How Did I Get so Lucky?

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In Praise of Sons-in-Law

Named Jonathan

Who have a wife named Jenni

And a son named Noah

[For all of you who faithfully follow my blog (modest cough here), you may remember that last year about this time I wrote a shamelessly sentimental tribute to my daughter, Jenni, on the occasion of her birthday. I just reread it, and you know what? I can't improve on it. And it's all still true. So scroll down this blog until you get to October 2008 (if you're reading this on fb, you'll have to click on the link to my blog on my profile), get out your kleenex, read about wonderful Jenni, and then quick hop back here.

Are you back? Good. Okay, here we go.]

Like most parents, from the time my daughter was tiny I prayed about the man she would someday marry. Now I have talked to moms who had a shopping list of requirements they laid before God in regards to their future son-in-law. Intelligence, education, vocation, family background, hometown, sense of humor, favorite football team...

I don't remember getting that specific in my prayers. I prayed that Jenni would marry the man the Lord had prepared to be her husband. I prayed that she would marry the man for whom the Lord was preparing her to be a wife. I longed with all my heart that Jenni marry someone who really, really loved the Lord and really, really loved Jenni.

Have you ever noticed that sometimes when you ask God for something, he graciously gives you exceedingly more, pressed down, shaken together, and running over?

Let me introduce you to Jonathan David Carroll. He really, really loves the Lord and really, really loves Jenni. He works hard to take care of his family. In my book, that makes him a great son-in-law right there. But Jonathan has done so much more than that. Not only has he shown wisdom and sensitivity in accepting me into his life, he has often gone out of his way to make sure that I feel loved and welcomed into their family. Jonathan seemed to understand from the moment he married Jenni that there would be times that I would need -- well, a son, and he willingly stepped into that role, whether it was to offer a helpful male point of view when I needed advice, or to change that 12-foot-off-the-ground, burned-out light bulb in my townhome. Even now, sometimes I find myself sending a frantic e-mail or iChat message to Jonathan from Africa, asking for help with my Macbook or Jenni's birthday present. And he's always there for me.

But see, if that's all I say, I'm not really giving you a true picture of Jonathan, because in addition to all that, Jonathan just happens to be the coolest, funnest, best-sense-of-humor-est son-in-law in the whole world. He's talented, funny, and much too witty for his own good. Spend a day with Jonathan, and you'll never be bored.

Jonathan's birthday comes on October 22, exactly one week before Jenni's. So this year, when you give Jenni that hug and tell her that her mom loves her more than life itself, please give Jonathan a hug as well, okay? Tell him that Jenni's mom loves him and is exceedingly grateful that he is her son-in-law.

So I guess Dr. Don's to blame?

It is 2006. I am office manager at Brown Pruitt Peterson & Wambsganss, and I am in Don Ferrill's office, waiting to ask a question. He ignores me to finish reading something on his computer, so I shamelessly peek over his shoulder to see what is so engrossing. Ah! It's a newsletter from Phillip Shero, giving the highlights of the recent University Advisors' Summit held in Mbale, Uganda. I sigh. "Oh, how exciting! I would sure love to be a part of the work God is doing to build a university there."

It is 2009. Joy, Diana, and I are standing in a small booth (eventually to be a sound booth) at the back of Mbale of Church of Christ. In front of us are neat stacks of 50,000-shilling notes counted into one-million and five-million shilling bundles. We look out the sound booth window at the group of about forty landowners, mostly couples, who will be coming back to us in a moment to collect their money. But right now each person is waiting their turn to meet with Phillip and the solicitor to sign a contract selling their land -- land on which someday, as the Lord provides, LivingStone International University is to be built. I think of my wish three years earlier, and I think of where I am now. I sigh...

God is good.

Cleanliness ISN'T close to godliness?

(I'm sure it's in there somewhere. Try Proverbs 32.)

The longer I live in Uganda, the more I am humbled and awed by -- what? Western technology? I do appreciate cars and computers and the Risograph at MTI (and the technician who fixes it), but no. Electricity? I mean, where would civilization be without electricity? Yes, I love the sound of the refrigerator humming along and I do love that green Internet light glowing on the modem and I get really tickled by the fact that I'm communicating to you back in the States almost instantaneously from AFRICA, for goodness' sakes, but no, I don't spend a lot of time contemplating the wonder of it all. And I don't believe civilization is dependent on technology or electricity. Both Greece and Rome seemed to get along just fine without either satellite communications or Hummers.

Water.

I am becoming more and more entranced with water.

Just stop and ponder for a moment: How long would any person/family/town/state/country last if its water supply were cut off? Would people begin to die of thirst first? Or disease?

Or let's put it another way. Let's say you live one kilometer away from a water supply. Only one kilometer. About six-tenths of a mile. And you can have all the water you want from that water supply, but you must walk there yourself and take the water home in whatever kind of container you can make or can afford to buy. One gallon of water weighs eight pounds, which means that the five-gallon bucket you managed to buy and that you're proudly using to carry the water in weighs forty pounds. Every drop of water that you drink, cook with, wash clothes in, and clean house with has been carried by you in five-gallon, forty-pound increments from that water supply six-tenths of a mile away.

