To talk or not to talk, which is the victory?

I just spent five days at a women's retreat in Kenya, held annually for East African missionaries. Before we left for the retreat, Mona Lee, the woman who would lead the teaching/discussion time, asked me to be part of a discussion she would facilitate on the topic of suffering. No problem, I replied. Except...there was a problem. As I counted down each day of the retreat, I realized that the discussion was going to take place on March 24th. Oh.

[For those of you who don't know me, the "suffering" I would be talking about was the loss of my son, Tai, fourteen years before, and some pretty difficult associated fallout, involving my grieving husband turning to cocaine, and my daughter and I eventually having to literally sneak out the back door one day to get away while he was sleeping.]

March 24th happens to be Tai's birthday. It's one of two days of the year during which I consciously avoid any stressor that might make me dwell on that time in my life. (The other being March 7th, the day he died.) And when I say "avoid any stressor," I mean it. Just visualize me like a little kid, closing my eyes and putting my hands over my ears, saying "lalalalalalala" nonstop for, oh, say, about twenty-four hours. Or maybe an ostrich, sticking my head in imaginary sand for a day. I used to take those days off work and spend the day in a hidden location. Well, perhaps not so much hidden as unfindable. It usually involved, if possible, my daughter and shopping and chocolate and the avoidance of looking at anything with the date on it.

Take my word for it, it's a wise decision on my part. For instance, at the women's retreat last year, I was blindsided by not one but TWO rather sad songs sung during the worship time, and I broke down so completely I had to leave the chapel. What day was it? March 24, of course. Talk about embarrassing. By the way, I neatly took care of that situation this year by asking the worship organizers to avoid singing those two songs. Of course, then I spent the whole worship session worrying if there was another song that might set me off. Oh, well. I was so busy brooding over that, at least I didn't cry. Whatever works, right?

Obviously, the thing to do here was swallow my pride, go to Mona Lee, and explain that not only would I not participate in the discussion, but I would not even be with the group during that session, and would instead be hiding out in my room listening to music with headphones so as to make sure NOTHING of that particular powwow wafted its way to my ears. (This, even though the dialogue would be held in a separate building a hundred meters away from my bedroom.) After all, what good would I be during a discussion on suffering if all I did was sob uncontrollably? Which would no doubt make all the other poor women suffer, but I don't think that's what Mona Lee had in mind.

Good, sensible decision. Whew. Glad that's settled. No problem. Except...there was a problem. It was the wrong decision.

Why? Because the one thing I have learned is that sometimes God has a reason for me to share a little about the plain old awfulness of that period. God is amazing and awesome, and he worked for his glory during the most heartbreaking, sad, even scary time of my life. And he worked for victory. Not all victories involve jaw-dropping healings or visions or amazing stories of wicked people becoming incredible Christians. Some victories involve just getting up every day and continuing to breathe in and out when you really don't want to even wake up. Some victories involve thinking you've lost almost everything and thinking that your ten years of prayer and fasting for your family have come to nothing, but deciding still to trust God. Some victories involve the quiet realization many years later that God answered your heartfelt prayers, and that someday your family will be completely reunited in heaven. And some victories involve being willing fourteen years later to sit in a room with thirty women on March 24 and risk making a fool of yourself so that you can tell them this.

To talk or not to talk. Guess which I did.

[But don't you all dare give me any special credit. Nope. Linda Tyler and Carol Maples, you were incredible in your openness and willingness to also talk about what had happened in your life and in your giving all glory to God. You are amazing women, and I was so blessed to hear you.]

Sometimes it's hard to guess the ending

As we go forward with the work on the university, Satan is NOT sitting still. The team has been very aware for the past year that we are under attack. Sickness, lawsuits, attempts to break the unity of the team (both on the African side and on the missionary side), behavior issues that resulted in the loss of important members of the African leadership and staff -- the list just goes on and on.

Last Wednesday night, the missionary team went out to the land to have a pre-dedication dedication. We worshipped the living God ON the land itself, we spent some time in prayer, and then Phillip anointed the land with oil. As he poured the oil on the land, a gentle rain began to fall. To the Ugandan people, rain is a physical sign of blessing. It was as if God were taking the oil Phillip was pouring in one particular spot and multiplying it over the whole land.

The next day, the team (African and American) divided up to finish preparations for the official land dedication and also to work on the Churches of Christ National Meeting which was to start Friday in Mbale. As we were all busy with our tasks, we suddenly received tragic news: Simon, Jennipher Ndegemo's father (Jennipher is an African member of the team), was struck and killed while crossing the road out at the LIU land site. A young man with him was critically injured. In Uganda, there is no 911. It was up to members of the team to go out to the site, take the boy to the hospital (and make sure he got treatment), pick up the body of Jennipher's father, and take care of Jennipher and her mother as they now began to get ready for the funeral. All this while going forward with the other preparations. People were doing their work as they cried. No one doubted that this was an attempt by an angry Satan to stop the dedication.

