Hoodaha

     I wanted to post and tell you all how much I miss you.  As I have said a few times before –this has been a very very difficult summer. I think that when I’m at home I usually rely on my friends for the majority of my support.  I go to them when I’m sad, or happy, or scared.  I wanted to say how much this trip has made me appreciate every single one of you.  Thank you for your amazing support in the letters you sent with me, and the letters you are sending me through e-mails.  I am praying for you.  Whether you are in Georgia working at a summer camp, in Jersey working at Ritas, in Walhalla working at Itron, as a lifeguard in your country club, getting a great tan in Clemson, or in another country in Africa- I love you. I miss you. I am praying for you.

     Even though this summer has allowed me to better appreciate my friendships, it has really opened my eyes to how important my family is to me.  Now, we’ve definitely had our issues.  Yelling over the dinner table when my parents told me I couldn’t get my bellybutton pierced, bickering over clothes with my sister, arguing in the backseat of our van with my brother on our summer vacation, none of us have been perfect.  However the pain I feel when I think about each one of you is way more than being homesick.  Mom, Dad, Mackenzie, Charles, Gramma, Papa, Shannon…if I think about any one of you in the slightest my eyes fill with tears.  I can not wait until I can be home to hug each and every one of you

Please be praying for Mama Dudu.  I think that everyone who has come into this house (except for me) has Malaria.  Right now, Mama Dudu is on a drip and is extremely weak.  I know it took her feeling close to dead to get her to go to the hospital.  With the exception of my real mother she is the hardest working woman I know and it's killing her to have to lay in bed all day.  I've been working extra hard on cooking, laundry, cleaning, and beating the children (just kidding) because she can't.  It's such a devistating disease becuase it's so easily  prevented with some really cheap prescriptions.

Nakupenda

I think that if you are a Christian you should always be under some level of spiritual warfare. This however, is something I have never experienced.  Something that I have really come to grasp in the past year is that although Jeremiah 29:11 is comforting – the devil has a plan for us too.  Even though I am sealed with the Holy Spirit, the devil wants nothing more than to try and break that seal.  Jesus is present on this mission.  The devil is present on this mission.  There is a darkness that is difficult to explain and scary to feel.  

My (semi) shallow prayers a few months ago of “Please, God let me pass the Praxis exam” have now been replaced with “Please, God deliver these people from sacrificing their children and animals to the devil.”  This is a painful but beautiful struggle.  Which I can’t help but think is exactly the story of the cross – painful but beautiful.  I think I am no longer merely admiring the cross, but taking up my own. 

This past week we have visited prisons, schools, done door to door evangelism, and held open air crusades.  The 5 minute presentation of the gospel and alter call is very difficult for me to appreciate sometimes as in my past few posts I’ve talked about really needing the relationship aspect of sharing your faith.  Even when pastors come to FCA I secretly pray they don’t have some kind of “If you want to accept Jesus then repeat after me” at the end of their time talking.  I really don’t know why but I’ve always felt very uncomfortable by it.

The devil fills my mind with evil thoughts like, “They are just coming forward because they think they will get something at the end of this” or “They probably ‘accept Jesus’ every time there is an alter call.”  After seeking the Lord’s guidance in this I’ve realized that all that I’d been doing is judging others.  I’ve realized that God can use me walking into one woman’s mud hut for a few minutes to share with her what Jesus is to me to change people for eternity. 

Here’s two cool stories.

As a result of an invitation one man got to come to the crusade during door to door he gave his life to Christ on Thursday.  He spoke with Pastor Ambrose and told him that his family is heavily involved with witchcraft.  That he was given the name “Calogo” which literally means “witch” in his local language.  He said at night he sleeps only with a sheet that he and his family had given up to the devil.  It was some kind of evil practice (like sleeping wrapped up in evil spirits).  Today he came to church and we prayed over him and gave him a new name, David.  We took up an offering for a new bed sheet and tonight at the crusade we will anoint it with the Holy Spirit and pray a blessing over it. 

On Tuesday before the crusade we were doing door to door (or sheet to sheet as most of them use bedroom sheets for their front doors). We began talking to a group of women and two of them embraced Christ into their lives as result of hearing the gospel for the first time.  (PRAISE GOD!)  As we began questioning one of the women about her (very obvious) pregnancy she told us that she had been pregnant for the past 12 months.  We understood that this was not medically possible so we told her we’d be back for her later that day to take her to a clinic.  We figured that she either miscarried late into the pregnancy and her body was just not releasing the baby or it was some kind of tumor.  After getting her first ultrasound ever the doctors told us that she was 39 weeks pregnant.  The reason why she thought she’d been pregnant for 12 months is that she most likely miscarried before this pregnancy and in her mind it was one very long pregnancy.  As it’s been hard to leave the ones who I’ve prayed the sinners prayer with the past few days it was great to continuing caring for this women long after she uttered the words “Amen.”  

