Surprised by Hope Blog

Friday, September 27, 2013

Door-to-door Evangelism

Issued a pretty blue umbrella to protect my pale face from the midday sun, the ladies and I left home and headed for a hidden village path. A few months ago they told me the story of how God showed them this place in a very specific way and instructed them to build relationships with these forgotten people.

I tend to have a mental image of neighboring doors in an apartment complex when I think of door-to-door evangelism, but in Marikebuni, Kenya door-to-door means something entirely different. Long sandy paths separate one group of structures from another. Covering perhaps four to five kilometers we found about six families and their extensions. And we didn’t have to knock as everyone was outside reclining in what shade they could find.

Offered a seat on a log or a rock at each homestead, these ladies were obviously known and welcome. There would be no fly-bys today. One family was excited to show us the machine they use to remove corn from the cob. Another family pressed itself up against the wall for the half meter of shade the structure offered. We prayed for these families before heading to the next home, thankful their needs were few.

Then we came to the old man who said his wife prays for him and that’s good enough. He showed me the Bible she uses before we explained that Jesus died and rose again for him as an individual and that his wife’s salvation didn’t assure his salvation. Okay, fine. He accepted Jesus and we prayed. He promised to come to church on Sunday but we didn’t see him. Sometimes it takes an outsider (me) to encourage people to move, but overcoming the “kindness over truth” culture still needs some work.

Then we met a group of ladies preparing their beans for supper. Each one shelled while huddled against the wall of their goat pen to avoid the blazing sun. The maama of the group said that she doesn’t believe in Jesus, but she wanted us to pray blessings on her anyhow. I asked her who she wanted us to pray to for that blessing and she said Jesus. Ha! We tried to help her see the problem in her logic but this woman wasn’t budging. We prayed anyhow.

At the next house I found a boy who’d creatively made animals from clay, which I’d never seen done before (and am now wondering why given the composition of the earth all over this continent. The kids were pounding the bean husks off the beans. The old woman told us about her grandson who needed surgery (something to do with kidneys) and was refusing. We laid hands on him and prayed and believe God for total healing.

Finally we passed by three babies sleeping in the shade. Two children maybe two years and three years older than these were in the house…thingy…cooking their scrawny lot of food. Maama was out working in the garden and dad was home with feet so covered with open sores from jiggers that he couldn’t even walk. The children were filthy but if mom stopped to haul water the several kilometers it would take then the food wouldn’t be harvested. I can honestly say the dad couldn’t possibly do anything to help his family anymore with those sores. You see how easily a bad situation can get worse very quickly. We prayed healing for the father so that the children can be clean and healthy again.

Wow, this ministry approach took on a whole new meaning for me. Thank you Jesus and please continue to pray for these families with us.

Marathon Primary School Preaching

Mary’s School, Bomani Primary School, and Majahazini Primary School received a visitor today. Me! Pastor Njuguna learned that government run schools in Kenya offer what’s called PPI to their students. PPI is an opportunity for pastors to teach students about the Gospel. These three schools have been receiving Pr Njuguna favorably for a few years now and knowing that I was coming to be with him in Marikebuni, Kenya (near the Watamu coast) he planned our time accordingly.

The principal at Mary’s School had invited Pastor a while ago, but schedules seemed to conflict until now. The 100 +/- young students at this school were SHARP! They really knew their stuff. Well disciplined, obedient, and very knowledgeable about the Bible. Their principle obviously does well with them. Wow! This school would be something like a charter or private school in America.

The 800 +/- students at Bomani Primary School were a bit less confident but you could see they had come far under Pastor’s teaching. This school would be like an inner city school in America with teachers who loved the students dearly but with funds lacking.

The 300 +/- students at Majahazini Primary School were a bit older – given that this school is way out in the village…a country school by American standards – they started school at an older age. These kids were also very sharp. I was admittedly a bit surprised given the very village location of the school.

