Farewell

Dear Ricky,

My thoughts fight for expression…expression that looks like nothing more than a jumble of words on a page.  I’ve started and restarted this letter to you eight times, who knows if this will be the last.  I’ve never written to you before.  What should I say?  What will be my last words?  What would have been my last words?

Do I tell you all the things I miss so much about you?  That list would go on forever.  Do I tell you all the new things God has brought me to?  That story would seem unreal.  As my best friend, I want to tell you everything.  I want you to know me again.  Would you still love me? 

How do I describe the impossibility of comfort?  An emptied box of tissues litters the ground at my feet.  The safest place in the world is in your embrace.  I’ll have to wait.  Be strong.  Smile.  Be thankful.  But not comforted.  It’s like being thirsty and never getting a drink.  How do I marry this new and beautiful life God has made for me with this unfillable longing for comfort?  Yes I find comfort in Jesus every day.  It should be better and in many ways it is…but it’s not the same.  My uncle calls with his sweet spirit and soft voice and I fear that I’ll melt like a pile of snow melting onto the carpet…he’s an echo of you.  But even for him I put on the brave face as best I can.  It’s only you with whom I can completely surrender to this sadness.  Hold on.

My burdens are many – unknown to most, understood by few – and yet I seem to reach the end of each day with a sense of joy and peace.  Evidence of grace.  My life seems to be nothing but evidence of grace.  I never could have, nor would have, put these pieces together in such a way as this.  I hardly recognize myself, my life.  I love that the testimony of God’s presence is so boldly evident, such a contrast to the person I was/am.  So unmistakable.  The impossibility of so much hope could only come from Him.  I am constantly surprised by hope.  And yet you live with Hope every day.  What is He like?  Were you surprised too?

Two years have passed since last we were together.  I’ll replay those days anew for many years to come.  But I must look toward the future too.  And so farewell, my sweet Ricky.  Until we meet again.

Love,

Me

“To him who is able to keep you from falling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy—to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore! Amen” (Jude 24-25, NIV).

Someone is Listening

The Land Between. This title describes how I’ve felt at many times during this past two years. Between the past and the future. Between despair and hope. Between confusion and understanding. I could go on. Oh wait, I did. It’s called My Second Year.

Ironically, Pastor Jeff Manion wrote a book about my life…I mean, the lives of so many people who’ve experienced a tragedy in one form or another. Apparently I’m not alone. Not only are there dozens of stories in this book but a close friend, who also felt similarly, gifted me a copy of the book.

While soaking tonight – yes, I love to read while I’m in the bathtub surrounded by water hot enough to make my skin turn red – I read two things that struck me. Of course I should have already realized these tidbits but they were new to me today. First, Jesus called the weary to come to him for rest. That’s not the revelation. That Jesus existed in the beginning and knew that we would need such comfort was the new revelation. I started thinking about how God’s heart must have broken with the Fall and he was already reaching out to comfort us. Every day for all eternity – past present and future – he is ready for us…calling to us to find our comfort in him.

In a related vein, Manion points out that even though God already knows our situation and knows that we need comfort we should continue to go to him because…we need to speak. Yes, isn’t that what My Second Year has been about? It’s been about expressing myself as I struggle through this land between. For me the land between has been not only grief but a reshaping of my whole self – breaking down walls, building compassion, and showing grace. Something about putting words and voice to these struggles and triumphs offers comfort.

I think about the fact that after My Second Year, I won’t have that place for my voice where I can pretend that all 14 public followers, and I have no idea how many closet followers, can hear to my voice. Yes, the practice of journaling must continue. Journaling helps me sort things out in my head and that doesn’t always need to be, nor is it a good idea that it is, a public event. For some reason, though, I find little comfort in the idea of private writing. There is something about knowing others are listening that brings the comfort.

Back to The Land Between, the idea Manion was offering was that in our communication with God we can be assured that someone is listening and that this is not a one-way conversation. Manion (2010) said, “…the very act of voicing our trouble to God begins a conversation in which we have opened ourselves up to his care, his mercy, and his provision” (p. 79).

As I prepare to close My Second Year, pray that I find comfort in this conversation with God that far exceeds the comfort I’ve received in expressing myself through this blog. And pray that I continue to be surprised by hope.

Surprised by Hope

Year two is almost over, which means My Second Year is almost over too. The blog will be retired on November 22, 2010 and, while it will still be available online, I won’t be adding more posts. My Third Year as a “next blog” doesn’t work, as discussed in the post of the same name. Yet becoming a missionary to East Africa and sharing stories about how God is moving there surely deserves public expression. To that end, and to the end (kinda) of the many weeks of intense planning, I’m very excited to reveal the next blog.

Surprised by Hope was created to encourage, demonstrate, and testify to the many ways we can be surprised by hope. It’s not a personal blog about grief and healing, as was My Second Year. Surprised by Hope is intended to focus on Christ-like, hope-filled ministry to the men, women, and children in East Africa. Don’t be surprised to find stories about the people I meet and the places I go, discussions about education issues or politics, tools for helping missionaries expand their reach, or testimonies about finding Hope in everyday life.

Surprisedbyhope.org serves as a portal to three main segments of the site.

• The blog button focuses on field ministry. In other words, its primary purpose is to report what is happening while I am on the field in East Africa and to provide ministry-related updates. Don’t forget to sign up as a “Follower.”
• The artisans button focuses on the groups of handcrafters in East Africa who hope to increase sales as a means of providing for their families.
• The giving button focuses on the many ways – financial and nonfinancial – that we can work together in this ministry.

Take a look at the website, know that it’s a work in progress, and join me in bringing the surprise of hope to today’s East-African culture.

“Show me your ways, O Lord, teach me your paths; guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long” (Psalm 25:4-5, TNIV).

Sadness Still

Not surprisingly I’m feeling sadness still. It’s like I think that if I can find just the right words to describe how I feel the sense will dissipate. Well, it might. I feel desperate for comfort and wonder if it’s even possible. I wonder if spending time with someone who’s been through my situation before would be useful, but wait, I don’t know anyone who has. More isolation.

Difficult is not the word to describe the ability to bring to mind significantly detailed and very specific feelings and memories from the day the police showed up at my door. If I’m not careful a wave will wash over me. I sometimes struggle to choose this new life instead of choosing the depths of sorrow, particularly when these details feel so fresh. I finished brushing my teeth and bounded into my bedroom only to find it empty. Sigh. I sometimes teeter precariously. Then I think of what can happen if I choose darkness. I believe it’d like trying to stay away from Tom’s chocolate cake. Once I have one piece I may as well eat the whole thing. Lots of extra energy is required to stay on the right side of that teeter-totter.

What I describe is nothing anyone would ever notice by talking with me and honestly it’s hard to put into words only because I don’t know the words that best describe this feeling. I do know that even though I feel like I’m drowning…I won’t. I know that even though I feel sad, tomorrow is a new day. I know that even though I feel alone, I’m not.

Thank you for all the gentle people who are walking beside me, who don’t pretend to know how I feel, but who are just there. I’m sorry that is all you can do, I know you would do more if you could, but it is enough. The rest is mine to carry…for now.

Half-time Missionary

Not surprisingly people ask what it means to be half time in East Africa as a missionary. Who ever heard of that before anyway? Well, for me it means that I have a son still in college who depends on me in some ways. And I have a son whose father died two years ago and who, even though he may not want to admit it, kinda needs at least one parent nearby sometimes. I have much freedom because he is very independent but, until he graduates, I will share my time with him and with the people in East Africa.

What I’ve found so far is that preparation for ministry in East Africa is very time consuming while I’m at home. I’m arranging meetings, developing ministry programs, preparing curriculum, designing blogs, planning logistics, thinking about how to manage the holidays, doing research, reading about culture, helping develop resumes, and three more pages of details literally sitting on my desk next to my computer. Every item on these lists are related to mission work. I’m not sure how this pans out to be half time. Maybe it would be more correct to say that I am a full-time missionary living half-time in the field.

However my life is defined, it has been given over to the people in East Africa and developing those relationships stays at the top of any list I make. Whatever it is that will help them grow in the Lord and prosper their families is the work that I will do to the best of my ability. Sometimes that work is best done in America, sometimes I really should be there but have to make due, and sometimes I’ll actually be in East Africa. The kind of work to be done is best done in all these places. For example, internet costs way too much in Uganda so doing research from America is more wise.

