He’s Changing Me

We must not forget to name the miracle and note the change.  I want to remember, Lord, that you saved the life of little Gator.  It was a miracle and we acknowledge that.  Although the truck ran completely over Gator, his injuries were minor.  His family anticipated Gator’s death. There could be no other outcome except for a miracle.  Praise your holy name, Lord Jesus.  We delight in your power and intervention.

Gator’s daddy Scott gave a testimony on Sunday.  His story was of his trip to the hospital and his talk with you.  He was calling on you, Lord, to save Gator and telling you how much he loved his son.  You assured Scott that your God love was much bigger than his father love.  And you used this miracle to change Scott.  You used it to help him prioritize his life to become a soul winner, to become more serious and burdened for those without Jesus.  He yielded control.  He has been changed.

Will this story change us, the congregation?  It’s Scott’s story.  We each need “our own” story, our own life changing story.  But maybe his story got our attention.  The woman at the well was forever changed.  Her story did not change the town’s people but it got their attention.  They wanted to see, to come and see this man who told her everything she had ever done, this man who knew her heart and her state of rebellion.  And they came and they were changed.

Lord Jesus, get and keep our attention.  Change us.  Break our hearts for those without you.  Instruct us.  Teach us your word.  Make us disciples and those who disciple.  Little Gator was at church on Sunday.  We saw him.  He was alive, well, and strong.  We were eyewitnesses of Jesus’ power.  You are changing us Lord.

Little by little, everyday, little by little, in every way, Jesus is changing me.

Since I made a turn-about face, I’ve been growing in his grace, Jesus is changing me.

He’s changing me, my blessed Savior.  I’m not the same person that I used to be.

Though it’s been slow going, there’s a knowing that one day perfect I will be.

From Journal to Blog

When I was blogging regularly, I was happy with myself and probably a little bit proud.  Through the years I have been consistent about journaling my prayers and thoughts. For years I journaled on my computer and titled my journal entries, Good Morning, Lord.  This writing blessed me and helped me clarify my thinking.  It was critical for me to call out to the Lord during the periods of heartbreak and extreme difficulties.  I always wrote more and did so more faithfully when I was desperate to feel the Lord’s presence.

I began using journals within devotional books and then later I used blank, lined journals.  Today I use blank journal inserts placed in a lovely leather cover.  I like its feel. My journals have their own home, a book shelf in my bedroom that holds more than 30 full journals.  What I have written is personal but it is also there for the curious eye.  I hope to someday use my journals for compiling my memoirs.

Most recently, there has not been a crisis in my life and I have not been inspired to write like I once did. Also, my life’s routine has changed dramatically.  Most nights I am up late waiting for my daughter to return from work.  I watch the granddaughters and put them to bed.  When Mommy gets home, she and I talk for a long time.  I’m seldom in bed before 11:00 pm.  I then sleep in and my quiet morning is thrown off, interrupted with the granddaughters, with course work grading, and with life.  There is no longer a particular time set aside for Bible Study, prayer, and journaling.  It’s a hit and miss thing and may be as seldom as four times a week. I still refer to my journaling but it is more to give an example of my strategy for undistracted prayer times.  There certainly is no consistency to boast of.

Like the perfect Father he is, my Lord often gets my attention and then I have to write. I am compelled to reach for my journal and my favorite pen.  I simply must write.  I cannot continue with life until I do.

Come, Lord Jesus, I need you,

Come, Sweet Jesus, I pray,

Come, in your strength and your power,

Come, in your own gentle way (author unknown).

Today you prompted me, Lord, to listen to Voddie Baucham and his words were indeed you getting my attention.  Yes, his voice was today the voice of God.  I claim your power now in my testimony and my witness.  You are at work in my life and I will more boldly share my faith to your glory.  Amen.

https://voddiebaucham.org/Voddie Baucham   

Boundaries and Filters

So this is the question of the hour.  As I begin blogging again, what will I write about and what topics will be taboo?  One of my daughters-in-law says that I have “no filter” and she is probably right.  I’m working on that.  But I’ve ended up in hot water at times.  My words have offended.

But, in defense of myself, I know I have also encouraged and inspired.

My writing here will be more about life now in the Panhandle of Idaho.  My topics will be more homey and less exotic.  Idaho is a far distance and a far cry from Uganda, certainly one of my most treasured happy places.  So here in the very small town of St. Maries, do I write about what’s happening?  What if nothing is happening?

Do I share my prayers and my journal entries?  Do I avoid politics and the issues of the day?  Do I talk about family?  Dare I?  A boast will have to be equal-opportunity.  I cannot leave anyone out.

But then my blogging becomes cumbersome and unnatural and more like a dreaded “Christmas letter.”

