Go with God

It doesn't take as long as you'd imagine to get used to being in a new place. After a few minutes, you stop flinching when cars pass you on the "wrong" side of the street. Funny signs seem normal and the way things are done are the way things are done. New flavors become the norm and the body adjusts to temperature and time zone.

We've been back in the States a couple of weeks now and the memories of our voyage are already fading. I think God must design us this way, to adapt to where we are and let the places we've come from recede in our memories if not in our hearts. How else could we survive? Otherwise, we'd be pining away for the places we are not.

My heartfelt thanks to all those who helped make our trip possible. Your participation in God's timing was a great reminder to me of how things beyond my control are never beyond His control. Many thanks also to the Koonces, Crowsons, Hammonds and Crockers, the Martins and Cashes, Kibi and his family, Charles and all the others who opened their homes and lives to us.

Wherever you go, go with God.

Strangers in a Strange Land

Can you imagine being displaced from your home, being driven from the land and the country and the family you love to a new country? Angelique doesn't have to imagine it--she's living it. Far from the people she loves, in a country where no one speaks her language, she can't even find the ingredients to cook the foods she loves and has to settle for the blander fare of Uganda.

She and I made an instant connection the first time I visited her home, both of us thrilled to find we shared a language and were able to speak and pray together in French. Both of us strangers in a strange land who found a connection in our foreign-ness. At church the next day, when the whole congregation split into groups to pray together, she was left sitting in middle of the room, alone. Edwin nudged me to go pray with her, so I did again.

The topic of prayer was "what has God done in your life to show you his goodness?" A tough question for her, I thought, since I already knew part of her story, about her health problems that kept her in the hospital for months and about how her daughter that came to care for her died on Christmas Day.

She didn't hesitate, though, to share the goodness of God. "He's healed me," she said. "Before, I was so sick, needing care and medicine all the time. Now, it is like I am healed. I can take care of my family again."

We spent a day with her and, as we left, she hugged me and begged me not to come back and see her, perhaps to move to the Congo and work with her, planting seeds for God's kingdom and--above all--to not forget her.

Don't worry, Angelique, I won't forget.

He Did Not Meet My Expectations

On the news this week, they announced a program in which Congo residents can trade in a contraband weapon for $50. The problem?--They can turn around and buy another one on the black market for $25. So foreign aid agencies can fund the war with a 2 for 1 special.

With stories like this one, or stories about how ebola and AIDS were born in the jungles on the Congo (formerly Zaire) and spread along its trade routes, you can see why I harbored some pre-conceived ideas about what people from that vast country might be like. Not that I knew I held these prejudices (I honestly don't think much about the Congo in my daily life) until I met someone from there who blew away any idea of what that country and its people must be like.

Meet Kibi.

He lives with his wife and family in western Uganda. He's a refugee, a history professor, and one of the best Bible teachers I've ever met. His wisdom comes from study--sure--but more so from his collection of difficult life experiences. Not that he brought it up or dwelt on it, but Kibi and his family have been displaced from their home. They had to leave their house, their possessions, their jobs, their family.

They gave up everything they had for a chance at safety.

Three times.

He's had to fight for legal status in Uganda so he could get a job and, now that he has one, the school does not pay him what they owe. He keeps working, hoping they will eventually straighten out their finances and give him his back pay. But he's philosophical about it. At least he's got an employment record for the future if the money never pans out.

You'd think that kind of life would make you bitter, or drive you to despair. With Kibi, though, I got the sense that it made him stronger in his faith, that it gives him a constant reminder or where home really is. I watched his affection and patience toward his 4-year old grandson who he will raise as his own since the boy's mother died. Her last wish to her father was that he would teach the child to know Jesus just as he had taught her. I don't think I've ever seen another man in Africa treat a child so tenderly.

God doesn't look at the outside of a man, but at his heart. If God ever hosted a beauty contest, I have a feeling this humble man from the Congo would be a contender.

From the Land of Good Stuff

A box of Oreos. A jar of parmesan cheese. A bag of Craisins.

Simple pleasures, but when they come as gifts of love from back home, they can lift your spirits.

One of the funnest parts of our trips was presenting each of the families we visited with a suitcase full of goodies from home--205 pounds in all.

Members from our church pitched in everything from Kool-aid packets to homemade pillowcases, golf balls to bath gels, Tillamook cheese and a whole lot of goodies from Trader Joe's.

Goldfish crackers for the kiddos. Dark chocolate for the mommies. And a special favorite for everyone: York Peppermint Patties.

Thanks to our church family for helping us take the taste of home to loved ones far away.

Getting There

We arrived 15 minutes before our 4:45 a.m. bus departure, but where was the green bus that was supposed to take us to Mbarara? Nowhere in sight. The only bus outside in the parking lot was already pulling away.

