Just Show Up

We had just finished our staff devotions when I get a call from Julius, our Cherish driver, “Pastor Brent, the van is broken down.” This is obviously a phone call with some negative implications, like the fact we have a van full of kids on the way to their medical appointments stuck on the side of the road along with the point that the van will need to be towed and the possible costly repairs needed. I tell Julius I will head his way. Larry, a good friend, has just arrived that morning from the states for a visit and I tell him I need to go get the kids to the doctor and deal with the van and ask him if he wants to come. Without hesitation he jumps in the car and we head towards town.

We make a right hand turn out of the gate at Akaloosa Village and immediately notice a crowd of a hundred or so people gathered on the road about fifty yards ahead of us. You don’t have to live here very long to know that a crowd of people on the roadside is rarely a good thing. As we approach, the people move aside and now we are a part of the circle that is continuing to grow. Out of my window, about thirty feet off the dirt road, we see a young girl, maybe 13 or 14 years old, sitting on some bricks, at the base of a small tree. Her hands are tied behind her back. Standing over her is a middle-aged man holding a brick above her head about to hit her with it. He is yelling at her and we can’t understand a word he is saying.

Having seen quite a few mob justice situations in our time here it was quickly clear that this girl had done something this man deemed punishable by death. Those in the crowd either, 1. Agreed, 2. Were passive bystanders with no opinion watching the drama unfold, or 3. Disagreed with the punishment being levied upon her, but were driven by fear, or felt powerless, to intervene. I was in the 3^rd camp, but knew I needed to do something. One of our staff members, Waswa, happened to walk up at the same time. At a loss of what to do next I just started asking Waswa, “What did this girl do?” He said he didn’t know. I continue to ask him anyways, making my voice louder and louder. At this point all eyes are on me, including the girl and the man with the brick. My questioning turns toward the man with the brick, “What did this girl do?” I doubt he understood my English, but he definitely understood my tone. My heart was pounding and I am wondering what I will do if that man either doesn’t put the brick down, or turns the brick on me as often happens to those involving themselves in situations like these. I continue to ask him over and over again, “What did this girl do?”. The people continue to stare.

I can’t put into words the look on the face of the young girl. Head down, eyes staring up at me, no fight left in her, hopeless, and resigned to the fact that this is how her life will end. The man? Mostly just stunned that someone has interrupted his courtroom in which he has made himself judge, jury and executioner. As the clock seemed to stand still the motionless staring from the man left me praying, “God what am I supposed to do now?” Then almost as if God commanded the man to release the girl, he did. He dropped the brick, untied the girl and she took off running. Some of the crowd took to a foot pursuit, but quickly they gave up as she disappeared into the village. Then not 30 seconds later the crowd dispersed and all seemed as if nothing had happened. Larry and I looked at each other in shock asking, “What just happened?” “I think we saved that girls life.” “I think you are right.”

We continued up the road a bit stunned at the events we happened upon. How do you move on from that? We then start asking questions. Questions like:

–       What if we hadn’t have happened upon that situation?

–       Was that guy really going to kill her?

–       Had he done this before?

–       What did she do that caused him to decide that her death was the best way to resolve the issue?

–       What was it that made him put the brick down and untie her?

–       How come no one in the crowd was willing to intervene?

–       Where did she run to?

–       What was her name?

I still find myself asking those questions, unfortunately with few answers. What I do know is that somehow we were used and all we did was show up and say something. I didn’t know what to say or what to do, but when love and justice show up in a situation there can’t help but be some change. It might not be visible and it might not be the outcome you desire, but the love and justice of Jesus showing up in you will always bring about transformation, either now or later. Do I always show up and not allow fear to keep from speaking or acting? No, unfortunately not, but hopefully I am doing it more today than I did yesterday.

The kids and the van? We took them safely to the hospital for their appointments and the van was fixed by the time we got back to it. A traveling mechanic fixed it – broken oil line – $5.

“They are going to put Bo in jail.”

The phone call comes from Leah around 6:45 pm, “Bo pulled onto Entebbe Road after we thought the presidential convoy had finished going through, but it hadn’t. He was pulled over and now they want to impound the car. Can you come and get us?”

Bo and Leah had taken one of our staff girls to the doctor and were on their way back. They just so happened to be on the same road at the same time that Uganda’s President Yoweri Museveni and US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton were travelling from the airport into town.

Typically, if you are pulled over by a traffic cop in Uganda they either take your license or impound your car, or both, to insure that you will pay your traffic fine. Once the fine is paid you can get your license and/or car back. I hopped in our other car and headed up the road to go and get them. About 15 min. later I receive another call from Leah, through tears she says to me. “They are going to put Bo in jail.”

“What?”

She repeats, “They are going to put Bo in jail.” I tell her I will be there soon and start accelerating through the traffic.

I pull up to the police station, enter and see my wife seated in a chair in front of a desk, crying. Bo is surrounded by 4 or 5 police officers and I start asking questions:

“What did my son do wrong?”

“Why do you need to detain him?”

“Isn’t this just a traffic violation?”

“Who is in charge?”

All of these questions go unanswered. I then look to a man who is writing a report and ask him if we could work something out. He gives me the phone number of the head of traffic in Kampala and says this is the man I must deal with. I immediately call him. He answers the phone right away.

“My name is Brent Phillips and you are holding my son Bo Phillips…”

He cuts me off, “His actions were a breach of national security and I cannot allow it to stand. He interrupted a convoy of his Excellency, the President of Uganda and your secretary.” Click…

This can’t be happening. Does he think Bo is a “breach of security?” Is he looking at my 18 year old son and my crying wife thinking they have planned an attack that he has now foiled and Bo will have to pay the price? I start pleading with the officers in the station.

“Can I stay in jail in his place?”

“No, you are not the offender.”

“Can I stay in there with him?”

“No, you did not commit a crime.”

They go on to explain to me that he will go to court tomorrow and he will be prosecuted then. Prosecuted?!? The men start pushing Bo toward the cell. Leah’s cries get louder, Bo looks at me with fear in his eyes and I am pleading with God asking what I should do. I tell the men I need to see the cell before you put my boy in there.

“Fine.”

It is a dark empty room with no one in it. There is a light bulb hanging from a wire coming out of the ceiling, but it doesn’t work. There is a window with bars on it and a locked steel door that leads to the outside with a rusty hole in the bottom.

The officers ask Bo to take off his shoes, his belt and empty his pockets. They put him in the room and shut the door. I will never forget the look on his face as the door closed. I tell Leah to wait there in the lobby and immediately run around the building to that window I saw. I call out Bo’s name and kneel down to the rusty hole in the door. He is already kneeling there. Up to this point Bo had been so full of courage and strength, even comforting Leah in the lobby. But now, I am looking into the eyes of my son and he isn’t 18 anymore – He looks like he is 10. We start praying through that rusty hole, asking God for strength, courage and freedom. I say Amen and Bo looks deep into my soul and says, “Dad, don’t leave me.”

“Bo, I am not leaving this place. I will be sleeping in front of this door or the other door until you are out of here.”

I go find Leah. “Babe, can you and Lilly go get some food at that little market right there?”

She heads off to the market and I step back into the police station. By now all of the officers have left except for one – Nelson.

“Nelson, can I stay here all night, sleeping in front of this door?”

“Yes, you can. And when your madam returns I can let your son out into the lobby here and you can all eat together.”

“Thank you so much.”

I tell Bo the plan up to this point through the door and let him know I am going to make some phone calls. I start calling everyone I can think of that might have some sort of wisdom, experience or pull in this situation. Then someone mentions the US Consulate. Great idea! I just so happened to have the US embassy’s emergency phone number in my phone. I saw it on a piece of paper when I was at the embassy a few weeks ago getting a Texas DPS document notarized for Amy.

“You have reached the US embassy in Kampala, Uganda. We are currently closed. If you are an American citizen and you are having a serious emergency, please press one.” Of course, I pressed one and anxiously awaited someone to pick up the phone. A very nice gentlemen picked up the phone and asked me what my emergency was. I explained to him the situation and he promptly sent me through to another gentleman.

“Special Ops. Agent ________. How can I help you?” I explained the situation again. He very reassuredly explained to me that this is not right and ended the conversation with, “I will call you right back… and we will get your son out tonight.”

As I hung up the phone I was starting to get a bit worried why Leah hadn’t shown up yet. She had been gone longer than it should take to get a bit of food. She later told me that she was crying in the store as she was gather things up. As she went to pay, a customer in line straight up asked her is she could pray for her. Leah told her briefly what was happening and the clerk shared that the same thing happened to her father – Wrongly accused and thrown in jail. After a month her dad was released and everything is fine now. A month? Leah thought, I could barely handle a night. Oh God, please release my son. The customer shared their journey of getting him out and how God had used this situation to bring others in jail to a saving knowledge of Jesus. Then she encouraged Leah that it would be OK. They prayed together outside the store and my wife was so thankful for this angel who encouraged her in a dark hour. About the time I felt I needed to send someone to go find Leah, she shows back up. Once again, we are all together.

Even if you don’t know my wife very well, you do know this Italian momma makes sure the people around her have plenty of food. She shows up with fruit, water, chicken, Pringles, bread and eggs. How she found all of this at that little market I have no idea. The officer then lets Bo out of the cell and we start eating and talking with the officer, “I don’t think he should be here. I don’t understand why we are holding him.”

The phone rings and it is the embassy – the same agent I had talked to before. He tells me, “Bo will be released, as will his license and the car. There will be no court tomorrow and this will be finished. The call from Nelson’s superior should come anytime now.” I hang up and share the news with all in the lobby. Relief…

Time continues to tick on, though with no call. 10 minutes…20 minutes…30 minutes… so, I call him back. “We still haven’t received a call,” I said. He seems a bit more frustrated now, but assures me what he said will happen, will happen! “In fact I will have his superior call you, his name is Major _______ and he will explain to you how this will all be finished.” He then asked me where in the states we were from.

“We were in California for about 35 years then spent the last 8 years in Austin, Texas.”

“Are you a Longhorn?” he asks.

“Yes, in fact I am wearing a burnt orange Texas Longhorn shirt right now.”

“Consider all of this an act of grace”, he says, “I am a graduate of Texas A & M.”

More time passes and hope is rising. There is more laughter than crying and we feel great appreciation for every person involved who desired to help us. Around 10:00 pm, Bo is released and we all head home.

It was on the way home, we talked of the fear, the worry, and the unknown of the situation as well as the grace, the mercy and the power of God in all of it. Bo said, “I am not sure all the things we are supposed to learn from this, other than make sure the convoy is all the way finished. But, as soon as the door closed and I was alone in that cell Paul flashed into my brain and I just thought if God sustained Paul in much worse conditions than this, He can take care of me too.”

Natasha

It was approx. 11:45 pm as I was standing at the airport in Entebbe with Randy (one of our teachers from the U.S.), waiting for Robert Beasley, Andrew Barlow and the White family to come through the doors. They all had rides from the airport, I just wanted to greet them on behalf of our family as they first set foot on Ugandan soil. My phone rang, which is always a bad thing at that hour. It was Augustine, the Head of Childcare at Cherish. He was calling to let me know that Natasha was not well and needed to be taken to the hospital. He was calling to see if I could take her since he was in Kampala, about one hour away. Since I was at the airport I called Leah and asked her to ask Bo to take her. (Kate was not doing well and she needed to stay home minding her.) Bo agreed, and took the car over to Natasha’s house to pick her up.

About 20 minutes later the White’s came through the door, minus Rex as he was standing at the lost baggage counter. Terri informed us that Robert and Andrew were also there as well.

As we were waiting to greet the others, my phone rang. It was Bo. There was panic in his voice.
“Dad, you need to come right now. Natasha is not waking up.”
I told Randy that we needed to go and off we went. About 60 seconds later my phone rings again. It is Bo.
“Dad, she died.”
“What? What do you mean she died?”
“The doctor said she didn’t make it.”
I replied, “I will be there as soon as I can.” Click!

I am not sure how fast I was driving, but I could not get there quick enough. The medical center where Bo was calling from was only a few miles away, but it felt like it took forever. As I pulled in the parking lot, the only car there was ours. The back doors were open, with Bo standing there, next to the open door. Natasha’s mom, Auntie Margaret, was leaning on the hood of the car. As I pulled next to the car I could see Natasha’s body laying in the back seat. I bolted out of the car, hugged Bo and went to find Natasha’s pulse, praying the doctor had made a mistake – no mistake, there was no pulse.

I told Bo, Auntie Margaret and Randy that we were going to pray. We prayed for about 30 minutes as we pleaded with God to bring Natasha back to life. I knew He could, and really felt as I prayed, that He would, but He didn’t. I don’t know why. From my perspective, what would bring Him more glory than if she had sat up in the back of that car? Apparently something else, because she never sat up.