Still…whether I would be considered a half-time or a full-time missionary…I’m sure busy with mission work all the time. And I LOVE IT.

Authenticity and the Past

Becoming a missionary is a significant responsibility. Meeting people in a relationship that introduces Jesus and fosters spiritual growth demands authenticity. Building relationships with people from other cultures increases that demand simply because the differences – and trust me, I look different than the people in Africa – cause wariness, hesitation, or mistrust. Authenticity on my part is the only way people will start to let their guard down, and even then I sometimes still get it wrong.

The people I’ve met in Africa generally assume I am a missionary (or a vacationer). Inevitably people (Africans and Americans, pretty much everyone) ask one of two questions. “Why on earth would you want to do that?” or “How did you ever get into missionary work?” Yes, there is this incredulous tone in their voices when they ask. I sometimes feel that I should make up a really incredible story to go along with their surprised tones. I wouldn’t want to disappoint them.

Oh wait, I do have a really incredible story by which to answer their questions. To be honest, I think my story is even more unbelievable than what they expect to hear. But if I leave out the part about Rick’s death, what kind of story is left? Seriously, think about it. What really is left? His death is entirely and completely foundational to my story and to authentically answering the question of why or how I got into this role.

Yet people have suggested both directly and indirectly that telling my story beginning with Rick’s death is not the right thing to do. I don’t feel that I use his death to garner sympathy, although please feel free to correct me if I’m wrong. I use Rick’s death to talk about how amazing God is to walk alongside me this whole time and to reshape my life into something beyond my wildest dreams. I want people to know a God that can do that for them too. But without the Rick piece…what is that?

Please don’t misunderstand. I am not talking about dragging a dead Rick around in every conversation. I am walking away from My Second Year and, for the most part, the connection that year had with Rick’s death. I’m not bringing Rick forward into parts of my life where he doesn’t belong. Unfortunately (or fortunately…whichever) I can never walk away from 20 years of life with Rick and, to be honest, I don’t really want to. That part of my life is taking what I believe is its proper place. But there is a place for his legacy in my story.

So…get thee behind me Satan, God is too good for me not to talk about my WHOLE story. I’m not leaving the story of Rick’s death out and I’m not going to lose focus on God’s plan for my life. So, yes, my story begins with an end.

Konoweka Orphans and Widows Hut

You’ve heard me talk about the Bible study I did together with David and a group of widows he shepherds, and about a few super cool moments we shared. And you’ve even received some of their beautiful handcrafts. I feel God calling me to become more deeply involved in the lives of these women in a way that can really make a difference for them and their children.
During my next trip to Uganda I will join their weekly fellowship meetings. We’ll worship together, study the Bible together, I’ll do some teaching about business and finance, and they’ll do some teaching about how they make their crafts. I’ll build relationships with these ladies with the hope of helping lift them out of poverty. In a way we’ve already started something new together.

I’d like to introduce the new blog for Konoweka Orphans and Widows Hut. The blog is intended to highlight the artisans and their products along with stories of how their art is created and what life is like for these women and their children. You can also place orders for their handcrafts through this blog via PayPal. This blog does not replace My Second Year, it is not a Leslie-focused blog, but it’s all about these women, their lives, and their handcrafts. And it’s about supporting and praying for them as we watch their lives unfold over time.
Much of the product content has yet to be developed and I’ll do more of that during my next trip. For now, please check out the blog, tell your friends, and start placing your orders. Remember that you can make special requests too. These ladies are gifted and can make almost anything you desire. Keep in mind that your purchases are helping put their children in school.

What Comfort is There?

Answering the question of how I will remember Rick on the second year anniversary of his death is not the same as answering the question of how I feel about it. Perhaps a few weeks ago I would have answered the question of how I feel differently. But as the second anniversary approaches, I find myself wondering why I feel anxious and frustrated about things that have very little meaning. I start not to recognize myself.

How do I feel? I feel overwhelmingly sad. I feel helpless that nothing can be done to change that sadness. I also feel comfort in knowing it is okay to feel sad and that this sadness will not last forever…I feel hope. But I cannot move into hope too quickly. I want and maybe even need to pass through this sadness and experience it fully. With the many exciting things happening in my life it is easy to put off the deep feelings of grief and I would not serve myself well in doing so, particularly given the knowledge that I am strong enough not to be sucked in by grief.

I realized last night that the only comfort in this sadness would be to have Rick wrap his arms around me and allow me to cry my little eyes out. No other person on earth can have that same comforting effect because of the special relationship between husband and wife, between Rick and I. With him all my guard comes down, I don’t have to hold anything together, I am not judged, I can just melt into his arms and let go of every worry and every burden.

Yes, I am comforted by the hugs of friends and family but it’s just not the same. So what can I do with the idea that I cannot be comforted? Yes, Jesus can be my comfort and he has been for so long. But what about that real physical need to be comforted? There is no satisfaction. There is no way to be comforted. I have no choice but to accept the sadness. I have no control, I have no choice, I have no comfort. Reality.

Tomorrow (figuratively) I will have the strength to accept that the need for comfort will go unsatisfied, that I cannot take control of this situation, that I have only one choice and that is Jesus…however unsatisfying that feels (did I just say that out loud?) until I actually allow myself to be comforted by him and find that I do feel better. Today is not tomorrow…yet.

2011 East Africa Mission Support

Pray. Listen to what God would have you do, and respond by making a donation today. Your donations are tax deductible, directed to Mercy Uganda, and specifically designated for my ministry work. Take a look at some details about giving and at lots of ideas about how you can support the ministry. Join me in prayer about hearing God and having the faith to respond. Then, become an obscenely generous giver.

What should I do now?

• Make a tax-deductible donation using PayPal or your credit card at http://www.lesliemosher.blogspot.com/
• Make a tax-deductible donation by writing a check to Mercy Uganda and mailing it to me (contact me for my street address, it seems unwise to include that in a blog).
• Read the rest of this list to find other ways you can support the ministry work.

How do I give a financial gift?

• Commit to a monthly donation of a specific amount ($100, $50, $25, $10).
• Make a special donation in the amount of your choice.
• Set aside a percentage of a Christmas bonus or tax return designated for this mission.
• Arrange a matching gift with your employer, even if they don’t have a stated plan.
• Suggest “Mercy Uganda: Leslie Mosher” as the recipient of corporate giving plans.
• Challenge your friends to match your gift, you might be surprised.

How do I give a non-financial gift?

• Purchase a flight for my travel using your frequent flier miles.
• Watch for Facebook posts about specific donations needed for the ministry.
• Cell phones that use SIM cards.
• Portable black and white printer and ink/toner
• Clothing for school-age children.
• Arrange a speaking engagement at your church or business about ministry in East Africa.
• Tell your friends, share Facebook or blog posts, and invite me to your small group gathering.

What can I pray for?

• That we would not under expect the generosity of God.
• For the presence of the Holy Spirit to be manifested in remarkable ways.
• For radical transformation of everyone and everything the ministry comes in contact with.
• For my personal health and safety.

Are my donations tax deductible?

• Yes. Your financial donations are made to Mercy Uganda, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization, and designated to my ministry-related expenses. Your financial gifts are tax deductible.
• Your non-financial gifts may be tax deductible, but you should check with your tax advisor.

How do I get the donation to you?

• Donate via one of two PayPal buttons at www.lesliemosher.blogspot.com. These donations are made to Mercy Uganda and are automatically designated for my ministry work.
• Write a check or money order made out to Mercy Uganda. Designate the donation as being for Leslie Mosher on the memo line. Mail your check me (contact me for that address).

Thank you. Thank you for your support of the work God would have me do in East Africa.

East Africa Missions 2011

I'm excited to finally share my 2011 plans with you. In 2011, I will join Mercy Uganda and Biblical Life Ministries in half-time, on-site ministry in East Africa. Almost 2 months in Africa during 2010 gave me an opportunity to see just how God prepared me for this moment. A moment where this eclectic confusion called my life – life experiences, strengths and weaknesses, passions, education, and work experience – blends together to form something uniquely useful to the people in that country.