Yes, the dedication went forward as planned. We stood on the land and again praised the living God -- this time with 350 people participating. Pastors preached. People sang and danced. There was much worship and praise. Phillip again anointed the land with oil. He then invited people to come forward to be anointed with oil and proclaim themselves ready to be set apart for God. So many people came forward that I began to wonder if the oil would hold out. It did.

The land dedication lasted until early Friday morning, and we all knew that God had had the victory that night.

But the story isn't over yet. No, indeed. Today, Shadrack, the guard who works out at the land, came to meet with Phillip at the office.

Shadrack had been plagued by a large snake -- "Oh, very large, very, very large!" -- out at the land. No matter how hard he tried, he could not kill that snake. Snakes, by the way, represent evil to most Ugandans (and I must say that I totally agree with them on that). On Friday, a few hours after the dedication ceremony ended, guess what happened. Shadrack finally killed the snake? No. The snake decided to leave the just-dedicated land. It began to cross the road.

The snake was struck and killed -- on the very spot that Jennipher's father had been hit.

Do I believe that was God's hand at work? Yes, I do. But that is not as important as the fact that every single Ugandan who hears the story will understand the symbolism. They will fear and reverence the living God who continues to make known that He is in control of the land and of the construction of LivingStone International University.

Sometimes it IS hard to guess the ending. But sometimes it's easy.

God wins.

Of Ceremonies and Celemonies

Part One: In Which I Ponder What I've Lost

There was an important ceremony held in Austin, Texas, a couple weeks ago: The baby dedication of Magnolia Jane Carroll, daughter of Jennifer and Jonathan Carroll, sister to Noah David Carroll, and granddaughter of Ron and Mary Carroll...and of Mary Beth Bodiford. So far I haven't seen a photo of the affair (probably because all the photo-takers were part of the ceremony), but I'm sure it was wonderful. I'm also certain the family celebration after the dedication was full of joy and laughter.

And I wasn't there.

Part Two: In Which I Ponder What I've Gained

There was an important celemony held in Kamonkoli, Uganda, a few weeks ago: The baby dedication of Tricia and Tracy, twin daughters of Benard and Juliet. ("Celemony" is how many Ugandans pronounce -- and spell -- the word "ceremony.")

I will tell you the whole story of the dedication some other time, but for now it is enough to tell you that I, along with Jennifer Ashlock and Emily Daw, was privileged to be a part of this important family celebration. I had the incredible blessing of being allowed to pray for Tricia and Tracy.

It was a wonderful day. A day of rejoicing with the Kamutono family as they committed their daughters to the Lord. A day of joy and laughter.

And I was there.

How Did I Get so Lucky?

- or -

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

- or -

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?

TRASH TALK

FORTY DAYS!

Yes, forty days from today, Lord allowing, I will step off a plane at DFW International Airport onto American soil -- or in this case, most likely, American carpet.  I will have been away from the United States of America for 390 days.  So is there anything I'm really looking forward to experiencing again?  Any people that I can't wait to see?  Well, naturally.  

I am really looking forward to:

1. Seeing Jenni, Jonathan, & Noah the moment I get off the plane. (Okay, the moment I get off the plane, go through customs, and ride down the escalator.  But you know what I mean.)
   
2. Seeing everybody else from home. (Forgive me for not naming you individually, because I love you all so dearly and can't wait to see you, but I need to keep this list to a semi-manageable length.)
3. Going to my first RHCC worship service.  And my second.  And my third...you get the idea. Worshipping with family and friends.  
4. Sonic.  Everything.    
5. Driving a car with the steering wheel on the correct side of the car.  Driving on the RIGHT side of the road.
6. Wal-Mart!  Woohoo!
7. DVDs for sale that are NOT pirated copies.  Ditto for CDs, although, now that I think about it, I've hardly seen any CDs here.
8. Squirt.  (It's a soda.  You should try it.)
9. Going out in public and not once hearing myself referred to as Mzungu.  Now I don't really mind being called Mzungu -- after all, I am Mama Mzungu -- but not everyone here says it politely.  And I find it odd that when I'm shopping in the market, often the people trying to get me to buy from them will say it quite rudely.  
10. Roads with no potholes.  Roads with stop signs and traffic signals.  (Well, technically, what I need to say here is "Stop signs and traffic signals that drivers actually obey."  You will occasionally see a stop sign or traffic light in Kampala, the capital city.  But no one pays any attention to them.)
11. Salads.  Right now, even iceberg lettuce sounds good.
12. A store that has new clothes available in assorted sizes. 
13. How could I forget?  TARGET!  If you've never been to Africa, it's hard to explain how different the stores are here.  The stores in Mbale tend to be small, dark, and, well, dirty.  Here's a story that might help you understand:  Shawn and Linda Tyler, senior members on the team, once took James and Noeli Luchivya (Africans from Kenya who serve with us here in Uganda) to the States.  During their visit, the Tylers and the Luchivyas happened to go to Target.  Noeli walked in the door, took one look around the beautiful store with its good lighting, big aisles, and spotless, gleaming floors, and asked nervously, "Should I take my shoes off?"  
14. Not experiencing culture stress every time I walk out my front door.  Okay, everyone tells me I'm going to go through reverse culture stress, but I'll believe it when I see it.  I don't think I'm going to cry the first time I walk into Ross Dress for Less...unless it's tears of joy.
15. Stable electricity/water/Internet. And water pressure. (Washers that fill in less than an hour, showers with more than six pitiful streams of water -- wow!)
16. A Pizza Hut Meat Lovers pizza, extra cheese, delivered right to my door.
17. The spice/seasonings aisle at the grocery store.  Ditto for the packaged meals aisle.
18. Microwave popcorn.  (You can get it here sometimes, but it's EXPENSIVE.)
19. Watching a DVD on any screen larger than a computer screen.
20. Store-bought grated cheddar cheese.  Pitted olives. Raisins with no seeds.
21. Chili's, Applebee's, Chinese buffets, Mexican restaurants, Italian restaurants.
22. Dollar stores  (Boy, am I going to hit them before I come back to Uganda.)
23. Not having to answer my door if I don't want to.  (Just take my word for it.  It's almost impossible to hide out, at least here in Welldone Cottage.) 
24. An oven that heats to the temperature you set it at.
25. Homemade Chex Mix. 