As we sat there praying I was amazed at what was happening with my son. When I rolled up in the car next to him he looked like a deer in headlights. Shock, disbelief, and fear were all over my boys face. We started to pray and something different came over him. He was standing next to me, with his hand on Natasha, calling on God to raise her from the dead and I heard compassion, power and faith in his voice. God was doing a work in him as he leaned into that car and prayed.

After we prayed he started to tell me what had transpired over the past hour or two:

“We (Auntie Margaret and Bo) put her in the car and she seemed sick, but OK. We helped her into the back seat and she lay down to sleep on the way to the hospital. We then drove up our dirt road. As we got to the main highway she coughed a weird cough. We pulled into the medical center parking lot and tried to wake her up and she didn’t wake up. As Auntie Margaret kept trying I called you dad as I ran in to get the doctor. He came out, checked for her pulse and said she didn’t make it and walked back into the clinic, leaving her in the back of the car.”

My heart still breaks for Bo having to be the one to endure those moments. He is an amazing kid, man really, and I have no doubt God will use this in his life (He has already), but for my boy to be standing there in the parking lot with Natasha lying in the back seat and her mom crying on the hood of the car is something a father doesn’t ever want his son to have to endure. Death came while Natasha was in his care.

Now what do we do? In America the body is taken into the hospital, we go and start ministering to the family and making arrangements for the funeral. But the body is still in the back of our car, it is about 1:00 am and we at Cherish have never lost a child. The rest of the leadership team had arrived by now and we sat and talked about what comes now. We decided to send Bo back with Leah and Larissa to start ministering to those who already know something is up. When all the cars of the leadership team leave in the middle of the night, people know something is not right. Then myself, Augustine and Rachel decided that we needed to go to the government hospital in Entebbe to get a death certificate and get the body prepared for burial.

The ride to the hospital, as I drove our car, alone, with Natasha’s body in the back seat was an odd one to say the least. It seems so cliché to say it was a surreal moment, but I don’t have any other words or ways to describe it. It felt like this shouldn’t be happening, this shouldn’t be me, and most importantly, this shouldn’t be one of our kids in the back of our car.

As I entered the parking lot of the hospital the guard asked why I was coming. I didn’t know what to say, so I told him that I had a dead girl in the back seat. He calmly said OK and opened the gate. My only thought at the moment, “Is this another day at the office for this man? Does this happen so often that there is no reaction from him anymore?”

The nurse met us at the car and told me to carry her into the hospital (I use this term very loosely – Ugandan government run hospitals are not a pretty place). I picked her up and instantly realized her body had completely let loose and her bowels had emptied. As I laid her down, in her soiled clothes, on a bare metal table, I just kept thinking how she deserved more than this. The back of my car, a metal table, and the conditions of this hospital – I know she is dead, but her life was worth more than this.

Despite the deplorable conditions of the hospital, the nurse on duty that night was so nice. She gave me a place to wash-up and asked Rachel to help her clean-up Natasha.

After some discussion, the nurse informs us we must take the body to Mulago, the government hospital in Kampala, for an autopsy, a death certificate and proper preparation for the body to be buried. We decide that I should go back to Cherish and Rachel and Augustine will take the body about an hour away. It is now around 3:00 am.

Driving into Cherish, the heaviness hits like a ton of bricks. The place has literally had the life sucked out of it and everyone who is up (all the staff and all of the older kids) is in shock. I step into Natasha’s home where Leah, Larissa, our house moms and all of our older girls are sitting. No words are being spoken, but much sadness is being communicated. I sit down with our older girls, asking them if they have any questions, and answering their questions straightforward and honest. There are many tears. We spend time praying together and just sitting in the silence and the pain.

The sun is starting to rise and the rest of Cherish is waking up. Rachel and Augustine have since returned, having left Natasha’s body at Mulago. We are still sitting in Natasha’s home and in walks Vicky, Natasha’s blood sister. Joselyn, the house mom, sits her on her lap and starts to explain to her, in Lugandan (Vicky doesn’t know English), what had happened the previous night. Vicky has no response. She just stares off into the distance, answering what questions she is asked. Vicky gets off Joselyn’s lap and goes onto Leah’s – still no real response from Vicky. We as a leadership team spend the next few hours praying and talking to children and staff – heart wrenching to say the least.

We gather as a staff to talk about what is next. Natasha’s body must be picked up, we must prepare for the all-night vigil that will now take place at Cherish with Natasha’s body and we must contact Natasha’s relatives (she has an aunt) and let them know what has happened.

It is decided Augustine and I will head back to Mulago to purchase a casket and pick up the body. Augustine slept in the car as he and I made the hour drive into Kampala. Once we arrived at Mulago, I woke up Augustine and he directed me to the mortuary. The best way I can describe the mortuary is by likening it to a loading dock. No, it isn’t like a loading dock, it is a loading dock. There are cars backed up to the dock, either delivering dead bodies, or taking them. You see, there are no cemeteries here in Uganda. Everyone buries their family on family land. When someone dies, you bring the body to Mulago for an autopsy and formaldehyde injections (to preserve the body for the all-night vigil and the trip to the village for burial).

We step up to the desk and present our “receipt”…and then we wait. Meanwhile, people are coming and going.

I was struggling with what I should be feeling at this moment. There seemed to be no grief anywhere around me. Many people delivering bodies and picking up bodies, all done as very normal business transactions. Why were there no tears? Are these just hired hands to move the bodies or are these family members receiving goods and services from the local mortuary?

A blue police pick-up truck backs up along the line of cars. In the back are two benches where the police officers sit – maybe about eight of them. As the truck reaches the edge of the dock, they jump out, drop the tailgate and pull out a dead man by his ankles. He is placed on a metal gurney and rolled in; furthering my confusion as I am trying to figure out this cultures view of death, which also reveals their view of life.

Shortly after the police truck drives away, having spent only about 60 seconds delivering their “package”, our name is called. Augustine and I go in and receive the death certificate. Cause of death: a rare form of meningitis. The one who performed the autopsy looks at us and says, “This child was not sick for long, was she? I am sure it came and she died suddenly.” We shook our heads in agreement, paid our $20.00, received the death certificate and were led to the room where Natasha was. She was wrapped up in a white sheet, lying in the casket. A couple of guys helped us load her into our car and told us as we were leaving they had no Formaldehyde, so we must go back to the government hospital in Entebbe to get the body prepared for burial. Yes, this is the place we were just at the night before.

Our 1 ½ drive back to Entebbe was full of traffic, Augustine napping, Jesus Culture playing o the radio and hunger. I asked Augustine if he wanted to stop and get something to eat. Drive-thru’s and fast-food are non-existent in Uganda, so we stopped at a little roadside grocery store. We spent the next 20 min. sitting in the parking lot drinking water, and eating crackers and ice cream – Me, Augustine and Natasha. I thought just driving around town with her in the casket in the back was a bit strange, but sitting in the parking lot eating ice cream was just plain weird.

The hospital in Entebbe was a flurry of activity, compared to the night before. We were directed where to park and waited for instructions on where to go for the formaldehyde. All of a sudden a man shows up at the window of the car, and he says he is the one to inject the body with the formaldehyde. I recognize him and realize he is the gate guard from the night before.
“Are you the one who will do it?”
“Yes, I am the one.”
“Where do we go?”
“You can stay here. I will do it with her in your car.”

I open up the back door, we remove the casket cover, unwrap Natasha’s body and he starts his work. During the autopsy she had been cut across the top of her head and from her neck down to her pelvis, and meticulously sewed back up and now he was going to start injecting her. This girl that lays in front of me, who just hours ago, was so full of life, is now nothing but a shell, nothing but a vessel that used to hold Natasha. He took a large syringe and, what seems like randomly, injects about 15 syringes full of the formaldehyde into her body, rewraps her, puts the lid back on, jumps out of the car, collects his $25, hops on a motorcycle and leaves.

We drove into Cherish and everyone stopped what they were doing – all kids and all staff, and just stared at us. They knew where we had been and they could see the casket in the car. It was as if time stood still as we wound down the road from the gate to Rachel’s house, where the viewing would be. Men immediately surrounded the car when we stopped and carried the casket into the house. We set her on the floor in the middle of the room and in a matter of minutes the room was full of children and adults. I have never in my life heard wailing and crying like I did that day. Never! For the next couple of hours the normal peace and quiet that fills Cherish and the sounds of kids playing was full of crying, wailing and pain. We sat in the room comforting our children. Words were not adequate, so we hugged, rubbed backs and held our children. Some of them wept uncontrollably while others sat and stared at Natasha’s casket.

As the day started to turn to night things outside were a buzz. Wood was being brought for a bonfire, fires were started for cooking, mats and blankets were being delivered for sleeping, all the while the mourning continued in that room. As darkness fell, the fires lit up the night. People were everywhere. Everyone was talking, praying, singing, eating and mourning. Upon a death in Uganda, an all-night vigil takes place the night afterwards. Men, women and children either sit around the casket or around the bonfire All. Night. Long.

It was approx. 2:30 am when the storm blew in. It was one of those Uganda thunderstorms that is like none other. The wind came out of nowhere, and in a many of minutes you could hear the rain coming. People scattered everywhere – under nearby porches, up to our school, inside houses, wherever they could go to get away from the rain. A group of women bedded down in our living room the remainder of the night as our family retired to our beds. I looked out the window to see the last vestige of the bonfire disappear from the downpour of rain.

The next morning most of Cherish (except for the real young kids, a couple of moms and security) boarded two buses and headed to Mukono for the burial. Some of Natasha’s relatives have some land there and wanted her buried on their property. Three hours later we arrived. After greeting the family we went to the gravesite to see if we could help. The gravediggers were already there. Every village has a group of men like this – Men who dig the grave and then line it with cement and bricks. They look at their job as a service to the community, but they expect to be paid… in liquor. When we showed up one of the gravediggers asked me if I had the alcohol. I told him I didn’t and they stopped working. They were clearly already very drunk. In a matter of minutes our guys sprang into action. They were digging, hauling water, and lining the grave. It was a beautiful thing to watch.

The service was much like a service in the states – A preacher honoring the deceased and encouraging all of those who don’t know Jesus to do something about that. A few people shared, a group of our girls sang, and the casket was buried. It was a heartbreaking experience.

Having officiated my fair share of funerals in the states I have seen many mourners. In the states it is a quiet affair. People get out of their cars and walk up to the church or gravesite without saying anything. They sit and say nothing. There are tears, but they are hidden behind glasses and under hats. There is something to be said about the way Ugandan’s mourn. There is something to be said for the outpouring of emotion, the sitting with the casket for hours allowing the idea to really sink in that they are dead, gone, not coming back. In the states we whisk the body away, and the next time it is seen it is dressed, made up with cosmetics to look still alive. Not in Uganda – it is raw, real, loud, and I might add, probably healthier. Sometimes our advanced culture advances a bit too much.

The problem comes the next day, after the body is buried. The whole situation is never talked about again. I think this is where things turn a bit unhealthy as life goes on as if the death never happened. We at Cherish have done our best, and continue to try to help our kids and staff mourn. We continue to talk of Natasha, try to leave space for questions and have hired a counselor to come out and talk with them. Be praying for us as we continue to walk this journey. Natasha needs no prayer, but our kids and staff sure do.

Haagen Dazs & a Jerry Can

The other day I walked into a small store in Entebbe that sells produce and wine. It is a high-end store, which mostly caters to the UN crowd who is stationed in Entebbe. We normally get lettuce there when we are craving a salad. They also have a row of freezers full of items you can’t easily get here in Uganda – very expensive things I might add. For instance, there are specialty foods such as frozen shrimp and ice cream. I have never bought anything from these freezers, but always longingly look at the forbidden fruit. I know…I know…

This particular day something new caught my eye. It was a pint of Haagen Dazs ice cream – chocolate no less. Like a parched man seeing the mirage across the desert floor I slid open the freezer to grab a hold of it to see if it really was what it appeared to be. Indeed it was. It was cold, hard, and solid – everything I expected it to feel like in my hand. It was also…$30.00. What? $30.00 for a pint of ice cream? I couldn’t believe it. I set it back into the freezer, slowly closing the door, all the while double-checking the price, and hoping I had read it wrong. I paid for my $1.50 bag of lettuce and headed to the car.

As I got close to home I could see something happening on the road right in front of Cherish. There seemed to be a lot of water on the road and many people standing around with their bright yellow jerry cans. Inching closer, I realized a tractor had just gone down the road and busted the water pipe. Unbelievable! It was free water for the entire village. Generally a jerry can of water costs ten-cents, but today it was free and the village was taking advantage of it. It either spills onto the dirty road, or it gets gathered and used. For the record I vote for gathering it up as it comes out of the broken pipe rather than it going to waste.