Ministry Stories

One highlight from my last visit was the time I spent with a group of 50 widows. Here’s one story:

My name is Apolot Florence. I am a widow with 10 children. I was forced to leave Asalatap village in Amuria District after my 4 daughters were raped by men in the Lord's Resistance Army. Being a new resident in Kinawataka, life was next to impossible and I quickly resorted to beating stones in the quarry and prostitution at night in order to earn a living. It was during those ugly moments that I met David who introduced me to Konoweka Orphans and Widows Hut. I am now learning with other widows how to make purses and hand bags.

Your gifts allowed me to worship alongside them, study the Bible and teach about entering the presence of God, and provide supplies for their handcrafts. These women were so grateful to know that we care about them that word spread and women from other villages are now asking to join their weekly fellowship.

Another highlight was visiting one of Mercy Uganda’s sponsored children. Olivia is pictured in the center-right with the demure look. Even though tuition is paid for sponsored children, many of them simply don’t have emotional and intellectual support systems needed to achieve very basic learning. Her sponsor’s gift of healthy snack foods, girly fiction books, and the game of Twister helped ensure that Olivia is ready to learn. When I return, I’ll provide regular academic tutoring and advocacy for these children to equip them to become independent and thriving learners. This means that sponsors are not only giving their child an education, but they’re also giving their child hope.

I could tell stories all day, but one last highlight comes from participating in the graduation of 26 Kenyan pastors from Biblical Life School of Ministries. The support of many donors made participating in the Bible school possible. These pastors live in remote villages and would otherwise not have access to sound theological teaching. These pastors were so excited! When I return, I’ll coordinate a short-term team in meeting some of the needs these pastors have identified in their churches. This means we’re investing in long-term relationships that reach beyond these pastors and into their communities.

Ministry Support

Like I said, this eclectic confusion that is my life was perfectly prepared for this moment. With God’s help, I’ll use my education and business expertise to minister to these people so they can lift themselves out of poverty. To fulfill God’s call, I need your help. I’ve prepared a budget projection for the six months during 2011 that I will be in East Africa and find that I will need $20,000. This amount will allow me to travel between countries and to minister alongside Mercy Uganda and Biblical Life Ministries. I’ll continue working while I’m in the U.S. to do my part in contributing to the overall support needed to make half-time ministry possible.

Pray. Listen to what God would have you do, and respond by making a donation via the PayPal link today. Your donations are tax deductible, directed to Mercy Uganda, and specifically designated for my ministry work. Join me in prayer about hearing God and having the faith to respond. Then, become an obscenely generous giver.

Trusting Him,

Leslie Mosher

Preparing for Blog Retirement

As a URL, mysecondyear.blogspot.com was taken so I used my name instead. I never expected to actually enjoy blogging so I didn’t worry about the future ramifications of that choice. Now, if I ever want to do anything more with a blog I can’t use my name. I can change the URL, but then no one would be able to find the blog and the posts won’t be indexed with search engines. How important is that, I wonder.

And then there is blog design. Revising my blog design three or four times over the past year does little for brand recognition, although brand recognition isn’t really the point of the blog. Given how often people change their Facebook photos I wonder if the importance of brand recognition will eventually become a thing of the past. Oddly, that I want people to recognize my blog based on a sense of brand does mean something. Why? As I press into that question I find that perhaps this desire for a sense of recognition is a type of acknowledgement that the year existed and that it was important.

From here I move to obsessing about the feeling that the colors and design of the blog are horrible. I’ve grown accustomed to looking at beautiful design and have no illusion that my choices are just a little…um…yuk. Why do I even care if the blog will be done soon? I wonder if the reason to that question is that on that last day the blog will be, in a sense, laid to rest.

I want everything to be perfect so that a viewer coming to the blog at some later date would see and read about this beautiful life and what God can do through tragedy. I believe that can happen regardless of how awful the color choices and page layout are, but I can’t seem to stop worrying. It’s as if the decision were about which suit to wear in the casket or what words to put on a headstone.

Next While

God has revealed his perfect plan for my next while. Who knows how long a “next while” is but I’m excited to step into…or more accurately…stay in his will. I’ve spent a bit of time seeking his wisdom as I gave words to that vision. Yet I have to admit that, even with the vision defined, I am surprised at how difficult it is to name this thing. Not to name in the sense that things are cloudy and grey like in so many of my grief-related posts. To name in the sense that so many words are available from which to choose and I can’t seem to create the perfect combination with any of them…let alone a combination that someone else hasn’t already taken. Okay, I really shouldn’t be all that surprised. But like any good product, the name is so important.

I’m working on some really fun, hard, interesting, exciting, and challenging plans and I can’t wait to share them with you. In my true fashion, though, I want everything to be just right before I do. Most of you won’t be surprised but still…the reveal is a big deal (even if it’s only a big deal in my own mind).

So, what do you think? Without knowing exactly exactly what this next year will bring…what suggestions do you have? Knowing what you do know, what would you name this thing?

Was Anyone There?

One problem related to the continued reading about grief is the sporadic discovery of new aspects of grief not previously considered (or in this case ignored altogether). Early Widow is a journal of her first year following the sudden death of Jim Worden. The November 6 entry includes a return to the scene, so to speak.

His widow ponders questions that I too have pondered – If he didn’t die instantly, how long did he live? Did he ever regain consciousness? Did he feel pain? The question that followed is the question that stopped me. Not because I’ve never thought of it before, but because I’ve never really taken the time to explore the question…perhaps because I don’t like the answer. Here it is:

But was anyone there to hold your hand?

What an ugly question. Alone. In those few last moments I didn’t have the chance to whisper my love into his ear. To promise him that Jesus would come for him. I didn’t even get a choice. Ya, I know Jesus came whether I promised it to be so or not. I know that He was the one to hold Rick’s hand at that last moment and that He was the one to whisper His welcome into Rick’s ear. All I’m left with is the trust that He did it better than I ever could have.

Write a Book

During my first year following Rick’s death, a close friend suggested I write a book about my grief experience. She said something to the effect that the way I handled the grief was so different and positive, and that it might be helpful to someone else. Today I can list the names of no fewer than six entirely unrelated people who have, out of the blue, said to me that I “should write a book.”

Having worked in the Christian publishing industry and read some really great authors it’s difficult to imagine that anyone would be interested in what I have to say. Yet I know, given my own reading on the topic of grief, that my experience…no…the way I chose to respond to my experience was a little different.

As much as I would like to continue putting off the idea of publishing my intimate first year experiences – and perhaps My Second Year experiences – the fact that my obedience usually kicks in at around three promptings from the Holy Spirit means I’m a little behind. Six…seriously? It’s like God isn’t giving up on this one, which all of the sudden feels like I might have missed a really important opportunity to help someone else. Drat.

Wouldn’t it be super cool if the person responsible for the death, grief, and bereavement Christian book category would just call me up and invite me to share my 94-page journal from the first year? Ha, not happening. I have to take a step in faith, right?

Traditions

I’ve recently been asked, more than once, what I will do to memorialize the second anniversary of Rick’s death. Yes, I am exactly like one of those sappy people who sentimentalize everything and make a big deal of such traditions. Admittedly, some very good reasons to create such traditions exist.

Nothing. That’s the special tradition I’ll participate in for the second anniversary. I have 94 written pages that attest to the fact that I grieved the first year well. I leaned in hard. I memorialized every tradition, every moment, and every thought throughout that whole year. Here’s a small taste of what I did to remember the first year, and what could become a tradition but won’t:

Hiking the Saugatuck Dunes State Park was the perfect choice for this day – 53 degrees, sunny, and breezy but not windy. The parking lot was full, but only a few people could be seen. I dressed in layers and stuffed my backpack with all the necessities (water and a wind jacket). I thought of all the things Rick would have brought for such a trip: tissues, snacks, first aid, that red plastic thing he has for sitting where the ground is wet, a bear whistle, extra clothes, and his pocket knife. I may be exaggerating a bit but not by much. You would have thought we’d be gone for days when he packed for short hikes. I loved that about him. I never had to worry because he had all that was needed; I was safe in his care.

