Friday, February 27, 2009
And the most vulnerable place for me to be pushed, mothering. Two of my kids are struggling, one with a difficult and misinformation-laden teacher, the other with just emotional overload and keeping up with assignments. Tears flowed yesterday. Neither even wants to invite any school friends to their upcoming Bdays remembering the hassle we got when we last tried to do that for Julia's Bday. Then today I had to tell one of my Ugandan boys that his hoped-for spot in a discipleship- intensive A level program did not materialize: only one boy from Bundibugyo was called on for interviews, and it was his friend instead. He started to cry, and my heart just broke too, as I put my hand on his shoulders and prayed for him. Watching kids bump into the world's hardness, watching them be disappointed, sense their limitations or inability . . is so hard. A Ugandan colleague whose work could really help us let us know he's moving away from this district, frustrated. It felt like every patient's mother today needed to ask me for money, and my sympathy for their plights (often these are girls who are teenagers themselves, and when they spend days without a visitor and are out of food, I know they are truly needy) tends to wear thin when it is overwhelmed by sheer numbers. To top it off, I was actually on my way out the door remembering to be thankful for the slight margin of survival provided by my houseworker who usually washes up breakfast dishes and sweeps the floors while I'm at work in the mornings (a more significant task on Fridays post all-team Thursday nights) when I received his message that his back was sore so he couldn't work today.
Well, Elijah ran, slept, ate, and found God in the wilderness. All good prescriptions for weariness, some we can do daily or weekly, others periodically. But right now the Birthdays are fast approaching (Saturday and Tuesday) so it is time to clean up and continue, to pray for Mutegheki's heart, to hope and cook.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Happy Bright came to clinic today, with his perky elf-pointy ears, sporting his Chinese-store-bought suit, and smiling expectantly. He's been in our program for most of his life, which at this point is about two months shy of four years. And though his stunted height looks more two-year-oldish, he's reasonably plump, and true to his name . . . happy and bright.
A Bundibugyo paradox, that an HIV-infected child and his mom can dress up for their day in clinic, because it probably represents one of the high points of the month (free cups of hot porridge while waiting, the festive sense of community in the crowd of fellow sufferers, the quick flash of candy from my pocket, the doling out of life-sustaining meds). And that they can be the happiest and brightest spot in my day, too.
God, and only God, can work all things together as in Romans 8 so that the earth is healed, the Kingdom comes, and individual good is maximized. I, on the other hand, often find myself thinking I have to hold in tension what might be good for a team mate and good for the team. In God's economy, those two goals are one. And for that I'm thankful. Because as a team leader, there are times when an individual seems to be struggling, to be unhealthy or depressed, to be homesick or floundering, to want to go back "home" . . . and one wonders if we do them a disservice to allow them to continue to serve here simply because their efforts as so much needed and valued. On the other hand, there are also times when someone wants to stay here, wants to push on through in spite of high levels of stress . . . and one wonders if we do them a disservice to allow them to stay because we need them. And for most of us, those two states can occur multiple times over the course of a year, or a day! As I sat thinking through this in church, how to encourage someone who dreads much about their life here and makes comments about wishing to leave, or how to wisely advise someone who might need a break they don't really want to take . . it was a great comfort to grasp, once again, that God always works so that an individual's needs are best met by the team's and the Kingdom's needs being best met, too. Whether that means extending a term or shortening it, He knows what He is doing.
So our job is to listen, to support, to watch, to trust.
And this morning my Sunday epiphany was confirmed, as we were led in prayer. A young team mate who decided to stay in Bundibugyo an extra year (and then felt the brunt of the loss involved) led us in looking at Mark 14, and the contrast between Judas who followed Jesus in order to gain something (and therefore felt it a burden) and Mary, who followed Jesus because of love (and therefore could pour out her precious oil to anoint Him). Given that it is one of my favorite stories and we also sang one of my favorite hymns . . . but I also came away from the prayer time awed that God is indeed weaving good for my team mate and good for all of us out of her difficult decision, that He speaks to her words of love as she pours out her life in a way that many might question. So I breathe a bit more deeply and entrust her into His plans, and feel encouraged to trust the rest of our team to stay there as well.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
60% of childhood death in Uganda is attributable to malnutrition, either as a direct cause or as a contributing factor in other diseases. Surely Jesus, who fed the lost crowds and took children on his lap, who called Himself the bread of life, would want His people to be bringing light and Kingdom here.
