CSB starts our 9th school year on Feb. 5th. We have 25 Ugandan staff who will be involved in a staff orientation seminar prior to the opening of school. Just this week, in fact. The topic for this year is "Business as usual or moving forward?" Other than the basics of lesson preparation, modification and evaluation, Kevin will be focusing on how our staff's view of God impacts their teaching. For example (from Kev's notes):
Let's begin with a discussion on our view of God using two viewpoints:
1. He is distant and uninvolved, someone we go to when we are in need, someone we have to beg, manipulate and convince with many words to grant our request. We are dependent on Him and desperate for His help, but He remains apart from us except when we approach Him ever so fearfully for His assistance. Whenever He decides to help us (because of our own goodness, humility, or sacrifice) He sends us a word, knowledge, or material blessing and then resumes His place of distance.
2. He is present among us and wants to be in relationship with us. He is ever ready to communicate with us, not one-way and from a distance, but real, personal communication. He wants us to speak to Him and He wishes to speak to us. Our god is a personal God who engages us and is involved in all aspects of our lives. He doesn't so much want to give us things as He wants to give us Himself, and in so doing we are transformed.
Our viewpoint, whichever of the two we tend towards, also affects our view of the role of a schoolteacher. Which one will we be to our students? Will we be distant, imparting knowledge from on high, the voice of authority, teaching our lessons and then withdrawing to the safety of our own world? Or will we be really present with our students, not only teaching them their academic lessons, but being involved in all aspects of their lives: guiding, helping, demonstrating, leading, celebrating, mourning, communicating and finally being an agent of transformation?
Would you pray with us, for our staff and for ourselves that these challenges would go deep into our hearts this coming year? We have the opportunity to hang out with and influence 300 young people. What a blessing, and what a challenge. Pray that we at CSB would be faithful. Please pray for us to draw closer to the Lord as we step out in faith and discipleship.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Decisions
School starts in less than two weeks and already prospective students are dropping by. Yesterday a young woman came by to see if she could come back to school. She left nearly two years ago halfway through with her O-level studies and halfway through her pregnancy. She’s been by several times over the course of the last year with her little boy. He’s a happy, smiley, well-cared for little guy. Her grandmother is willing to keep him while she finishes her last two years of school with us. Will we take her back? She was one of our sponsored orphan students. A bright, beautiful girl with no father to pay her school fees. Will we continue to fund her education? I have to admit her appearance gives me pause. She has always dressed a bit seductively and yesterday was no different. She’s somewhat desperate, and not very humble. She’s thin. My American eyes forget that’s a sign of poverty and not affluence. If we refuse admission, what are her chances? How do we balance her needs with the impact she could have on our staff, on the other students. Will she be an example to them of what not to do? Will she encourage them that "playing sex" is not so bad after all? How concerned should we be about our staff? Is she actively looking for a husband? Yet, aren’t we Christ’s school, a place for discipleship and changed lives? For grace and mercy? As with many of our decisions here, the right choice is neither apparent nor easy. We’ll trust our Ugandan leadership team to come to a consensus about her application for admission. We’ll pray. And we’ll struggle yet again (in our arrogance) to balance the feeling that we are the answer to everyone’s problems with the overwhelming feeling that we can help no one.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Ants in My Granola.
Kevin has this thing about ants. He hates them. There is a certain light that comes into his eye when they begin to invade our house and all out war follows (chemicals, cleaning detergent, powders, boiling water, etc.). Now don’t get me wrong… I’m not a fan either. For one thing, they bite. For another they hide in annoying and unexpected places: food, clothes, door frames, toys, the ceiling. It is pretty cool go to my parent’s house in the US and leave some random piece of food on the counter and come back 10 minutes later to still find it ant-free. Not so here. In fact, after a month long absence, the ants are winning most of the battles. The first night back home we made the silly mistake of leaving a piece of pizza on the counter while we put the kids to bed. We came back through the kitchen with that light-hearted feeling of finally having gotten to the end of a long day, with all kids tucked in. We were ready to collapse and debrief. Instead the counter was moving, almost dancing. The lone piece of pizza swarming with hundreds of tiny black ants. YIKES. Bug spray in hand (aptly named DOOM) we approached the counter and began searching for the nest. Right there on the kitchen counter stood a sealed glass container of not yet roasted cashews. In our absence, these tiny ants had squirmed their way under the seal and an ant’s farm that any five year old would be proud of was well underway.
