Wednesday, July 31, 2013

When You Don't Like The Plan

I was drawn to Christianity when Pastor Jeambey said God had a special plan for my life. I wanted that. Oh, how I wanted that. I wanted to be more than what I perceived I was. I wanted my life to have divine purpose. Somehow that meant I was special too.

I've held onto that idea since I was a teenager. And God has proven Himself faithful. I trusted He had things under control and would bring about what was best for me. I don't doubt He's got me covered.

But sometimes (I'm almost scared to say it), sometimes I don't like the plan.

Sometimes the plan seems awful and I'm not sure how I'll live through it. Sometimes it requires pain, lots of it, and I don't understand. Sometimes the plan robs my sleep and steals my joy and makes me do things alone. It puts a sick feeling in my stomach and produces buckets of tears. It takes my people away and stomps on my dreams and leaves me feeling confused and bewildered.

Sometimes the plan just sucks and there's nothing I can do about it.

Yet I have to believe it's for my best. Because if I don't, how do I get out of bed in the morning? How do I face each day thinking God's got it out for me? How do I ever find peace and joy and gratitude for hidden blessings?

I have to believe His plan is best. I have to. Call it naiveté or foolishness if you want, but doesn't trusting God help us cope? Does believing He's on the job, even though you hate what's happening, give hope? Can He use that trust to mold something beautiful into us? When I don't like the plan, won't blaming Him make it worse?

I have to assume His way will be something I am thankful for eventually. And though it may take my heart a while to catch up, that's okay. The believing helps me move on, keeps me going, and strengthens my faith.

I'm reminded of an old song by Babbie Mason. If you're struggling with God's plan for you right now, I pray this touches your heart.


When you don't like the plan, trust His heart, friend. Remember who He is and believe beyond all belief that He'll work it out for good somehow. The first verse I ever memorized was Proverbs 3:5-6. Thirty-five years later it's still a life line for me in days when I hate the plan.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him and he will make your paths straight.

Proverbs 3:5-6

God is good. And He is faithful. Even when we don't understand.

Believe it.



Friday, July 26, 2013

7 Quick Takes (Volume 244)


--- 1 ---


I've been reading fairy tales lately and I think the language is seeping into my brain. A friend texted me the other day with, "Good morning," and I replied, "Good morning, good woman."

--- 2 ---


Ladies Man and Princess Dawdle are on a missions trip this week. On Day Two, one of the sponsors posted this pic of Ladies Man.


I've seen him buy "ladies pants" and cut them up for chaps. He's worn one of my dresses to be the Princess of Princess and the Pea. And now he's donning ladies nightwear for the fun of it. Should I be worried?

--- 3 ---


Drama Queen is constantly sizing people up. She watched a television commercial and quickly came up with this observation.

Drama Queen: He looks like a pig who went through a fire.

Don't ask me. I have no idea.

--- 4 ---


Princess Dawdle and Ladies Man have been gone all week and I was quite surprised we haven't heard from them, at least from Princess Dawdle. I'm used to hearing about every detail of her days, every conversation, who said what to who and her reactions to everything under the sun. I was kind of going through withdrawals not hearing her voice.

Last night, just as I was typing this--It's been a strange week without Ladies Man and Princess Dawdle here. We haven't heard from them ONCE!--she called and I got to hear her stories in her trademark way of going on and on and on. She told me she'd gotten an email from Drama Queen saying I had been whining about how I hadn't heard from her. Whining? Me?! Psshhht. Anyway, it was good to hear her voice, but sad to hear how grown up she sounded. The reality that my baby is starting high school is really hitting me.

--- 5 ---


It's strange to think that in a few short years my life is going to look very, very different. I try not to get all sentimental about that. I mean, there's good in every stage of life, right? But I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me a bit.

Sometimes I think this mothering gig is a cruel joke. This cute little person comes into your life, steals your sleep, causes you to clean up all sorts of disgusting, sucks you dry financially, physically, mentally and emotionally, yet somehow captures your heart. You spend a good portion of your life trying to mold them into beautiful human beings, giving them the best years of your life, only to have them leave you.

And yet, how could I live without them?! Love you guys!

--- 6 ---


True confession time. It is county fair week in my neck of the woods. Would you believe I have lived in my town for almost 23 years and have never, NEVER been to the Gage County Fair? Does that make me a bad citizen? As a kid, I was in 4-H and the county fair was the big excitement of the summer. I loved baking my little plate of uniform cookies, but I totally stunk at sewing. It was always a stressful affair. I don't like sewing and cramming to get my projects done must have given me some weird aversion to county fairs now. Every year I think, we ought to do that, but a little voice in my head says, "Ew. That'll just be hot and sticky and if you walk around looking at the exhibits you'll probably feel inadequate and stupid as you see other people's amazing cooking and sewing and crafting skills."

Hey, maybe that's why I don't get a Pinterest account either.

--- 7 ---


Apparently I am a boring housewife because I'm feeling all international now with Facebook friends with names like this--Ahairwe Sam, Davis Kyomuhendo, Alfred Kanywe, and Edson Mwesigwa. I have another Ugandan friend, but silly Alex had to change his name and sound all normal calling himself Alex Kelly. Doesn't he understand he's messing with my image?! Anyway, the cool thing is these people are not just Facebook friends. I've had actual conversations with them!