But hope lies in the people, the champions of this cause. Most impressive so far, Dr. Stanlake Samkange. His points: our programs must be evidence-based because malnutrition has a multitude of causes and there is no single solution, success requires political will which can grow when governments realize that the cost of INaction is higher than the cost of action, and programs must build institutional capacity at all levels, especially locally.
So here I sit with Heidi our nurse, Baguma Charles our nutrition extension worker, and Scott and Stephanie our former team mates who have returned to academic public health in the US. And I pause to breath in the beauty of this diverse role in life we have as missionaries. We work hands-on at the grass roots level, we channel charitable gifts from the US as well as UN-provided food, we coordinate and partner with the government's ministry of health and with community organizations, and we invite the investigation and innovation of the researchers. Few people have the privilege of that combination, daily contact with the hungry, some responsibility for policy and planning, and the stimulating opportunity for advancement of knowledge. Praying that this congress gives us solid science for doing good, and creative ideas for helping others.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
And for me, too. This morning has been an emotional slap, a reminder of what we face. Peter John's sister Grace came to clinic, the teenage girl caring for her orphaned brother who we bet on to pull him through some months back. He's so much better . . . but she asked to be HIV tested. And she's infected too. She's a bit old to have been carrying the virus since birth, so I started asking more questions, and finally it dawned on me what had happened. My gentle translator almost refused to ask, but now we're glad we did, Grace needed to unburden and had a good cry and I had one later. Grace and her brother had the same mother, but different fathers. So as Grace was caring for her dying mother in the end stages of AIDS, her mother's husband began to sexually abuse her. Now he's dead too, leaving her with an unwanted virus, no parents, and a sick sibling. Please pray for her to grasp hope, somehow. That on top of ward rounds and saying goodbye to my kids, rushing to make the plane . . . and to top it off, the bush baby Komba stopped chirping last night, I barely got him to take any milk today, and now I'm sure he's dying. Just a tiny little non-human life and nothing compared to the sorrow of those all around me, but still a way to grieve the pain of feeding and caring for a frail speck of breath that is then extinguished.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
His order is primate, suborder strepsirrhini, family galagidae, genus galago. I do not know if his species is G. demidoff or G. thomasi, or some other species I can not find information on. So if the biologist (?Jesse is that you) who commented that zoonoses were rare in this family wants to hazard a guess from the pictures and data, we'd love to know.
This must be Monday, the beginning of the week scramble for school uniforms (are they shrinking that fast, or are the kids growing that fast?), doling out yoghurt and granola, pasteurizing the morning's abundant fresh milk, making tea for my workers, checking the internet, looking for a misplaced school book, making lunches. A patient's mother arrives at 7:30 to tell me that her son (Paulo, thanks for praying for him!) finally got his surgery on Friday, to close his abdominal wall and allow him to urinate normally. She is followed by one of my students reporting back from his interview trip to the intensive Christian discipleship and boarding school work program . . no results yet, so we sit down to make a strategy and budget for beginning school locally in case he is not admitted there. Meanwhile my three kids lug their 20 pound back packs (!) onto their backs and get their bikes and helmets and head off to school, I finish my coffee and show my workers where to plant some papaya seeds. A little milk and fruit for the bush baby, and I'm off too, to the hospital.
On the ward Heidi helps me get started, then she has to head out to a smaller health unit where we are re-training nutrition outreach workers to begin another cycle of the Byokulia Bisemeya ya Bantu (BBB, good food for people) program. As soon as she leaves I discover that three one-month-olds with similar diagnoses (pneumonia) but dissimilar sizes (2, 3, and 4 kg) have had their charts mixed up, and it since mothers often don't read and don't seem to concerned about what their kids' name is (seriously I'm holding the papers and reading the names and they are all looking at each other unsure), it takes some doing to sort it all out. As soon as we get that settled (and no harm done, all were on the same antibiotics) . . . an unconscious child is rushed in, a huge looking 4ish year old, completely zonked. Mother and aunt had left him with other kids, no one seems to know what happened, later dad thinks he was hallucinating during the night . . . he's cool to the touch and floppy and sonorous, with junky lungs. Most likely thing around here is a convulsion that coincided with a major temperature spike from the release of malaria parasites, but he doesn't feel hot. I ask the mother if she sells alcohol. No. Could he have gotten into a stash, or taken any other drugs? No. But of course they weren't exactly watching. We bundle him into the treatment room, send labs, push dextrose, and put up drips for malaria. While I'm doing the lumbar puncture and the clear spinal fluid is dripping out of a needle in his back, dad remembers now that he found empty bags of alcohol at home . . this is strong stuff, vodka sold in plastic baggies. That explains a lot, but we can't afford NOT to treat malaria and pneumonia given his exam, until our labs come back. As I round, and look into each little face, I am reminded of how much children have to fend for themselves, how often they are left to their own devices. Tempting to gather them all in to my idea of safety, but I also see that they cling to their mothers (even to less- than-reliable ones). There are worse things than being ill, and being taken away from your mother must be one of them.