Each group of students learned about the Jesus Feeds 5,000 story but with a few insights relevant to their culture that I pray will influence their mindset as they become adults. When asked if the students were hungry for Jesus the way the crowd was hungry for him – willing to follow him for three days with the hope of healing and without the promise of food – they were invited to give their lives to him if they hadn’t already. As is pretty standard here, either no one raises their hand or everyone raises their hand. No matter, the silent one…the one afraid to go against the group…would still get his or her salvation gift and pastor would return to follow up with those children.

The marathon day of preaching ended well. We went home to relax and here I am…telling you about the amazing way God’s gift of friendship and fellowship has been used for his Kingdom simply because two people were obedient.

Neighborhood Ministry Surprise

So this is what pressed down, shaken together, running over can look like. Wow, TWO boxes arrived full to the brim with gifts collected by New Life Christian Fellowship specifically for my little neighborhood children (and there’s almost another full box waiting for me still). Time was short between receiving the gifts and leaving for Kenya but I managed to organize and give away everything you sent. To each girl her dress, and to each boy his shorts. To each family its soap, and school supplies. To each child toothbrush, toothpaste, crayons, and coloring books.

But the other children in the neighborhood, the ones who visit occasionally and live further away, learned about the gifts and came with hopeful hearts. Your generosity enabled me to share crayons, toothbrushes, and toothpaste with them. They went away satisfied for having received the love of Jesus through you.

Sheffar refused to release her bag full of goodies until well after I left home. Farida called to tell me she wanted to talk on the computer so I could see her dress. I’ll show pictures of the kids all dressed up when I return to Namulanda.

Thank you so very much for your generosity. I am truly blessed!

Sherit receives her goodies with a quizzical look.

Sheffar wears a baby-size onsie until she tries on her new dress.

Siada loves her new sparkly dress.

Even baby Sheeba gets something special.

Sabila is so happy!

Life in Africa Graduation

The ladies anxiously awaited our arrival. The big day finally came when Vickie (from VKids Trust Uganda) and I would celebrate their graduation from tailoring and entrepreneurship classes. Though two of the graduates were unable to attend as they were caring for sick children and the tailoring teacher was in the hospital as she developed an infection post c-section delivery. Lots of prayers were sent their way before we moved on to recapping our learning time together.

Encouraging these ladies was and will continue to be an integral part of this group’s needs. Ugandan women, particularly women from the village, are culturally mandated to have a lower place in society and so encouraging them – not to have a place higher than their husbands, but to see themselves as precious daughters of their heavenly Father – will be an ongoing need. Once they realize their position with the Father, they will have the confidence they need to boldly build their businesses and contribute to their families, communities, and to the body of Christ.

We reviewed the entrepreneurship materials along with the documents I left behind for them to study and use for refreshing later. We answered questions and I did all I could to impart last bits of knowledge to them. Now we all need to pray for them…daily. This group is a bit different than any other I’ve worked with and so they warrant special prayers from the 100 Christmas Dollies sponsors.

Each woman was given fabric and notions from which to make her first dress. That dress will be worn when she moves around the community to talk about and display her new tailoring skills. The ladies are walking marketing products. They were asked to wear their new dresses to graduation and as you can see they are looking beautiful!

After handing out certificates of completion, we joined hands and prayed for one another and for those who were missing. We called down God’s abundant blessing on their efforts to establish themselves and to hone their skills. Closure…sniffle. Of course I’ll return to visit and refresh with these ladies and I love to send them out of the nest, but I’ll miss our twice weekly teaching and fellowship time together.

Thank you to every one of the 100 Christmas Dolly MAKERS and SPONSORS for making this almost year-long project possible. And thank you Jesus for loving us all enough to join our hearts together in glorifying you with the work of our hands.

One of the practice dresses walking around the village.
Lots more around this place, great way to practice!

Routine Can Be Good

Michael always has some question about how to grow and develop this small home full of children and the school he’s using to educate them and their neighbors. I love being a source of wisdom for him to whatever small degree is possible. But mostly I love arriving in the compound and having more than a dozen children run at me with open arms.

They’ve come to know our routine – Bible story, shading, games, and sometimes a song or two. Having spent a few years watching these kids grow, I’m so encourage to see the changes in their lives. They are loving, generous, sharing, beautiful children with “parents” who love Jesus and love them well.