I may have to learn how to say their African names so that when I'm feeling boring and uninteresting, I can slide them into conversation to impress others.

Or maybe just get more eye rolls.

I better just stick with who I am--Tami, the boring housewife. She may be bland, but she loves her life.

And I think that's gonna do it today, friends. Have a lovely weekend. Hey, maybe we should go to the fair! Nah. I'm chilling at home this weekend. Hope you do whatever floats your boat and read more Quick Takes at Conversion Diary!

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Come See For Yourself


Want to know more about my trip? Have a few questions you'd like to ask? Now's your chance!

I'm sharing my pictures (there are tons that didn't make the blog, let me tell you) and stories with whoever can make it to Christ Community Church this Thursday, July 25th, at 7:00. It will be very informal and you are welcome to come and go as you like. Here's a pic from one of my favorite days to pique your interest.


Everyone is welcome! I hope you can make it.

Friday, July 19, 2013

7 Quick Takes (Volume 243)



Drummer Boy went along as a sponsor on the Esprit de Corps tour and I was surprised and touched when I got a phone call from him Friday night. He had just called the night before and hearing from him at all when he's on a trip is rare, like it NEVER happens. I received a text earlier saying, "Ladies Man totally killed it tonight," meaning he had done a good job on his solo. The group had performed at a mission and many men who attended their concert were either drunk or high. Apparently it impacted everyone. He told me he was proud of the way the kids weren't shy to talk to the guys there and treated them with respect. The concert had gone well and the kids were moved. But what really got to me was the way Drummer Boy talked about his brother.

Drummer Boy: I wish you could have seen it, Mom. I wish you could have seen Ladies Man. He lost his voice yesterday and he had to sing another guy's solo because he was sick and he just got up there gave it everything he had.

As he was talking his voice choked.

Drummer Boy: He just nailed it. It was awesome. I wish you could have seen it. He didn't back away. He just got up there and was confident.

Me: A little different than the kid that had us all in tears dragging him to school, huh?

Drummer Boy: I know! I didn't even get to talk to him after the concert and he's on the other bus. When we get to the hotel I'm hugging the crap out of him.

The next night was their concert in Beatrice, and as soon as it was over Drummer Boy asked me what I thought.

Drummer Boy: Did you cry when Ladies Man sang?

Me: I got a little misty.

Drummer Boy: I got goose bumps again.

I've always loved the way Drummer Boy is not afraid to show his sensitive side and tell you how he's feeling, but seeing his genuine pride and appreciation for his little brother really touched me. I'm certain it deepened his relationship with him too, for I heard Ladies Man tell his sisters this.

Ladies Man: Yeah. Me and Drummer Boy bonded super tight on this trip.


Because our kids tease Kevin relentlessly, they decided he needed this shirt.


They thought it an added bonus that it was a bro tank. I love it. My kids are so fun.


Drama Queen has become obsessed with eyebrows, hers and everyone else's. The other night at dinner she couldn't stand looking at her dad's wiry, out of control ones and got a tweezer.

Drama Queen: Dad, here. I can fix you.

But as she started pulling she got a little grossed out and found hairs so long she thought she might hurt him.

Drama Queen: Ew. Dad.

Kevin: What?

Drama Queen: Why are they so long?

Kevin: Hey, I can grow hair. It's a talent.


Drama Queen's been working on a little project, a gift to give her boyfriend before he leaves on the youth group's Missions Trip. She bought tons of card stock and markers and stickers and has been clipping and pasting and writing all week.

Me: Are you going to be a scrapbooking mom who creates beautiful books for her children instead of giving them a box with their crap in it like me?

Drama Queen: I don't know.

Me: How much did all those supplies cost you?

Drama Queen: About 20 bucks.

You must understand that Drama Queen is VERY tight with her money. She'd rather not eat than pay for fast food. I was surprised she'd spend so much on paper products.

Me: Wow. Well, I guess you'll have lots left for other stuff.

Kevin (mocking): Yeah. You should have enough for your Control Center.

Drama Queen: Dad!


In last week's Esprit tour, Ladies Man was in a skit illustrating the inconsistencies we Christians sometimes display. This video is a little hard to hear, but you'll get the gist. For this performance they added an element not in the script, a squirrel that meets an untimely demise. (Reminder: Email subscribers will have to click over to the actual blog to view this.)



Ladies Man is leaving AGAIN today, but this time Princess Dawdle is going too. They're headed to Mississippi for the youth group Missions Trip. It's Princess Dawdle's first experience. She's been watching her siblings go on this trip forever. Last year as they loaded up, she said to me, "I want to get on that bus so bad!" But now that it's here she's a little nervous.

Not knowing about her conversations with me, Ladies Man asked her how she was feeling last night.

Ladies Man: Excited? Nervous? Both?

Princess Dawdle (trying to make light of it so as not to come off as the baby sister): Yeah. I guess. It'll be fine.

Ladies Man: Don't be nervous. It's a waste of time to be nervous. It's my new motto.

Princess Dawdle: Why wasn't that your motto when you were little?

Me: No kidding! Where was that motto ten years ago?

