Three Months of August

I am going to write about the weather. I realize that, when it comes to topics of conversation, weather has the reputation of being uninteresting, the sort of topic to which one resorts when one has nothing else to talk about, phatic (that's my new favorite word! Definition included at the end for your convenience).  There is a quote from the Emma Thompson version of Sense and Sensibility that runs something like, "If you cannot think of anything appropriate to say, you will please restrict your comments to the weather." However, I must ask you to give the topic of weather the benefit of the doubt in this case. Lately, the weather has been quite interesting.

For the first week or so after I and my compatriots arrived in Karamoja, the weather behaved in a normal, fairly predictable way for September. During the mornings, it was sunny and warm with highs in the 90s; in the afternoons, it often rained for a breif period; and then the evenings were clear and a little cooler. And then the rain stopped. 

Karamoja has two season: wet and dry. Normally, from what I gather, January and February are the peak of the dry season. Between the temperatures, which frequently reaching into the 100s, and the hot, dry winds, it sounds a little like living inside a convection oven to me. Come April and May, temperatures fall to the 80s, humidity rises, and the rains start. Some years, it rains consistently in the afternoon; sometimes it pours all-day-'ery-day for days at a time. The wet season typically lasts into September with October starting to dry out. Or so I have been told. 

When, in September, we had multiple days in a row with no rain. One of the missionaries explained that we were experiencing weather more typical of December than September. By the beginning of October, the river/culvert we cross on our way to the Preschool was completely dry. It seemed that dry season had arrived unseasonably early. Fortunately, as most of the harvesting was already complete, the weather did not seem to  be an immediate problem. There was some concern about the possibility of this turning into an eight-month dry season. On the positive side, the drought made for good road conditions, which, what with all the coming and going from the mission compound, we were grateful for.

Then, about a week and a half ago, it started to rain again. Not just the pleasant afternoon thunder showers that cool things down and make one scamper to retrieve one's formerly forgotten laundry from the line. Oh no, we actually had rain over night! [Insert gasp of surprise here.] Even more surprising, we had rain before noon last Sunday. Unheard of! Well, maybe not completely unheard of, but certainly uncommon. It is muddier now than it was when we first arrived two months ago, during what was supposed to be the wet season. For the past week, I have tried to gage before leaaving the compound for school if I can get away with wearing sandals or if I would be better off with rainboots. 

Having lived in Western PA for 11 years, I am not a stranger to rain. It is interesting to see, though, how rain effects daily life here. Rain turns the road from Mbale (the closest city, about a two-hour drive in good conditions) into mud. Rain makes "footing" from place to place a bit more of an adventure. Rain sometimes prevents people from coming to work entirely. Fore example, Lokeris wisely chose not to try swimming the swollen river just to come to work. Cloudy days affects our solar power, which in turn affects the water pumps. Ironically, the water supply at the clinic is more consistent during the dry season than during the wet because of the solar system that it runs on. 

Any yet, I don't hear anyone complain about the weather. I hear speculation and bewilderment because the weather patterns are all discombobulated and discombobulating. (Personally, I still feel like it's August.) I hear concern about traveling plans and prayers that the roads will be ok. But the weather isn't something to complain about. In all fairness, maybe no one complains because we still get our daily dose of vitamin D and sunshine despite the rain. At least for me though, there is a different attitude towards the weather. 

In the states, I would almost always check the weather for the next day. During this past summer at camp, I checked the radar usually multiple if not dozens of times in a day. During the winter, I checked the temperature to try to gauge how many layers I should wear. Here, I can't even find a weather forcast for Nakaale. My "weather forcast" consists of deducing from the rain on my roof at 2:00 am that the walk to school will probably be muddy. I think my own attitude toward the weather has become much more laid back and much less concerned with what is not immediately happening. The weather will be what the weather will be, and we'll roll with it. We don't control it; we don't even understand it. But we know the One who does.

* denoting or relating to language used for general purposes of social interaction, rather than to convey information or ask questions. E.g. "Hello," "How are you?" and "Nice morning, isn't it?"

Primary School

In my last post, I tried to provide a glimpse into KEO's preschool program. In this post, I would like to share a bit about KEO's work with the local public primary schools. 

