Unceremonial Hand Washing: A Ugandan Moment

There are some experiences in life that bring tangible understanding to lofty ideas. I had plenty of those experiences in Uganda. On experience in particular taught me something about humility.

This is Charles -

Charles is connected to the missionary team through one of the churches they have established in Uganda. The missionary team uses Charles as a professional painter for various projects they may be connected with.


Charles was raised in typical Ugandan poverty. He is now married with 3 children of his own, including a set of twins. He is in his early-twenties and the eldest of 3 sons (that I know of from our conversations), and his parents are dead. He and his wife now are raising his younger brothers along with their own children. And regardless of their financial limitations, this is not at all a burden to them. Charles seems to consider it a privilege. It was my experience that Charles has a pervasively generous spirit, gracious, kind, and humble. His faith is unencumbered by the complications of worry or overly ambitious personal aspiration.

Well, I'm getting too philosophical too soon. I haven't even begun the story that I want to share.

On our days of working around the missionary compound. I was on the painting team. This put me in close contact with Charles. And I had the privilege of working closely with him. His english is fairly weak. But we managed to do more than communicate. We were able to connect. And we were able to build one another up in faith toward the fullness of Christ. I know that sounds just like a preacher talking. But I really felt the dynamic of our exchange was fundamentally spiritual and a direct expression of Ephesians 5.

Well after a full day of painting with oil based paint (and of adapting to a very different approach to applying paint than I am used to - which did not seem at all wise to me) it was time to clean up. I began to work at cleaning up my tools. Charles tried to stop me. I persisted and then began to clean up trash and other items. Charles again began to resist my assistance and I eventually realized that he was trying to communicate to me that he wanted things done a certain way and that I was not understanding how he wanted those things done. I acquiesced and went in to clean myself up.

I washed my hands and resigned myself to the idea that I would just have to wait for the oil-based paint on my skin to just be sloughed off in a week or so. I wasn't bothered by that at all. I was just so glad to have had a great day of work. I went inside to change my clothes for dinner, putting my shower on hold since there was not going to be time. When I came out of my room, Charles - still in his blue coveralls, was looking for me. He grabbed my wrists and guided me outside.

Everything was put away except for a can of diesel and a rag. Charles, still gripping my wrist squatted to the ground and pulled me along with him. He picked up the rag, wet it with diesel and began to silently clean the oil-based paint from by hands and fore arms. Slowly, caringly, generously, he found each splotch and scrubbed them away.

My initial instinct was to resist. My personal space was being invaded. My sensitivity to having another man hold onto my hand as he washed me up was raging. But I knew that to resist his offer of service would be a rejection and I adopted a receptive attitude. And I realized how humble he was to serve me this way. And I realized how proud I was. I realized it because although I was surrounded by only Ugandans and missionaries, I was practically embarrassed by my situation. Eventually I got that emotion under control and I could just appreciate Charles' gift of service.

I have been in foot-washing services on multiple occasions in my life. I have had my feet washed and I have washed feet all in the name of practicing humility and faith. Each of those experiences was challenging and moving. Each was led by God's Spirit and significant to my spiritual growth. But none was so significant as my hand-washing experience with Charles. It was not a planned event. It was a generous offer of service in a real life circumstance and God altered me much more significantly than my previous experiences.

Thank you Charles. While you washed away visible marks on my hands and arms, you imprinted indelible marks on my soul.

HIV, Tuberculosis, Demonic Spirit, and Salvation

While in Uganda, on our first day of medical ministry, I had a powerful experience of God on the fringe. ("God on the fringe" is a phrase from a book by a similar title to describe and evaluate how God works powerfully among the people who live life on the fringes of middle class society.) In Uganda, we engulfed ourselves in the fringes.

On this first day of medical ministry, we had finished setting up the clinic and most of us from epic were milling around looking for the areas in which we could be useful. I, myself, was feeling a bit like a third wheel when our missionary approached me to go out on a "house call." I had heard the muffled conversations about a woman out in the bush who could not make it to the clinic for care and it was obvious that the missionaries and the medical team were trying to decide what to do about it. Well, it was decided that Justice (mentioned in a previous post - "By the Hand of God") would take a team out to the house to treat the woman. We knew that she was being treated for HIV disease by a government program and that she was unable to make it into our clinic for treatment, which meant she had also been unable to make it the even further distance to the government clinic for help.