I'm not complaining, just happy he's no longer in scared-of-every-freaking-thing mode, plus it's fun seeing how it's given him compassion for the anxieties of others.

God does good work, no?

And don't worry, Princess Dawdle, you're gonna have an amazing time. Next Friday you'll be sorry the trip's almost over.


Though half our kids will be gone for the next eight days, life will be far from boring. We're attending our nephews wedding in Kansas. I'm giving a little teaser in church about my Africa trip on Sunday, then doing a more in depth travelogue on Thursday night. We've got a concert and a rehearsal and I'll be trying to spend as much time possible with dear friend who's moving soon. Life is full.

And God is good. I hope you know it to be true in your life too.

Have a great weekend, friends and enjoy more Quick Takes at Conversion Diary!

Friday, July 12, 2013

7 Quick Takes (Volume 242)







It's been a little quiet at the Boesiger house this week. Ladies Man went on tour with a Christian singing group and Drummer Boy went along as a sponsor. We haven't had to look at any belly hair all week! It's glorious!






Drama Queen is getting ready to move into her first apartment in a few weeks. She and one of her roommates spent a day going to garage sales and found some treasures. This sign fits her to a tee.


While her roommates are excited about lamps and funky tables, Drama Queen is excited to be the organizational nazi guru. She's already compiled a list of emergency contacts and is anxious to start on their billing files and schedules, calling it the Control Center.

Mmmm hmmmm.






When I got in my van and saw the number on my trip meter, I wasn't sure if I should drive off or not.


I made it home safely. Maybe it was a good thing I didn't let it set there too long. I once had a car repair bill come to $666.01. At the time I was teaching at a Christian school and my students were a little freaked out about it. Since the car was a sporty little Mustang they quickly got over it though.






There's good news about little Adrian! One of my team members read the post about him and directed me to the Sole Hope website where they posted a picture of the founders with some of the kids from Wakisi five days after we left.


Adrian is the boy in the back row with his hand on his forehead, smiling wide. The post said his feet are healing nicely and he has no new jiggers. It was so great to see. Also, notice the girl on the far right is one of the girls who wanted me to take her home with me. And she still has no shoes. Sigh.






At the risk of grossing you out, I thought you might be interested in seeing what jiggers actually look like. I found this picture on the Sole Hope website. Imagine a child with these all over their feet and even bigger with more callouses over them. Heartbreaking.







I'd had a busy morning and was putting away groceries after my Walmart run (okay, just using the phrase "Walmart run" tells you what kind of morning it had been already) when the meat drawer in my refrigerator came off track. I was muttering under my breath when Drama Queen came in.

Drama Queen: Are you on the struggle bus, Mom?

The struggle bus?

Me: What? No, I'll get it.

Princess Dawdle wandered in, looking half awake.

Drama Queen: Yeah, she's on the struggle bus too.

Where do they come up with these things?!






If you happen to be in our area and are looking for a good concert this weekend, Ladies Man, Drummer Boy and the whole troupe of Esprit de Corps will be performing at our church Saturday night at 7:00. You'll get to see Ladies Man croon like this.


Don't miss seeing the spirit of God flowing through this amazing group of kids.




That's all we got today, folks. Short and sweet. Enjoy your weekend and find more Quick Takes at Conversion Diary!



Thursday, July 11, 2013

Can You Take Us Home?


I saw them as I was collecting myself after leaving Adrian. Though I was taking deep breaths and wiping tears away, they waved and smiled. I waved back and was going to let it be, but they kept waving. We were leaving Uganda in a few more hours, so I decided I better make the best of it. Plus I thought sitting with them might cheer me up.

They rested on the ground near our van and kept smiling my way, so I sat down next to them.

"Hi," I said, not knowing if they'd understand.

"We like shoes" the younger girl said, eying mine. I thought briefly about giving them to her, but knew either girl would swim in my size 10. I stammered something about the Sole Hope people bringing more shoes the following week, which they were, and fumbled for something else to talk about, wanting to take advantage of their English. They were sisters, 10 and 12 and the older girl seemed a little sluggish, making me wonder when she had eaten last.

A Sole Hope worker behind us was teaching some small children a song.

"You sing for us."

"I'd rather hear you. I loved hearing the songs you sang to us earlier. They were beautiful."

The little one smiled and nudged her sister and they sang a couple for me. The younger smiled as she did so and I enjoyed the sparkle in her eyes.

"Now you sing," she said.

"How about we sing something together," I offered, "Do you know Jesus Loves Me?"

Immediately they both nodded, but when I started singing, they looked at me like I lost my mind. Apparently they knew a different version. They humored me, though, and listened quietly. When I finished I tried teaching them the chorus and they gave it a shot. Like so many moments in Africa, I was hit with the realization of what was happening. Here I was, sitting in the red dirt of Uganda, singing, Jesus Loves Me with two beautiful girls. Crazy! Who could have imagined?

After we finished singing I asked about their family. They told me their dad was dead. When I asked if they lived with their mother, they shook their heads.

"Our mother died. We live with our stepmother."

Everywhere I went in Uganda I heard stories about stepmothers and how traditionally they don't care for their stepchildren, even if the biological mother is deceased. They mistreat them, don't feed them or abandon them. There are exceptions, of course, but not many, so I worried about their home life.