The dunes were beautiful on this mid-November day. Leaves littered the trail, the trees were naked, and the sand was rolling under the call of the wind. Once I reached the Lake Michigan shoreline, I checked out several spots to find one suitable for listening to the audio recording of the memorial service. I chose a spot just beyond the dune grass that dropped off about three feet to the beach area. The waves were small, the sun was bright, and the breeze was gentle. I plunked myself down in the sand, having chosen clothing that resists the wind and cold. Perhaps all these preparations were a means of delaying the inevitable pain of listening to the service for the first time on this first anniversary.

Pastor Lonnie, in his most solemn voice, read all of Psalm 23. We sang Better is One Day and I’ll Stand – two songs that reminded me of Rick in the sound booth at church with his arms wide open in worship. Later my uncle would comment about how special our memorial service worshipping with lifted hands was…even on such an occasion. While on that beach with the occasional passersby, I stood with my arms open wide, twirled around in that fresh clean air, sang out the words to that song in a voice captured by the wind, and I felt the presence of my Savior wash over me once again.

Having done what I had set out to do, I packed up my gear and returned to the car. I noticed all the families around me and wondered if they had any idea why I came. Of course they wouldn’t, but that struck me as odd. Didn’t they feel the earth tremble on that day like I did?

I invested so much healthy energy into grieving every moment of our lives together that I can say without sharp stabs of pain that I have released any near future urge to traditionalize the anniversary of Rick’s death. This is not to say that I won’t remember, that I won’t be sad, and that I won’t wish things might have been different.

The Power of a Whisper

I came across an advertisement for a new Bill Hybels book called The Power of a Whisper. I’ve heard people describe the way they hear from God as a kind of physical response…like the hairs on their arms standing up or getting really hot. Sometimes God screams at me, but I usually call that the voice of the enemy. Mostly I’ve learned to recognize his voice as a whisper.

The subtitle, Hearing God and Having the Guts to Respond, well…that’s a whole other story. I beg God to show me what he wants me to do and then reject every instinct until he gets it right. Something new has happened, though. With no itinerary, no roadmap, no visibility, no windshield wipers, no guard rails, and the fuel gage shining orange…I learned to inch my way along some unknown path simply by listening to the sound of his voice.

And because I can now look back and see that he has taken me down a beautiful road – like looking through an arboreal tunnel after a drenching rain and seeing the glinting reflection of all those drops magnifying the beauty all around me – I trust that I know what his voice sounds like. And because I recognize his whisper, it’s so easy to “have the guts to respond.” Of course, I’ve not been asked to sacrifice my son on an alter so I use the term easy with qualifiers.

I love that I can see just a bit further down the road than before, but to be honest I pray that I never fully get that long distance view again. I like the necessity sometimes created by struggle that compels me to relinquish control. I like listening to the rustling sound of my Creator preparing a life for me that requires my cooperation to recognize its true beauty.

A Tale of Many Verses

As I reflected on My Second Year, I noticed that my early posts were filled with Scripture conclusions and that as time passed the incidence of Scripture became less and less. It’s a little scary to think that this lessening could mean that I’m getting back to life and beginning to put God on the back shelf. That’s what happens sometimes, right?

Maybe I’m just making excuses, but I honestly feel that instead of putting God on the back shelf, I’m bringing God into real life with me. Scripture alone cannot have the same depth of transformative results, also the relationships I develop with other people and the way I show and share the love of God transforms me and hopefully those around me.

So maybe you are disappointed to find that I don’t include Scripture with every post, or even many posts these days. But know that the stories I tell are laced with the actual, hands-on, practical, everyday love of Christ.

Below is the story told by my Scripture choices for my first few posts at My Second Year. It’s fun to look back and see how God really did fulfill his promises.

• But wait…doesn’t God tell us that his plans for us are good (Jeremiah 29:11)?
• “But then the Lord answered Job out of the storm” (Job 38).
• He promised his mercies and compassion would be new every day (Lamentations 3:22-23).
• “Speak, for your servant is listening” (1 Samuel 3:4-10).
• Let God transform me into a new person by changing the way I think (Romans 12:2).
• Jesus replied, "If anyone loves me, he will obey my teaching. My Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him” (John 14:23).
• Who knows why this purpose has come at this time but I cannot remain silent (Esther 4:14).
• “I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow” (Jeremiah 31:13b).

Amen.

On Faith and Future

The moment Rick died my sense of life became cloudy. That is the only word I can find to describe this literal feeling in my head. I could no longer see the future. I could no longer picture what my tomorrows looked like. Everything we had planned and imagined for ourselves disappeared in an instant. It’s a little dizzying not to mention indescribable.

As time passed I realized that God was revealing just enough of my future to require me to make a decision for today alone. One step at a time I passed through each day, then each week, then each month. Today I cannot imagine as far into the future as Rick and I did together, but I can see enough to keep me from falling off the edge.

I actually think I am learning to love this shorter-term view. What I try to orchestrate for myself is so much less exciting than the life God puts together for me. But he “needs” things to line up just right before he reveals them to me so that I will be faith-filled and obedient. It’s fun to watch, actually. I’m constantly amazed at the cool little details he attends to, at the surprising connections, at the beautiful pictures. I definitely couldn’t do that myself.

Thank you, God, for this new perspective on faith and future.

A Critical Evaluation Concluded

5. I wonder if the adventure has simply been an escape or a way to avoid post-grief real life?

Rick’s death helped make perfectly clear something that I had already known but did nothing about. Life is short…and it can be shorter than you ever expect. Think about it…the American Dream is a national ethos that includes the promise of prosperity and success. To achieve this so-called success, people work 60 hours or more every week, have a compulsion to climb the corporate ladder, put up with stresses that seldom produce the desired results, and kiss behinds that don’t deserve it. I realize this American Dream is partly generational, and that not every component is always all that bad, but you get the point.

Rick’s death showed me that by the grace of God I can choose how my life plays out. I can choose what “real life” is and I know for certain that I never want to return to that kind of existence. I mean to say that the purpose and meaning that comes from missions is so much more fulfilling than any stereotypical real life could ever be…at least for me. Have I avoided real life? Maybe. Or maybe I've redefined it.

Maybe my new real life is defined by the faces of the children who are caught up in an existence that gives them no power or protection. Maybe my new real life is defined by women who are not allowed to grieve let alone stay in their own home when their husband dies. Maybe my new real life is defined by fighting to eradicate the corruption from educational systems. Maybe my new real life is helping people create a self-sustainable living for their families.

Life doesn’t get any more real than that.

A Critical Evaluation Continued Again

4. I wonder if I really and truly heard and obeyed God or if I have simply chased an adventure?

How do I know if I was really doing what God wanted me to do? I answer the question by thinking about how I came to a decision and how I feel after making it. In some of my early blog posts I talked about how short-term missions was the result of prophetic words from several different people who didn’t know what the others had said. I talked about how these folks could never have known that missions was on my long since forgotten bucket list. Only the Holy Spirit could orchestrate all that.

As the year progressed, I had to make many decisions about which missions to participate in. I had this internal sense of indecision until a specific mission was revealed at which point I had absolute confidence and peace about the choice. All of the missions, with the exception of Alaska, were not missions I would have chosen for myself. I had no latent desire to go to these places or serve in the way I did. But I knew that I knew that I knew they were the right ones. Again, I’m just not smart enough to have put all that together myself.

Yes, My Second Year has certainly been an adventure too. Isn’t it only God who can make something that seems so unbearable so simple? The year was about grieving and healing and he made it about transformation by using these missions and the people I meet along the way.

A Critical Evaluation Continued

3. I wonder if all that I was given to do has been done well or if I have wasted time, money, energy, and heart on something inconsequential. Have I made a difference for the Kingdom?