The next morning we pulled out our freshly unpacked boxes of breakfast cereal. After the pizza incident, I had put my small bag of granola into a fresh Ziploc bag the night before. Into my nice clean white bowl went the granola. “BUGGIE!” screams Nate pointing from his chair towards my bowl. Sure enough, lot’s of buggies. Tiny red ants were quickly escaping, crawling up and over the sides of my bowl. My granola! Inwardly I groaned, my one breakfast cereal treat, and it was in a Ziploc! Is nothing safe? Seeing my despair, Kevin restrained himself from spraying the whole table with DOOM, as I quietly picked out and crushed ant after ant. 5 minutes later, I began eating a nearly ant-free breakfast. “Throw that stuff out!” My heart was screaming it, the rest of the family was pretty blatant with their opinions too, (both babies learned the word “yuckie!” in the US and were gleefully chanting it). But with 8 more weeks to go before we tackle the day long drive to the grocery store, I just couldn't do it. Call me crazy, but I spent a good hour on my front steps with the whole bag spread out in a pan. I picked out each of those little red ants, while defended the whole pile from various outside black ants who smelled a nice meal and came running. Just to make sure, I roasted the granola in the oven for 20 minutes before putting it in yet another hopefully ant-proof container. In some ways I guess this was a type of therapy. There are so many things that I can’t control, can’t fix, can’t save. But my granola, that’s another story… at least for now it is as it should be.
The next morning we pulled out our freshly unpacked boxes of breakfast cereal. After the pizza incident, I had put my small bag of granola into a fresh Ziploc bag the night before. Into my nice clean white bowl went the granola. “BUGGIE!” screams Nate pointing from his chair towards my bowl. Sure enough, lot’s of buggies. Tiny red ants were quickly escaping, crawling up and over the sides of my bowl. My granola! Inwardly I groaned, my one breakfast cereal treat, and it was in a Ziploc! Is nothing safe? Seeing my despair, Kevin restrained himself from spraying the whole table with DOOM, as I quietly picked out and crushed ant after ant. 5 minutes later, I began eating a nearly ant-free breakfast. “Throw that stuff out!” My heart was screaming it, the rest of the family was pretty blatant with their opinions too, (both babies learned the word “yuckie!” in the US and were gleefully chanting it). But with 8 more weeks to go before we tackle the day long drive to the grocery store, I just couldn't do it. Call me crazy, but I spent a good hour on my front steps with the whole bag spread out in a pan. I picked out each of those little red ants, while defended the whole pile from various outside black ants who smelled a nice meal and came running. Just to make sure, I roasted the granola in the oven for 20 minutes before putting it in yet another hopefully ant-proof container. In some ways I guess this was a type of therapy. There are so many things that I can’t control, can’t fix, can’t save. But my granola, that’s another story… at least for now it is as it should be.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Sorrow Shared
There are many parts of this culture that I treasure, but one that is coming into focus more clearly right now is the response to the death of a parent. Many Ugandan friends have come by to sit with Kevin on our return. They come to greet him, express their sorrow and for most to share their own story of their parent's passing. Most poignant was such a conversation yesterday...
"Now, Headmaster, you are a real orphan. For me, I was a young orphan. But for you, now, you are the old orphan."
It is shocking how much a part of life, death is here. It is a constant companion for folks living at the edge of survival and most, if not all here have felt its sting. I wouldn't say that this experience allows us, as missionaries, to "speak into the culture" in a deeper more personal way. Rather, it has felt comforting to be embraced by our friends and by their tangible understanding of sorrow and loss.
"Now, Headmaster, you are a real orphan. For me, I was a young orphan. But for you, now, you are the old orphan."
It is shocking how much a part of life, death is here. It is a constant companion for folks living at the edge of survival and most, if not all here have felt its sting. I wouldn't say that this experience allows us, as missionaries, to "speak into the culture" in a deeper more personal way. Rather, it has felt comforting to be embraced by our friends and by their tangible understanding of sorrow and loss.
Home Sweet Home
Usually after the first 3 days back in Bundibugyo my house looks normal, even extravagant. But those first three days can be a dozy. I see everything with fresh eyes and both my heart and my brain scream out "THIS is MY home?" I notice the cracks in the cement walls, the stark, gray cement floors, the stains on the ceilings, the bare light bulbs. Dirt and cobwebs are everywhere. Smells waft in from windows with no glass only screens (a new primary school built latrines not even fifteen feet from our small living room window. At night the poop smell is foul.) The water from the filter tastes funny, like charcoal. And our frig and stove look tiny. I gaze at the bugs and lizards that roam freely on my walls and clean tiny black poops from all the shelves. We eat dinner and above our heads, in the ceiling, we hear a HUGE family of rats celebrating our return with loud hops and scurrying. It's during these first few hours and days that I have to take a deep breath and hold back the tears. I need to soak in my children's delight to be home. They scramble out of the car and strut into our home, take a deep breath and yell with great delight, "We're home!!" They sigh in comfort and tumble into their bunk beds, close their mosquito nets and smile.