It is only within the past two or three weeks that I have started to get a feel for this work, the challenges and opportunities it presents.  In part, the reason for this is that, when we first arrived, the public schools were in between terms. Then it took about three weeks for the new term to truly get underway. Sadly, there is a self-perpetuating cyle in the local schools: the teachers do not always come in the first few weeks because they say the children will not come; and the children do not come because the teachers are not there. Reportedly, attendance at school is consistently inconsistent throughout the whole term, but for those first three weeks it is particularly poor. To quote many of the KEO teachers in reference to the public schools, "They are still organizing."

Nakaale Primary School

My first visit to Nakaale Primary School was highly educational--for me, at least. A few days before, there were some kind of local elections. Based on my conversation with Koryang, one of the KEO teachers, I think that the elections were for an office like parish (think county) judge. Evidently, there had been "corruption" of some kind with the Nakaale voting process, so they were holding the elections again. When we arrived at the Nakaale Primary school, there was a small canopy set up as a voting booth and a growing group of people waiting for the voting to begin. As a result of the elections, there were also no classes at the school that day. We still taught the weekly Bible story to a group of children and intrigued bystanders, but it was not the typical primary school experience. If there is such a thing as a "typical experience" working with KEO.

The other public school to which we go is Alamacar (pronounced Ah-lah-mah-char) Primary School. While Nakaale Primary is maybe just under half a mile from the mission compound, I estimate that Alamacar is roughly a mile and a half. Alamacar tends to be better run than Nakaale, although, again, it took them a few weeks at the start of the term to organize. On my first trip to Alamacar, there were four or five stuents in the P4 (4th grade) classroom and maybe eight or nine in the P7 classroom. We taught the weekly Bible story and gave a short health lesson. And by "we," I mean the Karimojong KEO teachers; I was still in the active observation phase.

A few words about the primary schools in Karamoja. First of all, tuition for the public schools is free. Typically, there are still some miscellaneous costs associated with attending school. For example, students must provide their own writing instruments, workbooks, and textbooks. Officially, the students are also required to buy a school uniform; however, if a student shows up wearing somthing other than the uniform--which the vast majority of them do--no one seems to care. Now, the cost of a pen and workbook (i.e. a dozen or so sheets of lined paper stapled together in booklet form) are far from prohibitive. Textbooks, certainly, are more expensive, and I have yet to see a student with a textbook. All in all, though, a student could attend Alamacar Primary School for free. The cost of school supplies (necessary or unnecessary) is more of an excuse than a reason to not attend. And, sadly, it is an excuse that is frequently used. 

General Assembly at Nakaale Primary School

Attendance, as I said, is consistently inconsistent. Often, students who are old enough to be in the primary schools show up at either the preschool or one of KEO's village outreaches. Why? I can't say exactly. Maybe because they like the variety. Maybe because they don't see the value in school. Maybe because we at least have teachers who are trying to teach. 

One day, at Kopetatum, I found myself trying to teach the letter rotation to a group children whom I'd guess were around 10-12. Because they were older and were clearly more advanced than our normal preschoolers, I tried to give them words to spell out on our slates. Imagine: a muzungu (white person) who has been exposed to the language for barely four weeks trying to remember as many Ngakarimajong nouns as possible so that a handful of eager children can try their hand at writing them out. Thank the Lord Ngakarimajong spelling is phonetic! One student was particularly quick and also knew enough English to call, "Another one!" whenver he finished and I approved or corrected his spelling. In reality, he may have been the only student in that group who actually knew how to spell; most of the others just tried to copy off of his blackboard. As I corrected a student's sideways rendition of a letter, I figured that they were at least getting practice writing. But I digress.

Over the past few weeks, I have gone to Nakaale Primary School once or twice a week. Usually, we send a team to Nakaale on Monday and Wednesday and a team to Alamacar on Tuesday and Thursday. Public schools in Uganda teach a "Religious Education" course. Purportedly, the religion taught in this class is Christianity, although the older grades are also supposed to learn about Islam. From my reading of the textbooks, though, I would say that the religion presented is Moralistic Therapeutic Deism. (If you are unfamiliar with that term, I highly recommend looking it up. I am too verbose as it is to include a description in this post.) At any rate, the local public schools are more than happy to allow us to come and teach Religious Education as many days a week as we are willing. 