It wasn’t until later in the day when I thought about those two situations together. There is a store in Entebbe with a $30 pint of ice cream, and then a few miles down the road are people who are making up some serious income by filling their jerry cans from a broken water pipe, saving ten cents per jerry can. It left me with many questions and no real answers, like:

–       How can these two worlds exist, together, side by side?

–       Has the person who buys the next pint of Haagen Dazs ever had to fill a jerry can with water for drinking?

–       Have any of those gathering water from the broken pipe ever had ice cream, let alone a $30 pint of ice cream?

–       What would Jesus be thinking about this? Really?

–       Do I have any responsibility to do anything?

–       Should I get these two worlds to meet, for the mutual benefit of both?

–       Why does this dichotomy exist all over the world?

–       How many jerry cans can you fill for $30.00? (I do know the answer to this – 300)

This all went down about a month ago and I don’t have any more answers than I had before. I still go into the same store and see the Haagen Dazs staring back at me. The flavors change on a regular basis, so I know it is being purchased. I still go down our same dirt road and see jerry can after jerry can being carried either from the lake or from a tap where the ten-cent transaction took place. These worlds do exist, each moving forward and each doing some good in this world. I do wonder what the Haagen Dazs crowd thinks of me driving a 15 year-old car and living in the village? More importantly I wonder what the jerry can crowd thinks of me driving a car and living in a house with plumbing and electricity? And most importantly, how does Jesus want me to relate to both of them?

Almost Missed It

Last night, a little after midnight, as I am heading to bed, I realize I had left my phone in the car. I grab a flashlight and walk out onto our lake fly infested porch to get it. As I am approaching our car I can hear my phone ringing inside. The caller ID says its Michael, one of our security guards, who is calling me. Since he is not on duty that night, and the hour is so late, there must be an emergency of some sort. Never a good feeling! So, I answer the phone and Michael explains to me his wife is in extreme pain and asks me if I can take them to the hospital. My flesh is screaming out, “No”, but the Holy Spirit, along with my wife, Leah, win out. Hence, I go pick up Michael and his wife from their home.

As Michael helps his wife into the car, sadly she is screaming in pain. She is seven months pregnant and probably weighs less than 100 lbs. soaking wet. We start down our 5-mile dirt road and with every bump she moans and screams. Needless to say, our road has a lot of bumps.

Within about 30 minutes, we arrive at our nearest local governmental hospital. It is now around 12:45 am. The maternity ward is the only building lit at this time of night. Michael and I carry his wife up the ramp, past three different rooms, which are full of women in labor. Most women have a bed, with a few on mattresses on the floor. The walls are dirty white; the floors concrete and the beds look like they were from a WWII M.A.S.H. unit. The feeling of depression and desperation come over me in a big way. All of these women, suffering alone, and crammed into a room that should have maxed out long ago.

Entering into the main entrance, a nurse asks us if we have our supplies. You see, in Uganda a patient must come to the hospital with their own supplies: 8 pairs of rubber gloves, 2 plastic bags and a roll of cotton. However, we did not have these things. Michael explains they had purchased them but left them at home. Seeing how she is only 7 months pregnant he did not think they were needed at this time. This did not matter. What happened next still plays through my head and rips my heart out. The nurse proceeds to berate his wife, who by the way is still crying out in pain, for not bringing in the items. The nurse says she can’t see her unless we have them in our possession. We try to convince her to examine her while we go get them, but she refuses to look at her until we have what is needed in hand. Thankfully, she tells us of two places nearby, which are open 24 hours, where we can buy all we shall need. Michael and I head out. The first place nets us only 3 pairs of rubber gloves. The second place is worse. We walk in and can’t find an employee anywhere. We decide to head back with only our 3 pairs of gloves and hope the nurse will see her.

As we enter the hospital we can hear Michael’s wife crying. She is still sitting in the same spot, in the same amount of pain. We explain to the nurse why we don’t have the items she requested and ask her to see us anyways. She begrudgingly agrees to do so. After she examines her, she reports to us that she needs lab work done, but it can’t be done until the morning. “Go into the ward and find a bed”, she tells us. As we head out into the courtyard I ask Michael to find a bed for his wife while I wait with her.

I am more than slightly annoyed at this point – The degrading way in which the nurse is talking to Michael’s wife, the fact of a hospital not carrying the needed supplies, Michael having to go a find a bed for his wife, and it is 2:30 am. Prayers for Michael’s wife and prayers for my attitude fill my heart.

From where we are standing in the courtyard, we can see into one of the wards. It is a room that contains about 30 beds, each one with a laboring mother, and a few lying on mattresses on the floor. Due to the hour, most of the women are sleeping, some are in active labor, and there is one woman who is standing by the door closest to us, which has a large glass window at the top, and a wooden bottom. All of a sudden she lets out a loud scream. Three other moms come running over to her. There are no medical personnel in that room. A few seconds later the baby drops from the mother’s womb. Due to the wooden bottom of the door, I can’t see if the baby hits the floor or if one of the other moms catches it. There is a cry for a pair of scissors and the umbilical cord is cut. One of the mothers grabs the silent baby and runs out the door, right by us, with the mother of the baby right behind them. All three of them disappear into the same exam room where we had just been earlier. After what seems like an eternity the baby starts to cry. As I look around at the others standing near us no one is shocked at the events that just transpired in front of all of us. Again, the weight of the depression and desperation is almost too much.

Meanwhile Michael finds his wife a bed in one of the lower wards. We take her down and get her settled in. Between his limited English, my limited Luganda, the early morning hours and the fear that Michael is feeling, the ride back home was more quiet than not.

Michael lives in a little house right in front of one of the witch doctors in our village. We pull up in front of his house and before Michael gets out of the car I ask him if I could pray. He welcomes the suggestion. So, I start praying for him and his wife when all of a sudden the car begins rocking back and forth like someone big is pushing on the side of the car. Immediately, I stop praying and look in my mirrors, out all of the windows and see no one. The car continues to rock back and forth. At this point I have a real strong sense this is demonic and I must continue to pray. As I start to pray again the shaking stops. Michael heads into his house and I head home.

Arriving back at Cherish, I have this overwhelming sense of peace. I know it sounds crazy after the hours I had spent with this suffering woman and the demonic encounter. But it was if in the mist of the storm I knew that I knew, suffering is real and hard, the demonic world is real and hard and yet God is real and good…great…mighty. He does have the power to defeat the enemy and God does have the power to heal Michael’s wife. And that same power is available to me if I only ask. I would have missed that if I had been too tired to take them to the hospital, too critical to look beyond the poor care in the ward, or too selfish to see all that God is doing and can do. So I ask you, are you seeing all that is happening around you? And in the midst of it, do you see how all of it is spiritual? God is connected to it all, wants to speak to you through it and wants to make His presence felt and known, no matter how desperate it may feel. As your world starts to rock, keep on praying. As the situation around you continues to go down hill, don’t stop seeking Him. He wants to bring peace and healing.

The Beginning of Kate’s Story…

From the beginning of time I was told I was found under a rock. It was a joke of course, but one that perplexed me as a young child. However, as I grew into adulthood, I knew this was an impossibility to be birthed into a family in such a way…right? Well, since living in Uganda, crazier stories have held true. For instance, quite frequently we hear stories of newborns being found in trash dumps, pit latrines and even in a swamp. Such stories are tragic…heart-wrenching…and miraculous when the abandoned children actually survive.

Months ago, we received word of such a baby being found in a swamp. I remember my very first thought was “How could this be? What possessed this babies mother to do such a thing?” What was meant for bad, God turned into good. The following is one baby’s story of how she was rescued.

One day, some boys were walking by a swamp on their way to school and found a newborn baby girl, perhaps hours old. They did the only thing they knew to do, bring her to their jaja (grandmother). This grandmother cut off the umbilical cord, tying it with a string and then took her to the police. The police called the probation officer in that area…who called a friend of ours named Robin, who lives in Entebbe. Robin was asked to care for this little one until further notice. (FYI, Robin runs a baby home for malnourished children…and then some). And so Kate’s story begins…

However, to share her story, you must know a little bit more about ours. Before moving to Uganda, numerous people would ask, even speculate, if we would adopt again. Our response always went something like this- “If God calls us to adopt again, we will.” The good thing was, we were both on the same page. Or so I thought…

For me, open meant- full throttle, wide-open, strong possibility. It was almost as if it were a matter of who, when and how, rather than if. So, it was no surprise that weeks of living here I was driving myself crazy wondering if this child could be the one or possibility that one. First we met Mable, was she to be ours? She even asked to live with us and I believe her father would have consented. Then there was Esther, Sophie, Shadya, Amorie and Sharon. Just to name a few, all with stories and needs.

As for my husband, open meant if God drops a child on our porch we’d be all in. So, he waited for the doorbell to ring, or in our case, a knock. But thus far, no one had left a child. Later on, we will have come to realize that our definition of “open” looked very different.

Which takes me back to Kate’s story:

It’s mid October, and our daughter Amy and I are talking on the phone. She informs me that she had finished a writing assignment for school. Instead of writing a historical narrative of the life of Leah in the Bible, she writes a romantic narrative. The story was brilliant. After hearing it a light bulb went on for me. Why didn’t we name our children some of those names…a connection to the Bible, not the Dukes of Hazard. From that day forward, I said if we were to have children their names would be Judah, Levi and Ruby (because I don’t care for Reuben much). Strong names…fun correlation.

It’s now Sunday, November 13, 2011, and I am sitting at the Serena Hotel near Lake Victoria celebrating my birthday with my precious family and our dear friends, the Gaedes. Judith, their oldest daughter is there with her gorgeous baby named Elijah. Somewhere in the midst of my celebration day, I mention what I would really like for my birthday was a baby. Ha! However, I was truly joking. Let’s be honest there is a plethora of reasons why we shouldn’t adopt a baby. Top of the list: We are too old or at least will be by the time she is in college. Plus, our stage of life right now is pretty darn sweet, even a bit easy, with all of our kids very self-sufficient. And lastly, we have plenty of children to love on at Cherish, 45 to be exact. And BTW, life is pretty full.

Then something ever so slightly happened, later that afternoon. While Brent is holding Elijah, I have this fleeting and strong thought pattern. It went from admiring his strong hands, which represent the strength of his godly character; to musings about what a great dad he is and that more children need the love of this father! Where did that train of thought come from?

Fast-forward a few hours later, we are sitting at The Boma having an amazing dinner. The mood is right, the food AWEsome and my family is making my day special. I hear my phone ring indicating I have a text. My friend Robin informs me she is in the process of bringing a new baby girl into her home. She is days old and was found in a………..swamp by some boys passing by her on their way to school. I tell her she should call the baby Ruby and could we come see her to say, “Goodbye”. We were days away from leaving to go home to the states for the holidays. Robin said to come on over…

(Side note: even the connection of how Robin gets connected to this little baby girl is so random. The probation officer who ended up with Kate helped Robin get legal guardianship of her girls 7 years prior. Years have passed and Robin needed to reconnect regarding some paperwork for her own girls. The timing was impeccable. If these two had not met at such a time as this…chances are we would never have our daughter.)

Our family wrapped up dinner and headed over to meet this baby. The power was out (as usual) and the house was dimly lit with candles. The room was full. As Kate was placed in my arms I could hardly believe the beauty of this angel. Days before she was left to die, and now, she finds her way to this home…and my arms. God, You have serious plans for this precious child. As I examine her more closely, I notice freckles sprinkled all over her face, arms and even shoulders. I did not know such skin could freckle! Actually, no Ugandan I have met had ever seen it either. Instantly, I think, “Baby, you have freckles like your mom.” Meaning me, of course. At one point, she opens up her eyes wide, looks at me and smiles wide this AWEsome grin. Many would say it is gas…I knew it was a smiling of a different kind. I remember at one point I jokingly ask about naming her Ruby- again. Robin and her boyfriend, David look at each other. They said when my text came in asking about the name, they looked at each other, thinking that is weird. You see, David has spoken to his sister in the UK sharing of Kate’s story. His sister mentioned naming her either Eva or Ruby. Personally, I do not know a Ruby and when I asked my friends is it is a common name in the UK, they too, said we’ve not met one with that name. Strange…we all felt like the name correlation was interesting.

Since, the rest of my family was sick with colds, they wanted to go home. Our visit was short but sweet. Personally, I could have stayed all night. What if this baby was to be ours?