Tomorrow, I'll venture outside and see my neighbors in even smaller houses with mud walls and dirt floors and no ceilings. I'll see their cooking pots resting outside on three rocks in the middle of a campfire. I'll wave to the kids, who yell their greetings as they play with toys made out of old cans and tires. And I'll walk back into my house and everything will seem different. The self-pity will vanish and in its place will grow an uneasy feeling of guilt at having so much.
From Here to There...
Getting from the US to Bundibugyo is no small feat. We've crossed the Atlantic more times than I care to remember although there are some crossings that are clearly imprinted on my memory.
Like the time I traveled to the US alone with Joe (3) and Louisa (2). She was going through a vivid imagination stage and could magically transform into a puppy, usually when she had to do something she didn't like. All sorts of British folk were horrified as my "new puppy" Louisa crawled her way through the crowded airport, at one point licking the floor as we waited to board the plane! Or the time we traveled back to Uganda with 3 month old twins. Everyone was so wonderful and gracious to us, but I arrived in Uganda feeling normal and with no jet-lag. Both the result of prayer AND the realization that I had gotten as much sleep on an airplane holding them that I usually got anyplace at that time. (2 back to back 8 hour international flights will forever remind me of the sheer exhaustion and sleep deprivation of their first 6 months.)
This journey was no exception. The basics of travel are:
a 2 hour domestic flight to Detroit
an 8 hour flight to Amsterdam
an 8 hour flight to Nairobi, Kenya
a 1 hour flight to Entebbe, Uganda
then after supply shopping and some sleep in a real bed
a 10 hour drive cross country to Bundibugyo
Part of the timing of our travel was taking advantage of the "infant" fares available to babies 0-2. Each ticketed adult can hold a baby in their lap for only 10% of the ticket cost. A pretty good bargain for our family! Of course, this was much easier when the twins were 3 months old. Junst under the wire at 23 months, we were squeashed into 4 seats both holding very independent minded and mobil toddlers. Poor Joe and Louisa endured both howling and kicking as their siblings tried to escape and explore. Probably the sweetest moment of the whole trip was on the leg to Amsterdam. Both twins were in my lap- but rather than fighting to be the closest to Mommy (a new very popular game) Savannah had leaned over to Nate and was sweetly patting his back and saying with deep concern "More, Nate?" as she held the barf bag to his mouth. I kid you not, it nearly brought tears to my eyes.
Of course, this followed the most horrific time of the whole trip. Due to an incredible strong tailwind we had arrived at the gate too early. So the pilot descended to the "ear-popping" altitude and began to circle. Now, I personally hate this anyway. I am fairly phobic about flying (can't we just take a boat?) and spend a lot of my time in the air planning just how quickly I could save each of my children if we landed in water or if the plane broke in half mid-air. I have detailed mental plans, including which of the surrounding passengers could be recruited to help, just in case.
So here we are circling and the altitude gets extremely turbulent. Bounce out of your seat, stomach dropping turbulent. The stuff of nightmares, as we sway and jerk for 15 MINUTES. After the first bit of this, as other passengers are gripping the armrests, the twins start to get very still and very pale. Uh-Oh. I lunge for an airsick bag as Savannah projectile vomits in a beautiful high arch, splatting the upright tray table in front of us. I switch the bag to her side as Nate quietly barfs all down the front of his outfit, my leg, lap and into the bag at my feet. I switch the bag to catch the last bit from him as Savannah throws up on her clothes and down my other leg. Kevin turns from checking on Louisa (who also assumes that any turbulence will send us spiralling into the ocean) to find us soaked, but thankfully catching Nate's next spew directly in the bag. He reaches for Savannah, the plane dips yet again and she vomits on his seat, his pants and her feet. As Kev and I lock eyes and he gallantly and frantically looks for another bag, Nate throws up across my lap. At this point we have moved from horror into the realm of comedy. Which is fortunate because Joe leans over and moans "I feel sick." Luckily, he is old enough to grab his own bag and barfed into it over and over until the plane touched down.