So, Lord, please direct me. Make me wise.  Keep me from offending but also make me bold.  Take my writing and use it to your glory.  May it be therapeutic for me and for others.  May I speak your truths with profundity and sensitivity.  May each step I take honor you and serve to bless others.

On another note, Lord, make my writing for me a fulfillment of a desperate need. Use me and speak to me as I write what you inspire.  Keep me on task and careful with my time.  You have given me the needed solitude and beautiful quiet I need to truly concentrate.  May I be grateful.  Amen.

We became I and me

In 2011, my husband of 48 years died suddenly from a stroke, the kind of stroke where your brain fills with blood and there is no hope for life. So, we became me and after all these years I set out to reclaim my blog and write about traveling through a radically new life and in a beautiful new location. Traveling grace will still be required for this journey. Come go with me. Praying I will be drawn back to this journey and to my blog over and over again.

Community and Unlikely Connections

Now Lord, it’s time to honor you with my last post reflecting on this year’s Uganda trip. I want to write about community.  How does community form? Does it take time? Yes, some time. Bet even a short amount of time is sufficient if there is a common purpose between and among persons. Our community, the community that developed in the boarding lounge of the Entebbe airport, was like that.

We arrived, all of us, with the purpose of leaving Uganda and flying home. We were intoduced to each other first at the 4 security checks and, before that, climbing a hill with heavy luggage carts. But those experiences, combined with the thoroughly inept and clumsy handling of our flight check-ins, were each just brief introductions. Smiles and rolled eyes, shaking heads, and arguments with officials, made us familiar us each with the other and perhaps were foreshadowings of the developments to come.

But how could we know that we would all soon be eating together, sharing electrical outlets, sleeping together, and ultimately watching out for each other? How could we know that soon we would be endeared to each other, sharing stories, and laughter, or playing together and holding hands? We were, after all, fleeting strangers.

But now, with the advent of a shared crisis, we were exchanging emails and cell numbers. Even the pilots and crew were invited into our circle. We applauded their arrival and cheered their long awaited boarding okay.

Michael once again showed me his wonderful people skills as he became our group spokesperson, emissary, and caregiver. His temper threatened to consume him, but instead he channeled that energy into making friends with families and individuals. He told his story and they told theirs. With a 24 hour flight delay, and longer for some, there was certainly enough time. But it was more than having enough time to share a story. It was even more than listening. It was the generosity and sensitivity that surfaced in the common crisis and shared purpose. We all just wanted to get home. We were a community.

Examples of Community – Passengers on BA 62

• Single mothers and families with small children coping with the long hours of waiting and being offered helping hands from stranger caregivers.
• Little girls from different parts of the world becoming fast friends.
• Strangers, now friends, sleeping next to each other on hard airport floors.
• Card games and “wadded up paper” soccer games in the jet bridges or boarding tunnels.
• Group comaraderie and protection on packed tour buses.
• Exceptions by airport staff as passengers advocated and intervened in behalf of one another.
• Cooperative efforts, forfeited places in line.

No more “every man for himself.”

Let’s do this “all for one, and one for all” instead.

Adjectives

Woke up from my day sleep at 1:30 pm. My big breakfast had settled well and quickly put me in dreamland after 24 hours of travel and airport waiting. It was the adjectives that woke me. As I lay in the luxurious penthouse room throne bed and gazed on the spectacular view of Lake Victoria there was no more sleep. My eyes wondered to the royal African window coverings, the dramatic African light fixtures and the intricate original watercolors, five of them. How would I describe this setting? What adjectives would I use?

Earlier, lying on the floor in the Entebbe Airport, I kept thinking – SERIOUSLY and asking, SERIOUSLY? You don’t really mean you are taking all 300+ of us to a hotel for the night and day? You don’t really mean we have to re-claim our luggage, board massive busses, and be taken to parts unknown. SERIOUSLY? And do you really mean that we have to go back through entry customs and then in 24 hours we have to go back with our 9 pieces of luggage and 6 carry-ons through 4 security points. SERIOUSLY?

So, shortly it will be time to have a real shower – and dress for lunch/dinner. I am planning to order from the menu something non-African and scrumptious. I may be dreaming but this is after all a luxury hotel. And perhaps I will find a “grand” gift shop. Of course it will not compare to the gift shop at the Chobe Safari Lodge in Murchison Falls National Forest http://www.chobelodgeuganda.com. And it will not compare to the friendly giraffes I visited along the way, or the monkeys, gazelle, Kob elk, water buffalo, and hippos I gazed at from afar. (Thank you sweet Millie).