Upon leaving Robin’s, not even 10 seconds outside of the gate I ask Brent what he thinks about this baby. He replied, “I would take her home tonight if we could.” What?! It was then I knew even deeper God was doing a work.

This next bit of information will confirm how I/we knew…on Friday, November 11, 2011 (11-11-11), two days before we even met Kate. Brent is at a Willow Creek conference (via DVD’s) here in Uganda. For days he is listening to messages surrounding leadership. At the end of the conference, Bill Hybels, closes with a powerful message on Jeremiah.  Bill then asks a question, “What is something hard in your life that God is asking you to do and that you have been fighting him on?” In line with his message, when the audience came in that day they were given a piece of broken clay. The assignment went something like this: if God is reveling something to you, surrender it and tell Him you are in- all in. Then, as a symbol of your commitment and a remberance of it, write it down and put the date on the clay. Brent shares the first thing that came to mind was being open about adoption. God convicted my husband by saying this: “While you say you are open, you are really not.” That evening, Brent tells me of the day, especially the events of the last session. I was shocked. “I thought we were both on the same page.” My next thought was “Really? Of all the hard things God is asking us to do, you hear adoption? Lord, what are you doing?”

Well, God was weaving our story and Kate’s story together. For the date of God’s nudging to Brent was the day Kate was born, perhaps even the hour. It was the day she was rescued by those boys…and it would be two days later on my birthday we would meet our soon to be daughter.

A few days pass and Kate is still on my mind…we meet Robin and David for lunch and they bring her. Either Brent or I hold her the entire time. It felt so right. Such peace. But really, Lord? Is this our child? Are we her best? Within days, our family leaves to go “home” for the holidays.

While in the states, we keep this journey private. Just our immediate family knows…feeling God wanting us to seek Him only. We spend days, which turn into weeks praying and talking. The circle widens on who we tell…as the sense we are to pursue adoption increases. We ask for prayer and right before Christmas feel affirmed we are to move forward. And so we do…

We arrive back in Uganda, spend time with Kate and began the process to foster her. The probation officer gives us the paperwork to have her in our home. Once we have that process complete, we will file for legal guardianship and then adoption.

On January 25, we were able to bring our daughter home. Our family will never be the same. This angel (in Luganda angel is Malaika, which was her name before we changed it) has brought a life to our home and joy to us beyond description. Kate has more personality at 2 months than I have ever seen in any baby. She talks, laughs and is so alert. Yesterday, Kate turned 3 months. And every day we celebrate the life God gave her and the gift He gave us in this precious little lady. People often say “Thank you for caring” or “She is such a blessed little girl” and we always respond how thankful we are that God chose us…and how blessed we are to have her in our life. And so our story continues…now meshed with Kate’s…

Side note: Many of you may be wondering way we did not keep the name Ruby. Good question. A few of us in our family LOVED it mainly because how God wove it from the beginning. Some of our children boycotted Ruby because it sounded like, well………a prostitutes name. They even polled their friends and many agreed. Still we (okay I) liked the name. Then one day, I felt strong we needed to land on a name. I had also liked the name Kate. We narrowed it down to Ruby and Kate, very split on which to go. I had been in Proverbs 16 and read verse 33 “The lot is cast into the lap, but its every decision is from the LORD.” Brent and I had talked about casting lots and the way in which it was done and why. In our marriage, we had done so on an occasion or two. We felt led this was to be another time. Our children agreed. We took out a quarter and marked in sharpie a “K” on one side and an “R” on another. We held hands and prayed that God would decide for us. Next, Bo, our first-born, tossed the coin into the air and dropped it. Do over! He did it again with grace and caught it on the back of his hand. The letter K was face up…and so she is named Kate. Her full name is Kate Kenzie Malaika Phillips.

Kate-

Oh, how your entry into this world was such a whirl
Full of pain, abandonment, and helplessness…loneliness

Born to a mom who cared
But for some reason was scared
And saw the swamp as a way out.

Was your story a bit like baby Moses
Did your mom take you to a location where surely you would be found
For just days before, another little baby girl was found in a pit latrine
And sadly her story has ended, and heaven embraced her return

In case there is ever a day you feel, like you were unwanted, unloved, forgotten
Let me tell you the truth of all truths
While we may never know your details,
We know that we know, your Creator knew you, formed you, protected you and gave you to us

It was God, your Father who sent those boys to rescue you
And His timing perfect on many levels.
Your story, our story so powerful
You are such a gift and one we will spend a lifetime to unwrap
You have made our family complete…we love, cherish, and adore you

Kate, you are beautiful!
We love you deeply
We promise to walk life’s journey with you
You are surrounded by such a great crowd of witnesses
Always remember, our child, love God and love people and you will go far.
It’s about the journey…so journey on, my daughter.

We’re all in…Kate.

Desperate

Desperate.
That is what I began to pray.

When coming to serve in Uganda, we were asked many times if we felt we would adopt again. Our response would always be, “Sure, if God leads us to do so.” Then this tag line would often follow, “We would not seek it out, and it would be something that would seek us out.” So, we have been open, watching, and yet content with the family God has given us thus far.

Months ago, we met a fellow Texan named Robin. She runs a babies home, where malnourished children come to get rehabilitated and then go back to their families or become adopted. One day, we went to visit Robin and her babies. (For those of you who don’t’ know this, I (Leah) am a baby fanatic. I LOVE babies) so…on that day I was in my element, sitting around chatting with others, all the while holding babies. Of course, I fell in love with them all (no joke)…but especially Esther. I left Robin that day asking her to hold Esther for us. Robin did so…however; Brent kept saying, “No, Babe, no.” Now, I had heard that for 18 years before God gave him the green light to adopt Tekle – I didn’t like hearing it then, and I didn’t like hearing it now.

In time, God showed me that my husband was right. (Urgh! Most of the time he is simply spot on.) You see Esther is a healthy, beautiful baby girl. Robin has ten families ready to adopt one such as her. So, after a heart to heart with Jesus, and a releasing of Esther, I was reminded that if we were to adopt it would be one (or two, or three or four) who is desperate. Yes, desperate. The word dropped into my heart as if from Him. “Seek the desperate.” And so I began to pray this prayer: “God, the need is great here. I ask You to bring the desperate into our lives.” Pause: I know what you are thinking – what a silly prayer, Leah Phillips! Isn’t most of Uganda desperate? But God knew the desperate I was asking for – it was for those who did not know where their next meal would come from, who needed a friend, smile or hug, word of encouragement and yes, even a home or family to live with. “You know Lord, those people who need You to send someone to help them, whether they are saying it or feeling it. “

The desperate came. By the way, I had forgotten to tell Brent of my prayer. Oops. But he is used to this kind of thing and very forgiving and on board. Another group that would be affected by the Lord answering this prayer was the rest of our household…finally covered that one too. Ready or not…let the desperate flow forth…

The stories I could tell are AWEsome and so God. One example is a little girl and boy at our school here at Cherish. In January, we opened up Hope Academy to the surrounding village. The criteria to attend our school is those that are, well…desperate. No matter where you attend school in Uganda, you have to pay. Many families are unable to do so because of lack of money and too many children per household. Hope Academy sought out the least of the least of these, did their homework (literally visited every application home) and accepted those least likely able to attend school – Those who are HIV positive, those that are orphans, those that have little to no family to care for them. It has been a beautiful picture of the love of God. Many of our new kiddos are suffering difficulties most of us will never face. Many are Muslim and open to learn about the one true God. It is a true picture of God’s grace. This school is a light to many homes. A brilliant plan Cherish has set up…and living out.

From the first day I met this little girl (8 yr. old), I felt an immediate connection. She is one of those kids who truly captivates you. I will confess whenever I am at school I have sought her out, to give her a hug. We sit near one another every week at chapel and when I pop into the class, immediately, everyone says to her, “Auntie Leah is here to see you.” We embrace and try to communicate.

Then there is this boy in Tekle’s class. Every Tuesday, I go to read and sing some songs with the Baby and Top Class kiddos. (Think preschool and kinder mixed together – fun times). The last few weeks, this little boy is all over me – unsolicited. I try to love on him amongst the mob of children, for he seems needy and he likes me.

Last week, the little girl was sick. I was able to help care for her and found out she has a brother at Hope Academy. She informed me he is 5 years old and is in Tekle’s class. Guess what?…he is the same little boy who keeps seeking me out every Tuesday.

I don’t know their story exactly, only bits and pieces. They are Muslim. Poor. Complete orphans, and living with their jaja (grandmother), who is trying to care for them. I asked the girls teacher to please let me know about her life…and she used the word desperate.

As I have watched God move in miraculous ways, weaving His story in front of my eyes, I stand amazed as His orchestration. I have opened my heart and life to those who are desperate and I have been the one who is so encouraged. I have no clue what the future holds, but I do know who holds the future. I want to continue to be His conduit to provide for the desperate. Many of you are providing for the desperate along with us…as you support us in prayer, words of encouragement, visits, emails, and finances. Will you join me in this prayer…to be the answer to someone crying out to the Lord Most High…and be His tool to meet whatever need is being asked for?

I’ll keep you posted on this brother and sister pair. I know that I know, God has something planned and we stand ready to love however we can…

Amy Jean

This post comes to you with a heavy and a hopeful heart. Today, Amy, our daughter, will head back to the states for school. She will spend her summers here, but will spend nine months at school in Austin every year. To be honest, her seven months here in Africa were very difficult. She struggled greatly, and we found ourselves in multiple conversations asking each other if she should be here or not. It has been so difficult to watch five of us quickly become a part of this culture and the people He had called us here to serve, and then watch one member of the family struggle. People would say things like, “If God calls you, He calls the entire family”, and then we would look at our family and wonder. We would pray and ask God, “What do we do when the place we are sent is killing our daughter’s soul and hardening her heart, yet the rest of the family knows this is where we should be?”

We would look at passages like Luke 14:26-27 and really ask, “Is this what He is talking about?” Do I love Jesus so much that I would send my daughter back home at fifteen while we continue to serve halfway around the world? I know that following Jesus should make our life different than the world around us and I know that following Christ has radical implications, but this radical? Really God?

One of the reasons we came to Africa was because we didn’t want to just be moved by stories about people who do radical things for Jesus. We wanted to respond to Him regardless of the call. We didn’t want to just assume such radical actions are for “extreme” Christians – Jesus freaks. We didn’t want to gauge our morality, and our risk for Jesus by comparing ourselves to others. We didn’t want to say we love Jesus, but have Him be only a part of our life. We didn’t want to give Him just a part of our time, money, thoughts, effort…and family. You get the idea. We didn’t want to be continually concerned about playing it safe, and resisting what He was calling us to. Safe equals protection, comfort, and stability – all good things. But, the problem with safe is you lose the opportunity for risk, for failure, and for redemption. We knew this question of what was best for Amy did not have an easy, or safe, answer, and we fell on our faces before Jesus.

Mark 10:17 (and many other passages) have been key for us since God first brought Africa to our hearts. No different in this situation. The problem with this passage is we (more correctly I) make this passage powerless by saying it is not for everybody, so therefore it is certainly not for me. He was talking to that man about his particular “idols”, not me – passage dismissed. You know, the “What Jesus really means is…” and then we (read, I) adjust scripture to fit our lives… But, if you are a follower of Christ it is possible that God could ask us to give up anything and everything.

So here we sat, feeling like this is what is best for Amy, knowing it would be painful, many won’t understand, some will judge and disagree, yet knowing we had to respond. We had so many good excuses why we shouldn’t send her back, yet we knew we should. So, we decided to release her. There are still details we are working through, like, how does our parenting work from halfway around the globe and this wasn’t in our budget. But we are full of peace and hope. So, we put her on a plane tonight. Tomorrow afternoon her grandparents, uncle, the Smith’s and Kelsey Baird will pick her up in Austin and a new chapter begins. Pray for us & pray for her.

A Bit Crazy Here

Some of you have asked, about the political climate here in light of the recent reports in the news. Politically, things have been a bit insane. The opposition leader, who lost the elections back in February, has been staging “Walk to Work” protests (every Monday and Thursday), protesting the high prices of food and fuel – aiming the blame at the current administration. The current administration then replies with accusations that these protests are hurting our country, not helping. These protests often turn violent, with the police shooting tear gas and live rounds into crowds of people. Roads get blocked with burning tires, protesters throw rocks at cars – many are being injured and people are being killed. You can check out more here (http://www.monitor.co.ug/) if you are interested. We have a pretty good network of information so we are able to avoid the hot spots, or stay at home all together. But the tension is high, many Ugandans are worried about the future and the political temperature feels pretty volatile. Continue to pray for the leadership here and the oppressed people of Uganda.