Nkwagala

I don’t even know where to begin it’s been so long.  I’ve taken my two week break from teaching and am doing our mission work.  As much as I love those children I really need a break from school.  I’ve been trying to serve as teacher –to children who struggle with English, a disciplinarian- to children who have never had one, nurse –to children with AIDS, as a mother – to children who have never had one, and as a lunch lady – to children who have no food or money.  That can really take a toll on your body.  (Mom –I wish you were here to rub my back!) 

 Because of our dilapidated facilities at school the students are placed with people in the community (kind of like foster parents) during the night.  If you think the foster system in America has some bad stories - it’s nothing compared to these. A few weeks ago I typed up three different letters to the guardians of my students.  One letter was for the students that have been really struggling.  One letter was for the students who are doing okay.  And one letter was for the students that are really excelling in my class.  I’ve been working primarily with students ages 9-13.  As I’m trying to teach them things like participles, regular and irregular verbs (and how to conjugate them), some of them can barely write their name.  I gave each student who are really struggling a date and time for their guardians to come and meet with me so that we could talk about how we both could better suit the student’s needs.  The second letter to the students who are doing average was to encourage their guardians to support them in their academic progress.  The third letter to the few students who are excelling and performing strongly was what I was most excited about.  I planned a little banquet last Friday to give them all an award and to speak about each one of their strengths in front of their guardians.  Day after day not one of the parents with struggling students showed up.  On Friday I sat in our “auditorium” with my long written up speech and awards in my hand –completely alone. It is frustrating to be trying so hard to help these students and have no support from anyone else.  Not the other teachers, not the head master, not their family. 

 After school I got to visit the home of Musimbi,of one of my brightest P4 (primary 4, kind of like 4th grade) students.  The place he calls home is a small mud hut with a straw roof.  It’s the same exact thing as what the majority of the people in Uganda live in.  As we came closer to their hut I saw a tiny old woman sitting just inside the front door.  She couldn’t speak any English and I can only speak a little Samia (Swahili and Luganda).  As I looked into her eyes, she couldn’t look into mine. She was completely blind.  Her bright white eyes were not the only thing holding her back from properly taking care of this little boy. She had chiggers and literally couldn’t walk.  From years and years of malnutrition and neglect she had to crawl around on her hands dragging her body on the ground. No wonder no one came to any of my schedule meetings. As I peered into the small mud hut that served as their kitchen, bedroom, and living room, tears filled my eyes as my own room flashed into my mind.  My own room that is bigger than this whole hut is.  My own room that sits empty except for a few weeks during the year when I’m home for break.  My own room that has electric lights, internet, and cable.  Now I know that the whole world can not afford the American dream. However, the good thing is that there is another dream...and it’s not Martin Luther King’s.  It’s the Lords dream.  His desire.  His command.  For us to live among the poor.  Why is my room empty when there are so many people who need a place to sleep tonight? 

What can I do to help her? What can I do to help Musimbi?  What can I do to help the other 132 children at school?  What can I do to help poverty?

I know what I don’t need to do.  I know what hasn’t worked.  It’s not an trading of goods.  Not even an exchange of service.  It’s not sending a few nonperishable food items to the food bank, it’s not sending them my old clothes that have gone out of style, or even a few sweaty days of building a playground at a school in a third world country.  They get what I give them, and I get a good feeling and maybe even something nice to put on my college resume.  Now sometimes this can be great and both are momentarily satisfying but unfortunately there is no revolution, no transformation, no change.  It’s a dangerous process that won’t stop.  The rich need to be unchained from macro-charity and distant contributions.  That only provides us with an excuse for our apathetic life styles of good intentions but rob us from the gift of relationships.  

This is not a “you need to teach a man to fish instead of just handing them out” speech because believe me - I know sometimes people just need to be handed a fish.  However, when that man is eating the fish I gave him for dinner, I want to get to know him over dinner while he’s eating it.  

