This Definitely Qualifies!

Ever had a situation so unusual you don't know how to label it? Pretty much sums up the culmination of events experienced this morning! Mine started with a poor decision--but I had no way of knowing how very poor it was . . .

We have been away at Musana Camps this week. We returned yesterday afternoon. Suitcases  and backpacks were unpacked and contents completely filled the laundry baskets to overflowing.

No worries. Aunt "T" was scheduled to come to our rescue today. She washes laundry for us.

She arrived on time and began to work. A few minutes after starting her work she informed me that her sister was in the hospital and she needed to go see her. I asked when she might need to go and she answered, "Oh, any time."

It didn't sound urgent to me, so I just gave her a bit lighter work load so she could leave a little earlier today.

She worked for 2 1/2 hours and we took a break. During tea and bananas she received the call that her sister had passed away. I ran to the porch to console her and pray. I informed her that I would take her to the hospital to be with her family.  She finished her tea, informed a friend of the news and we began our journey.

I was feeling horrible for my now obvious POOR decision to not urge her to abandon the work we had for her and instead go to the hospital to be by her sister's side!

I had some money in my pocket to give her once we got to the hospital. Body transport is the responsibility of the deceased's family. Once I gave my condolences to the mother, son and others I planned to give the money to help with the transport later in the day.

We arrived at the women's ward and I properly greeted the mother and gave her my heartfelt sorrow for her loss. I prayed with her and wept with her. Then I turned to the son of Aunt "T" who received me and then insisted that I accompany him to the bedside to view the body.

Oh, the thoughts that ran through my mind as we slowly walked past the host of onlookers. "They are all looking at me. Fine. I've been through that a million times. But, I AM GOING TO VIEW A BODY. WHAT DO I DO AT THE BEDSIDE IN THIS CULTURE??? LORD BE WITH ME!"

We rounded the corner and he marched me directly up past the nurses at the bedside and stood me near the head of the bed. Then he told me, "Aunt, This is my mother."

I was shocked. Then I realized the truth that Aunt "T" is actually his maternal aunt, not his mother.

His eyes brimmed with tears but he was not sobbing or wailing. He simply stated the fact. I asked if I could pray for him. He agreed, but I sure felt that my words fell short. I trust my God, however, to give him what he needs and I prayed that this young man would know God as Father. I looked again to the woman. My eyes played a trick on me as I thought I saw her abdomen slightly rise and fall with a breath. "No way," I argued with myself. I looked for awhile longer and saw no more movement.

We finished praying and I stood there with my hand on his shoulder.

Suddenly, I was drawn out of my intense focus on the son and the overwhelming nature of the moment and I heard the beeping that had been there all along. I looked over and saw the blood pressure machine registering 90s over 60s and the oxygen saturation machine getting readings in the 80s.

I breathed deep. "Excuse me," I queried the nurses, "this woman doesn't seem to be dead."

A smile broke out on the face of one. "No," we are currently working on her, she is not dead."

"Are you going to tell the family that? They believe she is dead!"

I turned to the son, "Your mother is not dead! Look, she is breathing!"

He looked in anger at the nurses and spewed something I didn't understand in Luganda.

I took him out to tell his grandmother and Aunt "T".

You would have thought I raised the woman from the dead myself! Everyone who had stared at me earlier now stared again, but with big smiles on their faces. I rejoiced with them and prayed and then excused myself.

Apparently, another visitor had gone in and wrongly assessed the situation for himself. Without asking any staff for confirmation, he decided the woman was dead and announced such to everyone.

I have to admit the whole scene was surreal. From deepest sorrow to elation in a matter of minutes. Whew!

So, my morning began with a poor decision, but parlayed into me being present and part of what turned into a joyful time.

Yes, the events of my morning definitely qualify as an extreme and rare experience. I'm still catching my breath when I think back on it!

The woman has 10 children, all from different fathers. The oldest is the son I interacted with at the bedside. The youngest is two months. The woman has a chronic liver disease is all I have been told. Please pray for her life, her children and for her salvation.

Put Your Oxygen Mask on First

You’ve bought the tickets, planned, anticipated, packed, hauled it all to the airport, and finally you’re sitting in your not quite comfy 2’ x 2’ space. As the stale air blasts from overhead, you fight it’s force and with a little twist regain some semblance of a calm environment.

The calm of all attendants assisting those trying to shove oversized bags in small overhead compartments, giving plastic smiles and seatbelt tugs to each passenger, preparing the cabin and securing doors amidst passengers who can’t find their seat or  kids either too excited or scared to settle down.