"Where do you live?" I asked.

They pointed beyond the trees behind me and then asked a question I've heard countless times at home.

"Can you take us home?"

I knew I didn't have the skill to drive them over the rutted roads and wasn't allowed to drive the van anyway, so I just answered, "I'm sorry. I can't do that."

"But do you live in America?"

"Yes."

"Can't you take us home?"

They weren't looking for a ride home. They were looking for a NEW home. In America. With a woman they just met. What does that tell you about their lives?

"I'm sorry. I can't," I said sadly.

The older girl sighed and hung her head.

The younger sister wasn't giving up easy. "But we have no shoes. We have no clothes."

And what is there to say?

"I'm sorry."

They both sighed. I didn't know what to do. I had a few shillings left I knew I wouldn't spend in the few hours I had left in their country and considered giving it to them, but wondered if they had anywhere to spend it in the village. They couldn't get to town. And if their stepmother was as bad as the stories I heard and they took it home, it wouldn't do them any good. I felt helpless and wanted to do something, so I found a team member to ask about giving them money just to be sure.

"No," my friend Amy said, "besides all that, if the other kids found out they had money it might cause problems for them."

Then I sighed. They could live for months on the money I spend for groceries in one week, yet there was no way to help them.

Soon our team started loading and I told the girls goodbye. I hugged the older one and she barely moved, again causing concern about if she had eaten recently. As soon as the 10-year-old saw me embrace her sister, though, she was in tight and close.

"You keep singing," I told them, "Never stop."

After I boarded the van, they found me sitting in the back and came to the window for another goodbye. I pressed my hand to the glass and they matched it on the other side.

I was struck with helplessness and wondered what good it did for me to be there. Did I stir up hope only to dash it? How in the world could I make a difference in their lives? It made me think about the effectiveness and fairness of a two week trip to their country. Our team talked about it on the way to the airport and came to an important conclusion. We may not be able to make a dent in the vast needs on a two week trip, but any small mark left was better than none at all. You can only fail if you do nothing.

I left Uganda praying my little efforts made some difference, praying for those I could not leave with Bibles or shoes or money. I prayed for those girls. I still pray for them and know that if nothing else, they're being lifted to God and He can do what I cannot. I pray they remember the song we sang together, for when life is hard, maybe it can give them hope.

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

A Tough Day

When the day starts like this, you don't anticipate a rough road ahead.


The kids in the village of Wakisi welcomed us with five songs, some in English. We came there with a group called Sole Hope whose mission is to wash the feet of children, remove jiggers and give them shoes. We were there to take part in a foot washing/jigger removal clinic.

The village of Wakisi was the poorest village I visited while in Uganda. You can tell in a couple of ways. The structure behind the kids appeared to be the main building of the school and the one chosen to do the clinic in. See how it's made from mud bricks crumbling away from the wooden frame? The floor was dirt and there were no windows or doors in the openings for them.


I'm assuming the kids who sang us the welcome songs were all part of the school since they knew the songs, but not not even half of them had the blue uniforms. Hardly any had shoes. I saw immediately why this village was chosen.


A jigger is like a small flea that burrows under the skin, usually the feet, and lays an egg sac. These egg sacs can be as small as a pinpoint or as large as a pea and can be painful to live with. Imagine walking on a BB. Not only are they painful, but if not treated, the egg sacs will start to rot and can cause gangrene. A poor child in the village with gangrene isn't at risk for losing a toe or foot. Their lives are at risk, as good medical care is not accessible. If you can't afford a pair of shoes, how will you afford a doctor? Sole Hope goes into villages, treats any kids that come, sprays the area for jiggers and hands out as many shoes as possible to prevent further infestation.

I was fascinated to watch the jigger removal process. I'd read about it in Katie Davis' book Kisses From Katie and was very curious. At my house I'm known as Queen Picker. I love digging out slivers or squeezing blackheads. I've enjoyed digging leftover shed skin out of our lizard's orifices. My kids run the other direction if I notice a blemish I deem worthy of attention.

So jigger removal seemed right up my alley. I was hoping I'd have the chance to dig some of those suckers out.

Sadly, there were enough experienced people that I was not needed for the task. My job became recording the children who came through. They were trying to develop some records to follow up with these kids which is tough in the village. My job quickly changed when the first child came to our station.

Adrian looked to be about 8-10 years old. He wore a dirty t-shirt that was too big for him, the neckline sagging to his sternum and sleeve slipping off his shoulder. His khaki shorts had a hole in the crotch, so large that when he sat down I saw he had no underwear. His clothes quickly seemed minor as we got a look at his feet. I don't know how the kid walked there. Dark bumps covered, and I mean COVERED his toes, his heels, the sides of his feet. Some had been there a while as thick callouses developed over them.

The tools for jigger removal are safety pins and razor blades. If the egg sacs are new and not very big or deep, you take a large safety pin and dig around it to try to pop it out of the skin. They try to keep the egg sac intact so no eggs are left behind to cause problems later. It is a painful process because though the skin on top of the egg sac may be tough, the skin UNDER it is not. It is raw flesh. If the egg sac has grown larger, it often has calloused skin over top and a razor blade is used to cut away the dead skin, then the safety pin works the egg sac loose. We could tell that Adrian had been through this process before as his feet were full of old callouses. The woman working on him told me new jiggers had settled in the craters left from removing old jiggers.