I know Jesus intended for us to have relationships with those in poverty.  He says, the poor will always be among (with) us.  Not just in a far away place like Africa, not just in Mexico, not just in Haiti – but among you.  Am I living among poor?  How often do I feed them, take them to the movies, love on them? I could always make the excuse, “I’m in college! I am poor myself!” But I know this isn’t just not being able to eat out every single night of the week, or not being able to go on the cruise for spring break.  I’m talking about the - I don’t have a home, or food, or shoes poor.  How many homeless friends do I have?  Because guess who was homeless - Jesus.

Mzungu

I’m becoming more and more aware that this isn’t a one week – let’s stay in a hotel, be shuffled around on a bus, eat some yummy ethnic food, play with some cute kids – mission trip.  Please don’t get me wrong, I’ve been on those before and loved it.  I think that through Christ working in us we could all do a lot on a one week mission trip – or even a one day mission trip.  My point is this is getting really difficult.  The wonderfully safe and comfortable crutches of my own culture have been torn out from under me and it’s hard to walk (let alone run) without them.  I don’t have my cell phone to text my friends all day, I don’t have my delicious chocolate frosty from Wendy’s, I don’t have my warm bubble bath, I don’t even have my family.  Instead they’ve been replaced by cold showers from a jerrycan, dirt so thick under my fingernails there’s no point in trying, rice, rice, rice, and more rice, a hole that I have to squat over, really lazy and frustrating co-workers at school, and 1 and a half minute Skype sessions with home until the internet switches off.

Although it’s difficult at times, I wouldn’t trade this for anything.  It’s growing me more than anything else has before.  It was really hard to be dependent on God alone when I had so many other things in my life that could bring me peace and comfort.  Here – there’s nothing else but Him and His Living Word to turn to.  It’s exactly what I needed.

This is a picture of the “classroom” I teach in.  I’ve moved from the younger kids up to solely teaching kids that are 10-15.  Something I hadn’t experienced before and definitely wasn’t expecting.  The wall and roof are made of rusted metal sheets.  There are three different classrooms in one open section – walled in on only one side.  It’s difficult enough for me to concentrate on teaching as there are two teachers only five feet away from me teaching their own lesson.  You can only imagine how difficult it is for the students to pay attention.  Before we got here, there were absolutely no books for them to read (thanks Mom!) I still can’t figure out what they did during their “library” period a few weeks ago.  Instead of the Smartboards that I’ve been used to in my classrooms -they have one small chalkboard per class.  And by chalkboard I mean a piece of wood with a few holes on it painted black.  (Thanks so much for the colored chalk Mrs. D- it makes both teaching and learning a lot more fun!!) Instead of the individual desks decorated with the nameplates that most American students are blessed with – these students have two rows of wooden desks of and two rows of benches per classroom.  There isn’t enough room for more than four students on a row and we have usually seven per row unless someone is absent.  This makes the two sitting on the end have to write on their knees.  Something I’ve definitely never had to do during my 14 years of schooling so far.  Having only the resources that I brought with me has made teaching very frustrating.  I keep thinking of all the teachers I’ve heard complain about lacking resources in their own classroom.  Ha.  It’s called for a lot of creativity and inventiveness – trying to pull activities to compliment my lessons out of thin air. 

During the 7:00 a.m. – 5:00 p.m. school day we have a 30 minute break (in which we teachers “take” tea) and then a one and a half hour lunch break.   The first few days I was completely shocked to see most of  the students eat absolutely nothing throughout the entire day.  There are a few students who go home during lunch (I tell myself they go home to eat) and a few students who bring 100 shillings (which is about 5₵) to get a few sticks of cassava from the street. 

It is really painful seeing every day the dilapidated condition of my school, the horrible skin conditions of the neighborhood villagehood children, most of the people I’m living with suffering from either typhoid or malaria.   Sometimes helping hurts.  I know exactly what Mother Teresa (I think it was her) meant when she said, “Following Jesus is not easy.  Love until it hurts, and then love some more.”   

On a completely different note – everyone here is Muslim - the family that I’m living with, all of our neighbors, a lot of the people that come and visit here at the house.  Every few hours there is a loud call to prayer that plays throughout the entire town.  I want nothing more than to see Mama DuDu and her children to come to know Jesus.  Please be praying that I can show His love from the moment I get up to the moment I fall asleep.  I absolutely love the people I’ve met here. Sure I have acquaintances, but I also have friends, I also have family –right here in Busia.  It’s an amazing thing when people in poverty aren’t any longer a missions project but instead they become legitimate friends and family whom we eat with, dance with, laugh with, and even cry with.