Scott, our missionary, asked me to pick a someone from the team to go along, and to quickly get ready to take off. My head spinning from the unexpected opportunity, I silently asked God who I should invite along. His answer was swift and specific. "Get Jordan," is what I knew God was saying. My impression was so strong that I immediately approached him and gave him the low down.

Soon we were loading up in the bus for our journey out to serve this lady who we only knew through the description of one of her neighbors. ( I found out later that the term neighbor would be very loosely defined in this circumstance. The ladies lived about 1.5 miles apart and could only travel to one another by foot.) We drove out of the village (we had set up our clinic in a church there) and down the road for what seemed like about 6 miles. We had the neighbor woman along for a guide. We made a turn or two and then quickly stopped near a walking path. We could see a hut off to the side of the road, so Jordan and I began to prepare ourselves to disembark. Well, the bus took a sharp left turn off of the road and onto the walking path (not that it fit on the single person foot path worn into the savanna grassland). We drove for just a little bit and then parked and got off the bus. As we began to walk out further into the bush, it began to rain and Jordan and I knew that we were on a genuine adventure.

We soon reached a mud and stick hut with a metal roof and a sheet hanging over the door. We waited outside for just a moment as Pastor James (one of our team hosts for the missions trip) called inside. Soon we were invited in and made our way through the dark, windowless front "room," past a dividing wall into a sleeping space at the back of the house. (There were 2 other sleeping spaces in the hut. Both more private than this one.) We found a young woman ( I guess in her upper 20s) lying on a mat with a bowl of very humble food sitting next to her. She tried to raise herself up to address us and it was obvious that she was paralyzed.

Justice began to discuss her medical condition and the course of her treatment with her. She was not improving in regard to her paralyses and the tuberculosis which had settled in her spine, causing an enormous deformity there. It looked as if it was very painful and the obvious source of the paralyses. Pastor James tried to keep us informed of the conversation and I was trying to pray for the situation, my thoughts interrupted occasionally by new revelations of other persons in the hut - previously undisclosed in the remaining sleeping spaces.

Eventually Justice turned around to face us and explain that he was instructing her to continue her treatments for HIV and for the Tuberculosis. He explained that her prognosis was very poor without physical therapy and that it was very unlikely that she would be able to get it out in the area where she lived. He then invited us to pray with him for her. He spoke to her and turned around to tell us that she had decided to invite Christ to be her savior.

We all prayed as Justice prayed directly with her in their native language. As we were praying, the woman jerked back violently and fell to her back, laid out flat as if in a seizure. We instinctively moved in closer to pray more fervently, and then the woman screeched in her own voice. Pastor James turned to us westerners and explained that an evil spirit had revealed itself.

Once again we pressed in closer to the woman, laying our hands on her legs and praying as strongly as we could. And after several long moments, there came a peace over the room. The oppressive environment that we had become accustomed to, almost unaware because the entire space was so foreign to us, was lifted. We finished praying.

Justice gave the woman some further medical instructions. Pastor James gave her some spiritual instructions. Jordan and I smiled to give her the only thing we felt we could: silent encouragement. Then the group began to leave the house. I felt so unfinished that I spoke in English to the woman to tell her that God would be with her and that He would bless her. I didn't know what to say and I know that all she could understand was my spirit, so the words didn't really matter.

Just outside of the house (the rain stopped), Pastor James told us that the demon had said, "I came here to kill her. But since you are not going to let me do that, I am going to leave."

Back in the bus, Jordan and I sat unnerved. Excited, thankful, worshipful, relieved, and I was feeling unsure about how to retell this story to anyone. Jordan told me that he had experienced praying in other tongues during the most intense season of prayer. And He was obviously thrilled to have had God prove Himself present in that way.

Before we left Africa, we were informed by our missionaries that the woman had been approved by her attending physicians to be moved to the missionary complex in Masaka for physical therapy under the constant supervision of the staff nurses there.

God in the fringes. Powerfully working for the sake of the down and out. Making Himself plain to see for those who seem to see nothing more than pain and struggle in everyday life.

I did not take any pictures during this outing. You will have to rely on your mind's eye for the images of this encounter.