From the moment she started, Adrian was crying. The bigger the egg sac, the more it hurt and he started trying to grab her hands. Soon I found myself holding his hands down and trying to comfort him through the process. Methodically the woman worked while Adrian cried out and other children came, were treated and moved on. HOURS later, the other children were finished and another woman joined to help.

As time went on, Adrian waned. They tried to give him breaks, but said they couldn't save some jiggers to be removed for another day. You never know if you'll see a kid from the village again. I saw a few egg sacs come out of his feet that were already rotting. The woman working on him looked at me and said, "Do you see? He is walking dead." To let him go without getting them all could cost him his life. So they kept at it. More people joined in, helping me hold the poor kid down. He was brave and knew what had to be done, but after about three hours, three HOURS, he was so weak he could barely sit and started leaning into my chest. His body was wet with tears and sweat and he looked faint. It was so hard to watch, my heart ached for him. As the women kept at it and the razor blade would shave away more dead skin I prayed for there to be nothing underneath, but with every swipe, two or three more egg sacs appeared. I'm pretty tough when it comes to handling injuries and gory stuff, but hanging onto that kid for three hours and seeing him become more and more limp really got to me. I quit watching his feet and just held him, looking the other way, praying for God's mercy, unsuccessfully holding back the tears.

One of the young Ugandan men who'd been traveling with us noticed me struggling and tapped my shoulder. "I take over," he said and I gladly let him. I walked outside and lost it.

By the time it was all over, they counted 57 jiggers removed from Adrian's feet. Each egg sac taken out left a hole in his foot. They slathered his feet in Neosporin and wrapped them in gauze. A pair of shoes was found for him. He was too weak to walk home. The Sole Hope people fed him and were going to drive him home and spray his house, hoping to prevent future infestation.

I asked how long it would take for his feet to heal and was told if they were taken care of properly, he could be better in a week. That too, is questionable for village children. We weren't sure who Adrian lived with. He told us his father and mother were dead and we couldn't decipher if he lived with a sister or grandmother. I felt better knowing the Sole Hope people would be checking out his living situation.

As we left that day, I wondered how many other children didn't come to the clinic that day. How many others have the same problems as Adrian but would not get treated? I know the line diminished throughout the day as children left when they heard the cries of their friends. Had our few hours there made a difference in the lives of those kids? It's hard to say, but I know one little boy who has a chance now.

Tuesday, July 09, 2013

Bible Study in Uganda, Part 2 or Tami's Lesson in What Real Devotion Looks Like


(If you missed Part 1, read it here.)

Often while doing Bible study I try to get women to relate to the people of the Bible by asking things like, "How would you feel if you were her?" I work to tap into their emotions, hoping they will internalize the Word, make it their own. In Uganda, however, I found this difficult.

Questions like, "How would you feel if you were Hagar?" or "How does it help to know God sees you?" or "What does it mean to you that God hears you?" or "Do you ever doubt God?" made no sense to them. They stared at me blankly like they didn't understand what I was asking.

I believe there were a couple of reasons for that. I don't think they take the time to worry about how they are feeling. These are women who walk to Bible study, have no running water, no power, no modern conveniences. They spend a good portion of their day getting water, purifying it and preparing a pot of something to eat throughout the day. They are in the business of surviving. Who has time to feel?

The questions about knowing He sees us and hears us were second nature to them. If they weren't so polite, they may have looked at me and said, "DUH! Of course He hears us. Of course He sees us. What is there to talk about?"

But when I asked things like, "How has God answered your prayers?" or "Have you seen God's protection in your life?" they came alive. EVERYONE had a story to share about God's goodness. Each one recounted hard situations in life, yet all ended with a form of "God is good." One women told of a hip injury which kept her in bed for an entire year, but said "God is so good to me." Another told of losing all her children except one son who was later killed in the military, but ended with a smile saying, "Look what God has done. I am still here." One told of going to town with her children and when she returned her house was on fire. Later she found out her neighbor started the fire on purpose. Her conclusion? "God was so good to me. He provided a better house than the one I had before." So many stories of tragedy, of losing husbands and children to death, of accidents and illnesses, yet these were their testimonies of God's love for them.

One woman told of her son's struggle with seizures as a child and I was shocked I had something in common with her. Both of my sons were diagnosed with childhood epilepsy and have been seizure free since they were 5 years old. I could honestly rejoice WITH this woman and her child's deliverance. I knew her joy. I could nod in agreement that truly God is good.

They gave me a beautiful picture of trusting God with absolutely everything, but I would soon learn more.


The night before my final Bible study session, I sat by a Ugandan pastor at dinner. He talked about the Muslims in Uganda. He said they were making huge strides in evangelizing people to their religion because they were more strategic, more aggressive than Christians. "Too many Christians just sit back," he said, "We're too gentle."