Over the past 10-15 years, the pastors on the mission have written and translated hundreds of lessons of Bible stories from Genesis to Acts. Many of these lessons are formated into neat, 8-page booklets, complete with small pictures and a memory verse in English and Kjong. Many are not. That is one of the things that I do: I format these lessons into booklets that we can then take to the primary schools. We try to choose stories for the primary school classes that are either directly referred to in the Ugandan Religions Education textbook or coincide (to some degree) with the moral lesson presented in the unit. For the younger grades, we often bring pictures that go along with the Bible story. Since the older grades are supposed to be taught in English, we muzungus can try our hands at teaching as well. Martha thinks it is helpful for students to hear a native English-speaker read in non-Ugandan-English.

I am starting to think of P6 at Nakaale as "my classroom." I have also taught once or twice in P5, but P6 is my favorite. My first day in the classroom, there were only four students. That's the most I've ever seen in P6. The advantage of the smaller class, though, is that everyone can individually get practice reading. Oh, and it is much easier for me to learn their names and get a sense of who is is struggling. Korobe reads fairly well in both English and Ngakaramajong. Lokiru can read but only slowly. Lorot is in the middle.

The P7 Classroom

In my mind, our task in the primary schools is two-fold. First, we are simply giving the students the opportunity to read. Remember, I have yet to see a textbook in a classroom here. The booklets we use in our program are the students' to keep. They can take them home and continue to read about David and Jonathan, about the Parable of the Talents, about the Lord's Prayer. Whether they do or not is obviously not up to us, but at the very least, in those 45 minutes, they can practice. Secondly, we are trying to share the good news of Jesus Christ. In every lesson that the pastors have written, there is a point of connection to Christ. My hope and prayer is that God will use our work in the primary schools to reveal Himself to these students. 

Call me Israel.

After two and a half weeks at the mission compound, I am in a slightly better position to begin describing my life and work here. Since I have been working mostly with Karamoja Education Outreach (KEO), I'll start there. As its name suggests, "KEO is a ministry Orthodox Presbyterian Uganda Mission providing basic literacy instruction and a support system for local public schools." For a concise and informative description of KEO, please refer to KEO's Facebook page.  

On our (i.e. Angela, Rachel, and me) first day of working with KEO, Leah, who directs the community health education program, escorted us the three-quarters of a kilometer from the mission compound to "The Preschool." Neighboring the clinic, the Preschool is a one-and-a-half room concrete building that serves as HQ for KEO.  When we arrived outside the preschool, we greeted and shook hands with a handful of Karamajong KEO staff and about a dozen three- to ten-year-old kids. Martha, our missionary of oversight and the director of KEO, oriented us quickly to the inside of the preschool: the number corner, the letter corner, the blackboard, bookshelf, and story-room.  

The Preschool

From 8:00 to 11:00, our job was to "actively observe." The first order of business was hand and face washing, which the teachers help the children with outside, using a basin and pitcher of water. There were probably around 30 kids when George, one of the head teachers, called for everyone's attention and began enthusiastically relating the story of Joseph in Egypt. At least, I think that was the story. It was all in Ngakaramajong, so I didn't follow much more than the occasion "Yosef." From where I was sitting, I couldn't see the A-Beka Flash-A-Card pictures. At the conclusion of the story, George led everyone in prayer, and then turned the student's attention to the memory verse on the wall...also in Ngakaramajong. And then it was time for rotations. The KEO teachers divided the children into four groups and took them through a sequence of four activities/subjects: numbers, letter, story, and playing outside. 

If the the previous paragraph makes it sound like the goings-on at the Preschool are nice, neat, and orderly, please do not be misled. In all fairness, I don't know that the words "preschool" and  "nice, neat, and orderly" ever belong in a sentence together. However, on that first day, despite the hand-drawn, color-coded chart on the wall, I could not follow the movement of the students and teachers. I volunteered to "actively observe" in the story room, which meant that I read a picture book in English for one of the KEO teachers to translate to a group of eight or so children. For another rotation, I went outside and played catch with a couple kids. As for the other two rotations, which I presume happened, I was unaware of their transpiring.

