)

“For I know whom I have believed and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I’ve committed unto him against that day.” (2 Tim. 1:12) (19 years)

“Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. 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 minds in Christ Jesus.” (Phil. 4:4-7) (20 years)

“For we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:23) (21 years)

Anyway, I just enjoyed reflecting on these verses this afternoon, and thought I'd share.

Speaks for itself.

Adventure of a lifetime?

People back in the States frequently tell me, "Wow! You must be having the adventure of a lifetime!" And in a way, they're right: I've rafted the Nile. I've slept on the Serengeti Plains. I've danced to traditional Zambian instruments. I've swum under waterfalls. I've greeted and sang and made a fool of myself in more languages than I can remember.

But a lot of the time, life is just life. I do dishes and I sort library books and I interact with houseworkers and guards and children. I make sure the water filter stays filled. I teach math and grammar and reading to bright, hard-headed students. I oversleep. I pray for the sick children of my friends. I spend too much time on Facebook. I bake with Blue Band instead of butter and wish I could get good raspberry jam.

And that's okay.

Teacups and Rhinoceroses

On the team retreat, we did a team-building exercise called the Teacup Game. Laura put a teacup on a table in the middle of us, and told us: Write five sentences about the teacup. Then we went around the circle and read our sentences. The point of the activity was to show how various people approach situations and problems differently.

Many people made lists of the teacup’s features: pink and yellow flowers, gold rim, saucer, ornate handle, etc.

Phillip’s included: “If the teacup is really porcelain, it could probably hold up a small car.”

Mary Beth’s was a paragraph about the teacup’s four generations of owners.

My first instinct was to write a descriptive list – I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. But instead I started mine: “A rampaging rhinoceros overturned the table and shattered the teacup to bits.”

I think maybe I’ve had a similar attitude towards blogging lately. My first instinct is that I ought to chronicle the “big” things that have happened – rafting, teaching at Natalie’s school, SEE ministries, etc. But why should I do that? Why shouldn't I embrace my inner Virginia Woolf and write whatever I take a mind to writing?

There and back again

Hello,

I'm back home (in Mbale) for awhile after a busy couple of weeks -- a weekend rafting the Nile in Jinja, a few days resting in rural Kenya on team retreat, a few more days at Kitale Children's Home playing with babies. I intend to post bits from my trip journal (and hopefully some pictures, if the internet cooperates!) sometime in the next couple of days, but I just thought I'd stop by and say I'm doing well. :)

Feel free to laugh at me for this. I did.

Yesterday I had what I think is best described as a culture-shock day.

Last night, I was sitting in the living room talking to Joanna on gmail chat, and I kept hearing a click-click-click noise. At first I thought it was the fan blowing things across the reed mat.

But then I saw it.

The demon scorpion spider of doom.

You might think I'm exaggerating a bit. But you'd be wrong. In Zambia they're called rain spiders. I'm not sure what they're called here. Whatever they are, they're about two inches in diameter (not including legs), dark brown, speedy little buggers. And they are nigh impossible to kill. Even if you're fast enough to get to it and hit it, I swear to you that it has some sort of armor. Spiders are not supposed to have hard exoskeletons, but somehow these do. You can whack them with a shoe, and they hardly seem to notice. You have to truly beat them in order to kill them.

Now, I'm not easily freaked out by creepy-crawly things. I can handle the daddy long-legs-looking spider that lives in my bathroom. I can handle wall spiders. I can even handle the itty-bitty jumping spiders that pop out of nowhere.

What I can not handle is a spider that makes clack-clack-clack noises as it runs across my living room floor. But spiders are not supposed to clack-clack-clack. Just like spiders are not supposed to have hard exoskeletons. If it were just a slight rustling, shuffling sort of noise, I could forgive it. I cannot forgive a spider that clack-clack-clacks across my living room and clack-clack-clacks under the couch where I am sitting.

So I hurried to bed not long after that, eager for the protection of my mosquito net. But as I was changing into my pajamas, I heard a faint "meow!" And then again, but more distressed, "Meooooow!" I looked around the room. I saw no cat. I continued about my business. But there it was again: "Meeeoooooow!"

We have been trying to train Chi to be an outside cat ever since I've been here -- I'm allergic to him, and none of us particularly like him. But, well, he's not the brightest kitty in the litter, I'm afraid, and he's previously been spoiled, so the training hasn't gone so well. Lately he's taken to hiding in odd places -- the school library, the teacher workroom, the bathtub -- and getting locked in until someone discovers him many hours later.

His newest hiding place? ... My underwear drawer.

We've decided that the cat needs to find a new home.





Now, neither of these two incidents is really a big deal. And I know that. But somehow, some days, everything is a big deal, and yesterday was one of them. This is, of course, a sign of mild culture shock, and I know that, too. And today I can laugh about it. But sometimes it's just the little things that are frustrating, you know?