In early September, 2003, when the Lord laid it on me to go to Uganda to help in Soroti, Dave and I were very certain it was right, but we were both very intense and concerned. It was slightly more than 2 months before I left. Among everything else, we had gone to a lawyer to update our wills.
On November 12th, when I was leaving, Dave, of course, took the day off work. After I checked in, we walked around the airport for over an hour, arms around each other. We knew I was called to go; we didn't know if I would be back. We were both a bit teary.
Now, move forward to my last weekend in Soroti.
On Friday, January 16th, I was offered by several o
f my past
ors -- different churches and denominations, different ministry organizations-- the opportunity to go with them to Anyara, a distant camp. Joseph, Joseph, George, Job, John and Justin would leave early Saturday morning. They planned to preach the Gospel and give food and clothing, including all the clothes that were piled in my office. I would have been the only non-Ugandan person. I was excited. What a blessing to be in the back of a big lorry with all this stuff and my dear pastor-friends!
Then I noticed the look on my "son" Pastor Joseph's face. He didn't say anything in front of everyone, but he was obviously displeased. A few minutes later, I took him outside the office and asked why he had that expression. He said the rebels are often located and reports are spread about as quickly as possible, but haven't been clearly noticed in that area. He finished with, "If you go with us, and we are attacked, and you die and I live, I will have to send you home to my new 'dad' Dave in a wood box. That would not make any of us happy."
Because of Joseph's strong care for me, I chose to obey him and not go.
After their return late Saturday evening, even though there was no war danger, they showed a great deal of stress and sorrow.
When their story was told, I was glad I didn’t go to Anyara. It took them a total of about 9 hours for their ministry event to drive there, preach, show love, distribute the piles off the truck, and drive home. It was a devastating experience: 14,280 people in the camp, 1 partially-working bore [water] hole, 1 non-working one. Believe me, people weren't just lining up outside the truck. They were piling and diving over each other, grabbing and grasping. The pastors were forced to toss everything out to the people; they could only hope the most needy would be recipients. They hadn't known beforehand that the water was so limited, the camp was so large, the people so destitute. They were highly saddened by what they saw, how little they could help, how many were suffering beyond what even they had imagined.
If I had been there I would have been extremely distraught, so I’m glad I listened to God, through Joseph, and obeyed.
Two weeks later, January 30th, Dave arrived. My two Josephs had come from Soroti -- about 150 miles -- to Kampala where I was staying, to take me to the Entebbe airport. Not as planned, we spent the whole day together. Dave was about 14 hours late, because even though it was hot in Uganda, it was icy and stormy in England, so the plane couldn't leave on time. My "J"s met him at midnight, shortly after he arrived. But I was first, believe me. Even in public, I had thrown myself at him and hugged and kissed him so much they needed to stay out of the way. But they just grinned, and then met him, took us to our hotel, visited for an hour...and thanked him for me. How kind!
Today, I still most certainly miss my pastors, my dear friends, my protectors. So kind and caring.
It was one hot early afternoon, and Jill and I needed to get over to the children’s camp. We hid her purse and my backpack in the office and pocketed a few shillings for our “drivers”.
I tracked down our frequently used “boda-boda” guys. They were only about ½ block from the office building. It always made some of the hanger-outers to grin when these not-young white ladies climbed onto the bicycle passenger seats, sitting side-saddled. The camp was only a mile or so away, so wouldn’t take long, but the rough trails and mechanically unfancy bikes made the ride pretty intense; too easy to slide off.
When we reached the camp, it was quiet. Most of the kids were in the back part eating. With the heat increasing, the rebels had begun to back off, so danger was reducing and many other kids had left the camp and were going to the IDP camps or villages to be with their parents. Jill and I were certain we were at the camp for a reason. God had called us there, and we knew it. We just didn’t know why. Then, two people were dropped into our lives: an older woman and a teenage girl. Both broke our hearts.
After being there for a few minutes, we saw a lady walking across the yard, looking as if she was ready to head out, but with a heavy sigh. We called her over to the porch, out of the sun, and asked what she was doing and where she was from.
He
r name was Madesta. She was a widow probably in her 50s. She had been staying at a refugee camp many miles outside of Soroti. Madesta had walked several miles on a dirt road to a main highway, had been able to pay a small amount to be on a bus; she had made it to Soroti the day before. Her reason? She had several older married daughters, but her youngest child, Tino Betty, 13, had been abducted on June 15, exactly 6 months earlier. Madesta had not been home at the time; she was caring for another daughter in a hospital. While she was away from home, the villagers became frightened and started running. A great number of people had crammed themselves into a home for safety. Suddenly, the rebels came from no where, invaded the house, and her daughter was one of many who were abducted. When Madesta came to the camp to check up and find out if Betty was there, she had seen several kids from her area and they gave her their information; the last time Betty was seen by them, she was in the Kitgum area, about 75 miles away, preparing food for the commanders.