KEO teachers and students in the Math Corner during free time

Near the end of the morning, the teachers herded the children back to the floor of the main room for more story/preaching time with George and singing. Many of the kids watched as I and my compatriots clapped along with the singing but, for obvious reasons, did not join in. And then they sang "This is the Day." In English! In the midst of so much that was unfamiliar, that simple song was delightful. Although I now almost know one of the Karamajong songs, I still think "This is the Day" is my favorite, and I can even sing the Ngakaramajong version.

After school, there was the weekly staff meeting for KEO which takes place back on the mission compound. Roughly 20 staff members gathered on a tarp under "the Ministry Bonda." Martha led the meeting, speaking mostly in English with George translating, although she did break into Ngakaramajong several times. Martha has a PhD in linguistics and has been here for about 15 years. Interestingly, most Ugandan's in this part of the country find American English hard to understand. However, if one adopts a Ugandan English accent, the process of communication is often much smoother. 

On Friday, we joined one of the village outreaches. In addition to the Preschool, KEO also sends teachers to two local villages: Moru Asia and Kopetatum. The village outreach is a modified version of the program run at the Preschool and includes Bible story, picture book story, numbers, and letters. However, the "building" that we use in Kopetatum is a roofless stick-walled structure under a tree, so "rotations" that day consisted of divided the 30-some children into two groups in two opposite corners. Before starting, I "actively observed" some of the KEO teachers "mobilize," which means we walked through some of the village telling any children we saw to come to school. Mobilizing gave me a closer and hard view of the village. Circular, mud huts with thatch roofs, thorn-bush fences forming a corral for livestock, goats and cows sometimes meandering or lying right next to houses, hard-packed open spaces for drying and threshing sourgum. 

That is a breif snap shot of my first two days with KEO. To be honest, it was a little overwhelming and I couldn't help but wonder how on earth I could be helpful when I don't even speak the language. In fact, that first week I prayed a number of times, "Dear Lord, what am I doing here?" I wondered if maybe I didn't really come because I thought God wanted me to but simply because I wanted to. I reminded myself numerous times that my prayer during the whole decision-making and preparation process was, "Lord, if you open the door, I'll go." And then, sometime last week, while walking back from Kopetatum after teaching the story of the Israelites in the wilderness (with a translator), I was struck by the Israelites' pattern of doubting God's good plan for them. Of course He didn't lead them into the wilderness to die! How absurd for them to think so. And yet, when things got difficult or were more challenging that expect, they doubted. Well, I am Israel, doubting that God actually wants me to be here just because (shockingly!) transitioning to life on the missionary compound in Karamoja in Uganda is hard. As my dad reminded me, how many college freshman wonder in those first few weeks of classes if they made the right decision? I think it safe to say that moving to Karamoja is a bigger transition than the average college experience. I always try not to think too harshly the Israelites in the Old Testament because I know that their story is my story. Yep, call me Israel.

After two and a half plus weeks, I am happy to be able to honestly report that I feel much more comfortable here. I think I am starting to figure out my role and how I can be helpful to Martha and the work of KEO. More on that later though, as this blog post is already rather long. Let me leave you with a few prayer requests.

- Health and swift recovery for the several people (including yours truly) who have been hit by some kind of stomach bug in the past week.

- Safety and smooth conections for all the mission folks who are traveling over the next few weeks

- Angela, Rachel, and me that we would continue to adjust and learn how to assist the work of KEO.

Karibu!

"Hodi!" 

"Karibu! Ikijaunitae iyong."

The approximate English translation of this exchange is as follows:

[Knock, knock!]

"Come on in! You are welcome."

I write this not to flaunt my new language skills (which, please believe me, are most unimpressive) but as a segue into a pictoral tour of my new home. Let me show you, as best I can, where I now live.

The dwelling before you is where I and two other Missionary Associates (M.A.s), Rachel and Angela, reside. The building on the left is our bathroom. Inside our room...

and turn to your left...

Tada! The partially-made top bunk is where I sleep. 

Here is our bathroom.

Allow me to point out a few features. First, the trash can is for toilet paper, as it cannot be flushed down the toilet. As a matter of fact, our toilet currently needs some assistance to flush even without paper in it; hence the jerrycan in the corner, the spigot above the toilet, and the piece of hose protruding from the top of the tank. Other fun things to note: our "sink" is the spigot outside on the right. The two doors to the left (only one of which you can see here) are our showers. You may notice that they are padlocked shut. Bathroom, showers, and bedroom doors--we are to lock them all when not in use. Thus far, we have successfully not misplaced the key. 