The Sanctuary Babies Home has many friends all around the United States and as someone who is on the ground visiting this group every month, I want you all to know that what you are doing to love and encourage this family is important. Check out their new website too: www.sanctuarybabieshome.org

Our prayer time together began at the school where we prayed against the attacks of Satan, disorganized his plans, and scattered his minions never to return in Jesus’ name. Of course when you use the name of Jesus against such spirits they have nothing to do but obey. Have you ever thought about that? This knowledge has always given me strength. When I pray against the enemy in the name of Jesus there is nothing for the enemy to do but obey. Don’t let your mind in the natural tell you otherwise.

From the school we moved to the future site of the permanent school structure. We could see the sand and hard core stones preparing the way for the foundation and learned that bricks were coming the next day. We formed a circle, joined by the mzee (old man) and his wife who donated the land for the school building site, and prayed over that land. We claimed every place we set our feet to be for the purposes Jesus set forth. We prayed the enemy would flee never to return. We called out spirits of truth, righteousness, honesty, accountability, and the likes so that the children and the school would prosper. We prayed protection, health, and all that is needed to fulfill God’s plan in this place.

Moving to the gardens we found matoke tree plants starting to peek through the ground. Shared Hope for Orphans received 100 tubers from the government – in small part because of the business teaching we’d done two years ago. Among other plans for ongoing food sources, we prayed health and wisdom to make these crops grow and then nourish the children and families.

I am incredibly blessed to play a small part in working alongside Light Academy and Shared Hope for Orphans. They are the epitome of success and abundant blessing because of their faithfulness to God.

Light Academy Primary School Attacks

Nearing the end of school Term #2, I was invited to join Light Academy Primary School for prayer. I learned that the students and teachers were on a two-day fast in prayer over attacks from the enemy. They spent those two days worshipping, praying, studying Scripture, and fasting. What a wonderful time of corporate fasting to include the Primary 7 students alongside school leaders.

As a result of all the leaders have done to grow and develop the school and orphanage ministries, growth resulting from our work together with God, neighboring schools are trying to disrupt their harmony. Apparently they’ve commissioned children from their own school into the hands of the enemy and sent them to cause chaos at Light Academy. They’ve used witchcraft and every trick they could find to disturb this school that is performing so well they are drawing students away from other schools.

My Man Bag

Why do I carry my bag across my shoulder? So it doesn’t get stolen off my shoulder or out of my hands. But yuck!!! How much more unattractive could this bulky thing be. Kudos to LeSportsac for making a bag for men that actually makes a woman look and feel ugly.

As for cleaning, well…the dust in East Africa requires an almost daily cleaning and this tightly woven nylon fabric resists that dust (or at the very least attracts it evenly)…cuz ya’ll know I don’t like to clean…anything.

The bag is certainly the perfect size for holding all I need for a trek outside the home. Though, I maintain this is a man bag…NOT a purse. I mean, look at this list of content…this is survival gear not girly gear. Okay, I have a nail file but that’s it!

Water to prevent dehydration

Camera to capture the moment

Pouch with ministry money

Pouch with personal money

Pouch with toilet tissue, business cards, ATM card, and flash drive

Notebook for pre-meeting prayer writing

List of things to do

Pen for recording expenditures

Hankie for mopping my brow

Copy of my passport

House keys

Insect repellant

Deck of cards for the wait, because we always wait

Though I know these are must-haves, I still can’t help but feel really ugly when I strap this thing across my shoulder. Until I remembered…Jack and Amy in action.

You see the resemblance, I'm sure!

A Dolly for Sarah from Judy

Given all that’d happened with my gross ouwie, and Simone’s constant care, it became perfectly obvious that he would be the recipient of the last Congo dolly (well…his daughter). This dolly was sponsored by my maama, the dolly maker. Maamas are charged with caring for their children and because she wasn’t here Simone stood in her place. I like to think I was beyond need of care but two things prevented me from helping myself – I couldn’t see the ouwie and I didn’t know where to access the necessary medicines. And so, I gave in and allowed Simone to help me.