I asked him if he thought that was because Jesus wasn't aggressive and he disagreed, saying Jesus sought people out. He traveled from town to town. He got into people's lives and got personal. I wondered if what He was meant was not that Jesus wasn't gentle, but that He was more intentional, purposeful. The discussion left me thinking about how God might be asking me to be more intentional and bold in sharing my faith. As I prayed about it in my room later, I felt God telling me it was a matter of making the most of every opportunity. I wasn't sure what that meant, really, until I started reviewing my lesson for the final day.

The subject was Hannah, the mother of Samuel, who prayed for a son and promised to give him to God for his whole life if God gave her one. God answered her prayer and Hannah stayed true to her word, presenting the priest Eli with Samuel while he was still a young boy. I wanted to talk about sacrifice and how God required that of Hannah. We were to look at verses which talk about other sacrifices God might require of us--things like our will and desires (1 Samuel 15:22), our money and resources (2 Samuel 24:24), our hearts (Psalm 51:17, 19), our families (Luke 14:26), everything we have (Luke 14:33), our physical bodies, minds and thoughts (Romans 12:1-2), our time (Ephesians 5:15-16). I intended to lead up to the question, "Does this seem like a lot for God to ask of us?" Expecting them to answer yes, we were headed to Isaiah 53 and its description of all that Jesus gave up for us. I realized I had an opportunity. We were going to talk about Jesus's sacrifices for us. God told me I should ask them if they knew this Jesus who gave up everything for them.

I must pause here and explain something to you about me. I have long thought I am horrible at evangelism. To be honest, I bristle at words like "evangelism" and "witness." They conjure up images of the little Mormon boys who stop at my house and assume I am lost and in need of what they have. I've struggled with how I am to share my faith in a respectful way. Asking these women if they knew Jesus was going to be strange for me, yet I knew I was supposed to. "Okay, Lord," I said, "I'll just do what you say and see what happens."

The next day took me off guard. After we looked at the verses on the sacrifices God might require and got to the question, "Does this seem like a lot to ask?", I was blown away at their response. The entire group shook their heads and said, "No. This isn't a lot to ask. Look what He has done for us." The women who had lost homes and husbands and children all thought God had done so much for them, they could sacrifice anything.

My immediate thought was, "Great. There goes the rest of the lesson. They already know it!" But I forged ahead and we looked together at the great sacrifice of Jesus. And though the majority seemed settled in their relationship with Jesus, I went ahead and asked the question.

"Do you know this Jesus, the One who gave up His very life so you could be united with God?"

Many, MANY heads nodded, but I kept going.

"If so, I say hallelujah, but if not, you can meet Him today. If you would like to give yourself to Him today, come up to the front and take my hand. We'd love to pray with you."

Most of the women stood and many came forward, but five women stopped before me. Kelly asked Davis to verify if these were first time believers or people who wished to recommit their lives to God and all five said it was their first time coming to Jesus. Kelly, Davis and I took their hands and had the rest of the women circle us. I asked Davis to lead us in prayer so as not to clog up the moment with translation. I'm not sure what he said, but he was passionate and toward the end said a few phrases in English just for me and Kelly about God's Spirit coming to us. I then asked the women to sing one of their praise songs and as they did I stood in the circle, arm in arm with Kelly and the others and just let the tears flow.

God did something beautiful and I got to be there for it.


In evangelical circles, bringing someone to Christ is the pinnacle of Christian experiences, but as soon as the women left that day, I didn't feel like talking about it. It was days before I even told anyone on my team. Something in me said to ponder it in my heart the way the Bible talks about Mary, the mother of Jesus, doing. As I did so, I realized my own insignificance. I got to be a part of an amazing experience, but it wasn't anything I did. All I did was do what God told me in asking them if they knew Him. GOD pricked their hearts. GOD brought them forward. GOD saved them.

When I was preparing to go to Africa, many people prayed with and for me, saying things like, "May God use you in mighty ways." Most would qualify this experience as a mighty work, but I don't. I did what God said. Period. He did the rest.

I didn't minister to those women. They touched MY heart. They showed me faith is believing God is good when life is not. They demonstrated feelings are irrelevant to knowing Him.

Their lives proclaimed real devotion.

Sunday, July 07, 2013

Bible Study in Uganda, Part 1


When my friend Kelly first suggested I go with her to Africa, I couldn't understand why. Looking for a reason to get out of it I asked, "Why do you want me to go so badly? What do you see me doing?" I thought she'd quickly see I wasn't mission trip kind of material and drop it.

But she didn't. Without hesitation she said, "We're always looking for people to lead Bible study."

And I knew I was a goner. Bible study is one of my great loves in life. It has brought more growth in my faith than anything else. When she mentioned Bible study, I HAD to think about it. I had to face the fear. God hit my weak spot.

So from the get go, Bible study was one of my jobs in Uganda. I was given three days to meet with women from the village of Kabasindagizi, Wednesday through Friday of our second week. I prepared lessons on Hagar and Hannah, thinking women from a poor region could benefit from talking about how God sees and hears and gives hope and comfort.

On Monday of that week I was to help with a Marriage Ministry session, but many women appeared expecting Bible study. I had left all my material back at the hotel and wasn't prepared to lead, so Kelly and I teamed up to do a Question and Answer session. It was my first time really interacting with others who didn't speak English. They looked so different than me. They were gracious and eager and serious. One man even joined them.