It turns out that just because you purchase a ticket on one bus line at a specified time doesn't mean much at all. We hopped on the bus that was pulling away. The more stops we made as we circled through Kigali and out into the countryside, the more I realized that everyone but us understood how the bus "schedule" works in Rwanda.

Instead of a direct line north, we were stuck on the milk run, the bus that stopped at every "station" and bench along the roadside. We didn't even cross the border into Uganda at the correct crossing. Instead, we ended up at a small outpost at the end of the pavement. We dashed from Rwanda to Uganda in a downpour so fierce it took days for my sweatshirt to dry. The books I carried at the bottom of my basket will never be the same.

As we sped along the slippery mud roads that clung to the side of mountains, I reminded myself, "The bus driver does this all the time and he's not dead yet." No one else seemed to mind--no one but Edwin, who flinched every time he looked down the aisle out the front window at oncoming cars, bikes, and pedestrians. I looked out the side window at banana plantations, fruit stands, and an extraordinary number of cell phone businesses in what certainly felt like the middle of nowhere.

When we finally reached pavement, I had to laugh at the first sign I saw. Hand-painted on the front of a building... "Thank the Holy Spirit Merciful God Design Company." Amen to that. The store owner must have named his business after taking the bus.

In Mbarara, we looked for a connecting bus to Fort Portal. No luck. It had already gone. We ended up in a matatu instead, East Africa's taxi alternative.

The joke goes like this:

How many people can you fit in a matatu?

Answer: One more.

And they did. 9 on my row including this boy who sat on my lap against his better judgment. Up to 26 in all in the narrow Toyota van. The more people you can cram inside, the more the driver and his conductor make.

Despite being wet and squished, it was a good day. First up over the mountains where tea plantations stretch in ribbons of brilliant green over one hill and then the next. Then down into a valley so flat and lush I imagined dinosaurs roaming its basin. We didn't see dinosaurs there, but did catch glimpses of elephants, buffalo, impala, storks, and a baboon who barely lost a game of chicken with our taxi. Start and stop, start and stop, over a thousand or more speed bumps and into Fort Portal just in time for dinner.

Radio Silence

We taxied up to Fort Portal, Uganda, on Friday - a definite African experience, but we arrived none the worse for wear. Internet here is slow and the house we're at doesn't have wireless, so I don't plan to blog again until we return the the States.

Watch for a new post on Saturday. Meanwhile, pray for the work in Fort Portal.

Death and Life

Yesterday we visited two of the hundreds of genocide memorials that dot the Rwandan countryside. It was a necessary part of our visit here to help us understand and remember what people went through, what people did to strangers and neighbors.

Both sites we visited were Catholic churches. In the years leading up to the events of 1994, there was a series of attacks. At that time, people would flee for refuge in churches and find haven there. In April of '94, the strategy was to wait for people to gather in churches and slaughter them there. The first site we visited was a grave for 6000, the second for 5000. I found myself taking pictures of the horror, using the camera as a buffer between myself and the pain.

NEVER AGAIN read the sign outside one of the buildings. That is our hope, but it already happening again... in the Sudan and in other places around the world.

On our return to Kigali, we were greeted with happy news. On this same day that we chose to remember so many deaths, a new life was just beginning. Cy Shelby, 6 lbs even, is the newest member of the team of missionaries working in Kigali.

Like a phoenix from the ashes, new life springs up in the place of death. And hope for a better future is born.

Love in Any Language

We sat next to John on Sunday morning and he passed us notes throughout the sermon to interpret what was being said. His translations were well-worded and thought provoking.

The preacher spoke at an impossible pace in Kinyarwandan. Every millionth word, John wrote a short note. The preacher's not a full-time church worker. He spends his weeks working for a Christian organization training people to pray intercessory prayers for Rwanda.

His message, in a nutshell, was this:

Jesus did not wait until he was on the cross to pray. He gathered his disciples with him and prayed before the time of trouble arrived. We must not wait until we are desperate for help before we start talking to God. Now is the time to begin.

Heart of the City

The center of African life is the marketplace. Whether an outdoor market with piles of beans and vegetables and fruit, like this one, or the big new supermarkets like Naccumat, people meet and interact where commerce takes place.

At the market, I was once again surprised by the difference between the people of Rwanda and those of Togo. For the most part, I was allowed to wander through the market, looking, smelling, even taking pictures without being disturbed.

Down in the tourist end of the market, vendors beckoned, but didn't press. No one shoved carvings in my face or begged me not to steal food from their children's mouths by refusing to buy from them.

Long tables stacked with food, piles of banana stalks, floor-to-ceiling booths of household goods - the market scene can't be too different from what Jesus encountered in the temple courtyard. He lashed out in anger for he saw the hearts of men and the ways they had turned away from true worship. I wonder what he sees when he looks into the hearts of people here... or (for that matter) into my heart.