I could go on for quite a while, but this is probably a nice representative list.  Look over the list again for a second, especially items 4 through 30.  Do you see anything noteworthy?  

Me neither.  

Everything on that list after No. 3 is completely and totally unimportant.  It's trash.  It's rubbish.  I mean, getting to serve the Lord here with the Mbale Mission Team is so cool, so exciting, how can microwave popcorn or Target compete with that?

Now you ask, what about Items 1, 2, and 3?  All of you, my family, friends, and church?  Ah, you are incredibly important.  You sent me out with your blessing.  I'm so excited to come back to see you all. I get to spend forty days with you.  And then?  Well, as the Lord allows, I will leave you once more (hopefully again with your blessing), and we will all praise God that he has allowed me to give you up -- those whom I love dearly in the US -- so that I may serve Him for one more year with those whom I love dearly in Uganda.

I know I've quoted it before, but it still says it all:  Philippians 3:7-10  "But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ.  What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things.  I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ -- the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith.  I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead."  

"Pretty sure" is the answer

  

Now what was the question?

Before I tell you, please take a look at some photos taken a few Sundays ago.

Phillip and James praying for a new brother and sister in Christ

Gathering at the river

First the brother...

...now the sister are buried in baptism

A final prayer of thanksgiving and blessing

(Not given by me; I was just privileged to be standing near the sister.)

(But I did get to hug her right after the prayer!)

Yesterday I was trading e-mails with a friend back home.  I happened to mention that I was feeling kind of homesick.  Her loving, subtle, understated, and entirely valid response was exactly as follows: "So, if you are homesick, why are you staying another year???? Are you sure that you are up for it???"

With God's help, yeah, pretty sure.

Whilst I work on Chapter Two, Part Two...

DID SOMEONE MENTION BRAVE AND ADVENTUROUS?

- or -

Group Hug Time!

Yes, opening a team account with Barclays Bank was a hard-won victory.  By the way, in the interests of honesty -- and because he might read this blog someday -- I must admit that said victory was due almost entirely to Phillip Shero's valiant efforts, not mine.  In any case, like most victories, there was a price to pay. The price of this particular victory?  Oh, right around $4,200.  

You see, the team money now lives in a beautiful blue and white building several kilometers away from my office. This is a much safer situation than when it resided in a small gray safe two meters away from my desk; however, since Uganda still remains a cash-only society, I will need to visit the money every now and then, partly to make deposits and withdrawals, and partly to make sure Barclays hasn't given the money away to some random stranger.  (See postscript on previous post.)  Unfortunately, as a white female in Uganda, walking to and from a bank on a regular basis will almost certainly begin to invite attention of a sort that I would rather do without, as in attracting would-be African Robin Hoods trying to equalize the wealth at my expense.  

On a happier note, in addition to needing to make frequent bank visits, my job here has grown in other ways to include additional responsibilities besides merely "keeping books." It will hopefully continue to grow over the next year, especially as the team goes forward with work on LivingStone International University. 

Frequent bank visits + added responsibilities = need to be able to travel around Mbale without hitching rides everywhere.  The answer?  

Meet the Mzungumamamobile!

Yes, thank you very much, God has blessed me with a car!  And I do mean THANK YOU!  So many of you have supported me over the past year with your encouragement, prayers, and with your hard-earned dollars.  I cannot say this strongly enough:  I would not be here if not for you.  And now that support has allowed me to buy a car.  When the exact car I needed came up for sale, the funds were already available, thanks to you all.  So everyone gather around.  Are you ready?  Good.  Group hug time! [Insert big group hug here.]  When I come home for a visit, I'll do my best to give each one of you an individual hug.

And now, if you'll excuse me, brave and adventurous Mzungu Mama is going to take the Mzungumamamobile out for a spin!  

Okay, what side of the road am I supposed to drive on?  

And why is the steering wheel on the wrong side of the car????

(Yes, I promise to get back to work on Safari Chapter Two now.)