Roadblocks on the way home, with police. I hear someone calling on his cell phone to get help from his dad, it seems the police are confiscating all motorcycles without license tags (called number plates here). Which is most of them. The road is eerily quiet. I like it. Maybe they will find our stolen nutrition cycle. In the short ride home I'm called by the midwives who need help getting HIV test kits for antenatal clinic, and another staff who asks me to contact the water line fundi to turn the water back on for the health unit, and I get a message that our appointed doctor will not be around 4 or 5 days again this week. I try to be patient but mentally tally about 6 total clinical working days in Nyahuka in the six months of the contract . . . though many more I am sure at Bundibugyo hospital, or doing administrative tasks.
At home the blazing sun makes the laundry on the line smell like it has just been ironed, it is almost too hot to touch. The team is gathering for an afternoon nutrition meeting: we are hosting Stephanie Jilcott and Scott Ickes this week, as they follow-up on research they had begun while here. Soon our Ugandan extension workers (Pauline, Lammech, Baguma Charles) join us to discuss progress or lack thereof, what percentage of chickens are laying eggs and why, how we will improve home visit follow-up of malnourished kids.
Just as the meeting is beginning Ivan arrives to say that the CSB gatekeeper has told him the gate is closing on admissions . . . he must be accompanied by a parent to get in. I had intended to do this in the early morning, but Ivan was mis-informed by an administrator that the process BEGAN at 2 pm. Not wanting to be difficult I did not appeal based on my hospital and meeting schedule . . but now it turns out that the process ENDS at 2pm, and it is 2 pm. So I leave the meeting in progress and go through the newly organized and efficient admission process. Teachers at the gate inspect his trunk, criticizing him for having 3 casual-wear blue shirts (2 are required, so we thought 2 was minimum, but it seems they are treating it as a maximum). They make him remove one set. I recognize the entire process is meant to instill humility, to show off the bat who is boss, so I keep quiet. We sign in, confirm fees were paid, sign agreements to abide by the rules, get a meal card and dorm assignment. I like his dorm teacher, who was Jack's cell group leader last year, and I like the process of helping him carry his trunk down and seeing his bed. A half dozen other boys are in the dorm, and the boy in the next bed seems to know Ivan already. The shutters are closed and the room is dark and crowded, but livable. I shake Ivan's hand goodbye. Last year I got in the car and cried after leaving him in the miserable little unfinished brick primary school dorm. This year Ivan looks like he could cry, but he doesn't, and I think he's just nervous. We're both glad for him to be in Christ School. Back to the meeting, then back down to the gate to enroll my S5 student. It is my 5th time through the process so the teachers are beginning to expect me back . . . but this time it is less pleasant because the S5 deadline kind of crept up on us and my boy does not have all his requirements (only 1 graph book not three, only 1 belt not 2, etc.). So the teachers are harsh and I have to beg for grace. In the end though he is settled in a good dorm, a new one, with a staff member who was once a missionary-sponsored-kid in Ndyezika's class. A nice connection.
Back home in time to get my own kids snacks before they head down to sports practice . . knocks at the door, . . my neighbor with a headache and a covered appeal for moral support on her side of a family issue, the little brother of a good friend who is looking for help with school fees, a man who wants me to examine his wife because she's losing weight, a church leader who is caring for orphans and wants me to help one with shoes. Now, a debriefing respite between me and my computer which has done me good . . though I don't expect anyone but my mother and husband to read this far. Then I will go on to preparing dinner, chili, which requires tomato sauce made from actual tomatoes, beans, vegetable, corn bread made without a mix, that sort of thing which is tasty but time consuming.