After strapping the twins into their backpacks and offloading all of our carry-ons, we dashed to the bathroom to mop up and change clothes, finishing just in time to pre-board the next 8 hour flight.
Like the time I traveled to the US alone with Joe (3) and Louisa (2). She was going through a vivid imagination stage and could magically transform into a puppy, usually when she had to do something she didn't like. All sorts of British folk were horrified as my "new puppy" Louisa crawled her way through the crowded airport, at one point licking the floor as we waited to board the plane! Or the time we traveled back to Uganda with 3 month old twins. Everyone was so wonderful and gracious to us, but I arrived in Uganda feeling normal and with no jet-lag. Both the result of prayer AND the realization that I had gotten as much sleep on an airplane holding them that I usually got anyplace at that time. (2 back to back 8 hour international flights will forever remind me of the sheer exhaustion and sleep deprivation of their first 6 months.)
This journey was no exception. The basics of travel are:
a 2 hour domestic flight to Detroit
an 8 hour flight to Amsterdam
an 8 hour flight to Nairobi, Kenya
a 1 hour flight to Entebbe, Uganda
then after supply shopping and some sleep in a real bed
a 10 hour drive cross country to Bundibugyo
Part of the timing of our travel was taking advantage of the "infant" fares available to babies 0-2. Each ticketed adult can hold a baby in their lap for only 10% of the ticket cost. A pretty good bargain for our family! Of course, this was much easier when the twins were 3 months old. Junst under the wire at 23 months, we were squeashed into 4 seats both holding very independent minded and mobil toddlers. Poor Joe and Louisa endured both howling and kicking as their siblings tried to escape and explore. Probably the sweetest moment of the whole trip was on the leg to Amsterdam. Both twins were in my lap- but rather than fighting to be the closest to Mommy (a new very popular game) Savannah had leaned over to Nate and was sweetly patting his back and saying with deep concern "More, Nate?" as she held the barf bag to his mouth. I kid you not, it nearly brought tears to my eyes.
Of course, this followed the most horrific time of the whole trip. Due to an incredible strong tailwind we had arrived at the gate too early. So the pilot descended to the "ear-popping" altitude and began to circle. Now, I personally hate this anyway. I am fairly phobic about flying (can't we just take a boat?) and spend a lot of my time in the air planning just how quickly I could save each of my children if we landed in water or if the plane broke in half mid-air. I have detailed mental plans, including which of the surrounding passengers could be recruited to help, just in case.
So here we are circling and the altitude gets extremely turbulent. Bounce out of your seat, stomach dropping turbulent. The stuff of nightmares, as we sway and jerk for 15 MINUTES. After the first bit of this, as other passengers are gripping the armrests, the twins start to get very still and very pale. Uh-Oh. I lunge for an airsick bag as Savannah projectile vomits in a beautiful high arch, splatting the upright tray table in front of us. I switch the bag to her side as Nate quietly barfs all down the front of his outfit, my leg, lap and into the bag at my feet. I switch the bag to catch the last bit from him as Savannah throws up on her clothes and down my other leg. Kevin turns from checking on Louisa (who also assumes that any turbulence will send us spiralling into the ocean) to find us soaked, but thankfully catching Nate's next spew directly in the bag. He reaches for Savannah, the plane dips yet again and she vomits on his seat, his pants and her feet. As Kev and I lock eyes and he gallantly and frantically looks for another bag, Nate throws up across my lap. At this point we have moved from horror into the realm of comedy. Which is fortunate because Joe leans over and moans "I feel sick." Luckily, he is old enough to grab his own bag and barfed into it over and over until the plane touched down.
After strapping the twins into their backpacks and offloading all of our carry-ons, we dashed to the bathroom to mop up and change clothes, finishing just in time to pre-board the next 8 hour flight.
Psalm 127
Children are a gift from the Lord,
they are a real blessing.
The children a man has when he
is young are like arrows in a soldier's hand.
Happy is the man whose quiver is full of them.
Joseph L. Bartkovich, father of 7, passed away the Tuesday before Christmas. We had previously planned to come to the States for a brief holiday visit. We arrived in Baltimore the afternoon Kevin's father was taken to the ER. Kevin was able to be at his parents' side during the last two days of his dad's life. As we continue to mourn his death, we are amazed and grateful that we were exactly where we needed to be when we needed to be there. Thank you for your thoughts and prayers during this difficult time and for understanding that many of our hoped for visits and conversations sadly just got dropped. Please continue to remember us in your prayers as we return to Bundibugyo and a very full school year that begins on the heels of our return.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)