By the Bootstraps

One of the most remarkable things about Rwanda is how much progress it is making toward taking care of itself. Granted, there are a lot (I mean a LOT) of NGOs and foreign aid programs here. Many of them focus on vulnerable women, others on orphans of the genocide. World Vision, Unicef, Save the Children - if you can name an aid organization, they are probably here.

These ladies are making the baskets that are sold at Macy's all across the U.S. They do beautiful handiwork and are learning a skill that will serve them well. Others are learning sewing skills, others English, and a huge population is working on mastering computer programming, hoping to make Rwanda the technology center of the continent.

The streets are spotless here and the appearance of things seems to be of utmost importance. It is impossible to see in only a few days whether the facade is hiding another reality, but I see in the eyes of the people a great reserve, even sadness.

At this basket shop, I met a woman from near my hometown. She has been building schools here for several years and she had this to say: "Don't plan things that are too easy. You need to dream up impossible dreams, for the people of Rwanda have proved time and time again that they can pull off the impossible."

First Impressions

The city of Kigali is set on a series of hills which divert both traffic and rainclouds in confusing patterns from here to there. Main roads are wide and nice, cobbled roads are serviceable and neighborhood roads remind me that this is still Africa. Rutted red dirt paths wreak havoc on shock absorbers, if you’re lucky enough to have any.

Rain fell yesterday, a light lazy day rain in early afternoon that pattered against the corrugated tin roof next door… a heavier cloudburst in the later afternoon that sent us racing for the car and made the school kids smell like a tumbling litter of wet puppies. Today's rain didn't waste time on sprinkling. We had to shout to make ourselves heard under the metal roof of the ATN (Africa Transformation Network).

We spent the morning at the ATN office where Louise co-teaches a quilting class. They are in the beginning stages of imagining and planning how to best transfer skills to the ladies who come that will add value to the skills they already have. In other words, the class is supposed to give them a new, more readily marketable skill. In this case, they’re teaching quilting in the hopes that the ladies will be able to make a sell quilts. The ideal would be to create a market among Rwandans and not depend on tourist money, but they’re not there yet.

Between Two Worlds

Amsterdam's snow is left behind and the African sky stretches ahead. Even suspended at 35,000 feet above Ethiopia, with the dry landscape shrouded under a blanket of clouds, I wonder at the sunset, a thin strip of orange that deepens to red then blue then black. The first stars appear and then, the Southern Cross.

Waves of emotion wash over me as I realize this trip is real. My sandals will soon tread through the red soil of a continent that is as much a part of me as the blood in my veins.

When I step off the plane into the jetway at the Nairobi airport, I am greeted by the faint smells of human sweat and duty free liquor. I pull my roller bag through the narrow arced corridor, purposely slowing my steps to match those around me. No one is in a hurry here.

I wait for my flight, letting the sounds of a dozen languages wash past me. My ears perk up at the music of language that could be English, but isn't. It's not important for me to understand, though. They're not speaking to me.

No one knows me here.

Leavin' on a Jet Plane

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go...

Excited? Yes.

Nervous? A little.

Ready? You betcha.

The hardest part about leaving? I'll miss my kids.

But I'll be back, full of stories and hope and experiences and dreams for God's people around the world.

Check back every few days for updates and photos.

In Business

It's official! I'm up and running on my new nook, thanks to my family who gave it to me for Christmas and my dad (who shall remain nameless) who gave me an ebook gift card to get me started.

First official downloads?

Anne of Green Gables

The Holy Bible (NIV)

Notre Dame de Paris

Food Rules

Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

I'm nothing if not eclectic.

Help Me Make Lemonade

If you're in my email address book, you know that my account was hacked this week. The thief took over my gmail account and my facebook account in order to scam money out of my friends. Please tell me you didn't send any. It's been a long few days trying to get back as much information as I can. I've lost my entire contact list and will have to rebuild it over time. It appears he also got hold of my credit card number, so that's another little mess to clean up. After I get everything fixed, I'll post a blog on how to protect yourself better. I've learned a lot.

The hacker's note read to the effect that I was held up at gunpoint in London and would you please wire me $1500 so I can get home.

The irony is, I've been trying to figure out the best way to ask people to send $1500, not for myself but for some missionary friends who have a specific need right now. I didn't ask because... well, frankly... I was embarrassed. I feel like I've asked for a lot and that people must be getting tired of me reminding them to turn in their missions pledges or give towards a certain cause. Well, now I'm really embarrassed because all of you got bothered by someone using my name and my address.

I'm not saying that God hacked into my accounts. Not unless he has a phone number in Nigeria. I don't think he works like that. But I do know he can redeem bad situations to use for good.