My giraffes and saying hello to Hannah

This Entebbe side trip has been a serendipity experience. I am praying, with you, that the plane is repaired or that we will have a new one. I am praying we can make connections in Heathrow and that we can get to LAX before Kaycee’s birthday party. I am trusting that the backyard will have been hosed down and the flowery tablecloths will have been placed under the glass table tops on the patio. I am praying that the sandbox will have been emptied and that new sand will have been placed. I am hoping and praying for all of that – – – but I am trying to let go of my expectations, and I am searching for the best adjectives for whatever may follow.

“Routine” describing my preferred life experience would be another. I am all adventured out.  “Happy” would be back at home in the USA with a nice cup of dark-roast coffee, my favorite cereal and almond milk, and my Bible study and journal inviting me to personal prayer and reflection.

I am absolutely not a world traveler by preference. But then again, if a beautiful man was involved, I would probably travel the world over, and over, and over.  You cupids are encouraged to get right on that.

A Three Chicken Day

I can always sleep here. Just now I have napped listening to the African rain. It’s quite

Jackie and Pam at Alpha

peaceful and inviting. An occasional rooster crows and somewhere in the distance I hear worship music. Michael and Noah have walked to town. I thought for a moment of going with them, but I would have cramped their style. They seem to find wonderful adventures. Who knows what today will bring.

Millie, Alfred, and Noah

 

Worship this morning was awesome. The main church, the sponsor of nearly 200 village churches, offers services in Lira at 6:00 am and 8:00 am. We chose the second service and we were blessed by Pastor Johnson’s message. This was the third in a series of ‘Christian’s in Business.” 800 or more young and middle aged couples listened attentively and took notes. Little ones dress in their Sunday finest entertained me as they stared at the “Mono” or “Mazunga.” I won some smiles but mostly my white skin was a puzzle to unfamiliar eyes.

Smiles

 

Yesterday morning we headed early to Otwal. The long difficult ride pressed on me and I considered this might be my last visit with these precious people. I reasoned that the expense of my travel would prohibit future trips and I questioned the wisdom of continuing to come alone. Having Michael and Noah here with me this year has been such a blessing. Still I long to share this trip with my hubby and I find myself depressed – unable to leave that yearning behind.

Sometimes, however, God changes my thinking. He lifts me from melancholy to rejoicing. Yesterday he used the situation of a mother’s response to hearing her own story read aloud. We had come to Otwal to spend time with our research participants as they gathered from their villages. Our task was to have each of the 9 women confirm the accuracy of their transcribed stories. This is the research practice of “member checking” and we are happy to have successfully accomplished it.

The women gather. Pastor Moses is highly regarded.

As we gave one mother her own copy of the transcript, she reported that she would keep it always, that she would hang it on the wall in her hut, and that someday her grandchildren would read it. I realized at that moment that we had given her a treasure. She also told us that she had believed, in her mid-30’s, that she was too old to learn anymore. But, she said, the experience of learning to write her name (offered at the women’s conference) had now encouraged her to start attending the Sunday afternoon classes for adult reading and writing. Was it possible we had changed the course of her life? I choked up and struggled to restrain my sobs. God is so good. Once again he has shown me that “my life is not all about me” and I know I must return.

It was truly a 3 chicken day. My depression was gone. My joy was overflowing and it seemed quite appropriate that we would travel back to Lira with 3 chickens packed in the rear of the vehicle. A gift of a chicken is a celebration of gratitude and here we were with 3. Noah amused himself with monitoring the chicken fights. We stopped at the Shangri-La that is Otiniwa and enjoyed ice cream. We ended our day with reflection and another wonderful long talk about these amazing people, our teachers for this time in our lives.

Welcome Honored Guests

The ladies, children, and infants from Otwal left yesterday to return home. There were 30 of them in a cow truck or “Diana Lory” with side railing. They piled into the cab, and into the bed of the truck, seated and standing, and hanging onto the railing. The travel took them over rough roads and bush trails. They were, for certain, knocked and jostled, rocked and banged. When the rain came they were covered with a large tarp. Upon arrival they were welcomed back to the village with fan fare and celebration. They are the honored ones chosen to travel to a ladies conference at Alpha in Lira, our conference.

My friend Alice gets an easier ride in the cab. Alice walks on her knees and hands (with flip flops) and smiles all the while. She and I met in the Internally Displaced Persons camp in 2006. She has given birth to 5 children and is everyone’s heroin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And they have been blessed. They will tell their stories for years to come. They will share their workbooks and gifts. They will show off their pieces of watercolor art, probably their first experience with this medium.

 

 They will tell their children that they are smart. Some learned to write their names at the conference. Some traced their names for the first time. They will practice and perfect that skill. They now have their own pencil and ink pen.