Jill and I were just heart-whelmed for Madesta. Th
e three of us simply prayed together. As she was ready to leave she said, “God gave me that child; He will bring her back.” Jill and I felt a bit upset that we had not brought enough shillings to be certain Madesta could have an easier ride to the camp.
Of course, I’ve never heard the results. But Madesta truly touched my heart.
After she left, Jill and I split up and wandered to different parts of the camp to check on various kids. We had a short while before the bikers were coming back for us. I was pretty casual, if you can imagine that. Saw kids I’d talked to before, gave hugs, and jumped in and played dodge ball with them. They laughed and screamed hysterically; they didn’t expect that kind of action from a “old” white lady. Even the guards were laughing.
When I saw Jill, it changed again. She was teary. She had seen a teenager sitting aside, against a wall. No one around her. Looked very sad. What she learned through questions and interpretation was just blunt, not a lot of detail. But enough to break a heart.
Je
nnifer was 16. In June, the rebels were attacking her village and she and another child were caught; the other child escaped. The group went to the border of Sudan, about 225 miles away, and then walked back down. Jennifer and the others were forced to carry luggage, were beaten. During the march, the rebels killed tired children. Jennifer was forced to watch while children were killed, and once she had been forced to kill a child who had been re-captured. The only blessing: she was not raped.
She had escaped into some bush and 2 days later was found by an old woman who took her to army barracks in Lira. She had been shifted to Soroti, 60 miles away. Jennifer had still not heard about her parents.
When Jill took me over to see her, she pointed out a type of abscess on Jennifer’s leg which was very infected and painful; she was being taken to the hospital that day for treatment.
Then our bikers arrived and we needed to get back downtown to the office and help pastors and others in need.
Yes, it had been a hot day. But our hearts were hotter than the weather could ever have been – our hearts were buried at the camp... again.
On January 18, 2004, my last Sunday in Soroti, Uganda, I attended Pastor Joseph’s Baptist Church. Joseph w
as a youth pastor, and this was his preaching day. This 2nd service had about 500 attendees... some from this town an
d many from the refugee camps, especially those from the church grounds.
Joseph had become one of my Ugandan sons during my weeks in this town. He and his wife and their little girls were a lovely family. I felt very blessed when he in
vited me to church. One of the reasons he asked me that day was so I could share about the ministry I was involved in and how we had helped many of their families. I was beautifully received by them and treated like a well-loved queen.
Towards the end of the service something happened. A man stood and began talking. I didn’t understand, since he was speaking only in their tribal language, but I could see that people were overwhelmed both with sadness and with joy. Since Pauline, their nurse and my Soroti friend and helper, was sitting next to me and could interpret, I gradually got the story.
He had escaped from the LRA -- Joseph Kony's Lord's Resistance Army. He had not, yet, been able to get back to his family, but he had heard that his wife, who was in labor when the invasion occurred, was OK and had safely delivered their fourth baby, a girl. His brother, who had been kidnapped at the same time as he was, had not been found or heard from at this time. This man was standing near the back of the church, so I could only see him at that distance and he didn’t appear differently than most of the others. I arranged with Pauline to ask him to meet with us after the service, so I could ask some questions.
That’s when life changed...again...my heart overwhelmed.
His name was Alex. He was 37. When he and his brother were grabbed by the rebels they were told that they must carry the heavy weapon stands and if they dropped them or damaged them in any way Alex and his brother would be killed. They carried them... all around the area, in and out of the forests, up and down the hills, across the streams. Constantly. No break times whatsoever.
Their rebel captain was particularly evil. He came to a point where he decided he would murder Alex. He demanded the other rebels to beat Alex until he died. The captain wanted to make him an example of how he could run the show. They obeyed and beat him with their rifles and other weapons. He fell, and while collapsed, he definitely appeared dead. Then, a few minutes later, he shocked them. He stood up straight. He told me he knew it was the Lord who had healed him and given him strength.
A few days later the captain made Alex’ death another requirement. So, this time, he was to be hit with their machetes. They whacked his head and other parts of his body. Alex had large cuts and was bleeding to death. And he collapsed. The rebels were certain this was finished.