The day will end with the peace of dusk, candlelight, community, food and shared life. It must be Monday.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
than we ever have, and it is not ideal. However the alternatives are
for BOTH of us to miss events important to at least one kid, or for
the entire family to spend more travel money, or for 3 of 4 kids to
miss more school. So we have tried to compromise (great line from
tonight's movie, To Kill A Mockingbird, where the dad explains that
compromise does not mean bending the rules but rather a mutually
agreed upon path that minimizes the losses). I took Caleb to spend
the weekend with Luke for his 16th Birthday. Now I'm home with the
three younger kids; Scott had meetings in Fort today and moved on to
do some errands in Kampala before flying to Kenya himself for the
required work weekend that parents of Juniors are expected to
contribute to preparations for RVA's version of the prom, the Junior/
Senior Banquet. He comes back to attack the all-day task of medicine
purchasing and family shopping on Tuesday, then Wednesday we literally
switch places so I can attend the first UGAN (something like action on
nutrition network) conference where two former short term missionaries
are presenting papers related to research done through our nutrition
programs. It is a long stretch. Being the only parent right now, the
only on-the-ground team leader, the only doctor, the only adult in the
house . . . all take their toll. I much prefer partnering with my
best friend. Prayers appreciated, that I would live in the freedom
and peace of God's power and not rush around in a frantic panic!
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
movies ever: Slumdog Millionaire. They had rented the DVD, then it
turned out that Caleb accompanied Andrew to a youth group meeting the
Sunday evening before our departure from Nairobi, and the Carrs were
going out to dinner with a departing team mate . . . leaving me home
alone with a video, which is a pretty rare event in my life. I keep
thinking about the film, and why it was so gripping. Pulsating music,
clever dialogue, creative cinematography, on-the-edge-of-your-seat
plot . . .but there is more. I think that there are occasional books
and movies that open our eyes to the reality lived by billions of
humans, painful to watch, wrenching, but important. Through the movie
we are forced to imagine encountering the depths of the world's
brokenness, first hand, defenseless. Like the children who live
within a stone's throw of my house, and in villages and city slums all
over the world, facing daily raw violence and sorrowful loss. But
more than an unblinking stare into all that is wrong sets this movie
apart: there is also the movement towards redemption: love persists
in the muck, goodness pushes back evil. Like Blood Diamond we see the
relentlessly pursuing love that mirrors God's, even when the object of
that love is damaged and rejecting like we are. Highly recommended,
though be prepared that it is not for the timid. Evil can not be
ignored in this movie, but a diamond of hope emerges from the mud.
More encouragement today: first patient in line, Kambale, growing and thriving, the little boy whose mother struggled to find her way home from Northern Uganda and deposit all her children with her own mother a week before dying of AIDS. Her act of bravery and kindness saved Kambale's life, at least for now, as his competent illiterate little old grandmother faithfully maintains his medicines. Next, one of my patients missed clinic and his mom just asked for a medication refill . . . because he started school. This was a child whose life hung in the balance for months as a baby. Now he's healthy and big enough to go to kindergarten. Later an unfamiliar-looking 13 year old girl was shown into my exam room, with records from Kampala where she had been on ARV's through a Baylor/Mulago initiative. It took me a while to realize she was one of our first diagnoses of HIV, many years ago. She also is healthy and strong and attending school, but has moved back to the "village" with her mother.
Who would have imagined that our AIDS patients would provide the clearest view of God's redeeming mercy, of hope?
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
And for little Fathila Katusabe, another 4 year old with a dedicated mother, whose seizures and developmental delay stem from an early infection with meningitis. She needs to see an orthopedic surgeon for release of tight tendons which cause her to limp. After 3 failed attempts referring her regionally, I connected today with an Italian Orthopedic Surgeon who agreed to evaluate her next week, also in Kampala. Fathila's mother's mother died during the Ebola epidemic. I know this lady has suffered a lot, yet she remains hopeful, and thankful. Pray that the lame would walk.
Lastly, I spent time today advocating for an orphan student who would like to continue his studies. He's a good boy, with potential, and almost no supervision or resources, medium good grades but not the top of the class, not popular with the staff. I feel like he needs to get away from the influences of Bundibugyo for a couple of years, get out of the rut in which he's been pegged, and am sending him to interview for a place in the Cornerstone Leadership Academy, a Christian intensive discipleship and A level program that is academically very successful. He'll be competing with kids from all over the country for only 25 spots, so the chances are slim. Still, we have seen God going ahead and fighting the battles left and right this year, so why not hope? Pray for M.J.