Now Sarah would be maama to her own dolly and care for her the same way her daddy (in place of my maama) cared for me. She made lots of scrunchy faces at the dolly but I could never get that on film. I love seeing how these dollies end up in exactly the right hands.

Gross Ouwie

The people of Congo like to say the bite came from Uganda. The Ugandans…Congo. Whatever the case, the bite became infected. I’m not saying this is what happened but…all the stuck truck situations often resulted in sitting on the ground in the dirt waiting to be unstuck and…well…that couldn’t have helped the situation.

I felt the lump grow and become tender under the skin and eventually that growth got hot…infection. Well, it’s a good thing I’m well versed in squatty potty because that lump took over my hind quarter (okay, it was only the size of a lemon with an opening the size of a quarter). Sitting was no longer an option and so I found myself lounging on my side as my companions became more curious at my odd behavior.

At first I used the camera as a means to see what the ouwie looked like and then Kizombo Jr. mentioned to Pr Mike that he’d brought a framed mirror – the only one in the house – to help with shaving. And so I snuck into the washroom and stood perched with one foot up on the small table holding the bathing basin, one hand holding back my skirt and a flashlight, and the other hand holding the mirror. I contorted my body just enough to see what was causing the anguish…I giant green lump. No, I couldn’t just squeeze it and get the goop out…my hands were occupied. Setting down the flashlight and the mirror I squeezed in the dark to see if anything would come out…no luck, lots of pain. What was I thinking!

Two more days and that Thing was no longer bearable. I was going to have to tell someone and hope that way out in the post-jungle surroundings there’d be some kind of medicine. As God had prepared, one of the people who came with us from Bukavu to Kitindi in the hot box was a nurse. The thought crossed my mind that medical practices in the developed world differ significantly from those in developing nations. But…what were my choices particularly given that I couldn’t even see this Thing.

Thoroughly and completely embarrassed, Kizombo Jr. asked Simone to look at my gross ouwie. He came quickly and willingly, and with Kizombo Sr. looking on (more embarrassment for me), he made an “eeew” face. Speaking only French and Kiswahili, Simone promised to send someone to find medicine for me.

The next day sometime late in the afternoon some salve arrived along with antibiotics. Salve, great! I know that stuff…it draws out the infection. Question…any bandages around? The next day I perched in my now practiced position in the wash room to see if the salve had done its work. Yep, a nice big green ball awaited me. Now…extricating that ball. A Q-tip was my preferred instrument but unlike the Chin Baby, this glob refused to let go. I finally resorted to using my fingernails to grab that nasty bundle. Apparently that green blob still had some tentacles down into my flesh because I almost passed out at the pain of yanking on that Thing.

I got it, though, the big green blob now laid on a small piece of TP and smaller green blobs remained inside the gaping flesh wound which was now dripping with blood. Guess I shoulda waited another day before yanking on that nasty Thing. That evening presented me with a fever. Sigh, what else? I’m the rough and tumble American who’s familiar with the challenges of life in Africa and yet I’m getting all kinds of sick. Malaria? Infection? Who knew. I had a few doses of ibuprophen with me and kept my mouth shut about the fever in hopes that it’d subside by itself and yet watching for the malaria signs. Kizombo Sr. asked why I was coughing the night before. I had to tell the truth. The cough was the result of the fever, an attempt to ease the internal pain. When the doses were gone and the fever remained, I was forced to admit that yet again I was in need of some care. The malaria specific meds helped immediately.

The next few days were filled with salve, antibiotics, and lots of very uncomfortable sitting positions. Kizombo Jr.’s first aid kit contained four bandages large enough to cover this wound and I strategically applied them so as to have one ready for our one-day return hot box journey. Problem…Africa is hot and bandages don’t stick in the hot. Three times I found myself stepping on that giant Band-Aid after it slid off my hind quarter and onto the ground. Uh-oh…the ride home.

We were confident that the journey out of Kitindi and back to Bukavu would be just one day and so my plan was to sit on that last bandage to keep it in place. No sense in adding infection to infection by having my dirty traveling pants in direct contact with that big hole in my leg. But wait…did I say one day? After the first time getting stuck the bandage came off. In and out of the hot box at least 10 times…the first day…went something like this.