You know take off is imminent when flight attendants (or the safety video’s cartoon attendant) instruct you on how to secure your oxygen mask first before helping others. I always silently gasp at this point as Bible verses flood my mind with instructions on not looking out just for self but also for the good of others? (Philippians 2:4 if you want to see it for yourself.) Shouldn't I help others before I tend to myself??

Once I take a deep breath and ponder the wisdom in the instruction I accept that, OF COURSE, I have to be alive to actually best help another person. What help can I be if I am dead on the floor from a lack of oxygen? This makes sense. . . on the airplane.

But, in “real” life? Not so much, or at least I often live as if it makes no sense. I frequently fail to even think about securing my own oxygen mask before attempting to help someone else with theirs.

What IS my “oxygen mask”?

I've been pondering this deep thought for awhile now.  In recent weeks my schedule has been relentless and I've found myself worn. I love the activity and opportunity to serve daily here, but I am not good at pacing myself.

Adequate amounts of oxygen is my current theme because our life events have been seemingly more non-stop of late, if that is even possible. I am not sure how to define “of late” -- the past two weeks? No, months. Hang on, since January? Perhaps “of late” truly is just life here at New Hope. But, that is no excuse.

Just a few days ago I rebelled. I wore my pajamas until 11 a.m. I kept my windows shut and I didn't answer my phone until 11:15. I informed my kids that I was unavailable to visitors until after 11 and I just putzed around doing a little of this and that, and NOT feeling guilty about it. (That is one of the most important parts of the administration of oxygen--don't feel guilty about sucking in needed amounts of it!)

That morning helped me to regain peace; to draw more deeply from the truths of God as I spent extra time meditating on His Word, engaging in an extra long session of pilates and drinking a second cup of coffee while doing some leisure reading.

A few days later in a weak moment of frustration I vented regarding my need for a "time out" from the "busy, busy" as I sometimes call our pace, to a stateside family member who reminded me that it is also very busy in America. I agreed.

But, then I reflected on differences between the "busy" here and the "busy" there. Mainly, the significance boils down to what happens when I get home.

In America I can be busy out of the house in all kinds of activities and attending to the various needs of people, but when I get home to the house, I am home and all that "out there" stuff is not. There is my own space, the comfort of my private home, the quiet of my own house--and even if the kids are making noise, they are my kids and I can fall into a rhythm of rest despite the sounds of their activity.

Here? The house is my home, yes, but the private bit is absent. Given our climate, the windows are always open--and sounds freely waft both IN and OUT, folks. Given our community, I must 75% of the time be dressed appropriately and emotionally ready for visitors, because they are either in my house or imminently expected. I didn't pull 75% out of thin air, it is calculated given I sleep in whatever pajamas I want about 6 hours in a 24 hour period. However, my bathrobe, which completely covers all the parts of my body which this culture doesn't want to see, is always handy at the bedside in case we have an emergency visitor in the night--yes, this has happened.

This "always ready" status lends to a constant undercurrent of stress. It's kind of like being in the midst of selling your home and having to be on guard and ready for whenever the realtor might bring someone by. Except the house never gets sold and people just keep coming.

Please don't hear, "Waaa Waaa Waaa!"

Living in this open community is very rewarding and enjoyable (read: some types of  "busy" can actually be a catalyst for feeling true joy and peace), but that doesn't mean I remain 100% energized and ready 24/7 to be the ever hospitable hostess/mentor/medical resource, friend, teacher, etc. What it does mean is that because I enjoy our life here, I often fail to remember to ensure my oxygen mask is in place as I almost incessantly give oxygen others.

When we moved here nine years ago, some seasoned missionaries told us to take a weekend out at least every 6-8 weeks, away from the constant stream of "work"--most days we’re up at 5 a.m. and the phone starts nagging before 7 a.m. I usually fit in some exercise and always read and/or study the Bible and pray, but the relentless pace after those quiet moments is like a roll of steady high cresting waves refusing to give time for adequate breath.

New Hope is a unique ministry in which we live among, steps away from the children and other staff to whom we minister. For the first couple of years of serving here, we were so hyped up to be at New Hope that such advice on taking time out sounded ridiculous. Until I began to notice around the eighth week after a having a brief time away, I wasn't so jazzed anymore to meet visitor number five before noon at the door, and worse I didn't care if my less than enthusiastic attitude was recognized. Time to call for a reservation somewhere near a pool! We were slow to learn the actual wisdom of scheduled time away.

However, I have also observed over the years that simply taking a weekend away doesn't automatically equal real rest.