So here's my idea:

Instead of sending your money to a scam artist, why not put it towards a good cause? You might have heard that the dollar is not doing so well overseas. For missionaries who depend on the dollar, it means their spending power has been dramatically cut. Our friends in Brazil, Ben and Juliana Roberts, find themselves unable to afford a lot of things, but their most immediate need is to provide education for their boys. They've had to pull their two sons from school because of the expense. They would like to homeschool, but Brazil only allows home education if it's done through an accredited institution.

For Juliana to teach her boys at home using the Calvert school, it will cost them $1500 for the year.

Instead of wiring money to England or wherever, why not drop a check in the mail?

Make it out to Cloverdale Church of Christ and earmark it for the Roberts' education fund.

Mail it to:

Cloverdale Church of Christ

3000 E. Park Ave

Searcy, AR 72143

If you want, leave an anonymous comment telling how much you'll send so we can all keep tabs. Help me redeem my crummy week by being a blessing to someone in need.

Help me make some lemonade.

A Must Read

I don't have the Koonce family blog in my blogroll but I'll be adding it soon. Marty just wrote a series of posts about his recent trip to Togo that are encouraging, exciting, and - as he says - surprising. Scroll down to January 10 and read to the top and join me in praising God for people like Papa Koffi and Hammer and Ablavino and Bertain (formerly Houndzo).

Koonce Family Blog

Dragon Party Time

I always feel like I've accomplished something when I pull off a birthday party. Our house is small and with 11 kids over on a rainy day, feels even smaller. Look at that smile, though. It was worth every minute.
This year's theme: dragons (a compromise of sorts since the birthday girl figured boys wouldn't enjoy a Hannah Montana party - nice of her to consider their feelings).

For those of you who are looking for dragon party ideas of your own, here's what worked for us.

I made dragon wings for each child out of felt so I didn't have to sew the edges. The wings velcro on with ribbon at wrists and neck. Note to self: sew the velcro on better next time.

Each child was given an egg with a dragon inside to take care of for the whole party. They were instructed not to open the eggs. (eggs from Dollar Tree, dragons from Joann's Crafts)

Activities:

Build a dragon out of legos

Make an origami dragon

Dragon egg relay (where the kids race with their dragon egg in a spoon down the hall. Each kids used his own egg and tried not to drop it. We made it harder on the older ones by making them go backwards)

Treasure hunt - I filled a "treaure chest" with bags of treasure goodies - candy necklaces, silver kisses and gold chocolate coins). I made really simple clues on index cards like "Mirror, Mirror on the wall." The kids ran to find the clue but before they cold open it, they had to perform a task (count to 100, do 10 sit-ups, spell their name out loud, etc.) to make the game last longer. The treasure hunt was a huge hit and hilariously funny to see a mob figuring out the clues and working together.

Refreshments:

Dragon cake from Family Fun

Dragon Breath punch (ginger ale, cranberry juice and orange juice in a bowl, set in a bowl of dry ice) The kids could blow in between the bowls to make the smoke come out. Note to self: no need to add ice to the punch, the dry ice froze it solid by the end of the party.

Decorations:

We happen to own every plastic dragon ever made, so the kids went to work hanging them from hooks and light fixtures. Stuffed dragons on the table and that was about it.

For thank you cards, we took a picture of each child sitting on a large stuffed animal. One of my older kids has drawn a picture of a dragon and is going to photoshop each child onto the dragon to send on individualized cards.

Back in the Nest

The fledgling has returned, a little older, a little wiser, and immensely proud of herself. And well she should be. She spent a week away from home, managed to wake up at 6:30 a.m. five days in a row (a miracle for a homeschooler), and proved she can keep up with the rest by earning an A+ in her legislative classes.

My job's not over yet, not by a long shot, but I'm realizing that it's in transition. This is the time to encourage and guide, to offer challenges, to encourage her to seek out her interests and cheer her on in her pursuits.

It's time to back off the nit-picking and trust her to figure out the small stuff on her own.

Letting go. I think this is the hardest job yet.

How Did I Miss This?

I've been to Lyon a few times and have seen many of the wonderful places the city has to offer from the Cathedral of Saint Jean-Baptiste to the old city to the Roman ruins, it's a fantastic place to explore and discover. Besides that, it's the gateway city to the Savoie region, one of the most beautiful places God made.

But how did I miss this - the Bal des Argents bookstore in Lyon? You've seen a cathedral, you've seen 'em all. But a bookstore? Everyone holds a different trove of treasures waiting to be discovered.

Doesn't it look like the magical kind of place where you could get lost for ages and not even mind?

*photo taken from flickr.com and featured on The Most Interesting Bookstores in the World.

Fledgling

One of my kids is taking a big step into the world tomorrow. I find as a mama bird that I'd love to have all my little chickies hang out in the nest and eat home cooking for a long time. They're getting big, though, and jockeying for position on the edge of the nest, ready to try their wings.

One week as a senate page at the state capitol. I wonder what she'll be like when she comes back to the nest. I bet her wings will be a little stronger.