Uganda Child

While we were in Uganda, we had the privilege of ministering in a church at a worship gathering. Tim shared his personal testimony, as did Debra. (Tim has a gift for speaking - there's some preaching in his future. Shhhhhhh - Don't tell him that I'm giving him up.) Debra's testimony is moving in any setting and the Ugandan congregation responded powerfully to her story of God's faithful grace. Amanda shared a song. And I was able to speak from God's word.

We loved their abandon to worship. They danced and sang to God with devotion. We loved the traditional lunch we were served after the gathering. We loved the songs and dances shared with us after lunch by the orphans. (Lunch was meat cooked in broth, rice, matooki (a banana relative), shaved cabbage with dressing, and pineapple.) And what fun we had spending time with the kids at the end of our stay, just dancing and lavishing affection on them.

The orphanage houses as many as 200 children. The school is also open to day students and there is a total of 800 students at the school.

When we were just about to leave for our Ugandan home in Masaka, our missionary - Scott called me over to meet a young girl who I could see was standing on crutches and leaning against an external wall of the church building. As I got closer through the crowd of children, I noticed that her right leg had been completely severed above the knee.

Scott began to tell me the story of this orphan, that she had lost her leg in a terrible Boda Boda accident (remember, a Boda Boda is a motorcycle taxi). In fact she could easily have lost her life in that accident. In close proximity she also lost her surviving parent to HIV disease. She is now a member of the most vulnerable group of children in the world: invalid orphans in a developing nation. Scott went on to explain that he was in a tight spot where she was concerned, since she is technically too old to enter the orphan program through normal means. He expressed that without a sponsor committed to her up front, he would have a tough time getting her accepted into the program for any more than temporary shelter. To sponsor her will cost about $43/month.

I boldly said that I would make sure that she had a sponsor and am waiting for the paperwork to be sent to epic on her behalf. I cannot remember her name. I have been praying that God would remind me of her name but I haven't yet remembered. I can't wait for the paperwork to come so that I can pray for her by name.

This case is just one in which the missionaries of World Outreach Ministry Fellowship go above and beyond to make sure that cases that might likely fall through the cracks of most programs are followed through on. We saw time and time again how the personal contact with missionaries instead of impersonal contact with some faceless program resulted in life and soul saving follow-through. It is so much more than a program. It is more than even a ministry. It is a calling. And the commitment of our missionaries to people instead of statistics is phenomenal.

Missions works much better than secular social action. It works better because people responding to God are more motivated that people pursuing a goal.

Pray for this child. Pray for out missionaries. Pray for your mission either right where you are, or wherever God might want to send you.

"By the Hand of God"

While in Uganda, we met and ministered with a man named Justice. To get right to the point, I'll shorten the story significantly.

Justice is in training to become a Dr. He is employed by the mission and his education is being paid for by an American sponsor so that his services can be directed specifically toward the medical wing of the ministry in Uganda. Because we were a part of 3 1-day HIV/medical clinics during our time there, we got to know Justice fairly well.

In one discussion with Justice, one of our team members asked him, "Justice, how did you get out of the poverty of your village and break that cycle?" Justice took a deep breath, and knowing some of his story from the missionaries, I was expecting him to describe how he came to work with the missionaries as a cook, how he met his wife, how he was inspired by the missionaries to pray about medicine, and on and on as any American Christian would do to answer that question.

O was to be left hanging in that expectation. Justice exhaled and said with profound humility, "it was by the hand of God." And he was done. He didn't say anything else. No elaboration. No explanation. No story. No background. That was it.

Now if your experiences in life are anything like mine, you have had some Christian somewhere give you an answer somewhat like that with supercilious pronouncements of faith. To which I always respond with an internal rolling of my eyes. (I do this on the inside so that no one will see how spiritually immature I am.) I do this because I know that this person has just decided to brag about their spirituality to cover up their pride in the physical accomplishment they are describing.

With Justice there was none of that. It was obvious to all of us in the conversation that he genuinely had no other explanation of the events that had led him to the situation he was in than that it had to be the hand of God.

Well, if I can be so humble as to remove my own pride in earthly accomplishment, I might actually see the hand of God more. And if I see the hand of God more, I might actually be humble enough to actually give God that kind of credit without either using the word supercilious or by being supercilious.

By the hand of God!

sup-er-cil-i-ous
–adjective
haughtily disdainful, as a person or a facial expression.

Another Uganda Story

Well, I've been back for several days now and have been meaning to post a few stories here ever since my return. I'm sorry I haven't gotten to it until now. Jet lag + 24-hour flu = slow blogging.