Coming out of our room, you can see

The mission consists of three contiguous compounds. We live on the northernmost compound which also includes "The Big House" on the right; the T's house on the far half of The Big House;  the pale blue house (for lack of an official name), and various other outbuildings. The kitchen in the Big House is a shared between five M.A.s, including yours truly, and is also where our common lunch is prepared.

Please note the lovely biscuits on the counter. The really stupendous thing about biscuits, I have learned, is that one does not need to wait for them to rise. From start to finish, it is barely a 40 minute undertaking. This is my second batch of biscuits in the past week. 

And here is "The Main Room."

This is where we gather for lunch. I also like to do my morning devotions here on the blue sofa. As I compile this blog, that is where I am currently sitting.

That is a brief tour of my living space. Allow me to show you a glimpse of where the mission itself is situated. 

Here, you are facing the mission coumpond. Now turn to your right. 

Nestled up against the foothills of Mount Kadam, the mission is between savannah and mountain. 

Mount Kadam to the South

The view as you turn west.

And savannah to the North.

This is where I live.

Traveling

Dear family, friends, and faithful supporters--all those whom I know and love best in the world and who are now geographically so far away,

Where to start? I have dreamed, thought, prayed, and made plans about going to Uganda for so long and now I am finally here. Let me start here: with the fact that God answers prayers and got me here safely. Thank you to everyone who prayed for traveling mercies. It was a very real encouragement throughout the journey to know that there was a veritable army praying specifically for me. As I start this blog (which will probably take me a day or two to finish) it is September 2, and I arrived on the mission compound in Karamoja, Uganda this afternoon around 3:00 pm. I left Pittsburgh on the evening of August 30. I am happy to be here.

I imagine that, if you are reading my blog, you probably want to hear what life in Uganda is like. I am afraid I cannot tell you yet. I still don't know. I still haven't quite even figured out my living situation. Not that I don't know where I am living; I happen to be lying on my mosquito-net-enshrouded bed right now. Rather, I haven't yet figured out how to live in my situation. Currently, what I am experiencing is similar to what I feel when I arrive at a campsite, drop my pack, and start deciding how to set up camp. The campsite is home for the night; it just doesn't know it yet. Similarly, this is home now for the next eleven months; but there is still some figuring out to do. Probably a lot of figuring out. For example, getting into a top bunk that has a mosquito net around it is surprisingly difficult for this newbie. 

All that to say, stay tuned for more details about life in Karamoja. Right now, I want to share a little bit about the journey here. 

On Sunday, August 30, I bid farewell to family and friends in Pittsburgh. Despite the rather lengthy line at security, I got to my gate with more than enough time to sit and ponder. Even then, it was hard to believe that I was about to leave the country and go to Uganda. Uganda! That's on the other side of the world! I felt as if I had finally come to the edge of the cliff. As I waited to board that plane, I was standing right on the brink, right at the point of no return. Except I wasn't actually standing. I was leaning forward: slowly, irrestistably, tipping out of control. I wrote in my journal, prayed, and read my Bible, taking comfort in the fact that God had brought me to that point which meant that, as scary as falling off a cliff is, that was right where God wanted me to be. 

By the time I arrived in Philadelphia, the "tipping" sensation had developed into a full-blown "falling" sensation. Happily, in free-fall, there is less of an illusion of control than in the losing-one's-balance phase, and therefore anxiety gave way to resignation. By the time I was over the Atlantic and unable to sleep on the London-bound, red-eye flight, somehow my metaphoric parachute released and my fall started to deccelarate. Evidently, hanging in a slowly decsending parachute gives one time to wonder and pray, "Dear Lord, what am I doing?" In fact, it gives one time to wonder and pray that quite a lot. "What on earth am I doing?"