I may be my own worst critic (that sneaky perfectionism); however, just these few examples speak for themselves:
• Nome, Alaska: Practical work at the musher’s banquet ensured that 800 people were fed. Prayer walks hopefully pushed back the enemy just a little. Visiting the senior center reinforced the caring ministry.
• Small Village, Alaska: Church services deepened preexisting relationships. My personal testimony touched women whose husbands also died. Prayer walks reclaimed the village for Christ.
• Uganda: We provided mosquito nets, school tuition, clothing, sewing machines, and seed money for a fruit stand. We held a women’s conference about business ethics and about marriage. We developed business plans for Mercy Uganda.
• Lake Ann Camp: Practical work in the kitchen (my least favorite place to be) modeled service for the students working there for the summer. We worshipped, hard. I connected with a young guy whose father had just died.
• The 3-Day: I raised awareness about breast cancer and drew a small neighborhood together in the process. I prayed with women who lost loved ones. I walked and walked and walked and healed a little myself.
• Uganda 2: I prayed for the sick during medical clinics in remote villages, conducted a women’s Bible study for widows, advocated for several children, and learned more about a culture than I really wanted to know.

A few experiences were too personal to others for me to include in my blog, but each mission resulted in some deep connection for a grieving person, which also helped me grieve. Have I made a difference? I think the answer is yes, although there is always more that could have been done.

A Critical Evaluation

As I began reflecting on My Second Year, a list of questions/worries rolled out of my head …questions I’m not entirely sure I want the answer to and questions I’m not entirely sure I can answer. In keeping with the spirit of authenticity, though, I’m sharing those questions and I’ll even try to answer them to the best of my ability.

1. I wonder if the work of grieving and healing in My Second Year has been accomplished.

As I think back over the year and revisit the content of my blog posts I notice that they increasingly address the deep issues of grief less often. This outcome could be attributed to preoccupation/avoidance or it could be true that the work of grieving and healing has been accomplished. A heart check suggests the latter. I’ve said numerous times that grief will always have a small place in me. I feel that, although I’m not sure exactly what place that is, grief has moved out of the forefront and into the shadows. It lingers but it doesn’t control.

2. I wonder if the work of heart transformation has been successful.

My very early blog posts suggested a number of character-based…um…flaws that the Holy Spirit nudged me to address through the work of My Second Year. In fairness, I cannot judge myself to know whether this work of My Second Year has been accomplished. I will say that unknowing people made comments about my character that made me look around the room in wonder at who they were speaking of…surely it couldn’t be me…could it? If only the sharp edges are worn down just a little more, I will be thankful.

My Third Year

My Second Year was titled such that it was my second year of figuring out life after Rick died. The title signaled something – it signaled some connection between his death and grieving, and my life and future. I hoped that some transition would take place during My Second Year and I believe it has (although I’d be interested in your thoughts about that issue).

The rest of my life will not be strictly defined based on the number of years away from Rick’s death. The rest of my life will be defined, instead, by obedience to the call of God. Perhaps My Second Year readied me for this perspective…a transition of thought and heart.

Rick’s death will always be a part of me, but it will no longer be the biggest part of me. That piece of my life will find a new home in me…somehow, somewhere. I have a peaceful sense that my memory of him and our lives together will find its proper place according to the grace of God.

As I contemplate my third year, such a title as My Third Year seems irrelevant or inappropriate. This next year will have little relevance to Rick’s death and the work of grieving and healing (not that all grieving and healing ceases). Over the course of My Second Year, my future has become my future rather than what should have been our future together.

So, what does that mean for my third year? My Third Year won’t exist. Well…it won’t exist in blog form. Praise God that he has truly turned my mourning into gladness and has given me comfort and joy instead of sorrow (Jeremiah 31:13b).

The Beginning of the End

The very first My Second Year blog post describes how my story begins and now I’m trying to figure out how my story ends…at least for My Second Year. My first year focused on chronicling the many milestones associated with the “firsts” since Rick’s death. The process was heavy with deep grief, but it was also filled with beautiful healing.

Several early blog posts describe how exactly I got to My Second Year and its purpose: to break down walls, build compassion, and show grace. This purpose gave me a sense of direction and clarity. Five short-term mission-type experiences shaped the year and me in a way I never imagined they would. Never.

With just one month left in My Second Year, and no short-term mission trip planned in that month, the beginning of the end of My Second Year is coming. A time of reflection seems appropriate as does a time of seeking God’s will for my future.

This next month will allow me to explore answers to many questions that have been floating around in my head, to have some kind of closure to My Second Year, to show God’s faithfulness and to show Scripture as truth. I pray that during this time of reflection God’s plan for my life would unfold in a greater way and that I would be prepared to lean into that plan with boldness and faith.

Welcome Home Again

Home is a beautiful place.

I am so blessed to have a floor that isn’t made of hard-packed dirt, mosquitoes that won’t kill me, and water I don’t have to keep out of my face holes. I can be out in the dark, hang my underwear on the line outside (if I want), and wear shorts in the summer. I have a mattress to sleep on, a Bible to study, and shoes for my feet.

But so what? So what if I “have” any of these things if I never use my education and experiences for the benefit of people who are marginalized in East Africa. So what if I “have” any of these things if I don’t express the compassion and grace God has awakened in me. So what if I “have” any of these things if I don’t show and share the love of God with anyone. So what?

Things I May or May Not Miss

Fresh fruits and vegetables every day.
The sound of the neighbor’s new roosters crowing at 4:30 a.m.
Construction workers finishing the duplexes across the yard.
The socio-political system.
The sound of the main gate door squeaking open and closed.
Cold water showers.
Internet use by file size.
The sound of the flushing toilet in the duplex behind my window.
Intermittent electricity.
Experiencing something new every day.
Occasional water.
The foam mattress on my bed.
High-stepping over the rat glue.
Learning about God from a different cultural perspective.
The White tax.
Hearing the children scream “mzungu” every time I walk by.
Hugging orphans.

The Last Days

The last days are filled with a few different things. First – I try to answer the question of what one thing (within reason) do I want to do in case I never get to come back to Uganda? and then do it. Second – I try to answer the question what last business needs to be done that cannot be done from home? and then get it done.

First. What one thing to I want to do in case I never get to come back to Uganda? See Murchison Falls and the gorillas. Neither of these sight-seeing marvels is realistic for this trip so I had to add the “within reason” clause. Instead I sit frozen in my room with the fan blowing on my feet uncertain of how to choose exactly what that one last thing would be. Honestly, I find myself longing to be surrounded by the sponsored children and my friends while at the same time knowing that wish isn’t practical or possible. Later tonight the Mercy Uganda team will share a meal and take me to the airport where I will undoubtedly fall apart just a little more.

Second. What last business needs to be done that cannot be done from home? Make some heads roll…in a Christian loving kind of way. Something about my American’ness gives me an attribute the Ugandans don’t have – other than my brightness – which can be both good and bad. I wish I could fix so many things (yes, I am intentionally being evasive) that are so deeply embedded in the culture and history of this country. Yet I know that only God is big enough to bring about this badly needed justice. Meanwhile, I can only hope to impact the life of one person at a time and one last day gives me one last chance to do that.

Why does preparing to leave feel a little like a death sentence?

Calvary Chapel Medical Mission

Pastor Eddie and Calvary Chapel in Costa Mesa sponsored a week-long medical mission at several cities in Uganda, beginning with Calvary Chapel in Namulanda. I walked the two miles to the church and waved to David, our trusted boda driver, along the way. I think he and some of the other regular boda drivers is getting used to seeing this white girl walk, whereas most Americans use some other form of transport.

Tea (breakfast) began promptly at 8:00 and I was welcomed by Chris, the Ugandan mission coordinator, to enjoy tea with the entire volunteer group. The ladies who prepared the tea worked tirelessly all day long to ensure the comfort of the mission team.

The entire campus of Calvary Chapel and Bethel House Orphanage was utilized. A large tent served as a waiting room and was packed when I arrived at 7:45 a.m. When the rains came, as they did throughout the day, people could be seen squishing up under that tent and the surrounding trees. While waiting, the people heard the Gospel from Pastor Wilson and his translator or maybe Pastor Wilson translated for a School of Ministry student who presented the Gospel. Sometimes it’s hard to know who is giving the main message. You have to be present at the beginning to know who is following whom.

The building near the road was used for the doctors and treatment. Augustine served as a translator for one of the doctors. Gabriel charged him with “taking care of me” during the event to ensure that my sunburn didn’t get worse, but I released Augustine from that responsibility. I should be grown up enough to think of such things, but alas…I am still burned.