We were able to see the final installation of the well that so many of you helped to pay for. On the day we were there, the installers put in the pump mechanism after testing the depth and volume of the well. (There will be a strong supply of water for a long, long time.)

This location is just outside of the main settlement of the village of Makoomi. As part of our ministry here on this day, we also provided an HIV and health clinic. We were also guided to the current source of water for the village. We went for a 10 minute walk, further away from the village and found a capped off artisian spring with a cistern. While we were there the water was flowing steadily.

There were 2 boys filling their jerry cans with water for their home. They stepped into the murky cistern and let the water from the pipe flow into their cans. (I should say the little one did, while the older one looked on.) We followed the boys part way back to their house and carried their filled cans for them (right on Rico and Jordan). It was on this journey that our missionary revealed the full benefit of this well installation to me.

We were there at the beginning of the dry season. The pastor of the church at Makoomi shared that as the dry season goes on, the spring will get continually less productive. Eventually the water will trickle out of the pipe and a couple of things will happen. 1 can will take up to 30 minutes to fill. The villagers will line up to fill their cans. In their society, the older people will get preference over the younger and so children sent by their parents may spend several hours waiting to fill water for their home. Many children and adults alike will give up on this process and journey down to the marsh to fill their cans with swamp water (another 15 minute walk beyond the point of the spring). It is during this time that many families go without necessary water. They use less and less to drink, reserving their precious water for food preparation. dehydration leads to illness and further complications.

It is from this spring that the school operated at the church receives its water. And with just the spring to supply water to the village, church, and school, one ministry vision for the area had been put on hold. An orphanage: Homes of Hope.

This village is near a handful of other villages and the school and orphanage here would rescue many children from death, illness, and a hopeless future. Not only has the provision of a constant clean water source on the campus of this ministry provided a village of a few thousand with reliable drinking water and better health, it has opened the door for the orphan home to be built, rescuing children from death, neglect, and abuse.

In Uganda, water changes things. I think Jesus knew that when He talked about himself as living water. Jesus changes things... Well, He mostly changes people.

Thanks to so many of you who are the missionaries who provided this well through prayer, financial support, encouragement, help, and in 1000 other ways. God did it through you. And His name is honored.

1 Story from Ugandan HIV Clinic

At our HIV/AIDS clinic yesterday (Monday in Uganda), a little girl came to the clinic late in the afternoon. She was with her jahjah (grandmother). She was obviously unwell. We rushed her to the front of the line with a fever of 104. Her ears, for the brief moment that she would let them be seen looked terribly inflamed. She seemed to have a soar throat.

The head nurse gave her ibuprofen and put her in a basin with water. Her fever came down a couple of degrees and she calmed down. But she was still not out of the danger zone. As we were finishing up with the last 20 patients, the girl went into convulsions from the fever and the missionaries immediately took her with a nurse to a nearby clinic. Her bills were paid and the grandmother eventually agreed to take her. Amazingly the grandmother was resistant even though she had seen the convulsions.

Our missionary explained that the girl was in the care of the clan and treated as a servant because her parents were dead. Since the clan (primarily the jahjah) was caring for her, she was considered indebted to them. These children are often worse off than those in orphanages.

Later that evening we got word from the clinic that the child was on IV antibiotics, sleeping well and would be there for three days. Her diagnosis was complicated Malaria and the physician reported that without the strong antibiotics the girl would not have lived another 24 hours.

If that clinic had not been paid for by so many donors... If 7 comfortable Americans had not left their creature comforts to see the clinic provided... If a group of missionaries did not have the long-term commitment to serve this country, and having on-going relationships with local medical professionals... If not for all that and your prayers... Uganda would be minus 1 very beautiful little girl, who could one day make all the difference for this country.

This is just 1 story. Just 1. When I am home, I will give you some more.

6-24 Finally in Africa

Well, we've been in Uganda for about 5 hours now. And for the most part my body is staging a full revolt against the sleep deprivation it has experienced during the nearly 30 hours devoted to travel. Not to mention that the night before our departure I slept only 1 hour. Because of my 1 hour night, I was able to sleep well on the first flight and reasonably well on the second.

Enough of that.