I was glad to have Kelly there. I felt very intimidated and pretty inadequate (although it wasn't too unlike the way I feel at Bible study at home sometimes, staring at a group of women who expect you to have all the answers--me?! all the answers?! yikes!). Kelly's presence calmed me.

I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I was shocked when they started asking questions. One asked why God answers the prayers of some with a miracle and others don't see His hand. There were questions about fasting and baptism. One sweet elderly woman lamented about her inability to stay awake in church and prayer and asked what she could do. (We told her to just keep trying. God knows your heart.) All of the subjects were things we have discussed in Bible studies at my church. How could their lives be so different, yet we ponder the same issues?

I was so jazzed by the time our two hours were over. I loved their sincere desire to understand and know God's will. That day I was given the pet name Abwooli and when the ladies left they bowed into my shoulders and said my pet name. Our translator, Davis, told me it was their way of saying thank you and I felt honored. It was the first time being in Africa didn't seem like a bad idea.

When Wednesday rolled around, I was excited and nervous. I prayed the lessons I prepared would translate and trusted God to help me. The weather was beautiful so we sat under the mango trees outside.


I found going through the text with them a little harder than at home because few of the women had Bibles and those that did weren't too crazy about reading aloud. It took forever to traipse around the scriptures like I'm used to. I worried the time elapsed would cause the lesson to lose its impact, but Kelly assured me it was good for them. They needed to learn how to find the different books of the Bible. I alternated between having them read and reading it myself in English, letting Davis translate it for them.


The point of our first lesson was that God gives us hope and a major part of the lesson focused on the way God's Word gives hope. Scripture has been a life line to me since I started reading it regularly as a teenager. It has helped me hang on when I can't see a way out. It reminds me what is true and gives beautiful promises. God's Word is critical to me in my hopefulness.

But as I looked out at those women, it occurred to me they may not own a copy, so I asked.

"How many of you DON'T have a Bible?"

Tons of hands shot into the air. Of the women there, I would guess 75% did NOT own a Bible. My heart sank. How do you encourage people to gain hope from God's Word when they don't have it? I wished I'd had some to hand out then and there, but I didn't. I wondered what good it did for this stupid white woman to come talk to them if I couldn't give them what they needed most. I felt compelled to give them something. Though it seemed a small concession, I encouraged them to meet with someone who did own a Bible and write down verses on a card or paper they could carry with them.


"Truth is truth," I told them, "whether it's in a book titled The Holy Bible, or scribbled on a piece of paper in your own handwriting. It's still God's Word."

I felt bad I couldn't give them more, but when Davis asked them later to recount what they learned that day, one woman said she didn't realize she could still have God's Word without owning a Bible. She said she would remember that. I thanked God for giving her something to hold on to.

There's more to tell about my Bible study experience, but that's enough for today. Tune in next time to hear the rest of the story.

Friday, July 05, 2013

7 Quick Takes (Volume 241)



1) I often whine at home about my inability to get more done. I don't watch t.v. during the day, and rarely in the evenings. My kids are older and self sufficient. I don't work outside the home. I stay busy all day and yet I always feel behind. Kevin is used to hearing my frustrations and maintains a sympathetic ear, but I've always thought he was just being nice.

Imagine my great satisfaction, then, when I heard that while I was gone on my trip he had to take time off work to keep the house going like usual. It's not just me! There really is a lot to do! Now he totally feels my pain and I am one validated, relieved woman. I'm not lame after all.

2) The kids told me their dad did a pretty good job while I was gone with a few exceptions. The girls asked him to buy some facial cleansing wipes. He added it to his shopping list, bought them, and even refilled their dispenser, proud of his ability to handle things without me. Soon his bubble was popped when his darling daughters complained.

Drama Queen (holding a wipe): What is this?

Kevin: What? It's the wipes you wanted.

Drama Queen: Dad, these are FLUSHABLE wipes!

The poor guy didn't realize that all wipes are NOT the same!

3) I've been asking Ladies Man to paint something to fill my huge red wall in my office. I needed something big to cover up a bad patch job done years before. Lately he's been more into etching glass than painting and got really busy while I was gone. Look what I came home to see in my office.


4) Princess Dawdle had a friend spend the night this week and the poor girl was scared spitless by Drummer Boy. He has always been the kind of guy who sneaks up behind you and yells or just suddenly screams and catches you off guard. When he was in high school, he would often hit the table and yell in the middle of a meal to see if he could scare his sisters.

When Princess Dawdle's friend came out of the bathroom the other night, he was in the hallway and surprised her with a holler. It was a really good thing she had just come OUT of the bathroom instead of needing to go IN, if you know what I mean.

The friend thought it would be funny to do the same to Princess Dawdle, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get her. Princess Dawdle explained her failure to frighten easily in a nutshell.

"There's no scaring me after living with Drummer Boy."

No truer statement was ever said. I'll never forget one night Drama Queen had a friend over and Drummer Boy smacked the table during dinner. The girl about fell out of her chair, but the rest of us kept eating as if we hadn't even heard it.

I wish I could say I'm oblivious to all noise, but sadly, no. I fear one day I'll become a very grouchy grandma whose grandkids hate to visit because I'm always complaining about how loud they are. Maybe by that time I'll have enough quiet and alone time while home I'll be able to take it for short bursts of time.