Bethel Covenant School, located just behind the church, served as a dispensary or pharmacy. After participating in worship for the School of Ministry in the main church building, I was assigned to work here alongside Linda, a new Ugandan friend and nurse. Patients brought prescriptions to us and we did our best to read doctor’s handwriting, although Linda was already a near expert. She also knew the different drug names for a single drug, which was immensely useful. We fell into a routine and performed quite well together. This single mother of two is always invited to help when this medical team comes to Uganda and I can see why.

I had a few opportunities to pray for healing alongside Pastor Eddie and Pastor Phillip. I’m thankful for those few moments when I think about seeing God among the busyness of such a mission trip – sometimes I lose him among the many tasks and duties.

Amen's Story: Update

I first told you about Amen in June. She is the young mother of Elijah living in the Kampala area. Amen and I have stayed in touch these past few months and when I knew I was coming to Uganda we vowed to be sure to meet for a time of refreshment and encouragement.

Amen made the trip to Lauren’s with Elijah (who is five months old now) and Joy, a three year old girl who is now considered Amen’s daughter. The picture shows Joy with a sassy little grin but rest assured that is only a misconception. This girl was pure sweetness. Joy has a 7-year-old brother who is also in Amen’s care but was at school during the day. Amen and Elijah’s father are together but not married, which is not uncommon in Uganda because of the cost associated with the socially required ceremonial marriage practices.

Amen’s boyfriend is brother to the father of Joy and the 7-year-old boy. Their mother left and handed the children over to Amen. But Amen doesn’t complain. When asked how she felt about her new family she sweetly said that she is learning to be a mother. And a very gentle, kind mother she is. Have you recognized the difference between the moms who are completely at home with being a mother and those who are frustrated and uncertain? Amen is the former, definitely.

Little Elijah has malaria and was roasting with fever but tried his best to be cheerful. Amen doted over him while bathing him in cool water. Joy sat on a mat made by the ladies in Kyamagemule. She put her little hands together in prayer before nibbling a few bites of pineapple…wish I had gotten a picture of this precious little prayer.

Amen hopes to go to school to learn hair braiding and other cosmetology-related skills to help her family. With these additional two children in her charge she will likely not have that opportunity. Amen’s story is a common one. Circumstances completely out of her control have been imposed such that her life will be dramatically changed. Amen chooses to make the very best of the situation, but some mothers don’t treat their new children as well. Life is so very different here. Amen's story exactly fits the target for Mercy Uganda's ministry. Please pray we find the best way to come alongside Amen as she grows into motherhood and raises children who love God.

Uganda Christian University

Henry and I left Nkumba University and headed to Mokono district where Uganda Christian University is located – just two km before Kefa Sempangi’s home. Uganda Christian University is ranked #2 in Uganda. The ride was perhaps an hour by boda – no helmets, no sunglasses, and more importantly no sunscreen. We hadn’t planned this trip ahead of time, so the idea of sunscreen hadn’t crossed my mind. I am burnt and blistering. Taking a boda was most timely however we had to “get skinny” dozens of times so that we fit between the small space left by taxis and cars.

In true Ugandan fashion, dropping in unannounced was met with a warm welcome. Having met several University professionals, we finally found the associate dean of marketing. Following the formal introduction by Henry and a brief description of my education and experience, the dean began brainstorming ways that we might collaborate. He took my tentative proposal for return trips to Uganda and filled them in with…assignments. We departed with a tentative plan for my next trip (did I just say that out loud?) and gratitude.

Why interview with universities in Uganda? The idea was that I might gain global exposure to teaching styles, resources, methods, and relationships while making a contribution to the community here. Having this experience will help me better understand the culture and the infrastructure in Uganda and thus better equip me to actually make a difference using the education and experience I already have. The kinds of work discussed at both universities will likely be pro bono (does that count for non-lawyers?), but the experience will be immeasurably valuable.

God swung these doors wide open. Please pray that I can step through the doors leading to these opportunities with the same level of certainty.

Nkumba University

Henry, perceptive man that he is, arranged an interview for me at Nkumba University. Nkumba University is ranked #10 in Uganda and is semi-nearby Kawuku. Their School of Business Administration “is one of the leaders of business education in Uganda. Its philosophy is built on producing graduates who are principled, disciplined, respectable, knowledgeable and transparent.”

A short jaunt on Henry’s boda boda was interrupted by a pre-meeting stop at an internet café to print my resume – the most embarrassingly poor printout of anything I’ve ever seen…so much for first impressions.

We first met with the dean of students to inquire about their interest in collaboration, an appointment set the previous day by Henry. He agreed that there might be a match in the Business Communications department and led us up to another office where a student seeking advice from her professor was interrupted by my arrival. The department head welcomed us and inquired about my education and experience and went on to invite me to assist him and the many students who are required to take the Business Communications class.

We brainstormed about some ways to help raise up the marginal students with more small group assistance. We talked about dates and schedules. In concluding, we agreed to talk again very soon. Of course the main obstacle is my availability.

Olivia's Dorm

After conducting the sponsor update for Olivia, I followed her into her dorm to see where she sleeps. Olivia gets a top bunk because she has a mosquito net, something most of the kids don’t have. The girls swarmed to meet the mzungu. What beautiful faces!

Olivia's Poem

Eyes are all along in tears
Mouths are kept busy crying
Every day, every night
Has taken away our mother.
Oh God! Why this now?

He took our mother and left us with the dad
But no, you are back for him
Leaving us as orphans
However much we are young
You don’t really have mercy!
It is really sad.

To see the strong people but pretending,
Trying to tower our dad in the grave
Relatives, friends and in-laws
Are all mad at you,
Where did you come from?
You shameless death.

Child Sponsorship Updates

Part of the business-related work covered during the June trip included developing a child sponsorship form to help collect information that would be useful in whole-child care as well as to gain an understanding the family life and needs. Lauren and I met with three of the sponsored children yesterday to collect the information. A few surprises might interest you.

Frank gives his pocket money (given by sponsors for children to have food in addition to the twice-daily maize porridge and beans) to his mother who has been told she has cancer of the blood and whose father died a few years ago.

Yunus is supposed to have his own bed at the boarding school but doesn’t. In no uncertain terms I instructed the Matron to get a mattress for him that day and that I would be checking back in the morning to ensure he had his own bed. The Matron said okay and that she would just move the second boy to another child’s bed. Very loud, very big internal sigh!

Godfrey was sent home from school because his shoes weren’t good enough. He’ll be back tomorrow regardless of whether he has any shoes at all. Would you like to purchase some shoes for him? The ones I just picked up for Frank and Yunus cost about $20 (including the white tax).

Olivia gave me her letter to her sponsor, my friend. Included was this poem. I asked her if the poem was created by her and she said yes but I’m not perfectly confident that she understood me. I can’t find any of the lines of this poem in Google so I’m inclined to think it really is her own creation. Get out your tissues and read the Olivia’s Poem blog post…the life of a child…oh!

Coolest of all, every child professed Jesus as his or her Savior!

Shopping in Kampala

I had a dilemma. I have three sponsored children for which to shop, Lauren has a broken foot, Gabriel was occupied by another project, shopping in Kawuku netted zero results, and I’m “not allowed” to go anywhere alone. Thank goodness for Ronnie, a friend introduced to me by Gabriel while I was here in June.

After admonishing him not to leave me behind and not to allow me to carry anything, Gabriel approved Ronnie as a guide to take me to Kampala for the few errands. He came half the distance out of his way to pick me up at the gate rather than my meeting him at the road, so as to fulfill his directives from Gabriel. After learning my list of shopping needs, Ronnie and I took an overstuffed taxi into Kampala.

After getting more MTN internet time, we headed for the market. The market in Kampala is indescribable. Tin sheets protected the marketers from the sun. Wood plank walls of questionable construction framed…no lined…the outer and some inner boundaries. No air moved in this giant maze of a marketplace. Vendors lined the narrow dirt aisles and grabbed at my arms while calling out “mzungu” or “hello madam, how are you” in their best English. The space was so congested and confusing I didn’t dare take out my camera. I wondered what this place would be like in the rain.