Nouwen defines discipline as creating the space in which God can act. This resonates with the picture of 2 Chronicles 20: the armies held back behind the choir, stopping to first fast and pray, then arriving on the scene to find the victory already accomplished. I would like my life to look like that this year, a few phone calls and then getting out of the way, trusting these children into God's hands.
Monday, February 09, 2009
We also got the excellent news this week that the doctor/educator couple who visited us in January decided to apply as missionaries with WHM. We enjoyed their company for a week, and would love to see God open the doors to call them back to Africa. They will be joining a young woman who is also a teacher in this Spring's intake process. We are excited to see God beginning to answer the very specific list of positions we posted and asked people to pray for (that's 2 of the 5 if both are confirmed!). We still have immediate openings for a family with a focus in education to partner with the Pierces, and for interim team leaders to shepherd our team, overlapping now with us and taking overall care while we are on furlough. Lastly a youth worker, someone who counsels and advises and ministers to our CSB grads and other young people. . . .
And one more plea, just in case this reaches the right person. Luke and a number of rising seniors at RVA would love to take AP Physics in the 2009-2010 school year, but there will not be a teacher for that class at RVA this coming school year. I'd be happy to put any aspiring High School Physics teachers in touch with the school. It is a tremendous community of people dedicated to supporting missions in Africa, and the students in an AP class would be a fun group to teach.
The Birthday Celebration was just right for a sixteen-year-old American-African. We picked Luke up on Saturday morning (thanks to our field director's the Carr's car . . ) and drove down the rift escarpment and over the valley floor to the extinct volcano Mt. Longonot. The area is preserved as a national park with a smattering of zebra, giraffe, gazelle, and elusive unseen buffalo and even leopard. We climbed a very dusty and strenuous trail to the rim, then hiked all the way around the edge. The peak is almost 9 thousand feet, with views out to Lake Naivasha to the west, the shelf of the Rift Valley escarpment to the north, and the dim and dusty settlements of the valley. Walking around the crater we balanced on a narrow trail with sheer drop-offs on both sides. It took us about four hours at a brisk pace to do the whole trail (and I mean brisk for teenage boys, which is on the edge of survivable for middle aged moms). The intense equatorial sun, the spectacular views, the complete freedom from other people, made for a wonderful day of just talking and enjoying each other's company. After rehydrating at the bottom again, we drove back to RVA. Luke's guardians the Newtons had prepared a great dinner for all of us, and later we joined the boys in the dorm watching a movie at the dorm parents' apartment. Sunday morning the dorm mom, Michelle, helped me make a big cinnamon roll, bacon and egg breakfast for 24 (all the dorm boys plus our families). We brought 16 fire-cracker-like sparkling candles that almost burned down the dorm (or smoked out the inhabitants) and were great hit with a bunch of high-school males. After church Caleb and I joined Luke for lunch in the "caf" and gave some moral support during homework, then had to say goodbye in the late afternoon to return our borrowed car to Nairobi before sundown and be ready for this morning's pre-dawn flight. Luke had another dinner and cake with the dorm parents last night.
I am thankful for Luke at 16: growing in confidence, able, tall, friendly, creative, cutting to the point, working hard. He's taken a lot of change in stride this year. I'm thankful for Caleb as a traveling companion: paying attention to directions and instructions, seeing the world with his sense of humor, carrying most of the stuff without complaint. I'm thankful for a weekend away from normal life to focus on two of my boys. I'm thankful for the unusual experience of traveling light, just two backpacks for the two of us, and traveling quickly, by air. I'm thankful for the nurture and challenge of RVA at this point in our lives. And I'm thankful that God saw my mother's heart and allowed me to drop in for this Birthday.
