A LIFE SLOGAN

A couple years ago, when I was in the Word, my schedule had me committed to reading one of my least favorite Books, Ecclesiastes. While reading, I spent time rolling my eyes and shaking my head at the verses and Solomon's thought patterns, and trying to stay on track.  Suddenly, I was "out there", my brain wandering, one of my constant challenges. I honestly can't remember which verse tugged me that direction, but I suddenly thought "why do I always want to go places... why do I struggle when I'm sitting at home for such a long stretch?"

Then I remembered. My personal slogan for life, in place for many years, has been:

Go new places, see new things, meet new people.

That's it. Even though I've experienced a lot of those "mottoes"  here on trips around the States, and it's not only connected to trips to other parts of the world, I DO often think of my international wanderings. So...

that's why I enjoyed Costa Rica, 

was excited when visiting England, 

lived happily [most of the time] in Uganda

 and absolutely marveled at Morocco. 

 Lots and lots of wonderful sights and sounds. Sweet, caring people. Creative thinking and plans. Innovations to fit into life as it's moving forward. Coming up with ways to share the Lord without bringing His name into the mix, but simply showing concern and love.

When at home, trapped in the everyday routines of life, it was easy for me to become bored and feel I simply didn't fit.

Then, God opened an international door for me in my neighborhood.  In early May, 2010, He dropped the Bhutanese refugees into my life.  I began with 2; now have approximately 70 ... extended family ... and they adore me and respect me and I love them and help them adjust to our town, our cultural requirements, and hash out our "insane" differences.

Yes, I love Uganda and often would prefer to live with my friends, kids, and grandkids who entered our lives Over There, BUT, if I was there now, I'd be wondering how Nar and Phurba, Sai and Wang, Bijay, Ram and Dawa, Mandira and Pemba, and my "babies" ... and on and on ... would be doing.

So, I am a missionary... again.   And, where it used to cost thousands of dollars to be in those various places, it is often next to nothing, which fits into our budget quite well.


Overall, ministry hasn't changed. And I look forward to the times when the Lord opens a new, unwalked-upon path for me to begin a jaunt ... and can live my motto:. 
 

go new places, see new things, meet new people.

THE ANGEL, JOSEPH

For most Ugandans a taxi park is a normal part of life, but Westerners rarely have this “wonderful” experience; I hadn’t done it for several years. I arrived at the park in the blazing afternoon heat after spending three hours in transit, beginning with a walk, then a very uncomfortable ride on the back of a bicycle, followed by a 10-mile hot and dusty motorbike ride. Finally, I was ensconced in a matatu and finished my intense 30-mile jaunt to Kampala.

Not only emotionally and physically exhausted from ministry in Soroti, Uganda, unbeknownst to me, I was in the beginning phase of malaria. I plowed through the crowd, juggling around my heavy duffle and my bulky backpack. I knew when I reached the street I could find a ride to a hotel. However, I felt totally overwhelmed, not sure I could make it.

At that very moment, a young teen stepped up and asked if I wanted a “special hire”(a non-public taxi) and I said I did. He said “We'll find and I'll carry.” He reached for my bag. I told him “I don't have any ‘small’.” (I had no money for a tip.) In spite of this, he took my bag and said he didn't want money. I was absolutely stunned and couldn’t believe him. Even though he was slightly built and my duffle was very heavy, I was nearly certain that when we reached the park’s exit, an accomplice would grab the bag from him and make a run for it.  Consequently, as hampered as I was by the crowd and the heavy back pack, I rushed along, carefully keeping him in view. 

Amazingly, he was faithful. When we reached the street, he said he would find a special hire and asked me how much I would pay. I said 7,000// [Uganda shillings]. He said, "You can get for 5,000//.” Another miracle – even if he could have hired a taxi for 5,000//, it would have been normal that he tell me it was 7,000// and pocket the difference. Then he asked, “Do you know why I am helping you? My Pastor said we should bless our elders and God would bless us.” I nearly cried on the spot. I felt God’s hands encompass me with His gentle and very timely care.