Ronnie knew right where to go to find shoes for the two boys, but as soon as the vendors saw me the price doubled. After negotiating at several different vendors, we got the shoes we needed and went in search of sandals. A street vendor offered some Crock sandals for 2,500 UGX ($1.25 USD) and was “singing out the price” which apparently means the price is not negotiable. We needed a storage box for one of the boys and again Ronnie knew right where to find them among the blocks-wide marketplace. The problem with getting to this next location was that we had to squish ourselves down a tiny path through the food part of the market along with hundreds of other people doing the same thing. It was tough to keep up with Ronnie because so many people wanted to squeeze in between us, but I managed…for the most part…calling out his name when more than one person separated us.

Whew, we found our way back to the taxi park and waited for our ride home. I know I’ve said I don’t like shopping before and I’m sure if I had to shop this way every time I’d really hate it…but today was a fun cultural experience. I’m pretty sure I’ll never want to shop in Kampala alone. Ronnie was a great guide, we got everything we needed for tomorrow’s sponsorship updates, and I was safely delivered back to the gate just after dark.

Shopping in Kawuku

I have a short list of items needed for some of the sponsored children and thought I’d give going to the market alone a try. The Kawuku market is nearby and I’ve been there before so I put on my shoes and headed out – after informing the proper authorities. Wow, it was hot outside. I found the market – outdoor vendors who sell the few things they grow or make or sometimes buy – and walked up and down the streets looking at what they had. I was looking for some specific items but really wanted to get to know what was available in this market should I need to return later.

A few of the items on my list were available but selection was limited so I made no purchases. I didn’t find the big food part of the market that I remembered from my June visit so I took a few side roads to see what I could see. I wandered into the housing part of the “neighborhood” where little storage unit size flats lined the roads, their curtained doorways blowing in the occasional breeze. Half naked children hung out on the front porch and called out “mzungu.” Women swept the debris into the street. I knew I was out of place being so far beyond the market so I hesitated to haul out my camera. Instead I kept walking, sharing the road with a lone bull, until the road reconnected with the market. One last sweep and I gave up for the day.

Overall the trip was liberating and telling, but I came home empty handed.

Live Like Lauren

Mission trips are typically well organized for the safety and convenience of those coming from more modern societies. Many short-term missionaries might not want to come if they knew they had to use a pit latrine or eat rice and beans for dinner every night. Car rental, flush toilets, and restaurants are the way of most short-term missionaries. To truly experience Ugandan culture, such luxuries must be foregone.

My objective for this last week in Uganda (sniffle, sniffle) is to live like Lauren. Uganda lacks a middle class, but living like Lauren is still a higher standard than most Ugandans. We do have indoor plumbing (when there is water although it is never hot) and electricity (sometimes) and mosquito nets. We have no refrigerator and no oven/stove but we do have a single gas burner and a charcoal pot for grilling (if we want to kill our own chicken).

I’ll spend the week doing all the things Lauren normally does in service to Mercy Uganda and I’ll do them in the same way she normally does them. One thing we’ve got to do is exchange currency sent by child sponsors, identify sponsored child needs, shop for those needs, and bring the items back to the children. Sounds easy, right? Remember…there are no Meijer or Wal-mart stores so each item we need will have to be purchased at a different roadside stand or on market day and…there’s always the challenge of public transport.

We eat two or three meals each day, which means we need to shop for food in the market (not a grocery store). Food here doesn’t have preservatives and with no fridge we are somewhat limited in the options. The food is all fresh, which is yummy, but keeping a live chicken (or a dead one for that matter) until dinner time is no easy task. Keeping any food is tough because of ants and fruit flies…and the occasional mouse. None the less, we shopped yesterday for breakfast today and will shop today for lunch and/or dinner today as well as breakfast tomorrow. Remember…public transport and that anywhere I go with Lauren means that our prices are higher because I’m mzungo.

Shopping and eating are just the beginning of what needs to be done this week, but I will fully enjoy every moment of experiencing something close to real life while I’m here.

Rodent Problem: Update #2

I had not intended to provide another update on the rodent problem, but this was worth posting. You know I put small tables over the glue so we wouldn’t step in it. We’ve been high-stepping over them for a few days now. Lauren, however, is a little vertically challenged and decided to scootch the table toward the door frame to give her room to move her legs around the table rather than over the table.

Yep, she stepped right in the glue with one foot. Right in it! Um, her sock wouldn’t come up off the floor after that. Then she took her foot out of her sock and headed to the bedroom where she took the second sock off by hand and stepped in the glue from another doorway. To get her balance she stepped in the glue with the second foot. And somehow as she got glue on both hands. I’m not quite sure how this part was possible, but I heard some very loud screaming and wasn’t sure if she stubbed her broken toe or what.

So she tries hard not to touch anything on the way to the bathroom (we’ll see how that worked out) where some petrol was awaiting her for glue removal and she dumped the last little bit down the drain. So, there she stood with her two feet and two hands full of rat glue. Once again our guardian angel, Gabriel – who just happened to have stopped in to say good night, ran (literally) to the Petrol station for her. I asked if Gabriel should get enough petrol to remove the glue and she said, not yet...there might be another mouse. The whole thing was better than anything I could have made up. Hilarious!

Public Transportation

When you think of public transportation you probably think of an organized group of bus drivers such as GRATA (Grand Rapids Area Transit Authority) or a taxi service organization such as Yellow Cab or Metro. In Uganda, the buses only make long trips and are not prevalent for around town trips. Of course the only road in the area is Entebbe Road, which goes from Entebbe airport to Kampala, about 30 km. Kampala has a ton of roads with mortar shell holes that remain unfixed from the Idi Amin days of the late 70s and early 80s.

The taxi vans all look alike and are part of a semi-organized group that doesn’t mind stuffing16 people in space made for 12. You need to know what the place looks like that you want to go so that as you drive by you holler to stop. Half the van unpacks to let you out of the back corner and then you all reload until the next stop.

Boda bodas (125cc motorcycles) are everywhere and are operated by self-employed men (not women). Gabriel knows many boda drivers and has given Lauren their contact information so that she can call a trustworthy driver when needed. Bodas drive on the shoulder of the road, not on the main road in traffic. Bikes also ride on the shoulder and people walk on the shoulder too. Sometimes the shoulder of the road is much busier than the road itself. Whatever the case, the roads are congested, unruly, and require Atari Frogger skills like no other.

After church, Lauren and I wanted to go to Goretti’s Beachside Pizzeria and Grill for lunch. Goretti’s is a beautiful place with outdoor seating on the beach of very warm Lake Victoria. On a hot day dipping my toes in the water is priceless. Gabriel could not come with us so he called two trustworthy boda drivers to pick us up from the way uphill dirt road of the church (remember Lauren’s broken foot). 1,000 shilling each. They dropped us at a taxi stand headed in the correct direction at the bottom of the hill. From there we taxied to some road about 10 km away. 700 shilling (although most taxis charge mzungo more, this one did not). Good thing Lauren knew when to holler. The first thing the boda driver, who took me from Entebbe road to Goretti’s, said was, “You are safe with me.” I’m not sure why but that comment did not help me at all. He was a good driver though. 500 shillings.

So…today was the first time ever that I took public transportation to get anywhere in Uganda. 1,200 shillings (about $0.60) for maybe seven miles one way. Yea me!

Calvary Chapel, Namulanda

Lauren took a boda boda (motorcycle) to church this morning because of her broken foot. I, on the other hand, had to be all independent and walk there. At one point I started wondering if I’d gone too far. I was paying close attention to the landmarks – kinda hard to miss the big pink building where I was to turn – but I still wondered. I figured if I couldn’t find it I’d go back home and all the worried people could find me on the porch there. The distance wasn’t far, maybe a mile or a little more and half that distance was uphill on a dirt road. I hadn’t accounted properly for the sweat factor, which is pretty high by 9:00 a.m. in Africa in a long skirt.

Special guests Pastor Eddie and Pastor Phillip came from Calvary Chapel in Costa Mesa, California. They’re operating a medical mission this week in Uganda and arrived early just for this occasion. Pastor Eddie installed Pastor Wilson in the Namulanda, Uganda church. I was so blessed to be part of this ceremony for Pastor Wilson and for this church.