And yet, despite my rathernerve-racking internal experience during my flights, God continued to make the way straight. My luggage was handled quickly and neatly at the Pittsburgh end; checking through security went well; navigating strange airports provided some welcome mental and physical exercise; I did not accidentally leave any personal belongings behind; I had no trouble getting a Ugandan visa at the Entebbe Airport; both of my luggage containers made it intact; and, at 1:30 am, September 1, I saw a man holding a sign with my name on it outside the Entebbe airport. That is a lot of prayer requests answered. As we drove to the hotel around 1:30 am, a monkey darted across the road in front of us, bringing the realization home: I am in Uganda. I finally hit the ground after falling all the way from Pittsburgh. 

Two other gals flew into Entebbe that night, also heading for the mission in Karamoja. Rachel is staying for six weeks and maybe thensome; Angela is staying for nine months. All three of us will work with KEO--Karamoja Education Outreach. From Entebbe, the three of us and Milton, our driver and escort, traveled to the city of Mbale. Mbale is the closest major city to Karamoja and about a 5 hour drive from Entebbe. The drive offered a variety of new sights and experiences: driving on the left side of the road; traffic patterns that operate apparently without traffic lights, turn signals, or noteable cushions of space between vehicles; the ubiquitous "picky" (i.e. motorcycle taxis) that can carry three people or, sometimes, a whole flock of live chickens. Around mid afternoon, we arrived at a hotel in Mbale, where we were met by Jim and Jenny K. and Martha and Bob W. from the mission. 

Uganda is seven hours ahead of Pennsylvania. To avoid serious jet lag, might I make the following suggestion: don't sleep at all on your overnight flight. Then, you will not have jet lag. You will only be short on sleep, which you can proceed to catch up on as you would any other time you find yourself short on sleep. By Wednesday morning, I had to remind myself that, only a few days ago, the current time was seven hours earlier. 

Wednesday was also the day that we embarked on the last leg of the journey to Karamoja. From Mbale, the mission compound is only about 80 kilometers. However, the time it takes to traverse this distance fluctuates signifigantly based on the weather and road conditions. Roughly the first 20 km are paved road; the rest is red clay and dirt which, in the rainy season, can become deeply rutted and muddy. The missionary company was equipped with water, food, mud-boots, and a tow rope because, as Martha said, if you are prepared for rain, it will be sunny, but if not, not. In God's providence, not only did it not rain, but a work crew had been repairing the road over the past week, and the road was in fantastic condition. At least, that is what Martha told me and Rachel. Lacking a frame of referance, we took her word for it. Clearly, we are no experts on Ugandan throughfares. 

Around 3:00 pm, September 2, I arrived on the compound of the Orthodox Presbyterian Uganda Mission. Lord willing, this will be home until sometime in July, 2016. My address here is as follows: 

Fiona Smith C/O OPUM

PO Box 1307

Mbale, Uganda

East Africa

And that is the tale of my travels. Stay tuned for what happens next. Personally, I am eager to find out.

Prayer requests:

- For me, Angela, and Rachel as we adjust and try to learn our new roles and responsibilities.

- That the three of us would pick up the language (Ngakarimajong) quickly.

Walking by Faith

When I started this blog, I was visiting my grandparents in Lancaster. Now, I am sitting in Texas. In these three weeks between the end of camp and my departure for Uganda, I have/will travel from Pittsburgh to Baltimore MD, Rochester NY, Belton TX, and a couple places in between to visit friends and family. My aunt and uncle in Pittsburgh have kindly opened up their house to me as a home-base in between trips. On hearing my travel itinerary, my brother commented, "So, you're kind of a hippie right now." Personally, I think "hobo" is the more accurate term, but who am I to argue with a police officer?

With less than a week before my departure date, I wanted to take the opportunity to reflect back on my summer working at camp. Although I did not grow up going to summer camp, at the conclusion of my two years there, I'm a believer! I know I've said it before, but it is worth repeating: camp is weird. Super weird. And hard. And exhausting in many different ways. I still haven't quite recovered from the virus I caught the last day of camp. But it is also incredibly good. I don't have to understand the how or why to know that God does indeed use summer camp--as strange as it is--to teach people about Himself. 

One of the themes for me that came up several times was that of living by faith. And it occurred to me that, at camp--when we live and work in a community of believers who are dedicated to sharing the Gospel with kids and each other--we can see more clearly than usual. If faith is the assurance of things hoped for, and what we hope for are the promises of God, and so many people stand ready to remind us of those promises, then, we can almost--almost--walk by sight.

