15 Filthy missionaries, climbing through vertical gardens, loose dirt, and misting rain to reach Ngite Waterfall, a spectacular crash of loud frigid water. The filth disappears as we plunge into the powerful force of the river. A great way to spend a couple of hours, away from the clamor of Bundibugyo, the fold of the mountains and the hidden world of loud, cold beauty.
Thousands of polio vaccines, dispensed over two days, all along the Congo border after a wild-type polio virus infection was confirmed in the chaos that is Congo. Dutiful Bundibugyo parents line up to protect their children.
Handfuls of friendships, which we cling to over the years, as five of our teenage-boy-sponsored-students spend an evening with us, animated conversation, a short Bible study on becoming godly men, a frank discussion of school issues. Some of these boys have been hanging around our house since they could walk. They are our kids’ primary friends here. We end the evening with an episode of a TV show in which anti-terrorism special forces rescue the world . . . Later the boy who became Luke’s closest school friend, in a Fort Portal program for A level, calls just to greet. These cross-cultural connections are difficult to nurture, and we do not take them for granted.
Two babies in trouble: one, the only surviving twin of Michael’s right-hand water-man, who presents on a Saturday evening with an incarcerated hernia. Because I know the parents, the recent loss, I send him to the surgeon in Bundi urgently, but warn them that the bumpy ride might temporarily solve the problem, remembering being in the same situation with Jack many years ago. It does, but he’s admitted anyway to treat the fever and wait for surgery. Then this evening baby Jonah, who has nothing more than a cold, but like his mother we consider the irreplaceable value of his little life, and worry over every cough and every fever. We all decide to put him on weekly malaria prophylaxis, as if he were a foreign visitor. Maybe we should address the injustice that puts all babies here at such a severe malaria risk, maybe singling out one baby is unjust. But our inability to solve all the problems should not paralyze us from addressing this one precious life. We err on the side of mercy and caution, even if it isn’t fair, and give him a four month supply of our expensive prophylaxis.
Hot rolls, long walks . . . The privilege of hosting 20-somethings, 3 university students and one grad student, includes heart to heart talks about life, and having appreciative audiences for food. Looking over plans for nutrition research, and passing on hard-earned understanding of superstitions. Enlarging our family tent pegs so that new faces join our worship, or speed scrabble.
Jars, a whole village’s collection, in 2 Kings 4, gathered by a widow and mysteriously filled with oil. In the morning’s sermon the young preacher quoted William Carey’s “Expect great things from God, attempt great things for God . . “ The oil flowed to fill every pot she brought, the abundance equal to her vision and industry. A great picture for us: we will only see as much grace as we risk needing.
1 comment:
Jennifer, thank you again for your incredible posts. Your writing is pure poetry; your vivid descriptions of every day events there present so many spiritual truths and life lessons and serve as a constant challenge and encouragement for me to stay focused on the Kingdom and to be grateful for all my blessings. I am in prayer daily for Dr. Jonah's family and hope that baby Jonah's health stays strong. God's blessings to you, your family, and the newly arrived students who are laboring there with you.
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