This truth was highlighted for me again when I recently read Mark Buchanan's, The Rest of God. The read spurred my need to revisit what the oxygen mask is for me. He puts definitive words to my experience. The reality remains that I can’t truly help anyone if I am a struggling for the basics myself!

For me, “oxygen” is NOT simply going away for a weekend, putting on a movie and shutting out the demands. Depending on my choice of movie, I could actually emerge from the wasted two hours even more tired than I was before watching. It is also not getting sucked into a novel. Again, I could rejoin the real world more exhausted than before--especially if the novel was SO good I had to grab every moment possible to read a few more pages, (sometimes at 3 a.m.)

If movies and novels don’t suck the energy for real life out of you like they often do me, then don’t hear that I am criticizing your “oxygen”, I am simply saying it is not my best source!

Whatever it is that I am doing, either here at New Hope or away from it, I must be drawing from The Source throughout the day. And on the many days when there is not even a 20 or 30 minute pause, I can quickly get worn if don't look for ways to view each moment as a gift from Him. When I allow myself to see it as a drain on ME I forget that He has promised to never leave me--that He is the Father of lights and the giver of every good and perfect gift.

So, my personal nasal cannula has to deliver a large percentage of God's truth or I can’t breathe. That is, God’s word has to be the major input from morning til evening EVERY day. I often grab the Word when I am meeting with someone so I can share truth. I look up scriptures when I teach the kids and we’re on a subject that needs some extra input from the Creator Himself. I do better in the kitchen if I listen to music which speaks truth and life and creates an environment of worship as I cook. And daily I spend at least part of my first hour of the day in His word.

Still, the physical exhaustion sometimes takes over and I have to rest in ways that will rejuvenate my physical strength.

We have a habit in the Britton house of taking 30 minutes each day after lunch to lie down. I have always told the kids, "You don't have to sleep, but you have to be still and quiet." When they were young they thought this was great, "No nap for me!" But, you know what happened, of course, still and quiet often leads to sleep. And these days I find it doesn't take me very long to drift off. Even just five or ten minutes can give me the extra energy I need to make it through the afternoon.

But, it is not just lying down or sleeping that can help ward off physical exhaustion. In fact, escaping through sleep can become a problem of its own. What I am talking about is stopping the movement, the activity, the incessant upright stance and going horizontal for the purpose of letting the body recover.

Daily exercise is also a proven input to increase your output. I quickly find that without daily exercise I begin to drag myself from event to event with the background mantra, "I'm so tired, I'm so tired, I'm so tired."

I have also realized over the years that drinking adequate amounts of water is key in my energy level (and it helps keep headaches at bay.)

But, please don't see what I've listed as a list of what to do. Don't even see it as my complete list of what I do for an oxygen mask.

I am still learning. Remaining open to God's prompting to rest in Him expands our ability to actually observe Sabbath. And not settling into rigid exacts of what that means for you or anybody else keeps it alive unto Him rather than dead in our attempts to control it.

Spiritual, physical and emotional health are all a part of our oxygen needs. And for those of us in Christ, these real needs are met in Him. Our actual inborn desire for significance, security and acceptance are all met in Him.

Basic oxygen needs: His Word, His truth, the constant awareness of His presence. And after the inflow of such into our innermost beings the outflow to others becomes less strenuous. Because then our interaction with His creation becomes His work through us not our work for Him.

I'm not seeking perfection as I secure my oxygen mask, I am seeking health that I may honor Him and bring Him glory.

Even today, Geoff and I left the house at 5:30 a.m. for Kampala. I grocery shopped and he dealt with machine business for the maize mill. In times past I would have spent a lot of time complaining about my very full days leading up to today, which made me tired and brought nighttime processing of days' events (read, I didn't sleep much last night due to worry). But, I focused on the good today--a simple exercise in appreciating the rain, the boda boda rides I took from place to place, the free and yummy coffee I was able to take 30 minutes to savor in the middle of the morning and the great salad and sandwich I had for lunch with my man. Thankfulness for all the small things gives a  perspective afforded by joy in God and is a needed blast of oxygen!

I have written a lot of words in this space. Yet, I haven't given an abundance of specifics. I pray you are able to glean what you need.

I pray that we all can become increasingly adept at securing our oxygen masks. May what we give to others be from a place of rest in Him rather than from our own restless striving.

Struggling to Breathe in A Holy Gathering Place

There is a young man across the room from me at the moment. The room is our sitting room or living room or family room or den, whatever you were raised calling such a place where people gather to visit, talk, laugh, cry, pray, read, etc.