Sit on the gaping flesh wound. Pants stick to wound and the wound starts to dry. Stand to get out of the truck because we’re stuck and rip the pants out of the wound…blood runs down my leg. Back in the truck to sit on the wound again. Pants stick to the wound and the wound starts to dry. Stand to get out of the truck because we’re stuck…again…and rip the pants out of the wound. Blood runs down my leg. Multiply this paragraph by three days – yes, DAYS – and at least 20 stick-and-rips and I really just wanted to cry it hurt so badly.

Our final arrival in Bukavu sent my heart into a little happy dance. Again with no mirror, I carefully cleaned this Thing I could not see with ice cold water from the bucket in my bathroom at the hotel. I donned my pajama shorts and washed the nasty out of my traveling pants, which would be needed the next day for the flight home. Thankfully, Simone came to the hotel one last time to check on me and pronounced the wound okay…at least that’s what I thought he said in French. He gave me one final bandage and I prayed for its stickiness during my final journey.

As I walked between the Congo exit and Rwanda entry, I felt something flapping on the back of my shoe. Good grief…no bandages left. Was I allowed to cry just at the thought of another stick-and-rip situation?

Now, just four days after returning home, the hole is dried enough that it doesn’t rip when I sit. I still can’t see it, but a gentle probe suggests it’s actually closing up. Whew! Honestly, I’m surprised this is only the second such infection in my three years here.

The Dreaded Journey (Day 3)

Morning didn’t come soon enough, as a mosquito nibbled my elbow raw during the night, and once again we were off. At 5:30 in the morning we had a mere 72 kilometers (44 miles) to cover. About half way into that journey we stopped for a view of the rice fields offered by our somewhat elevated position. The stop, though, was necessitated by some hardware falling off the truck such that the gas tank was dragging along behind us.

Just three short hours later we reached town, and as we pulled into a gas station, the brakes gave out. So close, but yet so far. Ushered into a taxi, those of us staying at the Hotel de Nard were whisked away to beds and water and food. The meal I’d talked about during this three day journey…a fruit cup and crepes…and gave me hope to keep moving. This is, after all, a French colonized city.

In all things I give thanks to God. What would life be like without a little adventure?

The Dreaded Journey (Day 2)

Only one thing could derail our return journey, so we thought, and that would be rain. And what was that pounding I heard? Yep, it rained that night…it rained HARD. Thankfully the early morning part of our journey was mostly on sand so the rain didn’t affect us the way we thought it might. But our second day of travel turned out to be no less hazardous than the first.

The very first obstacle, though seemingly small compared to the many others we’d overcome, landed us squarely in a completely stuck situation. Regrettably, I have no pictures for this one as I’d tired of getting my camera out every ten minutes for stuck pictures. I didn’t realize there’d be much of a story to tell about our return journey. The rescue team – an organization tasked with rescuing people caught up in the current war in the northern part of the country – was equipped with all the necessary gear and easily extricated us from the muck.

Our next challenge was a stuck of a different order. We reached the gold town – a very large town established primarily for gold prospecting – and the police officer refused to allow passage. She found all kinds of excuses to detain us and so all but the driver and Kizombo Sr. walked ahead for the exercise. As I passed the main corner, all eyes were on me. Um…well, you can imagine the kind of people such a town attracts. I quickly found Simone and Pepito and hid behind them as we waited. I’m not sure how, but an hour or two later that truck was released and a short visit to the police station resulted in setting off once again.

Not far after passing the gold town we stopped at a hotel for a bathroom and food break. We all needed a break. Our tolerance for all these challenges was running low. Though, not long after leaving the hotel the fuel in tank one ran out and the fuel tank switch refused to do its job. Sigh. Siphon didn’t work, playing with pieces under the hood didn’t work. Refilling the first tank was the only option and so Simone rode on the back of a taxi (literally) back to town to fill a small jerry can with fuel. More delay, hope is waning.