In Lira Town, they were safe from snakes and Karamojong raiders. In Lira Town they had food and a bed to sleep in. But home is always the best place. Last night they slept better in their huts and on their mats. The familiar is less exciting but wonderfully comforting. Ask any weary African traveler.

Field Research Well Done?

Knowing that you have heard from us so little, you may have rightly assumed we have been especially busy. With 5:00 am or earlier mornings not uncommon, bedtime at 8 pm has been welcome. But still, there have been few hours for the Internet. We are, of course, are experiencing Africa in its communities and with its people. The Internet can distract us and steal precious moments of our experience. But, here this Sunday evening after a short nap, I am stealing a moment to share our praises and prayers.

The research interviews were during all the conference breaks. We used a guest room (with the furniture removed) for private filming. Michael set up his cameras and lighting using everything the African heat, humidity, and friendly insects would allow. I will let him tell the story of the wear and tear on him and his equipment. We were praying all the while that the footage and sound would be of good quality. Michael is encouraged.

The villagers had come to us. They came “from afar” in cow trucks and vans (as many as 13 bodies stuffed in a van) mommies excited to have a town adventure, carrying their small belongings for a 3-day stay. There were 13 babies, and 2 very young “babysitters” beyond the 50 conferees.

Sister Mercy holds baby brother Nino

Mothers with their babies (13) attended the conference I led. Such a blessing.

The plan was that conducting the interviews in town during the conference breaks would afford a measure of privacy impossible to achieve in the villages. We were successful. We were not interrupted during the interviews. What we did not anticipate was the cacophony of village sounds that would intrude. Town sounds included roosters crowing and birds singing, children crying and their parents scolding, conversations, and even motorcycle/boda bodas. Millie, our interpreter and research assistant, would lock the gates to prevent intrusions and she would “chase away” those who added their unwelcome voices, but alas, worship prayers, singing, and preaching would necessarily preempt our research agenda.

We sweated in the African heat and could not use a fan because of the sensitivity of the microphones. We sat in straight back wooden chairs and I was sure my aching body would not survive. But, after three days, we are finished with this stage of the research and we are so very relieved. Tomorrow begins the transcription process anticipated to be four hours for each one hour of interview time. Millie and I will spend our days transcribing and checking as Michael and Noah set about to explore Lira Town.

Tomorrow is also Day of the African Child http://www.anppcan.org/node/71 and we understand that President Museveni will be visiting. Parades and ceremonies will be the order of the day. Although the President is very unpopular in the North, with the elections nearing he is promoting himself here. The military presence will be heavy. There is the prospect of demonstrations or even riots but we will pray for a joyous celebration instead.

 

Resting on Mary’s Birthday

Happy Birthday Mary Moo.  I hope your day is special and full of surprises. I had such a wonderful night – long and restful. I suppose 10 hours of sleep should follow such a rigorous day. Mary, you remember Otwal.  It was where you and Aunt Dyanne were almost suffocated by the throngs of children gathered around you.

The road to Otwal was hard and treacherous. Many times we slowed and even stopped anticipating deep holes and gullies, even small “lakes” – wondering if we could make it across. Pastor Johnson prayed aloud and we each prayed silently. All of us knew the risk – such relief when we “made it” safely.

Otwal is the setting for the largest (10,000 plus) of hundreds of Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) camps* now closed, now partially destroyed and burned – only remnants of much pain. The survivors are more than that. They are courageous groups of people rebuilding and thriving, restoring their homes and their lives. They have built new huts and brick structures. They have established churches to which they come from the field regularly to worship and pray.

The Langi women greeted us with singing, drums, shakers and “durus.” We were grandly welcomed and honored with introductions. The visit was rich and full of authentic sharing. The women were charmed and delighted with the attention given to them. Their response to the using the research instruments was whole-hearted and eager. We are truly blessed and the work ahead seems less difficult and smaller somehow.

*The 22 years of continuous and brutal attacks and child abductions perpetrated by the Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) led by Joseph Kony in Northern Uganda consumed the lives and villages of hundreds of thousands of Acholi and Langi. Most were forced to live in IDP camps where close quarters and disparity combined to create epidemics of disease including HIV-Aids. Many have died. Many are dying. Kony and his soldiers have left Uganda (perhaps temporarily) and have been attacking in the Congo. They may be moving now to the Sudan. But the threat and memories remain.

An African bird just pooped on me. (They sing for some people.) Time to stop writing and start setting up for the conference. Michael will be staging the interview room for filming. Noah is nursing a touch of African stomach but feeling much better today. The two will probably go exploring in Lira Town. I will relish this day of rest and do as little as possible. Tomorrow the harder work will begin.