Friday, February 06, 2009
Now back to the adventure: This post is being sent, amazingly enough, from wireless internet in ENTEBBE AIRPORT, which has become a truly modern over the last few years. Caleb finished his Beginning of Term exams and I saw all my patients this morning, then we hopped on a small MAF (Cessna 210) plane in the afternoon, with Juliet who was taking Arthur to meet his maternal grandmother for the first time. We lifted over the ravines where river-side laundry casts a colorful confetti drying in the sun, saw kids scrambling for views of the airplane from the dust of their compounds, glimpsed the orderly rows of huts at the main army barracks and the sprawl of tin roofs which is town. Then over the bare shoulder of the mountains, the volcanic craters of Fort Portal, the countless miles of papyrus swamp, heading due east all the while, to Entebbe. Arthur was perfect, Juliet was enjoying herself, and Caleb and I were GREEN. Delicacy prevents me from disclosing how many bags were filled from our stomachs, but let me say that the lion's share was not mine. Sigh. Afternoon flights, pockets of warm air ascending, lead to turbulent times down in the no- extra-oxygen small-plane strata. We are glad to be sitting here in the airport on solid ground for a couple of hours, until the next phase of the adventure. We will reach Nairobi tonight and then on to Kijabe Saturday morning. Luke turns 16 on Sunday. I sat a few yards from here with him as an 8 month old when we landed in Uganda for the first time, a bit lost and alone (our ride arrived a few hours late . . .). It has been an adventurous 15 1/2 years since then, and I am thankful to be rejoining him for the commemoration of this special Bday.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
So Scott will spend half his day making a police report, and we will file notices with the organization (EGPAF) which funded the purchase of the motorcycle, and we will scramble to find other means of transport, and we will hire three night watchmen, something we haven't done in a long time. And we will pray, and ask you to do the same, that the "God of the Angel Armies" will send a few troops our way. As an act of mercy as well as justice: women with AIDS and hungry children are going to suffer the consequences of this last break-in, and the consequences will eventually catch up with the thieves.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
paper-thin wings and ominous swoops, returning to roost in the royal
palms, darting under the eaves and through the trees. I stand in the
yard and look up as one of the bats erupts in shrieking. An eagle
hawk grabs an oblong bundle of bat, holding it in his talons as he
flies low and powerful between the trees, confident, conquering.
Since ebola, it is hard not to see bats as evil, harbingers of
infection and rustlers in the dark. In our prayer times this week
we've been focusing on the fact that the unseen reality trumps the
visible problems . . . So as I stood watching this improbable scene, I
thought of angels, swooping down with precision timing and selection
to protect us from a particular crisis. Outnumbered but still
individually strong, pulling one problem out of our way, but not
eliminating the swarm of evil. Yet.
Later, the hospital is abuzz with the events of the night. Scott is
told by the staff that a rather prominent business man, a trader on
cocoa, who lived nearby, died. How? He was relieving himself outside
in the night when he was attacked by a snake and bitten SEVEN TIMES.
In painful places. People told us with assurance that the snake even
followed the man onto the hospital ward. I suppose it is reasonable
to assume it could have been gathered up in his sheets or clothes as
it tried to escape while his collapsed form was being transferred to
care? But the idea of a snake that stayed around long enough to
strike that many times, had enough venom to kill a grown man within
the hour, and appeared even on the hospital ward, is rather grim. A
tangible enemy, to be sure, unlike the subtle viruses, mutated genes,
or creeping fungi that attack most of my patients. I came home
forgetting the small victories (a preemie reaching 2 kg thanks to his
mother's skin-to-skin incubating care, and going home; a stick-figure
little sickle cell patient now smiling, naked except for her stuffed
giraffe tied to her back, having climbed from the ditch of
malnutrition to resume her march along the road to health) . . . in
the tragic arrival of a primary-school age child who presented with a
massive brain tumor growing out of her nose, her blind eyes swollen
shut, beginning to have trouble breathing, her disease having
progressed months untreated and now nothing more to do than palliate.
I am reminded, as I am many days, of the apt watch-phrase: "How goes
the world?" "The world goes not well, but the Kingdom comes." We
could use a few swoops of the hawk.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Sunday, February 01, 2009
And our vision of hope was boosted by the weekend's news of the O Level exam results. Christ School emerged as the leader in Bundibugyo once again, with 5 students in Division One and NO FAILURES. To put that in perspective, we had 5 of the 8 division one scorers in the district, but only 51 of the 435 students. That means a Bundibugyo student at CSB was 8 times more likely to score in the top tier than average. And in our district more than 10% of students fail, but none of ours did. We still have a long way to go to meet the highest national standards, but this was hopeful news.
And so we meet the new year. The giants in the land are real (alcoholism, abuse, cheating, mediocrity, rebellion). But the grape- cluster vision of what God can do makes it worth the risk to move forward.