649 – gas tank thingy off

Next up, The Pit. We took every opportunity to ask how others so easily escaped from its jaws and applied what they’d advised. As a result…we passed through with relatively little damage to the vehicle. On the video Kizombo Jr. took, he can be heard saying, “This is our very last obstacle.” We’ll see…

Time was running low and our ability to reach Bukavu had been severely compromised given the various delays. Past all the log bridges and mud pits, we were now on the mountainside part of the journey. Apparently hauling at top speed around tight mountain curves was deemed the best approach to the remaining journey. About 15 minutes into the race our tire fell off the truck. Not only did it fall off but the steel ring (like a giant washer) broke in half. Now…we’re straddling the mountain road between two curves thankful we weren’t on the cliff side.

Breathtaking view!

Darkness approached as we borrowed a jack from a waiting truck and it became apparent that once again we’d stop for the night…but where? Apparently some little town was about an hour ahead and so once again we raced to beat total darkness. Once safely inside that small town we sought out the church pastor – known to no one – who kindly gave us shelter for the night. With a minimum of water, peanuts, and roasted corn, we hunkered down for the night. Pr Mike, Kizombo Jr, and I slept in the truck while the others slept in the pastor’s home.

The Dreaded Journey (Day 1)

Fearful and confident. Those are the emotions we all shared as we prepared for our upcoming return journey from Kitindi to Bukavu. Our driver assured us that now that he knew the road he could avoid the various problems we had on the way in. I’m not sure how that logic works, but we all had hope of reaching Bukavu in the one day it should take. Wait, what is that noise? Oh, it’s only the now broken shocks…eh, no problem (serious sarcasm).

Several times the shock problem worsened and we all exited the vehicle. With no way to actually fix it way out here, the decision was made to continue carefully and slowly. We successfully passed the former traps, though a bit more blue in the face for having held our breath so many times.

Having departed at 7:30 am, by 11:30 we’d passed the major obstacles this side of the hospital. And…just when we thought we might be home free…we somehow managed to straddle a log over a somewhat high ravine. The two font tires were on solid ground and the two back tires straddled the log. Four hours and a major miracle later we were free, but we were also keenly aware that we’d not reach Bukavu that day as planned.

The shocks worsened but our options failed to expand until we reached a village near’ish the hospital. Two hours of work on replacing that shock and it was obvious we’d go no further. Darkness set in and several of us were motorcycled to the main gate of that now familiar resting place, whose water pipes had since pursed and thus afforded us no bathing luxuries. The end of day one, whew!

A Dolly for Little Kizombo from Beth's Sister

Content to employ any nearby thing as a toy, this happy toddler spent his days chattering and playing alongside his mother. Maama was busy with the many other women who prepared food for and cleaned up after the seminar participants and helpers.

Usually children sit quietly while their mother works, and look on in preparation for their own responsibilities as they grow, but this child was energetic and chatty. I’ll admit, though, that this isn’t the first time long beautiful eyelashes led me to presume gender incorrectly. Whoops! Still, this Kizombo Sr. namesake was happy to share his meal with his new dolly. Apparently she was spying his food a little too intently so he relented and gave her a taste.

Happy birthday Beth's sister!

Servants' Hearts

A throng of ladies worked tirelessly for a week to cater to our every need (students and facilitators). When I think of how much water we must have gone through and how far and heavy it would be to bring even one jerry can up that hill…oh my! I thank God for these women who serve God and people with grateful hearts.

Year 1 Training Program

This gaggle of ministry leaders gathered, traveled, and delivered the first seminar series at the Christian Leadership Center in Kitindi. Our time was short, though, incredibly short. We all had so much information we wanted to pour into these eager participants. Even the students, though exhausted by the time we were done, hungered for more.

Pastor Mike taught about having Christ-like character as a foundation to our own character. Pastor Kizombo taught about being a peacemaker amidst conflict. Doctor Leslie taught creative and critical thinking skills along with problem solving and ethical decision making skills. When we began, each topical study seemed to stand alone. Yet, as our teaching progressed we found connections and relationships among them all.

Participants struggle with various issues and are often quieted because of cultural norms. This forum allowed us to create a safe environment where we could help them address those issues in a very practical way. I thank God for those who served these students and pray that we have the opportunity to minister to these students in an even deeper, more personal way.