A very strange and thrilling moment took place as our plane made its final decent into Uganda. I had the weepie (I'm gonna blame that mostly on the jet lag) emotional kind of feeling of thrilling satisfaction that what I first had as a vision 5 years ago is now my reality. 5 years ago I listened to Rick Warren talk about his own journey toward a personal commitment to Africa, poverty, and AIDS. He gave a challenge to all the pastors present to personally visit Africa and see if God would allow us to leave without a commitment to make a difference.

Well, I didn't have to visit to know that God wanted me to make a difference. My heart was a flame within me as he spoke and I rose my hand in commitment to go to Africa. I came home and told Rhonda that it needed to happen. And we both kind of said, "....OK..."

Every time the idea of a missions trip crossed my mind I would research missionaries and missions organizations that I could possibly partner with in order to fulfill the commitment that I felt inspired by God to make that day. And time after time, the objectives of the missionaries or organizations were not aligned with what God had put on my heart.

Then one of my friends, Annie Phipps, shared with me some of the things she had experienced in Uganda with World Outreach Ministry Foundation. And I began to research that. I finally made contact with the founder of the organization, had dinner with Ron DeVore and the trip got in the planning phase. And then I felt relieved. That's all, just relieved. I felt like the obligation of fulfilling my commitment was finally in motion and my sense of failure was being lifted. Relieved.
Well, today it was not relief. It was overwhelming anticipation to be a part of God's mighty movement to love forgotten people who face the biggest challenges on our planet: the challenge to live without clean water, the challenge to defeat HIV when your culture and education do not help you to do so, the challenge to create a positive future for a country filled with orphans, the challenge to see God in any of it.

While I am exhausted and have nearly fallen out of a chair, dozed off in a public shopping area, and dropped my head in my plate of dinner, I have only excitement about being with God in His mission.

I'll give you updates as I can on twitter, facebook and here when I get a chance. But I will not have much internet access for the next few days.

Uganda is beautiful. Lush and green tropical beauty. Cleaner than nearly any country in the same economic situation. AND since we are nearly AT the equator our days will be 12 hours long as will be our nights. And tomorrow I will get to stand on the equator, experiment with water swirling in opposite directions on either side, and loose about 5 pounds just for standing directly on the equator. But let me say, Ugandans are beautiful people with great features and deeply meaningful smiles.

Thanks for your prayers. Continue to pray. Tomorrow we will begin our work with orphans, then 2 days of medical clinic to follow. Then worship and ministry on Sunday and the clinic and well installation on Monday. That's the plan so far.

Getting Ready for Uganda

I will soon begin packing for my missionary journey to Uganda. If I haven't fully informed you all about my journey, here is the thumbnail. Felt called to Africa 5 years ago or so. Connected to World Outreach Ministry Fellowship through friend Annie Phipps last year. Confirmed with God that now is the time. Presented opportunity to congregation. Team of 7 going to build a clean water source, provide HIV/AIDS clinic, improve orphanage, participate in local gospel outreach.

Well it is exacly 1 week until our departure. I have been trying to keep my prayers forcussed on the trip, the objectives, the team and my connection to God.

As I was praying with the team yesterday afternoon, thoughts about motive for going on the trip invaded my mind and heart. Going to provide water can just be philanthropy. (Not a bad thing!) Going to build an orphanage can just be a church thing (Not necessary terrible!) Going to relieve my guilt over being a materialistic American IS a terrible thing. Going to be one of those cool world-travelling, social action people IS a terrible thing. Going because I don't want my life to get too comfortable just doing my own little thing and staying focused on what serves my agenda here in my comfortable circle of influence is good, but not good enough because I am ultimately the focus of that too.

There seems to me to only be 1 really good reason to go. And I have to admit that while administrating the trip preparations, raising the funds for the projects and helping individuals finish their travelling budgets with additional fund raising, trying to lead the team, making sure I have all my shots, getting my phone and credit card open for use in a foreign country, preparing things for home and church in my absence, continuing with my obligations, and on and on, has created sufficient distractions for me. Sufficient to make this a human task more than a spiritual one.

There is only one reason for me to go to Uganda. Because I love Jesus! I love Him. He rocks!

I'm going to Uganda because I love Him and that would not translate into a trip to Uganda UNLESS He had told me to go.

So whatever I do, however I appear to others, whatever happen in my absence, I'm gonna be with Him, and give my all to honor Him in Uganda. And when I come home, I'm gonna have to do that in Hanford too.