A Midday Ramble

Gun shots.
Tear gas.
Burning of tires.
Rioting.
Thieves.
Liars.
Corruption.

Today, we were supposed to move into our home. It was neither “secure” nor ready and so we wait. The bottom line for us has been paint on the walls, locks on the outer doors and glass and screens on the windows. According to western standards, we would not be moving in for months due to the other things, which need to be finished. However, we are shifting to Ugandan thinking and living, knowing eventually it shall all work out. It always does, right? So, Monday is our new move in day. Ready or not…here we come!

This morning we awoke and focused on the list of errands to run. Leaving the children behind, Brent and I took off on our boda boda (motorcycle). Our first stop was to check on the furniture we are having made along the roadside near our home. While standing there, chaos was beginning to happen on the streets and word was getting out about the unrest downtown. Upon “polling the audience” we felt fine about continuing on about our morning. The direction we were headed in was safe…or so we thought.

Garden City is an area of town where many Mzungu’s (white people) hang out. There is a mall there (think a few stores, big grocery store, little food court) but nonetheless it is a mall. Hallelujah. Brent and I headed there, grabbed something to eat and gathered a few more things for the house. Every step of the way word was flooding in about the turmoil around town and how the situation was getting worse. This mama is feeling unrest in her soul being separated from her children. Daddy, felt we were fine. We only had one more place to go which is up the street – Off we went…

Passing the normal security guards, we enter into Uchumi’s parking lot. Driving into the lower garage area, we parked our boda boda near another motorcycle, near the front of the mall doors and in front of the security office. Can you picture this? You must…from here the story gets crazy. After being in the mall for about 15 minutes, we come out and our motorcycle is gone. For a minute our minds played tricks on us…are we on the right level? Are we sure we parked it here? Quickly, we realize that we are in the right spot and our motorcycle was indeed gone. Brent hurries over to the nearby security guard and asks him where our boda boda went…he looks dumbfounded and takes us to the security office. Behind a desk is a man eating his lunch and a bit irritated we interrupted it. As were share what happened, he deflects our story and argues that a car was in that spot, not a motorcycle. We kept saying there was no car there, our boda boda was right there. He walks away. We follow and as I leave I ask some men sitting near a fountain if they had seen our boda boda being stolen. They shared they had been there for a while and encouraged me to ask to see the security camera. “From there, you will be able to see who took it.” Tip off…number one. I scurry off because by this time the security men and Brent were quite far. I was not about to get separated on a day like today.

They take us all the way to the front entrance of the mall, where 20 minutes ago we drove in on our boda boda. Before you know it, a group of security men gather and we shared our story again. One of them pointed at us and said, “I remember them. They walked in on foot!” I was dumbfounded. Another said, “remember that other Mzungu who left his car in the other parking lot and thought it was here, the same thing has happened to them. They have misplaced their boda boda. Go back to where you left in at the other mall. Yea, it will be there” All agreed but Brent and I. We kept sharing our story…the play by play of our time in Uchumi, refuting their accusations. But another guard chimes in and says, “they are carrying a bag from another store nearby (one not in that particular mall) and these people were never really here.” The security manager looks at us and says, “I don’t believe you, you are lying.” Well, that set me off…inside I was boiling. I was beginning to see their game and realizing they were behind the crime. It was at that point I look at the security manager telling him I think he saw what happened but is not fessing up.  He glares at me and says, “What do you mean?” At that point, I had visions of being whisked away and put in jail. I walked away and cried. Brent took over and kept calm. Their story kept changing; their accusations kept coming and lie after lie was flooding the air. We were getting nowhere fast and so we left. I was a mess. I could have cried a river over the loss of our second vehicle alone. But what upset me most was how we were treated, falsely accused and lied to. What in the world? While this happens all the time in Uganda, it was our first run in with real corruption.

As I sit here, I just heard more rounds of gunfire going off. Sadly, our city is still in upheaval. People are being hurt and killed…corruption is happening at a much larger scale. There is much to be thankful for and much to be angry about. God protected us. God provided. God gives and He takes away. People are suffering much worse and as usual, I really have no reason to complain. Losing a boda boda today, being lied to and accused of lying, spending all day stranded at the mall…are nothing compared to being caught in the fire of riots, the storms in the south or the devastation of losing someone.

Thank you for letting me ramble…for getting it off my chest…and for praying for us. This place is hard…and some days it feels super hard (like today)…but God is in it all and that is good. Without Christ, where would we be???????????!!!!!!

Generosity

This word won’t go away. God seems to be constantly bringing this idea up to the point we can’t shake it. It all starts about the time you get off the plane here. You quickly realize the divide between “the haves” and “the have-nots” is massive. And the numbers in the have-not camp is substantially larger than the haves. You probably already know where this is going – Yes, we are one of the haves and we now face the question everyday of how we deal with that. We have a responsibility. Jesus is pretty clear about what happens to those who ignore the have-nots. I don’t want to be on the wrong side of that equation. So, what do you do when the needs are greater than you could possibly meet? Who do you be generous to? How much is generous? Is there such thing as too generous? How do you balance the big picture with the immediate need? What about self-sustainability? I am sure it is the same where you live too; it is just seems a bit more prevalent here.

Here is something that makes things a bit weirder… Over the past few months we have met many people like us – ex-pats who have moved to Uganda to be a part of building His kingdom here. These people are great people, who have made great sacrifices to be here and are doing some pretty incredible kingdom work. But, we have also noticed a commonality among them. I know this is a blanket statement and doesn’t apply to everyone, but we have seen it time and time again and it has brought some confusion. It goes something like this: You sit down to a meal with these good people. The food is enjoyable, the conversation sweet, and then the bill comes. We split the bill and then the discussion about the tip ensues. It almost always goes like this, “Oh, don’t give anymore than $1. It isn’t expected here and if you give more you will ruin it for the other mzungu’s (white people).” You have these people who are doing amazing things in the name of Jesus during the day, then in the evening share a meal and talk about these God AWEsome things; then this happens. Whether it is how much (or little) they pay their house staff, or how far they grind down the shopkeeper with their negotiations over a $5 pair of sunglasses, something just doesn’t compute for us. I am not saying we have this figured out, but aren’t we supposed to be as generous as we possibly can? Are we just ignorant and not understanding the economics of it all? So, many questions to seek God on…

If you can’t tell, I am just typing out loud with you. We are trying to figure out how to live a generous life without giving away all of our time and money in one day and have nothing left. Or the opposite way of living, not giving away anything at all in the name of security, or “They won’t respect me if I don’t negotiate”, or, “They might use what I give them for something bad.”, or whatever other excuse we have either made or heard. So, the only thing I know is to see what scripture says. Not in some pompous, I am more spiritual than you, “Let’s look to see what Jesus has to say about this!” kind of way. But a real true, from the heart and gut, I need to know what God has to say about this because I don’t want to get this wrong. Have you read Matthew 25? Read it…Right now. Go ahead, I will wait. Isn’t that powerful and frightening? This is a significant issue for anyone who claims to be a follower of Jesus.

In Philippians, Paul is thanking the church in Philippi for the gifts (money) that he has received from them. He then goes on to say that he has more than enough and he is “amply supplied” and encourages them with the truth that God will meet all of their needs. The whole of chapter four is really about provision – about God providing all we need. And if that is true, (and I don’t think I am being idealistic) then isn’t it OK to go all in and bet it all on being generous with the people around us? Do I really believe that He will provide, or do I not? I think we all want to be one of the ones God uses to meet the needs of the hurting world around us. And I am not just talking money, but also time, effort, energy, prayer and a whole host of other things. So, what will it take for us to believe what Paul is saying? What will it take for us to not just say that God will meet our needs, but really live like He will?

Living in a developing country has shown us the middle-class Jesus our culture has created. We have focused on providing for our children. We are obviously supposed to provide for them, but we have made it all about that. We think we are the ones that need to do all of the providing. It is God who does the providing, but we have a responsibility to steward it well. One friend of ours wrote this week about this very topic. He challenged us in being generous and being good stewards. (By the way, it was this friend, who in the beginning challenged us and launched us to think generously. Thanks Tommy!) His point is to be good stewards. Go ahead and pay more for fair trade coffee, because you know what your extra money goes too. He also reminded us of the value of a good bargain, so you can take the extra money you save and take care of others, particulary those we are unable to care for themselves (orphans, children, sick, etc).

Take a look at Psalm 37:25-26: I was young and now I am old, yet I have never seen the righteous forsaken or their children begging for bread. They are always generous and lend freely; their children will be a blessing.

I don’t know about you, but I want that to be me. I want to never be forsaken, or forgotten, I don’t want my children begging for bread, I want my children to be a blessing, and to be blessed, and those things can’t happen until I start living a righteous and generous life and trusting God to be my (our) provider. I hope you can tell we don’t have this figured out. We are struggling through what this means in our context. I do know this though, Jesus was not middle-class – He was a crazy man and I am nowhere near crazy enough.

I ran across this quote somewhere, but unfortunately I didn’t document it very well. I apologize to the author, but it is powerful so I am giving it to you unnoted: “Christ knew that thousands would trample his blood under their feet; that most would despise it; that many would make it an excuse for sinning more; yet he gave his own blood. If I would be like Christ, give much, give often, give freely, to the vile and poor, the thankless and the undeserving. Christ is glorious and happy and so will you be. It is more blessed to give than to receive.”

Oh yeah, one more thing, I doubt any of the people I referred to at the beginning of this post will read this, but if you are them, and you feel your blood pressure rising, I hope this leads to some good conversations as opposed to anger and you not inviting us to dinner anymore. I know I have much to learn from you and your walk and hopefully you feel the same about us and ours.

Street Boys…

Where is that cry coming from? Why is that bus just sitting there with police around it? And that boy…across the street…why is he bleeding? Oh my goodness, the wailing is coming from him…I think he was hit by the bus. Surely this cannot be! We wind our way through the crowd and drive in…

The place we enter is called the Dream Center located in Kigali, Rwanda. Last year, Pastor Charles had come to The Well and shared about this ministry and now we are here to see God’s work firsthand. Our purpose is to hang with some street boys…bring it!

We take our tour and are invited to a field where about 100+ boys are just now sitting down to have their breakfast – their porridge. The next four hours we will find ourselves sharing life, laughter, tears, stories and simply enjoy being with one another.

“Lord, this is intimidating.” The lead director tells us to closely watch our two younger boys. This makes sense…but I am afraid I will miss something. “Lord, protect them. Help me to let them go in this crowd of 100+ boys and yet keep me diligent to watch them.” And my daughter…every boy’s eye is on her. If you know Amy, you know she could take any of them down, “But Lord, keep her safe and their minds pure.” As for me…I am struggling with the stench. You gave me this keen smelling nose. And germs? These hands and bodies have not seen a shower in a very long time. The smell is too much- the smell of urine, body odor, feces, boogers and who knows what else is everywhere. How can I touch them? I can’t…but soon I will…

When I first see you, you are standoffish and then in what feels like seconds you draw near. The wee one’s…you are yummy. Can I take you all home? You need a mommy to put you to sleep and hold you. And you teens…what is life like for you on the streets? Do you fear? What have you already dabbled in that you are ashamed of and you think has marred you for life? And you men…are you men?  I can’t tell your age. You look at us with disgust. Almost as if to say, “Where were you when “blank” happened? Today, you are here and gone tomorrow…but we live here daily and there is no way out.” Oh boys, what angers you? Ohhhhhhhhhh yes…that would infuriate me too?

Moments pass and we are all connecting…sharing names and ages. Some of you hold on to me/us for the entire morning. Amy is always surrounded by a group of boys. Bo is captivating the faces with his photography skills. Oh, what beautiful creatures. He snaps a pic and immediately each one wants to see their faces in the frame. Luke and Tekle play “football” and tag. Two other boys gather our family to sketch our pictures. And Brent…he ebbs and flows in and out of the crowd. He is able to connect with all.

Many come and hang on me…thank you for loving me and allowing me to love you. Never did I think my hands and arms could hold so many. I wish I were an octopus! But oh the smell, the physical grime mixed with such emotional hurt and pain. It does not repel but instead draws me into you…each of you. Precious boys, your lives are bleak. Your experiences, if truly were made known, would cause this mother to weep for the rest of her life. Oh precious boys…your life is hard, what do I EVER have to complain of…

A crowd gathers…a teen taken away…he was caught doing drugs in the midst of a group of older boys. Now he stands at the fence, six feet from where Tekle and I are talking to another boy. The angered teen has rocks in his hands ready to chuck them towards our way. His eyes burned with anger and revenge…he did not want to hurt us…but I felt in the line of fire. Quickly I rush Tekle away…and I too walk away. Lord, protect us.