Very shortly thereafter, he stood up. He had again been healed. Amazingly, the Lord had made him strong and capable of standing tall.
The captain was furious. He immediately told the others to kill him. They said, “No.” He said, “I am your captain. You do what I tell you to do.” Again they said, “No.” He said,”Then I will kill him.” They said, “He has come back to life two times. If you kill him, we will kill you.”
No one touched him again. Shortly after, he somehow escaped.
While trying to reach a safe place, Alex was captured by the Ugandan Army, considered to be one of the LRA, because of his age. Local villagers, however, recognized him as someone from their area and defended him, so he was freed.
It had been some weeks since this had occurred. He was staying in Soroti at a local camp, because in his village area there was the risk of capture. Always, if someone who had escaped was recaptured, they would automatically be killed as an object lesson for others. So,even though Alex knew the Lord had brought him back to life twice, he didn’t want to face that danger again. He also didn’t want to stop being a husband and father.
I would love to go to the Soroti area and check up on Alex. He smiled so much. He was so happy. [This in spite of the fact that the back of his head was covered with scars from the machetes and two toes had been chopped off when his feet had become infected. Those photos wouldn't please you, believe me!]
It was one of the most important interviews I ever did in Soroti. What stood out at me with him and some of the others: they were Christians who had been forced to see and face events 99.9% of us never have, and, possibly, never will.
However, if life changes for us, too, in a manner similar to what Alex "walked" through, how would we act or react? I often wonder.
PROVERBS 18:10
The name of the Lord is
a strong tower;
the [consistently] righteous man
[upright and in right standing with God]
runs into it and is safe,
high [above evil] and strong.
I was sharing this story with a new-ish family member last evening; thought I'd share it with all of you, too. The Grandkids ages: Jack was pushing 6 and the Twins were 3.
==============
About 11 years ago, while my grandson, Jackson, was struggling with his kidney-related disease, my daughter called and asked me to watch the Twins for a couple hours while she was taking him to the doctor for a blood test. Previously, when she had taken the Twins, too, and Jack was screaming in the doctor room, they were standing in the hall screaming and crying right along with him. She didn't want that to happen again. Now, that only made sense, but...
I was getting ready to leave for a trip for a few days, and needed to finish house chores, packing, cooking, laundry, and more and more. Watching the Twins at the same time didn't seem like a good idea to me. When she begged, over and over, I finally said, "O-K! But only two hours; you can't be out running around doing errands or taking a break."
She dropped them off and they hung out in my living room. I, on the other hand, was running up and down the stairs in that four-level house. Hitting the laundry room, running to my bedroom on the top floor, chasing downstairs to my office on the lower/basement level. Grabbing, running, focused on getting everything done. Not one moment with the girls, except to tell them to stay out of stuff so I wouldn't have to clean more. The family room was actually in the basement also, but for some reason, they stayed in the living room. I don't remember, but expect I didn't want them to be dumping toys all over the place... and I'd have more cleaning to do when they left. Not so sure, overall, but sounds like me.
Well, after about half an hour of running up and down stairs, I suddenly heard some bouncing on our hard wood living room floor. Lots of bouncing. As I headed there to see what was going on, I heard Kayla yammering. When I turned the corner of the stairway, I saw her dancing and she was singing: "Grumpy Grandma, Grumpy Grandma." Then her sister, Randa, started dancing and singing, "Grumpy Grandma, Grumpy Grandma, Grumpy Grandma."
I froze. And what did I do? I bounced up to the living room and grabbed them, and pulled them firmly up to me...
And I LAUGHED. And laughed and laughed some more.
What else did I do? I set aside all my "tasking" attitude, and spent the rest of their visiting time playing with them. God obviously used them to get my head and heart moving in the right direction for that day.
After all these years, when thinking of that moment in time what do I do?
Sometimes I Smile.
Sometimes I LAUGH!
The Word Carnival.... Madness
=======================
“Noah, how could you do that?” she wailed, beating his chest. “How could you close the door? Did you not see the water rising? ... or not hear the screaming?” She paused and looked around frantically for a moment and then threw her hands up over her ears and shrieked, “Oh, the pounding, the pounding!” With that she crumpled at his feet, sobbing.
Noah, knelt next to her, gathered his wife into his arms, his own tears soaking his beard.
“My dear one,” he said, cupping her face in his hands, “I did not close that door.” She looked at him in disbelief and tried to jerk away, her eyes calling him a liar. He held her fast, and looked deeply into her eyes and repeated himself. “I did not close that door.” Since she had known him since their youth, Noah hoped she would believe him, and know that he was not lying, that his heart was also hurting.