In part, at least, I think that is why it is hard for many to leave camp. Many return to communities where walking by faith feels like a lonely struggle. A concern and sometimes criticism of summer camp is that it offers a "mountaintop experience" that leaves people only temporarily excited about their faith. At best, the "spiritual high" quickly wears off in the face of the normal routine. At worst, the mountaintop experience leads to disappointment, frustration, and despair because it is not sustainable. In all fairness, it isn't sustainable. Neither excited emotional states nor summer camp are sustainable. So why go to camp? 

On a backpacking trip in the Wind River Range of Wyoming, I was introduced to the following quote by René Daumal: 

“You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again. So why bother in the first place? Just this: What is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art of conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one can no longer see, one can at least still know.” 

At camp, we are reminded of God's promises so regularly that we can almost walk by sight. "One climbs, one sees." And then we leave camp. "One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen." And that art that Daumal talks about, of living down the mountain in light of what one saw from the summit, that is walking by faith. When we do not immediately see or feel that God's Word is true--that we are forgiven and loved, that God is sovereign and faithful, that our Lord will never leave us nor forsake us--we can still know these promises to be true.

As I anticipate leaving for Uganda in just a few days, it is good to be reminded of what I saw while on the mountain at camp. I have never been to any country in Africa, and I cannot even imagine what adjusting to the Karamojong culture will be like. My grandfather, who is a retired pastor but still an active evangelist, advises newly installed pastors to "fit in." The new pastor is, well, new. New to the particular norms, ministry foci, challenges, traditions, and strengths of the community. Hence the instruction to "Fit in." Right now, I have absolutely no idea how to fit in.

My other concern at the moment is that I deeply desire to be useful and simply am not sure that I will be. Quick aside: my greatest fear in life is purposelessness. If I was not a Christian and did not believe in the sovereignty of God, I might be a nihilist because I don't know that I could be convinced that anything really matters. Thanks be to God, though, that that is not the case. Aside over. In sending me to Uganda, God does not guarantee my usefulness to that work. It is possible, I suppose, that I might spend 11 months wondering what I am doing so far from home. I hope not, but it is possible. 

Walking by faith means trusting that there is a purpose, even if it is not my own usefulness. One of the Scripture memory verses from camp was Isaiah 30:18-21. Verse 21 says, "Whether you turn to the left or to the right there will be a Voice behind you, saying, 'This is the way; walk in it.'" 

In spite of last-minute concerns and trepidation, I still believe that God is leading me to Uganda, and I am excited to follow. Throughout the last several months, my prayer has been, "Lord, if You open the door, I will go." A few days ago, I received my support update: between one-time gifts and monthly support pledges, I am fully funded! The Lord provides. And I infer that He is holding the door open. Thank you to so many people who gave. I am staggered by your generosity.

I fly out August 30. 

Please pray for safe travels for me and for others from the mission compound both in the air and on the ground. Getting from the city of Entebbe to the village of Nakaale is evidently its own adventure.

Please also pray for me and the other missionary associates as we pack and try to put the rest of our lives in order.  

Funds, Funtivities, Farewells

Obviously it has been a while since I posted an update, and an update is certainly in order. So much so, in fact, that I don't know where to begin. Within the past few weeks, I learned that I am over two-thirds of the way to my fundraising goal of $14,000 (Glory, hallelujah!); I said goodbye to my parents, who are moving to Texas and whom I may not see for over a year; I've been working as the Assistant Director of Adventure Education at a summer camp, where a "typical day" might include scheduling ropes course activities, observing the operation of said ropes course activities, inspecting gear, helping set up/tear down different "things" (intentionally broad noun), checking in with and teaching my staff, watching the radar (it's been a very wet summer so far), and assisting with general camp programming; and, I came to the rather startling realization that I am scheduled to leave the country in less than two months. Now to break that all down a bit.

I'll start with a story about funds. Once a month, around the middle of the month, I receive an update from the OPC Foreign Missions Office detailing the financial support given the previous month. Prior to my May update, which I expected around June 15, I was at approximately $5,000 with another $2,000-ish pledged. In other words, I was about half-way to my goal. Consequently, with only a few months left before my intended departure, I still felt a little uncertain as to whether or not I would actually be able to go. I waited expectantly for my May update. But it didn't come. June 15 passed and no e-mail from the OPC. June 20 came and went, and still no update. I e-mailed but received no response. I wondered gloomily, did no update mean there was nothing to report? Finally, nine days after I originally expected the update, I called the OPC office. After a short round of telephone tag, I got in touch with Linda, who manages the accounts for the Missionary Associates.