As it begins to rain, we all head indoors to sing and hear God’s word. Chapel time! Wow…the dancing which accompanies the worship is simply astounding. In the middle of the room is a lead acapela singer and not far from him are a few back up singers. Their only instruments are a few drums. But the sound is full…joy abounds…you can’t help but dance. Well, if that is what you call what I did….

Next, Brent preaches…a message of hope. His text is the feeding of the 4,000…the room is packed with the boys and they are glued to his every word. Spirit, fill this room…may these boys know they are loved by Jesus. And He did…

Stage right…enters a 12 year-old boy all bandaged up. He walks in with a limp and sits down. By this time, it is the part where testimonies are given. The boys are encouraged to share what God has done that week. Boy after boy comes up to share…one shares a praise to God that he saved his friends life. Hours earlier, his friend had been hit by a bus and left to die. Instead, he was brought to hospital and who knows what took place there…and released. No mom…no care giver…just enduring another trial- alone. This was the bandaged boy who just walked in, this was the boy we heard crying hours earlier, this was the boy covered in blood and surrounded by police. He is here, with us…alive!

During this time, he cuddles up…already I am surrounded by ten boys vying for my love on a bench made for six. I reach out, around another and keep my hand on him. Wait. He is hot – really hot. Fever? Yes. Even his eyes seem to scream out “I am sick…will you hold me?” But the boy between us makes sure this boy doesn’t get anymore of me than he is already getting. “Lord, what do I do?” Next, the sick boy lays down on a nearby bench…see Leah; he did need to lie down. Urgh! Another shares his testimony and the next thing I know the sick little boy is up front, being held by a man. He is violently shaking…no, this boy is seizing…foaming at the mouth…having a grand mal seizure. Brent and some men come around, lay hands on him and boldly pray. I, too, went up and prayed. Tears came…our friend; Patrick (boda boda driver from Kampala, who came with us to Rwanda) even came and prayed. It felt like an eternity as he lay there seizing. I knew this was not good.

Now the rain goes from showers to pouring down cats and dogs (someone tell me where that expression came from?) It is cold. It is quiet. What is happening to this boy? Did the fever cause it? Does he have epilepsy? “Lord, you keep putting me in the path of kids with seizure disorders.” He urinated all over himself so I go and buy an outfit from the women sewing that day at the Dream Center. We clothe him…he is still out…lifeless…shaking from the cold. This little sick boy I have so come to love you…

Chapel continues, while a small crowd is tending to this boy. I asked what his name was…no one knew…except one man…”Emmanuel, his name is Emmanuel.” I paused and replied, “of course it is…God, with us.”

As I finally held him…while waiting for transport to the hospital to come…I could not stop thinking about him. It was confirmed by the man who knew his name that he does struggle with seizures. But he lives on the street…no one knows his family situation…and this is his plight. How could our son be so blessed to have medical treatment for his seizure disorder…and not this boy?

Since leaving Emmanuel…I have not been able to get his face or that day out of my mind. All we did was show up and spend time with these boys, but we had a blast. The gift of time…the touch of a hug or handshake…a smile…trying to converse and ask questions…all speak love. I love these boys…from Emmanuel to the one who wanted to throw the stone. Each created beautifully…on purpose…for a purpose…but Lord, help these boys to be safe, fed, schooled and absorbed in your love.

What you do today matters…whether you are working with street boys and taking care of your own children. Perhaps you are reading this at work, your fellow employee matters just as much. We so forget the power of a hug, a smile and words. We all have those things and we are all surrounded by those who need them. May today, God’s kids rise up and love those around them.

Words of Wisdom From Tony

So…our typical weekdays begin at 5:45 am. Most of you are sitting down for dinner and we are getting up for the day. Upon awaking, we get Tekle up and get him ready for school. Thankfully, a friend drives him to and from school every day. It saves us on time (4 hours a day) and gas, which runs anywhere between $5-$6 a gallon. We then have our quiet times and workout. It feels by 8am, we have lived a lot of life. Leah works out with Rachel (the Ugandan formerly known as Sauda), and Bo and I head over to workout with Alfred and Ainslie (friend, and home owner of our last homestead). We setup P90X on the laptop under a mango tree, use weights made of old car parts welded together and have a homemade pull up bar which fits nicely between two palm trees. It is a pretty sweet set-up.

For those of you familiar with P90X, you know that Tony leads a great workout, but he is not known for pearls of wisdom to live your life by. But, the other day when we were working out he said, “You know the problem with most people? They quit too soon. There is something in them that says, “This is too much pain”, and they just quit.” I don’t know about you, but when it comes to working out I am often that guy. A few reps in, things are good, then it starts to get hard and I start thinking, “I can’t do this anymore.” So I quit, wait for the pain to stop, and then jump in again when I feel ready.

I sat outside of an office building on Tuesday afternoon after an appointment waiting for my boda-boda (motorcycle taxi) friend to come. After a few minutes of just watching life go by, I started thinking of Tony’s words earlier in the day. “Am I that guy in other areas of life too? Do I quit too soon? When things get hard do I stop and wait for the pain to go away?” There are times where I am afraid to turn the next page of the story of my life – small or big. There are times when I wonder what will be next and can I do it? You know those times when you feel like God might be telling you something and it seems difficult, or impossible, so you do nothing? Or those times when you are in deep and doing the right thing is just too hard, so you stop. Whether that be in a relationship, work, parenting, or fill in the blank. That’s when we must remember to trust in God’s character, in who He is, not what He is presently doing in me. He is carefully churning and crafting the details of my life. He is engineering it all. Even if I have royally screwed it all up, in His grace and mercy, He is putting it back together again. And in all of it He is creating a deep sense of dependence. His purposes are taking us somewhere, probably somewhere we have never been before. Because it is there that something start to happen. It is in those later reps, the ones where we want to stop, that we start to see the depths of God that we have never seen before.

Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us the same power that raised Christ from the dead – Ephesians 1:19

If resurrection power is at work in me, than I should expect some resurrection. The thing we constantly forget is that there is always death before the resurrection. That is the part we don’t like. That is the part where we want to quit. But without death, there is no life. Did you ever wonder why Jesus died on Friday but didn’t raise again until Sunday? How come He didn’t just show up Saturday morning? It would have made it so much easier on everybody. But that is not what He did. There was death and then there was some pain, and there was some confusion…and then there was new life! I think that is how it often works as God works in us. If my goal as a follower of Christ is to be like Christ, then some of me must die. And if some part of me must die, then it will be hard, and I will want to quit. But it is in the not quitting, in the enduring, in the allowing Him to do something in me, in the death, where He often does His best work. But don’t forget that through all of that comes new life. To be raised up into a new creation, new life, is not about being good, smart, accountable, or even faithful – we need to be dead.

So I say to you, don’t stop. If there is something in your life that God keeps bringing back around, press into it. If you know that you should do something, but you are scared of the pain, rejection and heartache – lean towards it, push through the pain. What is good is difficult & what is difficult is rare. We have all struggled for most of our lives against the fear of being last, lost, least, little or dead – we need to trust that in those very conditions Jesus is present. It is all OK. We are safe. Just because it is hard does not mean it is bad. In fact, our best growth comes from the pain, the suffering and even the death. Listen to Tony.

Interruptions

Brent and I like to make “to do” lists and check off the completed tasks. Our goal is always bent toward 100% completion. Yet reality often interrupts our desire and we are lucky to complete much of what we set out to do. Some would say, our lists are too long, not realistic enough or even not well thought out. I would say, the truth probably lies within all three. Nonetheless, daily we make lists and daily we check things off and have items we just don’t get done. Recently, a seasoned missionary woman said, everyone comes here with a list of things they want to accomplish in their ministry and many burn out trying to accomplish their goals. She informed us that a “successful year” is defined by completing 10% of what you set out to do. I thought to myself, rubbish…unacceptable. And yet, the reality of our lives is flushing out to be just so. You may be asking why such low percentages? Remember, TIA (this is Africa)…it is full of challenges at every turn. Most everything takes ten times longer to execute, IF you are even able to do so. Interruptions are at every turn. Often I am reminded of what God began to teach us years ago, to greet each day with being intentional about bringing His Kingdom here and yet flexible in how we set out to do it. In other words, praying and seeking how building His kingdom might look like on any given day, while living with the notion God has the right to interrupt “the plan” at any time. Oh, the times He has interrupted…and the times I have dug my heels in. My confession….

We have been in Uganda now 71 days (but who is counting?) and it has been a ride of interruptions. Let’s just say, it has been a season of pruning. And if we are honest with ourselves, we all love the out come of the pruning process – the fruit…but the cutting is painful. I would say, we are in pain and yet desperately trusting the Gardner as He cuts away.

The area He is using His machete in me is in regards to my thinking. You see, while we are settling into our third home since arriving here, things have been  jolted again. Maybe it is our crowded living conditions? (But we have a home, large one at that compared to most African families living in one room and sharing a pit latrine with 25 other families). Maybe the lack of internet – again? (Most Ugandans don’t own computers or attend school). Maybe the constant lack of electricity? Or, lack of water? Can you say a jerry can shower? (This is how most Africans live on a daily basis.) Perhaps, it is watching your children suffer with the lack of friends? (How about our Africa neighbors suffering from no food, water, or medicine to cure the simplest of ailments – diarrhea.) Or what about my husband who needs a wife who is not wasted by the end of the day? (Most Ugandan men leave their wife for another women.) Then there is loneliness for family…for friends…for the community you once lived in and the food you once loved. (I won’t even go there) And then, you just look around, and see this world you now find yourself in, so desperate. This world is one full of poverty, corruption, hunger, thirst, darkness, hurt, fear, unemployment and I could go on. Sam Smith writes of the soul’s condition, “I feel the vacuum, the loneliness, the silence, the dehydration of the soul as people who want desperately to save our constitution, country and planet yet still wander the streets without knowing how to say hi to one another.” This is descriptive of what I see here and it scares, saddens and yet strangely ignites within me the desire to say hi to everyone I meet. Oh, this place needs the love of Jesus. It needs to see joy. But it must see it first in me.  I am no good if I look outward or inward…but I must look upward. Glance at self…gaze at Him.

If we are going to make it here…if you are going to make it where you live, we must live with intentionality and the right for Him to interrupt at any time….and simply say “hi” to all who pass us by. The fruit of our lives must be the love of Jesus! And if we are wallowing in the minutia within and around us, we will miss all He has for us in any given day. I am tired of missing it…are you?

Spaghetti

Have you ever heard the word picture that references the difference between the way women and men think? Men’s ways of thinking are compared to waffles – Everything has a compartment. No wonder they are able to keep things in perspective and separate. Whereas women’s thoughts are likened to bowl of spaghetti, everything is mixed together. Neither is better, neither is bad. Both have benefits and drawbacks. Today’s blog entry is going to be a bit “spaghetti-ish”…mainly because we want to catch you up on life after being in Uganda now 60 days. So brace yourself, and slurp away.

Noodle this: Marbel has been visiting her father’s village for the past week. Tomorrow we will pick them up, bring them to our home for lunch and a bit of play, and then head to town to register Marbel for school. Praise God, as we mentioned before, a family was stirred to pay for her school fees. What is cool about this story was, the night before Marbel’s story was shared, a family on our support team had added some money into our account. The amount was the exact sum of Marbel’s school tuition. The next day, this family reads about this little girl and knows exactly why God prompted them to give. Everyone involved has been blown away by God’s goodness in orchestrating all of it.

Noodle this: Four of the six of us are sick-again. It is normal I guess as we acclimate to this new country. Our immunities are being built up and for that we are thankful. Get this: we went to a reputable Ugandan clinic and paid about $40 dollars for the doctor’s fee, lab work and meds; all of which were done at the same place in about 2 hours. Hopefully by tomorrow, we will be feeling better. Please pray always for protection and health!

Noodle this: We have loved the home we have stayed in for the last 6 weeks. Sadly, next week we will have to leave it. At this point, we have no idea where we will live but are looking into options. Again, rent here is expensive. The UN and larger NGO’s have really driven up the price in the past couple of years. It is also hard to find a two-month lease. With one week left to stay here, we have already started grieving. The staff here (Alfred, Rachel, Jackson and Fred) have become dear friends. We know this is just good-bye for now but it will not be the same as living in community.

Noodle this: The elections are coming up. Our plan has always been to head to Kenya during that time. However, as we have polled the audience, most foreigners are staying here in Uganda. They are gathering up food, gasoline, and water and going to hunker down in their homes. Honestly, we are just now settling into life and the thought of leaving the country does NOT thrill us. Please pray God leads us on what to do. At this point, we are leaning towards staying…(don’t freak out mom and dad).