Rodent Problem: Update

Glue lines every doorway in Lauren’s small duplex. The tables helped with a few doorways to ensure we didn’t step in the glue and Lauren put a crutch across her doorway. I joked that she shouldn’t shut her door at night because the door might stick shut, but she did anyhow. Rather than the door sticking shut, she stepped in the glue on her first attempt to exit her room. I couldn’t help but laugh. She did a pretty good job containing the glue this time. Now if I could just get her to replace the empty toilet paper roll…

Okay, so I thought no mouse was in the house but I didn’t check under the broom in the kitchen doorway! As I turned to high step over the table in the kitchen doorway with my hands full of breakfast dishes and pineapple chunks, I spotted him. He must have gotten sleepy after fighting to get his little feet loose because he was lying on his side all good and stuck. I thought only a putty knife would get this little guy off the floor. At least he wasn’t in MY bedroom.

After Lauren and I debated about whose responsibility it was to clean him up, we both decided Gabriel should do it. Faithful man that he is, Gabriel left his breakfast waiting and came right over. Apparently the proper way to dispose of such things is by fire.

Rodent Problem

A theme seems to have arisen as it relates to many of my Facebook posts. They’re animal related. Mosquitoes, frogs, ants, and now…mice. I got home from my early morning walk to Lauren’s sheepish explanation about how the neighbor’s house boy chased a mouse into MY room.

Apparently she saw a mouse in her room, screamed like a very high pitched little girl, and all the neighbors came running. The house boy was summoned to come root that thing out of her room, and neither he nor Lauren thought to close any of the other doors so as to isolate his options for terrorizing others.

Gabriel called and she begged him to come get the mouse. Okay, there aren’t many places for this mouse to go. It’s not like the house is large or has a lot of places for a mouse to hide. My room, however, serves as storage for Mercy Uganda things. Plus, since there are no dressers or closets, all my stuff is spread out on the bed – toothbrush, underwear…so ya, Gabriel picked through all my stuff to see if the mouse nested in my “drawers.” No mouse.

Lauren put rat glue in all the doorways to catch the little guy if he was still in the house. Everything she touched after that was sticky. Shower handle, jerry can handle, kitchen sink handle, broom handle. We put little tables over the glue in the doorway to be sure we didn’t step in the glue too. I hope the table doesn't get stuck to the floor. I wonder how she’ll get all that glue off the tile…

I hoped my mosquito net was also mouse proof as I tried to fall asleep last night. Turns out either they are or the mouse is not in my room. Apparently, the mouse is not in the house because the glue in all the doorways is empty too. Mosquitoes, frogs, ants, and mice.

House Arrest

Okay, house arrest may be a strong word but quarantine isn’t quite right either. Gabriel tries to keep me safe by being with me whenever I go out of the house. He says I am too bright and would be an easy target for Ugandans who would assume I had money in my bag. Although we know that not every Ugandan would make this assumption nor would every Ugandan want to steal that money from me, he does have a point. So, while Lauren was gone for three days I obediently stayed close to home.

Wednesday was spent running a crazy lot of errands and doing the Bible study with the widows. While running those errands someone stole the passenger mirror off the car Gabriel borrowed – these are not cheap things to replace here…$150 just for the mirror plate…all in the name of ministry work. Then the post office would not give me access to the box of dollies my mom sent because my name was not on the P.O. Box. (This is a picture of some dollies she’s sending to Laura for a fundraising benefit. Note that they’re wearing clothes made from Rick’s shirts.)

BUT we stopped to see a woman Gabriel called mom while he was at the Africa Foundation children’s home. She hadn’t seen him for 10 years and the look on her face when she recognized him was worth every other setback and all my mosquito bites put together.

Thursday morning Gabriel brought chapatti to go with the pineapple he selected for me on Wednesday. Augustine and Joel were charged with getting me out of the house to enjoy some lunch and fellowship and were specifically told to keep me in one piece. Henry dropped in after lunch and then told Annie I was alone at home when he saw her at the church. Of course, Annie came for a visit. That night, after watching three movies, Gabriel returned with dinner and to play Mancala. The day was wonderful even though I wasn’t allowed to go out alone.

Friday (today) morning Gabriel says he will check on me before starting some non-babysitting-Leslie work he has for the day. Pastor Phillip is coming to visit from Karamoja and we’re planning to talk about how Agnes (his wife) can start a business reselling food for a profit to the family. He’ll take some large sacks of food back via taxi when he returns. Lauren should be home tonight too, although with her broken foot she won’t be taking me out either.

I’ve still got quite a list of things to do so I’ll begin planning how to accomplish them all without the help of Gabriel at every outing. I have a few thoughts on that…stay tuned. Mostly I'm so thankful for all my friends and that they would give of their time for me. Thank you!

Super Cool Moments

Two super cool things happened while at the church for Bible study.

David pointed out one woman who was lying on the floor in the back of the church. He indicated that she was sick. Although I may not have followed the proper protocol for supernatural healing, we prayed for healing for her as a whole church. By the middle of the program, the lady was sitting up and attentive. I talked with her briefly during the time of jewelry making and she indicated that she was feeling much better. Whew and yea God!

Later, one of the women brought smiling Betty to me and told me that Betty was also a widow. This mid-to-late 20s Betty told me that her husband died of heart failure just five months ago. According to Ugandan social custom, Betty was allowed to grieve for two weeks. This beautiful woman clung to me so hard I almost couldn’t breathe. We prayed together and enjoyed the presence of God in our quiet little space in the center of the room, while others simply allowed us the time we needed together. Precious and yea God again!

How can I ever explain the truth behind the idea that if you bless others you will also be blessed? I never understood the reality of this economy until recently, and today I would say that my “gift” to these women was absolutely paltry compared to their gift to me.

Women's Crafts

Following the Bible study, the women sought my business advice about how to improve their crafts and how to better market them. In addition to the traditional bead jewelry, a few women showed designs that were of a higher caliber. The woman shown with this necklace added a stone to the center of her design along with some plastic beads, giving this necklace a very formal design look.

I also complimented the women who offered a variety of ways to use the beads beyond just jewelry – for example as a purse. I did a double take when I realized the beads on the purse were handmade. The purse was also lined, which added a quality feel. I explained that these attributes would set their work apart from that of others and thus improve demand for their products. The challenge now is to find the best place to market their products.

While I’m not sure I helped a whole lot, I enjoyed learning how they made their jewelry and spending more time with them on a personal level. If you are interested in purchasing any of the jewelry or crafts shown here or in a previous post, there’s still time. Just let me know and I’ll get word to the ladies. They use the money to pay for school for their children and to put food in their bellies.

Bible Study with Widows

I arrived to the sound of rhythmic clapping and was surprised to find a church full of women waiting to welcome me. The front of the church was set with chairs and a table and the rough benches were packed with women and their babies. Apparently this small Bible study time with widows and mothers would be more formal than I anticipated.

Before stepping into the church, David and the pastor greeted me along with piles of children who rushed out of their classrooms to lay hands on the mzungu. Rebecca, Joanne, and Jessica were also there to greet me – women whom I’d met either in June or earlier on this trip. Something wonderful happens when people make you feel so welcome and wanted.

Following a time of worship, our time together was supported by a Bible study called A Mom’s Ordinary Day: Entering God’s Presence. If I may brag for a moment, my aunt Jean Syswerda edited this Bible study series and she gave me enough copies for all the women…except that the weight exceeded what was allowable in my luggage…so I could only bring a few.

Together the ladies and I discussed the idea of prayer and then we looked at Ephesians 2:1-10. I said, “Get out your Bibles” and then it dawned on me that many of these women did not own a Bible. Sad sigh. We talked about being dead in our sin and alive in Christ because of God’s great love for us. Then we moved to Hebrews 10:19-25 and learned about how we can enter God’s presence through Christ and that because of his death we are no longer separated from God. Tying the study back to prayer we acknowledged that because we can come close to God we should, and that if we try, he will come near to us. Prayer is one way we can be with him. The study time was closed by talking about ways to teach our children to enter God’s presence.

Once I got the proper sense of the level of knowledge most of these ladies had for Scripture and the stories contained within, I was able to adjust the teaching method and content accordingly. Although I cannot answer for these ladies, I believe the study time was helpful. I encouraged the women to work through the remaining five sessions in the book before I return with the next study guide.