Linda explained that the office scanner was down for the count--a problem with which I can certainly sympathize. Obligingly, Linda then pulled up my account. I don't remember exactly how the following conversation went, but I believe she said something about $7,000. I'm sorry, how much did you say? About $7,000. Total or just from May and June? $5,000 for May and about $2,000 so far for June. Beg pardon? Can you say that again? $5,000 received in May and $2,000 thus far received in June. Wow, sounds like I have some thank you notes to write to a lot of very generous people! (Thought but not spoken, I'll believe it when I see the official update.) The next day, the official update came: $5,000 given towards my going to Uganda in the month of May. Current total: $10,000. I do indeed have a lot of very generous friends and family members to thank!

I expect my update for the month of June next week.

In the meantime, I am working at camp. As someone who never attended a traditional summer camp as a kid, I know that camp is hard to understand without actually seeing it. Ligonier Camp and Conference Center, the camp where I work, runs several different camping programs during the summer, ranging in length from two days to two weeks and for campers ranging in age from six to 17. During the course of a summer, some 1,700 kids come through camp. In addition to having a fun and memorable session of camp, we want every camper to hear the gospel. We seek to share the gospel with kids in a plethora of ways and activities, sometimes explicitly and sometimes simply by example.

I won't go into too much detail about camp because, as I said, it's a little hard to understand without actually seeing it. Last summer, I had the very great pleasure of showing my parents around camp on what happened to be Christmas in July. While I assured them that camp wasn't always quite that odd--there were Christmas carols playing over the loud speakers and the maintenance worker mowing the lawn was wearing a Santa hat--I cannot deny that camp certainly is at least rather odd. Costumes, dancing before meals, silly skits and songs, and even accents are a normal part of life. Camp life is also very busy. Morning meeting starts at 7:30 and the day ends sometime around 10:00 pm. Currently, we are halfway through our forth week of camp--or seventh week if you count all of training. It has been a remarkable good summer so far despite the rain, and yet people are understandably getting tired. At our all-staff devotions this coming Friday morning, I expect our Executive Director will remind us that this is the time of the summer where the choice to rely on our own strength or on the strength of the Lord becomes not only stark but also crucial.

I also expect that there are a handful of lessons that camp has for me as I prepare to go to Uganda. I think of the story of Joseph, who never expected to be second in command of Egypt and certainly was not ready for that job when he was a young man, favored by his father and arrogant towards his brothers. However, God took him and prepared him, one step at a time, for "the next thing." He was faithful to God as a slave in Potiphar's house and God blessed him. Perhaps that was where he learned to manage an estate. Then he was imprisoned. Even there he was faithful and given responsibilities. Perhaps that was where God taught him humility. And then Pharaoh made him second in command of all of Egypt, and by then, in God's providence, he was ready for it. I trust that God is doing the same thing in my life. While I cannot clearly see what lies in front of me--although I hope I see it more clearly than Joseph did--I trust that my experiences here at camp are preparing me to serve in Uganda. Concerning the specifics of what I am learning at camp, I will save that for another blog as this one is already getting quite lengthy.

One last closing thought. As I said, it has finally started to register that I am leaving in a relatively short period of time. The aforementioned developments helped this sink in, as did saying goodbye to my parents. Obviously, I knew going to Uganda would mean saying goodbye to a lot of people, including my parents, for roughly a year. However, with them moving to Texas, the moment of farewell came sooner than I was mentally prepared for. I said goodbye to them in the lodge at camp. As they headed to the car, I returned to my room to deposit the iPad they gave me (so I can FaceTime them while in Uganda). I stood in my room, feeling off-balance, that something wasn't right, as if I couldn't quite believe I had just said goodbye. Then, I dashed out of my room and out of the lodge, hoping to catch them in the parking lot before they left to say goodbye again in what I hoped would be a less surreal way. Instead, I watched and waved as they drove down the driveway.

I think it is easier to leave than to be left.