Noodle this: Internet continues to be one of the hardest of challenges. Bo and Amy’s school are HUGELY dependent on reliable and fast Internet. So far, I am not sure they’ve been able to get one full day done. Please pray for God to sort something out.

Noodle this: Our kids are doing well. Bo (17) is one amazing kid. He is as extroverted as they come and is missing his friends like CRAZY. He has yet to connect with anyone his age and it is wearing on him. Yesterday, he was going stir crazy because of the lack of things to go and do here. Bo has really reached out and made good friends with the guards here. It is amazing to watch him connect with people. Amy (14) is doing well. Her attitude has been AWEsome and she is adjusting better than we thought. God has used her to encourage us many a times when life feels hard. Amy has turned into quite the chef too. Remember, EVERYTHING we cook is by scratch. She is pressing into school and trying to keep in touch with a few friends back home. Brent is teaching her how to drive too. Oh my…driving in Uganda is a recipe for disaster for anyone. Luke (12) is doing great. We are doing school every day and he spends the rest of it playing outside. Living here is a boys dream and Luke takes full advantage of the outdoors. He so enjoys life. Tekle (4) is in his element too. He follows Luke everywhere. Of course he is African and blends into life here better than any of us. One day, I looked out the window, and he was scurrying up a mango tree. I quickly opened the back door and hollered, kindly, “Tekle, honey, what are you doing?” He told me, “mom, when they turn yellow we are supposed to pick them.” Sure enough, he knew…and safely picked the fruit.

Noodle this: God continues to reveal to us BIG time the need for the training up of pastors/leaders who are over children’s ministry. Brent has been meeting one-on-one with various pastors, speaking at churches, doing some children’s ministry things and being open to wherever the Spirit is leading. This place is not shy of ministry opportunities, but accomplishing all you want to accomplish is a whole different deal. One person told us last week that the best wisdom given to them was to take your list of what you want to accomplish this year and know it will be a miracle if you get accomplish 10% of it – Wow! But, this is Africa (TIA).

Noodle this: Our home that is being built at Cherish is about 2-4 weeks behind schedule. We all know this is normal and have been warned by others “remember, TIA – It might take longer.” Please pray we will be in our home no later than mid to late March. We have guests coming to visit beginning April 1^st and would love to be settled in.

Sauce: Hopefully, this helps to catch you up. We would be lying if we said, “everything here has been groovy, easy, exciting, fun and God is parting the Red Sea everywhere we go. There have been some dark days. Lonely moments. Times where you look at each other and wonder, “What the heck were we thinking?” The truth is…the last 60 days have been full of good hards. God is molding and shaping us for sure. Every day seems to have challenges, whether external or internal. There is a whole new level of dying to self and surrendering to God. Speaking about dying…consider this point the Parmesan cheese…

Parmesan cheese: Yesterday, we get a call from our friend, Scott. He tells us of a bag that is lying in front of his neighbor’s gate. Scott is at work and hears from the guard at his house that the bag has a dead body in it. The Ugandans know they cannot go near it, or even report it, as they could be blamed for the death and likely killed for it. Scott asked Brent to go check it out. Of course, Bo and Amy wanted to come too. As we drove up to the fly-covered bag we were hit by the unmistakable smell of death. The stench permeated our car. We went and got a police officer to come to the scene. Upon arriving, we sheepishly walked up to the bag and opened it with a stick. As we peered in we saw a…dead dog – a very big dead dog! Why am I sharing this???? Because Brent and I talked about how death always brings stench. Whether it is a dying floral arrangement, rotting vegetables or a dead dog…death comes with a bad odor. Most days, I smell death…and yet with death comes life. Amidst the dying, God is breathing life into us and we are beginning to love this country.

I am a Missionary…

We have been called a “Missionary” by many people lately. I am not a big fan of that title. Not that the word itself is necessarily negative, but the connotations that come with the title are what I don’t like. Being a “missionary” automatically separates you. It makes you different. And that difference does a few things.

First of all, it automatically makes the “missionary” somebody special. You know, they have all those amazing stories, are super-spiritual and hear God’s voice audibly all day long. They go on these grand adventures, all overseas by the way, find themselves in these impossible situations and then God shows up, rescues them and boom baby…newsletter material.

Secondly, it relieves the “non-missionary” from the responsibility of being who God has called them to be. After all, they aren’t a “missionary” and don’t have to do “missionary” things (OK, I am going to stop putting quotes around that word). The non-missionary just has to go to work, raise their kids, not cheat on their wife or kick the dog and they are good to go. That missionary stuff is for those who are called to be a missionary.

The word mission originates back to 1598 when the Jesuits sent members abroad, derived from the Latin missionem, meaning, “act of sending”. It paints the picture of somebody being sent to do some special work in regards to religion. These special people that were sent on these missions were called missionaries. Then maps with yarn are placed in the church lobby, foyer, narthex, or whatever you call it, plaid and bad haircuts become the official uniform and now we have this great divide between those who are missionaries and those who are not.

I am not trying to slam anyone here, I am just trying to understand why we have this grave difference between what we call a missionary and everybody else. As we sit here in Uganda the main difference I see between us and our friends back in the states (which is probably you) is location. Location! Location! Location! We are still doing all the things that are involved in keeping a marriage together, raising a family and taking care of the mundane (groceries, laundry, paying taxes, etc.). We just happen to be doing all of those things on the other side of the world. Granted we do some of those things a bit differently than we did back in Austin, but we still have to do those things.

So as I see it, we are all missionaries. If you are a follower of Jesus, you are a missionary. You are sent. The two cannot exist separately. In John 20 Jesus appears to His disciples and sends them. “As the Father has sent me, I am sending you” (vs. 21). I Peter 2 makes it very clear  we are all members of the royal priesthood and our role as a priest is to “declare the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His wonderful light” (vs. 9). So as I see it, we are all supposed to be telling the story of how God brought us out of the darkness into the light. We are all to be telling the story of God’s redemption and restoration in our life. We have all been sent, with the authority of a priest, to share the story of the mercy of Jesus! Yes, our locations are different, our cultures are different, but we all have been sent to impact and change the world around us by sharing the Good News that Jesus takes people who are broken (which is most of humanity) and puts them back together again. I am a missionary who has such a message, as are you.

So, we have been sent to Uganda. Where have you been sent? We have been sent to work at Cherish, where have you been sent to work? We have been sent to churches to serve them as we help them minister to their children. What church have you been sent to? Your sent place is boring you say? Your sent place is insignificant you say? The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed,” Jesus explains, “which a man took and planted in his field. Though it is the smallest of all seeds, when it grows, it is the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and perch in its branches” (Matt.13:31-32). The obscure, the small, the seemingly insignificant – this is how God brings about His kingdom. These are words of life for any Christian who wants to see the results of his or her obedience. Though at first and on the surface, the work of God in your life might appear insignificant, but it mysteriously yields an abundant harvest.

So I say, look around and take notice where you have been sent and embrace it. It is by no accident that you have been sent there. In fact I would argue that it is strategic on God’s part that you have been sent there. Might you be sent somewhere else in the future? Maybe, but for now this is where you have been sent. This is where His kingdom needs to be built, and you, fellow missionary, are the one He has chosen.

Mable

Mable

Before Christmas our friend Scott tells us of a little six-year-old girl named Mable. He explained that she was being neglected, was severely malnourished, had sores all over her body, an open wound behind her ear and has AIDS. From the moment I heard of this little girl I could not get her off my mind. Those thoughts would continually turn to prayers. God began to knit my heart with His for her. I love when He does this…

Scott asked Brent if he wanted to visit her family and pray. You bet! So, on the way back from dropping Amy off in Kenya, Brent stopped by Mable’s home. (As God would orchestrate it, this family is about 15 minutes from Cherish, just one peninsula over. Yes!) Brent took with him a bible (thank you to The Well Bible Church for these gifts, they are like GOLD here) and a pillow case dress (thank you Wendy McNamee for the treasures these have been in clothing the children of Uganda). Brent drove down a dirt road, which turned into a wide path, which turned to a single lane walking path, which led to a 30-year-old shack. He walked around the back of the house, and there was Mable, squatting in the dirt washing some clothes in a bucket. Despite the poverty that Mable lives in and the fragile shape of her body, she clearly had the joy of the Lord. She sat on Brent’s lap & sang song after song and poured out love. Come to find out Mable also struggles with severe epilepsy. Ahhh…another connection to our family. (Our third born son Luke has epilepsy too. In October 2009, he underwent two major brain surgeries to remove both a tumor and the damaged brain tissue that was causing the seizures. Luke will be on seizure meds for two years. After that time is up, we will wean him off the meds and see if he really is seizure free) Upon leaving, Brent told Mable he would be back with his family. (By the way, Mable is not 6 but 13…she is the size of a 6 year old, but her father said she is 13.)

Of course, by the day, I was being drawn to this child so I could NOT wait to get my hands on her. All she had going on in her body, except the AIDS, we could relate to. So, the morning we were to see Mable, I prayed God would make it clear what, if anything we should/could do for this family. The need around this place is GINORMOUS and many have said you need divine wisdom daily to know what God desires you to be part of. Wisdom is what I begged Him for that day.

It took the typical hour to get to Entebbe and the car ride was quiet. The five of us needed some chill time I guess. Anywho, when we drove up to Mable’s home, her daddy, Paddy (pronounced potty), met us. He greeted us so warmly. What a gentle, kind soul he seems to be. His smile is angelic to say the least. Right away he invited us into his humble home and out came Mable. She could barely walk because she has also suffered a stroke at some point in her life. One side of her body is paralyzed and now the stronger leg turns in too. She seems to have Cerebral Palsy. But I am no doctor. It was special to watch Mable go around the room and hug each one of us. Coming to me last, she planted herself on my lap and hugged me tightly. It was if she knew I had been longing to be with her. Oh God, this child…no this teenager needs You desperately. Moments into our visit Mable speaks to her dad. I asked him to translate. Sweetly, almost shy Paddy tells us that Mable has just asked to go home and live with our family. What?! In my soul I wanted to scream yes. Instead, I asked the Lord…is this You? Brent immediately replied with the importance for her to be with her family. Of course, I jumped in (okay, interrupted) and asked Paddy if we could take her to our home for a few days. Happily he said yes, that would be fine… “but to make sure and bring Mable home.” I smiled and assured him we would. Brent gave me the look saying…not this time. Ugh…okay…I will wait.

Our visit was special. We brought them food and some other home items. It was New Years Eve and we shared we knew they could always use a few more “happys”. (That one is for you Leslie). How grateful everyone who receives anything in this place is…and we always say, it is God who has supplied. We talked and talked (Paddy’s English is pretty good). He disclosed openingly what life has been like and even showed us Mable’s Fit Chart. This is where he documents her seizures. Lord, she has had sooooooooooooooooooo many- one lasting up to 15 minutes. Because of her epilepsy Mable is unable to attend school anymore. Paddy shared there is a school she was accepted at in Kampala that is for special needs kids. The issue has been financial. It cost $1,000 U.S. dollars to send her for a year, plus about $250 to set up her life at the dormitory. He did not ask us to pay which is rare. We told him we would pray and ask God to provide. He smiled – angelically.

It was time to leave and Mable walked us out to our car. She looked at my feet, pointed to hers and asked if I would bring her socks. You bet! Mable gave us all hugs and we got into the car. I waved and she wobbled over. As I was about to shut the door, she squeezed in onto my lap. It all happened so fast. Mable then waves goodbye to her dad. He shares how much she wants to go with us. I look at Brent and he sweetly says…not this time. Getting her off my lap, watching her walk away was hard. Lord, are we doing the right thing?

The car ride home was quiet. Pondering about the days events and praying for God to speak. It seemed as if He had…but I knew Brent and I had to be in agreement. Since then, we have prayed, a lot. We are willing to do whatever He asks.

The doctors have given Mable about a year to live. I feel this is not true. God has a plan and I feel it goes beyond 2011. I may be wrong, but He has looped us into Mable’s life. Pray we know that we know that we know what is next. And we beg you…please pray for Mable and her family. Living in poverty is hard enough but to have special needs makes it extremely difficult. This family has been plucked out. God is all over them. May we be His hands and feet…may they feel His love all of them.

This Friday, we visit again. We will be taking Mable to lunch and then ?????? Lord?????

Ugandan Christmas

We decided to make our Christmas post be one of photos. Check them out on our Facebook page (The Phillips Story).