She melted into his arms, sobbing quietly.
A few hours later, rain still hammering on the roof, the animals shifting about anxiously, Noah called his family together into their common room, and away from their personal living quarters where they had run for shelter. Looking around the circle of his sons and their wives, looking at his own beloved one, he felt momentary panic. Two of his sons were wide-eyed with fear over the sudden events. He could nearly read their minds as they wondered whether they were truly safe, or if a violent drowning death awaited them, too. Noah’s other son did not look frightened, which should have calmed Noah’s heart. However, Ham’s eyes were filled with cynicism and hardness, no compassion coming through. Ham’s wife, on the other hand, was overwhelmed by sorrow. Noah had hoped that when Ham married her, her gentleness would overcome his harshness. So far, Noah’s only joy came in seeing that Ham had not been able to change her heart and spirit and that she remained the same loving woman.
While sitting on the straw mats, the family looked at Noah intensely, waiting for him to speak.
“Since your mother believed I closed the door of the ark, ignoring the cries and pleading of those on the outside, I expect you may think the same.” Noah paused, clearing his throat and choking back tears as he tried to continue. “I knew something was happening soon, but only because I had completed every task Jehovah had placed before me. And, as I waited – as we waited – I hoped I would not be the one forced to close the door. To see my brothers and sisters, or my friends, clamoring for safety, and to refuse them, could badly wound my heart. I have not slept well for many years, wondering how and when this would take place.”
Looking around the circle, Noah saw a glimmer of belief and relief in their eyes. “When the final events happened – the skies opened and flooded everything around us – the ground quaked and great springs of water shot forth – I was as shocked as you, and frightened. Even with all I preached – all the warnings I gave – all I had expected to happen – somehow I did not realize it would look like this.”
He paused again, covering his mouth with his hand, tears filling his eyes. “I was trying to calm the animals as the noise increased because of the rain when I heard the door close firmly – and I knew it was not a man.”
Noah walked around the family, touching and blessing each one. All of them, except Ham, leaned into his hands, warmed by his touch. He took his wife’s hand, gently stroking it, and said to her, “I know you, and your daughters, will spend much of your future lives grieving over the loss of so many dear family and friends.” He looked around and continued. “I can truly understand. So... as I see tears flow and sorrow burst forth, I will not neglect any of you. You may come to me at any time so we can pray together and seek comfort from our dear Jehovah.” He stopped and looked at the ceiling for a few seconds. “Even though there is a side in me that says they had their chance, heard the truth and made their choice, it does not mean my heart is not suffering, too. However, I must force myself to look to the future or I will be lost in sadness and no longer be of use by our Creator.” He shook his head. “And that I cannot risk.” He paused again and returned to his place.
“As I have told you before, dreams and visions from our dear Lord God have revealed a land restored from this desecration. Abundant life. A world replenished. Men and women who will understand true worship and do so joyfully. In spite of what we see around us at this moment, I have hope .... hope that sin and unfaithfulness will never again fill the world and cause another tragic event, another world-wide sin-cleansing by His hand. Yes, my dear ones, that truly is my hope.”
I was fleeing for my life
I could see the city gates
Open to enfold and bring me in.
Behind me, on the pathway,
My enemy pursued me,
Intending to destroy me for my sin.
Oh, Blessed place of Refuge
I Cried, Oh, Refuge City,
My only hope was found
within your walls.
Before the priest I trembled
and pled my case for mercy
I knew before this judge I’d stand or fall.
I was fleeing for my life,
Fleeing to the Blood of Refuge
Shed by Jesus Christ,
-- it drew me in.
Behind me on the pathway
My Enemy pursued me,
Accusing and condemning me for sin.
Oh, Blessed Man of Refuge,
I cried, Oh, Blessed Savior,
My only hope is
through Your cleansing Blood.
Before my Priest I worshiped
He pled my case for mercy
Freedom came through
His Redeeming Love.
And now I walk in Freedom,
I daily walk in Freedom,
Rejoicing as I look upon His face.
The Refuge I once cried for,
The Refuge Jesus died for,
Enfolded me within the walls of Grace.
f my past
ors -- different churches and denominations, different ministry organizations-- the opportunity to go with them to Anyara, a distant camp. Joseph, Joseph, George, Job, John and Justin would leave early Saturday morning. They planned to preach the Gospel and give food and clothing, including all the clothes that were piled in my office. I would have been the only non-Ugandan person. I was excited. What a blessing to be in the back of a big lorry with all this stuff and my dear pastor-friends!