Joseph found a car, arranged the fee with the driver, and escorted me to the hotel. At the reception desk, bending to retrieve my passport from my backpack, I started to faint. A security guard carried me to a couch in the reception area. Seated and resting, My Angel sat nearby, watching with great concern. A little later, able to change larger bills into some smaller denominations, I paid the driver, who was patiently waiting by the hotel entrance door. Then I gave Joseph 2,000// (four times more than what I would have paid at the park), which he tried to decline. I said, “You said God would bless you for helping. He is.”

I had many adventures in Uganda, some very difficult and sad and some very funny. But among the most wonderful was this amazing encounter with Joseph, my Taxi Park Angel.

AMOS 5:24

Let justice run down

 like waters

 

and

righteousness 

as a 

mighty and ever-flowing

 

 stream. 

MY 1ST JULY 4TH...

I was NOT only 1 year old at the time, but it's the first one I remember.  I was turning 5 years old near the 4th of July, because my birthday is on the 9th.

My Dad hadn't been in my life on a regular basis until about a year before that. 

In April, 1950, we moved into Kenton, Washington, near Vancouver, which was a slummy area and we lived in an ugly little house with brown asbestos siding.  The neighborhood had pigs and chickens running loose, and rats, and lots of dirt.  The kids were mean, too, and I was littler than most of them, having been born as a preemie.

 One day, shortly before the 4th, a 7-year old boy, a bully, came up to me and poked me under my chin with a firecracker punk and burned me.

When he took off, I ran to my parents and told them, crying, of course.

My Dad made a decision.  The best thing that could be done was to teach me how to fight.  So, he spent time coaching me on the "old one-two" boxing punch.  He worked me hard, believe me.

Then, a few days later, between the 4th and my birthday, the 9th, "Bully" came to the fence in front of our house and stared at me with a kind of mean look on his face.  My Dad happened to be in the front yard with me.  Dad nodded at me to go outside the fence.  He backed under a tree and watched.

I walked out, looked at the boy, walked up to him, and took my right arm and swung it at him the way my Dad had said to do it.  I hit him in his stomach with swing number 1 and immediately hit his chin with number 2.  I said each number as I was swinging my arm.

What did he do?  He ran away.  The bully had been bullied by a skinny, short, young GIRL.  Don't think he could ever have imagined that.  [And I bet he didn't ever tell anyone about it!]

Now, the results.

#1 -- Dad was pleased with how I did it.  Despite the fact that in our present day, a dad usually would approach the bully's family, back then my Dad handled it differently.  He had been raised as a fighter, period.  Family battles were constant in his life.  He didn't see a better way to deal with these tough situations.  So training me fit right into his view.  Seemed the safest thing to do for me.

#2 -- The enemy of Christ planted thoughts in my heart that stayed there until I was 20 years old and came to the Lord.  And even then, it did not change immediately; it took some time.  The thoughts/lies were:  You're on your own.  You fight for yourself.  Can't trust anyone else to take care of you.

And, this was the beginning of a life-style for me.  Yes, as you would see on some of my posts, I was a fighter, physically, from that point on.  [Some parents and kids considered me a bully!... Hmm!] 

The good result?  Now I am a "fighter" for our Lord and constantly focused on the spiritual warfare.  Fighting is not uncomfortable for me any more.  Why? Because my Dad is now my Heavenly Father and when I obey Him, moving into a battle, fighting spiritual "bullies" for the sake of other struggling people, the results will be eternal.


Happy 4th of July!

ISAIAH 42:16

This was a gift from my friend, Susie,

 13 years ago.  On June 1, 1999, the 

scripture was dropped into my life 

and expressed through her.  

We both knew that

 spiritual warfare ministries

were very important to me --

 and this verse popped up.

  AND the addition she shared

about the valley and mountain top is one of the most wonderful truths in our life.