Hands Held High

Church this Sunday was a bit different than church a few weeks ago back in Austin. As we rolled up to a “church” that meets in a schoolyard just outside of a slum in Kampala, the first thing you notice is this “church” is made up of kids – big and small ones. They are singing with no instrumentation other than three drums…and it sounds awesome. As soon as we show up they bring me to the front and Scott Lambie introduces me as his pastor from Texas – from which I receive a resounding applause. Next Scott tells them something that really excites them. He says, “This is the pastor that taught me Pharaoh, Pharaoh”. Now the applause really kicks in. We then join in as they continue to worship. The young adults leading are singing and dancing and the kids are loving every minute of it as they stand outside in the dirt. They are singing, dancing, laughing, and clapping. One little girl was so into what was going on, as she was standing in front of us she just started peeing – not even missing a beat. Luckily she had on a skirt. As far as she was concerned the only problem seemed to be the mud she was now standing in. A few steps to the side and all was good.

After about 45 minutes of worship (maybe even longer) we break up into different age groups and head to some classrooms. Scott asked me if I would teach the teens. I couldn’t remember the last time I had taught teenagers, but I was looking forward to it. I taught on Exodus 17- the part of the chapter where the Israelites are fighting the Amalekites. The entire battle is summed up in just a few verses and they are powerful! Moses sends Joshua out into the valley to lead the battle while Moses went up on the top of the hill to pray. As long as Moses has his hands raised, the Israelites prevail, but when Moses’ arms get tired and they start to fall, the Amalekites prevail. Aaron and Hur (who are up on the hill with Moses) pull up a rock, sit Moses down on it and proceed to hold up his arms…until sunset! Because of this the Israelites go on to win the battle and Moses builds an altar of worship. I went on to talk about how Joshua wasn’t the one who was getting tired, but Moses was. You know what is so crazy? The fighting is not near as hard as the praying. It is the spiritual that is the most difficult. As I looked out over these 75-100 teenagers there was complete engagement. I was watching the living and active word of God working in that room. After some discussion of the battles we all fight I asked them to start talking to God about some of their battles. I asked them to “raise their hands” and ask God for victory in the battles they are fighting. The room that was completely silent before was now full of kids praying. Imagine, kids lifting their hands from the top of the hill asking our mighty God for victory. Powerful!

One thing the hill gives is perspective. We are fighters and we spend most, if not all, of our time down in the valley, but the battle is one or lost on the top of the hill. I am not sure what battles you are fighting right now, but take it from a roomful of Ugandan teenagers – there is power as the hands are raised from the hill. You should have heard their prayers – they believed it!

Rain

It has been raining quite a bit here the last few days. A few nights ago a HUGE storm came through our village. It was the loudest, strongest, thunder and lightening storm ever. The sky even unleashed little bits of hail. Who would have thought it hailed in Africa?! Immediately, I was thrilled for the cooler weather and plus, I LOVE rain. Then, after seconds of basking in this intense storm, I felt a depth of sadness overcome me. A heavy sadness followed by visions of those in the homes (more like shacks, tents, shelters) surrounding us in Bulega Village (we have been referring to the village Cherish is within as Garuga, but it is not so. Garuga is the main road in Bulega Village.) Anywho, I saw the people suffering in the cold. There is no way anyone kept dry. Those babies, the children, the women and men all huddling together and trying to stay dry and warm. Lord, what can we do? Nothing. I share this because such is the way things are here in Uganda. Every day has a plethora of twists and turns…you begin to enjoy something and realize few around you have such things. Or even worse, I find myself inwardly complaining about something and realize how little anyone else has. Continually, I flail between sadness of leaving home  and sadness of all we see around us in this developing country. Of course, there is also the sadness within my own humanity. I am ashamed of my sinfulness. Hebrews 12:1 has been a passage I’ve been in lately. My times with Him are often full of begging God to help me “throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let me run with perseverance the race marked out for me.” Perhaps you might relate at times with this battle of throwing off the junk so you might freely, uninhibited run the race He has set for us. It is a moment by moment mindset, isn’t it? One I have failed miserable at keeping this past week. However, I am not disqualified. Instead, I must speak life into what feels dead. Another clear word God gave Brent and I the other night is found in Mark 5:36 “Don’t be afraid. Just believe.” So, here are the marching orders for our days. May they be yours too. Together we will bring His kingdom here.

The Adventure Begins

Where does one begin to write about our last days in Austin? As I sit on a plane somewhere over the Sahara desert, which left hours ago from our layover in Amsterdam, there is finally some time to reflect on the flurry of the past week. One friend asked if we would look back on this time with a blurred perspective. My first inclination was no. However, it is hard to sift through even what yesterday looked like, let alone the days preceding it. So, yes, the flurry is now a bit blurry, but don’t worry, we’ll still pick out some key points to share. (See what exhaustion brings?!)

The best description of our last weeks is ticking away at a long list of to do’s. Just packing alone was a monumental task. Most people move in an 18-wheeler. We are moving in 18 Rubbermaid tubs (Interestingly, it was 18 people that took us to the airport in Houston yesterday!) I often compared our to do list with the one Santa deals with and this year I think our list was longer. Ha. Wrapping up Phillips Inc. stateside was NOTHING short of hard, convoluted and a time killer. While we wanted to be wholly focused on being with people, the urgent invariably crowded out the important. We kept trying to do things different (i.e. work into the night hours) just to be with people but while we were “with them” we often felt tired. Even in our exhaustion, with our list of to do’s scrolled miles long, Yet God was good to give us some precious moments with family and friends. Those are the things that are NOT a blur and will carry us a lifetime.

Many ask what we will miss the most…oh, how that list could go on and on, BUT what would top any one thing would be people. Whether it was leaving our dear church family at Southwest in October after visiting there, or Brent’s family a month later, or the strand of good byes over the past week+…there has been nothing harder or sadder. Sure we hope and believe we will see many faces again. However, there is nothing like the ability to be near to those you deeply love. Life will never be the same. Oh, the costly part of leaving our “peeps” behind. The six of us will for-ev-er feel the loss of what we once had, while clinging to those same people and the love we share. We praise God for a plethora of AWEsome relationships and will commit to digging in and staying connected.

So, I end this entry with one word – adventure. If I had a dollar now for every time I have heard this word, we would be wealthy. God clearly wants us to have this mindset. For some in our family the adventure excites them, others it scares them and others have no idea what that really means. God does…and we are on the ride of living out The Phillips Next Big (Colossal) Adventure. Our prayer is that we will embrace all God has for us. In addition we pray this: To expect nothing and appreciate everything. To love out loud all we come in contact with (including one another). To draw nearer to Jesus and as a family as we live desperate for Him to care for us. To be a sponge soaking up this new culture. and to connect with people ASAP. (Friends, a Faith Family, Ministry Partners, etc) and stay connected with those beloved left in the U.S.

Thank you for being part of the story God is writing. Ironically, we feel He has penned The End with our Austin story (not chapter, definitely a new book) and is The Beginning to pen more of our new story. My hope is while the scenery is clearly different (along with everything else) that those key characters will weave in and out of our story for a lifetime.

T minus 18 days and counting

What does that mean anyways? I am going to go look it up – BRB. Ok, here it is:

“T minus _____” comes from a countdown convention used  by both the American military and NASA. Generally, it is used when counting down to a major event that will happen at a specific time. Mathematically, T is time, minus whatever amount of time is left until the event happens.

OK, so I used it right…18 days until a major event in our life happens – all 6 of Team Phillips boards a plane in Houston, TX and 20+ hours later lands in Entebbe, Uganda. When people hear “We are moving our entire family to Africa”, do you know what the most common question asked of us is? “Are you excited?”

Well, yes, we are excited, but right now, more than that we are overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with the loss of how relationships will look moving forward, overwhelmed by our home being slowly dismantled, overwhelmed by the massive amount of things still to get done, overwhelmed by the fact  our kids will miss their friends terribly, and overwhelmed  there are no drive thru’s in Uganda. At the same time we are overwhelmed by God’s ability to sustain us, overwhelmed by the amount of people who want to be a part of this journey in some way, overwhelmed  Leah & I have been on the same page of the journey each step of the way and overwhelmed by how God has been weaving this story for such a long time.

So yes, we are excited at all God will do, but in reality, living out these last days here in Austin are difficult. There are so many lasts. Like this Sunday for instance. I will be teaching for the last time at The Well. God has done so much in me as I have stood before amazing people every week, hoping to say what God would want them to hear. God has used The Well to grow Leah and I in ways that are very profound. Are we excited to look at those people on Sunday & say see you later? Heck no. But, we are excited to see what the future holds for them. When you are part of the body of Christ, we are knit together for-ev-er.

So, the clock ticks. The # of days are getting less and the reality of  launching into a new season of life is becoming more real by the minute. We want to look at the future with excitement, yet we also don’t want to miss out on what He is doing right here and right now. We don’t want to be overwhelmed with lists of things to do and we so much want to be overwhelmed with all that God is doing in and around us. As things in the house are selling (anyone want to buy a pool table? ), as we are trying to rent our home (better yet sell it), closing up responsibilities at The Well, getting shots, wiring money to Africa and a whole host of other things we want to not miss out on the now, all the while knowing that day 19 is coming.

What is is for you? T minus_______. Fill in the blank. I encourage you to pray and work towards that lift off, but please, oh please, don’t miss out on what God is doing right here, right now.

Snippets and More…

It has been a while since we posted a new update. Please forgive us! Life cranks by and often this type of communique gets put on the back burner. I remember when we started this website pondering, “How often do we write of this journey?” This journey is full of daily twists and turns. Are you supposed to write about all of them? Then days and weeks pass by and today we felt NOW is the time. We have decided to write this entry in bullet point fashion in hopes to capture a few significant snippets that have happened along the way. Here goes:

* On Monday evening, after prayer, fasting and seeking Him, we stepped out in faith and bought our plane tickets. We haven’t sold the house yet, nor are we 100% funded. We felt immediate affirmation when we hopped on the computer to purchase the tickets and they were 1/2 of what we had planned. Thank you God! We head to Uganda November 30th.

* Our church is still knee deep in the pastoral search. God has given some neat men that we are looking at and seeking God on behalf of. There is no doubt, God has The Well on His heart and it is exciting to be part of the search. I will confess there are moments I don’t want to give this flock to anyone. I know…I know…One thing is for certain, the next Shepherd is going to be blessed.

* The fund raising part is going well. God is definitely raising up a team to financially support us. Obviously, we would not be able to pursue this “call” if it were not for the many God has stirred to give. This week we sent an email to that team stating some neat facts, below are a few we thought you would enjoy knowing:

–       There are 2 churches that are partnering with us.

–       There are 28 families currently on our financial team.

–       There is one corporation that is supporting us monthly.

–       Our team consists of people from 14 different churches and 4 different states.

–      We have approx. $20,000 left to raise before we leave (paying for plane tickets, supplies, shots, physicals, the home being built at Cherish, etc.) and we are just hundreds away from our monthly nut being met. Oh, and someone donated to us a 2007 Lexus ES350, anyone want to buy it? It blue books out at just over $20,000.

* Many ask about how our children are doing. Overall, we would say good. Bo and Amy have begun on-line High School and miss their friends and the classroom setting terribly. Luke is getting more excited by the day. He keeps saying how much he is going to miss his friends. And Tekle talks about us needing to get to Uganda to help them know God.

Hopefully this is a good start in our updating process. From here on out, we hope to write more frequently and give shorter accounts. This story God is writing is amazing to live and it is incredible to watch those around us live out their stories too. Let’s not grow weary sharing what God is doing, for He gets all the glory!

First Post

Welcome to the Phillips family blog…we are glad you stopped by to read about our family’s journey to Uganda. (In case you did not know, we are permanently moving to Uganda by mid November. Yikes!) Of course there is a back-story as how this all came to fruition. We hope to write snippets in the weeks to come to fill you in on all the details. For now, know this…the six of us are knee deep in transitioning out of our life here in beautiful Austin, Texas and readying ourselves for the life God now has for us in blessed Africa. As you can imagine, this is one God AWEsome, yet nail biting time. I am just saying….and so if you could be praying for three things we would greatly appreciate it:

The first is sell our home anyone want a great, spacious East Austin home for only 170,000?

To help find the next pastor of The Well- God has been supplying some great candidates.

Building our fund raising team- to move and live in Africa is costly and we need a group of people around us who want to invest in what God is doing in Uganda. (If you are interested in us sharing our story or simply want to donate a one-time gift or give monthly to help sustain us, please contact us. Or simply go to the front of this blog and click donate.

In closing this first entry, one thing to know up front is this, what you will find here will be raw, real, hopefully informative, full of dot dot dots, incomplete thoughts and a wide range of musings from everyone in our family. We desire this blog to be a place where we will be free to share what God is doing in our lives, both the good and the hard. Already we are able to attest our journey has been full of both.  Yet praising God for who He is in the midst of it all.