5) Despite the extra noise and commotion, I'm am very much enjoying having all my kids home this summer. With their differing work schedules and activities, planning meal time can be very challenging though. The one thing I've always worked hard to do is have dinner together, but it seems nearly impossible now. The other day Ladies Man had to leave for a rehearsal at 5, Kevin had a wedding rehearsal at 5:45, Drama Queen got off work at 6 and Drummer Boy got off work at 8. Tell me, when would be a good time for dinner? I've found myself making things that can be eaten whenever people are home and just going with the flow. I'm losing my magical memory-making meal time touch. Or maybe I'm just learning to mellow out before becoming a grandma. Whatever. Besides, not having an organized meal time leaves me open to eat pistachios for supper! Mmmm.

6) Towards the end of my time away, especially the last three days, my kids tell me their dad got crabby. Even Kevin admitted things sorta fell apart. For example, they pointed out when I got home there was only one roll of toilet paper in the house.

Kevin (feeling frustrated and annoyed): I know. I know. What are you complaining about? Just use the flushable wipes!

7) They give him a lot of flack and tease him mercilessly, but they love him. Look at the video they made in honor of Father's Day.


That's all we got today, folks. Tune in next week for more stories of Africa (I hope you're not tired of them yet.). Until then entertain yourself with more Quick Takes at Conversion Diary.

Wednesday, July 03, 2013

The Introduction

While in Uganda, my team had the rare opportunity to observe an Introduction, which is a ceremony marking the engagement of a couple. It is a game of sorts between the couple's family to decide upon the dowry. This is as important as the wedding and usually takes days to complete the steps. The Introduction we attended was a shortened version. The ceremony itself lasted several hours. My friend and team leader, Kelly, went a few day earlier to help the family prepare and she told me the DJ played music ALL NIGHT the night BEFORE the Introduction. My team stayed for about four hours of the actual ceremony and then left early.

The setting was beautiful.




The ground was covered in grass like this and made a carpet of sorts.


Decorations included lots of flowers and pineapples.


Because the ceremony was not in English, it was hard to follow what was happening. There were several processions of different people. Men would bring in drinks, carried on their heads (this happened at least 10 times) as if some kind of offering. It was part of the bargaining process between the families. I have no idea how these men carried these on their heads. Each crate was filled with 12 glass bottles and very heavy. The young men who hauled them away after they were presented had a hard time lifting them from the ground.


Between processions a troupe entertained us with dancing and music.




Then we had the procession of the girls. The way I understand it, it’s a way of teasing the groom. The bride’s family presents all their daughters and he is to pick one. They started with these young girls.


They were followed by a group of older girls. Each time the girls were presented, they would dance in, sit on a mat and then be talked to by the groom’s father. Eventually he would place a paper with money in their hands and they would dance into the house backwards.

Finally the bride came in, flanked by her sisters and grandmother. She is the woman in the middle with the gold dress.


Finally after much ceremony, the groom came out and looked over all the women, settling on the bride. They had an embrace and she and her group danced backward into the house. The families dickered some more. Gifts were presented and a meal was served.

The whole time these festivities were happening outside, more rituals were taking place in the house between the mothers of the couple and other family members, such as the mother of the bride offering the women in the family of the groom a container of milk. I don’t remember the significance of the milk, but there was one.

We left after the meal, but the party went on a few more hours. Though it was hard to follow I was fascinated at the money spent and the time given to this cultural event. These families do not have running water or power, but they spent an enormous amount of money (the budget was $4000) on this ceremony. I guess it shows they value their people more than their things.

Tuesday, July 02, 2013

Love in Action Reaping Souls


After church on Sunday, our team planned to help a young Ugandan man clean up a property that he'd been forced from for months.


When Alex's father died, he left a debt on the family home that his son could not pay. Alex hid from police until he was able to pay off the outstanding debt. Because he was gone so long, the grass had overgrown and trash had accumulated on the property. Kelly thought our team could spend an hour or so to help the outside look a little nicer.

An announcement was made in church, asking for "slashers" we could borrow to cut the overgrown grass (for those of you who grew up as a farm girl like me, think corn knife). Would you believe they cut their grass by hand with these things? No mowers here!


Our thought was to slash the grass and go, but God had bigger plans. Soon after we arrived, people from church poured onto the property.






Neighbors gathered to see what was happening.


It was a beautiful picture of the body of Christ, both black and white, serving in love.




But God had even more planned. As the brush was being cleared, some women entered the home and starting singing praise songs. Soon many people came into the house to join them. It was so packed, I could barely get inside, and certainly couldn't make it to where the action was happening in the living room.


We were so crowded I had a hard time understanding what was taking place, but found out later that seven people were so moved by the outpouring for this young man that they dropped to their knees in the living room and wanted to know this Jesus who loves like this. It was a sacred moment marked with singing and prayer. I desperately wanted to capture the scene on film, but felt it may be an intrusion. Instead, I put my hand over my camera lens and recorded a little of the singing and part of the prayer to give you an idea. (This is only an audio file. There is no picture.)


Though I couldn't understand what was being said, the solemnity of the room did not escape me. I knew something special was happening, something that could only be described as movement of the Holy Spirit. It was a privilege to be present.