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

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Shared Hope Prayer Walk

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.

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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.

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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!

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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.

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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.

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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?

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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.

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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!

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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!

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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.

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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.

Rev. Kizombo Sr.

Pastor Mike

Dr. Leslie

Pastor Kizombo Jr.

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Bi-vocational Training Center

Old Structure

The sound of hammers could be heard in the background as the roofing timbers were secured into their places. The bi-vocational training center construction is preparing the way for this school where pastors will receive teaching about both Christian leadership and technical skills. Village churches in Congo, like village churches Uganda and Kenya, seldom produce enough money to support the pastor and so pastors are learning trade skills to supplement their incomes and Christ-like behavior to model in their communities.

Many churches in Uganda and Kenya gather under a tree. Here in Kitindi, they gather under a bamboo frame covered with palm leaves as a shield from the sun. Why not hold the school under such a structure? Like the school uniform debate, an argument could be made on either side of a school building…I suppose. However, the benefits to having a quality school building are essential to the growth and development of this community.

New Structure

Think about your own university. What was the environment like? Did you have a beautiful campus? Did you have safe structures that allowed you to focus on learning? Did you have teachers who were skilled and passionate? Did you learn with students who were motivated? Now, how would you answer these questions differently if the building you learned in was crumbling? A quality school building fosters a sense of pride in students, teachers, and donors. In turn, that sense of pride attracts and motivates quality human and financial resources. Again in turn, quality resources result in outputs that make a significant impact on the community. As ambassadors of Christ, we are called to make Kingdom-like communities and this school building is where so many of those very seeds will be planted. 

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A Dolly for Demu from Rebecca

Tiny voices called “bi-yeeee” from just outside the fence. Although they received a reply multiple times, they continued to call out perhaps hoping for an invitation. For all that curiosity, the children seemed to hesitate to come too near though after some time they closed the gap at least a little. I found a tiny one riding on his sister’s back and felt prompted to offer this precious one a boy dolly.

Little Demu wasn’t quite sure what to think of this new thing he was supposed to hold onto. “What is that thing that looks a little like me?” I’m sure he wondered. Never saying a word, nor shedding a tear at being too close to the muzungu, the tiny boy inspected his new friend. The girls, though, were most curious and each took her turn examining this new creature. Finally Demu regained possession and continued his inspection. Now satisfied, he tucked the dolly between his chest and his sister’s back and went on as though nothing had ever taken place.

What do the minds of such small ones think about? Thank you, Jesus, for this beautiful little boy and for the chance to give him a tiny gift to remind him that he is loved by you.

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Daily Children's Worship

English is NOT the first or second language in Congo and so these rambunctious children simply stood and stared. Lord, what can I do with these kids to honor you? Sing…of course. Each day the children came to see what entertaining feat the muzungu would perform and each day they were rewarded with two English children’s songs. Songs with motions are most fun and memorable and so If You’re Happy and You Know It along with Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes were the songs of choice. Each had a praise component at the end of some very actives motions.

By the end of the week the children were singing along with the motions…in English. Whether or not they knew what they were saying is up for debate. I wonder…does it matter? Does God receive glory when we sing worship songs even if we don’t know what we’re singing? The charismatic in my says most definitely yes.

Bubbles are another fun and easy way to entertain but too many children chasing after the same six bubbles causes some chaos and injury. Usually the little ones get trampled and so after this first reveal, I was a bit wiser about when to pull out the bubble bottle. Still fun to watch kids who have no idea what these things are finally respond with joy.

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19 Dashiki Shirts from Lamont CRC

Music rang out from the wooden stick structure called Berean Church of Kitindi, one of several churches planted by Kizombo Sr. The worship leader carefully selected known songs with specific focus – worship, praise, thanksgiving, forgiveness, etc. – as well as led spontaneously created songs that told stories of our visit. The drum and shaker thingy were all that accompanied the beautiful voices. After two hours of worship broken by occasional announcements or other pre-sermon activities, the message began.

After the service, Kizombo Sr. selected 19 boys to receive shirt gifts, though several other children snuck their tiny bodies into the fray. Gift giving is never easy, there’s never enough for every child no matter what the gift.

Sporting their new shirts, the children posed patiently for photos before I explained why they were receiving shirts. I told them about a group of boys at a church in America who love them and pray for them. I told them about the girly dresses and the competition between the boys and girls. They easily guessed who won that competition. In the end, one of the older boys responded with a corporate thanksgiving directed to the boys of Lamont CRC.

The Life in Africa ladies make dashiki shirts for Kitindi boys.

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Kitindi Prayer Walk

Gathered at the church, children and adults alike, we prayed and sang together before departing for our prayer walk journey. Our prayer focus was to be peace in this war-torn country. Children of various shapes and sizes dared hold my hand only for a moment, then to be replaced by yet another. These Congolese children hesitate a great deal more than the children of Uganda, perhaps as a result of the ongoing wars in Congo…which makes me sad…to think about the impact such instability has on the formation of these little lives (sniffle).

Voices rang out in song as we traversed the sandy ground toward our first stop, the hospital. Once there we prayed for the caretakers and the infirm, but also for peace. The truth is that they were praying in French and Kiswahili and sometimes I wasn’t near one of the Kizombos and thus had no translator so I just went on about praying for what the Spirit put in my heart…including peace.

Moving up the center road of the town we made our way to the police station where the flag was just being lowered. The whistle blew and everyone stood perfectly still while that flag came down. We prayed for leadership, justice, and also for peace.

Next we passed by the market, a sight I would have liked to see during business hours. The wooden stands looked incapable of displaying much of anything but apparently this is the only place to go for every need. We prayed for abundance, prosperity, creativity, and also for peace.

Our final prayer time, though we’d hoped to reach several additional destinations before dark, was the school near Kizombo Sr’s home. We prayed for learning, growth, provision, and for…peace.

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