Friends in the Lord count more to each other than anything imaginable 

when we walk together, 

serving Him.

So, with this wisdom planted in our

 hearts, souls and spirits,

Let us support, 

encourage, 

and bless

 each other.

PELICANS? IN UGANDA??

OK.  Here's the story.  Never told it before, not even mentioned it to my husband, which I did just as I was beginning this post.

Soroti, Uganda, is not near huge Lake Victoria.  Duh!  That's well known by anyone who is geographically oriented.  It's not near the Indian Ocean. ["Duh" continues.]  It IS near a lake-ish portion of Uganda, but not a consistent area -- I was told that the lakes sometimes had water reduced significantly at certain times of the year when the heat is much higher and the rain has backed off.  So, I never anticipated seeing a pelican in that part of Uganda, period.

When I was in Soroti to help some of those who were struggling after Joseph Kony's LRA rebels had invaded areas near the town, I never saw the lakes.  I knew they were nearby, but the pastors and other "protectors" wouldn't take me on any side rides, because they didn't know if we would be attacked.

I still was always surprised when I saw pelicans floating over the town, hanging out in trees.

About the time I was getting ready to leave Soroti,  I was invited to go out eating with a couple from UK.  Allan and Anne were YWAM leaders in Uganda and had been living at the Soroti YWAM compound for many years.  I had been staying there for some weeks.  They weren't young, probably in their 60s, but were very helpful and supportive of both public and missions-oriented Ugandans and for international missions folks who showed up, which would have been me at that moment.

They had bikes to ride to the eating area, and gave me one.  We made it to a main street on our edge of town, riding on a bumpy path across a big field.  Within a few minutes we reached the Taj Mahal cafe.  [YEP!  That was the name of this very non-fancy extremely casual place.]  We had a good time, eating cheap Ugandan food -- potatoes and fish and vegs -- and yammering and talking and sharing so many things we'd had in our hearts together while helping however we could in Soroti.  [They were leaving Uganda for UK soon and retiring from their ministry.  Wonderful couple!]

Then, just as it was turning dark outside, we left.  We grabbed our bikes and went across the street.  We started heading back to YWAM, and I was last in line, moving slowly.  That's when it was discovered that Anne's bike's rear tire was flat.  The two of us stopped.  Allan was a bit ahead of us.

Then a less-than-wonderful event occurred.  While we knelt next to her bike, suddenly white, sticky stuff began landing on our heads and clothes and legs.  She wore a hat; I didn't.

Immediately, we realized we had stopped under a long lane of scruffy trees.  And what spent long stretches of time up there were dozens... if not hundreds ... of pelicans.  Believe me, the result was awful.

Allan and Anne moved her bike out of that area to work on it.  The Ugandans across the street in front of the eating and hanging-out shops were pointing at us and laughing.  Always thought it was funny when Muzungus [white folks] had done something so dumb.

I rode back to the compound, not able to see clearly, because of the dark, and not having anyone I could follow, since A. and A. weren't leading me. I tried to keep my nose higher and higher so I couldn't smell myself.

When I reached my room, I tore off my clothes.  I went to a wash room and scrubbed myself the best I could, but it sure wasn't anything I could have done here.  In Omaha, at my house, I would have lived in a hot shower for hours!!!  And spread "Moonlight Path" all over my body, layers deep.

But now, remembering this event I LAUGH! ... Because the Ugandans laughed.  We made people happy during a disastrous stretch of time.  It was worth it.

It wasn't bullets or grenades hitting us in a war zone.  It was only bird poop -- so could have been much worse. 

================

The Godly part:  we were missionaries and doing good jobs, but other bits of reality sometimes blended into our lives, bringing seriosity --- and humor. 
 ===============
The photos were taken by freebe sections online, so, even though not mine, they are not stolen.  [Even if I'd had a camera in my hand when this event took place, I can't imagine that I would have risked taking pictures and getting dirtier.  That would definitely be a "not me" activity.]

PSALM 18:46