I'm sure you see where I'm headed with this. After you have saved out enough water to drink -- because you must have water to survive -- exactly how much water would you use to wash your rice and beans before you cook them? (And both rice and beans are quite dirty until they're washed.) How often would you feel it necessary to wash clothes? dishes? yourself?

And how good would you feel those rare times when you were able to be completely clean and still have a cup of water in your hand to drink? And how much easier would it be to think of spiritual things when you didn't feel, well, filthy? Okay, okay, so I know that "Cleanliness is next to godliness" isn't really in the Bible. But I think I understand the reasoning behind the equation a little better now.

Praise God, even though I live in a third-world country, I still have the marvelous gift of running water. But I watch people every day who do not. The mission team, as part of their efforts to serve the people of Mbale, offers a well for public use. The well sits just inside the grounds of Messiah Theological Institute, and it is very rare that you come to MTI that there is not a group gathered there, waiting their turn to get free, clean water. Today it was a group of children, pumping water to take home to their families.

(As always, click on the photo to get a high-res version.)

I tried to get an unposed shot, but the moment they saw the camera,

they all turned into little hams.

The writing on the ramp says,

"Let anyone who is Thirsty come to me. John 7:37"

Water is precious. Water is life. So is it any wonder that Jesus talked about water so much? And that he referred to himself as the Living Water? And is it any wonder that the people listening to him found that statement overwhelmingly attractive? To never have to go to the well again...

"Whoever drinks this water will thirst again,

but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst.

Indeed, the water I give him will become in him

a spring of water welling up to eternal life."

John 4:13-14

Thank you, Jesus, for being our source of Living Water.

The Joys of Drudgery

This morning as I was drinking my morning tea and reading my Psalm of the day, appreciating the fact that I did not have to jump up and go anywhere for a few hours, it suddenly hit me: Power had stayed ON since I had gotten up, instead of the seemingly constant on/off/on/off of the past week or so. I turned on the kitchen faucet and - yes! - city water was on. Staying home + stable electricity + city water = LAUNDRY DAY!

I managed to get three and half loads done before Umeme (Uganda power company) decided that I'd had enough excitement and turned off the power. (My yellow load is condemned to sit in the dryer until power returns or until I hang it up in the bathroom to dry.) But still, three and half loads!

Thank you, Lord, for the gift of plenty of clothes. And thank you for the gift of a working washer and dryer. And finally, thanks for the gift of electricity and water.

Funny, it doesn't seem like drudgery anymore...

Get Smart

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I do not think it means what you think it means

Last week I shared a few of my favorite cultural run-ins involving language. However, I don't want to leave you all with the impression that Ugandans are the only ones who get tripped up while doing their best to communicate in a different language than the one they're accustomed to. Those of us from the other side of the pond sometimes have the same problem. You see, we tend to think that if we're speaking English and they're speaking English, then we're all on the same page, right?

Right?

Uh...no.

We might not even be reading the same book. Almost any Englishman will happily tell you that Americans do not speak English. After living here for a year, I sometimes think they're right.

Case in point: A few weeks ago I was having an earnest conversation with Benard, one of the guards at the school compound. "Benard," I said, "I really wish you would take courses at MTI."

Big smile from Benard. "Maybe someday, Mama."

"No, really, Benard. I want you to go. You are so smart."

Quizzical look.

"Yes, Benard. You are very smart, and you should go to school."

Extremely puzzled look.

"Don't you believe you are smart? I do. I hope you will decide to go to school."

Downright confused look.

(Perhaps he's not as smart as I think he is?)

At this point, a friend standing nearby quietly said, "Mary Beth, I hope you realize you're saying he should go to school because he's a snappy dresser." Benard smiled and nodded, and everyone laughed while I turned a couple different shades of red and wished that one of the "hot dogs" (see previous post) would come drag me away. Score: British English 1; American English 0.

BEWARE OF HOT DOGS!

Okay, I have to say this up front: I believe that any honest Westerner living in Uganda, no matter how much they love, respect, and admire the people here, will admit that sometimes when Western culture crashes headlong into Ugandan culture, the results can be, well, funny. (The results can also be frustrating and infuriating, but that's another blog.) I have resisted talking about these clashes -- most of which involve language -- because I have wanted to avoid any appearance of disrespect. After all, this is their country. I am the visitor here. Also, when it comes to language, however much they struggle with English, they speak it much better than I speak Luganda, Lugisu, Swahili, or any of the four or five other languages spoken in this area. So I have decided to share some of my favorite "culture moments" with you, but don't you all be taking that as license to dis my favorite people, okay?

"Beware of Hot Dogs"

This ominous warning is scrawled on the wall just outside the compound that houses the MK (missionary kids) school and the teacher house. I saw it for the first time just after I arrived last year. I spent quite a while pondering just how scary a wiener can be before someone enlightened me to the fact that over here a hot dog is an angry pooch. Since many Ugandans are terrified of dogs, the night guards at the teacher house consider this sign their first line of defense in protecting the premises. And so it is, even though the main thing you're in danger of with these dogs is being licked to death.

"Jesus is a --" what did they just say?

Along the same lines, at church a favorite praise and worship song has the line, "Jesus is a winner." Except Ugandans pronounce "i" with the long "e" sound. Mull that over for minute or two. Jesus is a wiener? I'm sure the Ugandan choir was wondering why all the white folk began to giggle every time we sang that song. Finally we explained to the worship leader that what we're hearing, basically, is "Jesus is a sausage." Not sure why, but we don't sing that particular song much anymore.

"You are gradually invited"

On salary day yesterday, I was given a notice to hand to each worker as they were paid. I am reproducing the note as faithfully as possible below:

Messiah Theological Institute

P.O. Box 1790

14th august 2009

Re: Workers meeting

You are gradually invited to attend workers meeting due 14th August 2009 Mbale church of Christ at exactly 4:00pm.

Note you are invited to attend in person without fail.

Yours pastor MCC

William Mbulakyalo

I've discussed this with a couple Mzungu friends, and our guess is that William was aiming at graciously inviting the workers, but we're not totally certain of that. Feel free to come up with an alternate hypothesis. Also, do you notice that the meeting starts at exactly 4:00 pm? NOTHING in Africa starts at exactly anything. I am willing to wager that the meeting started at exactly approximately 4:48 pm. But they still added the word "exactly," probably because they've seen it written that way somewhere else. No doubt on a Mzungu notice. To me, though, the most interesting cultural marker here is the "You are invited to attend in person without fail." Ugandans do not like to phrase things in the imperative. William is telling the workers as clearly as possible that this is a mandatory meeting, and they had better be sitting on a church bench at exactly -- well, exactly whenever it starts. This is his effort to phrase that polite command in English, and when you think about it, he got his point across quite well.

Wow, look at the time! I guess this blog entry just turned into Part One, because I need to get back to work. I'll share a few more stories in exactly one week.

Greetings from Mama Mzungu in Mbale, Uganda, where God continues to bless her with an incredible (and sometimes an incredibly funny) adventure!

APRIL 18??

What do you mean, I haven't posted a blog since April 18? I must have. You don't think I'd miss writing about the absolutely incredible University Advisor's Summit held at the end of April, where I -- little Mary Beth Bodiford from Fort Worth, Texas -- not only had the privilege of meeting wonderful men and women from all over Africa who share the vision of LivingStone International University, but also got to have dinner with Dr. Sarah Ntiro, the first female college graduate in Uganda? Weren't you paying attention when I told you about getting goosebumps when Dr. Ntiro matter-of-factly explained how she had escaped from Uganda during the Idi Amin era by crossing the border on a Sunday morning, counting on the fact that the guards would still be drunk enough from Saturday night not to realize who she was, but knowing if they did recognize her, she would be arrested and killed? And you couldn't have missed my hilarious account of getting up and dancing with the African Teso band during the Summit or my not-so-hilarious account of thinking that I'd lost $200 that belonged to one of the elders at my church who was attending the Summit. Of course not.

And then the Metroplex team visit in May. You must have read my highly entertaining but also quite serious account of the group of pastors and church leaders who came from the Dallas-Fort Worth area to visit Mbale specifically to learn more about the university and to prayerfully consider how God would have their church be involved in the building of LivingStone.

Oh, and don't even try to tell me that you missed reading about my flying back to the States at the end of May and of that intensely moving moment when I walked through the doors at DFW Airport and got to hug my daughter for the first time in over a year. Or when I took the Africa pendant necklace from around my neck and placed it around hers and thanked her for allowing me to go to Uganda.

Right, and I'll bet you totally skipped over my ongoing "Vacation Food Journal" in which I regaled you with a day-by-day account of the Italian, Mexican, Japanese, and Chinese food that loving friends and family insisted on feeding me while I was in the States, of the FOUR different times I had ribs while I was home (and would have happily had more!) and of sitting down at my favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurant, ordering catfish, and KNOWING that I was back in Fort Worth, Texas. Oh, and I'm absolutely certain that I told you about my best friend bringing me fried chicken livers from that same restaurant for my last meal on American soil before coming back to Uganda.

And after all that, now you're going to mumble something about how you didn't read my most recent essay where I talked of tearfully saying good-bye to Jenni, Jonathan, Noah, and, yes, Baby Carroll (who will be born around Christmas), and of resolutely turning my face southeast to return to serving the Lord in Mbale, Uganda.

And of the joy I felt when I saw the face of my Ugandan friend Peace light up as she said, "Welcome back, Mary Beth. We are so happy to see you. How is your home?"

Well, I'm certain I wouldn't have forgotten to write about such important things. So all I can say is, how did you miss reading about them?