For the past three and half days he has gathered himself in our such room.

His entrance into our lives began many years ago when he was much shorter, smaller and perhaps just a bit more innocent--though innocent is quantified here in amount, not quality. He is now simply years farther into his poor choices and thus any supposed positive quality to his state of innocence has been further depleted over the course of time.

The same could be said of all of us who exist somewhere along the continuum of sin. Many of you reading this have the overwhelming privilege of salvation which has renewed your state of innocence before your Creator. This young man has not yet experienced that privilege as his own.

Last Thursday he showed up. That's what he does. He shows up. We know not when or where nor length of time in between installments of his presence, but we can be sure that he will find his way to our house.

Actually, he has become a more frequent visitor since last month when he solidified his choice to stop attending secondary school. At that point he became not only a frequent visitor to our home, but also to Geoff's office, the Early Adulthood Office, where young men and women of New Hope are guided into their future via life counseling and assistance in further education be that vocational or academic pursuits.

He has few family members, no mother or father. His brothers are all older and most often live away from their houses, as they've chosen to work in other cities or villages. This young man has been left to fend for himself over the years. When the brothers happen to be present there is little to speak of any good relationship between them and the young man. Both sides play roles in this relational deficiency, no brother in this scenario could be absolved of sin against the others--them of neglect toward him and he of disrespect toward them. The situation is close to hopeless.

When he showed up last Thursday he had medicines and a clinic sheet in his hands, stating that he felt "malaria," which can mean, real malaria or just a headache. I probed deeper and what he described were classic symptoms of real malaria. The clinic staff recommendation, given he tested negative that day for malaria, was for him to see how he felt over the course of the next few days and return if he worsened. I made sure he understood the medicines given him and encouraged him to return to the clinic if needed.

Being that we were taking a short break in the middle of a packed homeschool day, we shared break snacks with him and he went on his way.

Friday morning he showed up at our dining room table at 7:30 looking a bit more sick and reporting a night of vomiting. With the clinic not opening until 9 a.m. and an impending French test looming over our heads, I started him on malaria treatment, gave him tylenol, fed him the little he said he could eat, and made some ORS (Oral Rehydration Solution) for him to begin drinking. Then we all disappeared from the house and settled into our school banda as the French teacher and the test had arrived.

Each time we had need to re-enter the house we found him deep asleep on the couch, unaware of our nearness to him despite our loud noises.

He ate very little lunch, but at least continued drinking fluids. At 2 p.m. I noticed his breathing was becoming labored. He was posturing himself to maximize air flow and a nice juicy, painful cough became more frequent.

At this point Geoff was about two hours away from the house having spent Thursday and Friday in Kampala getting, among other things, another CT scan completed. CLEAN BILL OF HEALTH, BY THE WAY--NO SIGN OF CANCER!!!

I had no way to get this very weak young man to the Kiwoko hospital down the road, so I kept my eye on him until Geoff arrived.

A storm was coming, the sky blackened, the wind kicked up everything in its path and I truly wondered if the young man would make it until Geoff arrived with the car.

As Geoff pulled up the hail showered down and I had to abandoned the patient temporarily as I frantically shut windows against the rain blowing 2-3 feet into the rooms.

I briefed Geoff as he unloaded the car. Geoff agreed that he didn't look good and a fever of 107.9 confirmed it! As the storm raged we sponged him down with a cool cloth, gave him more tylenol and pushed the ORS. When the storm let up we both went with him to the hospital.

A number of tests were run, but results were delayed so we all came back home and spent until yesterday afternoon not knowing what foreign invader we were dealing with, but pumping fluids and tylenol into him. Finally, yesterday afternoon's results ruled out some heavy hitting diseases and found a raging infection which we are now blasting with IV antibiotics.

I was up a couple of times in the night to make sure we stayed ahead of his fever with tylenol and fluids. (He had spiked in the 106 and 105 ranges last evening!)

This morning we decided I needed to stay home with him while the family went to the church service (Geoff is leading today and Toby is running the sound board.)

Thankfully, he is doing much better this morning, but is still fairly weak. I didn't want him to sink into a day on the couch with nothing to fill his heart and mind, so I fished out of the DVD shelf a Louie Giglio series someone gave us in 2013 in Long Beach.

Have you seen, "How Great is Our God"? You need to if you haven't.

Louie seemingly spoke directly to this young man who has been struggling to breathe for a little more than 24 hours when he said that God promises: "When you think you can't take one more breath, I'll give you enough to keep going. And enough to keep going on, and enough to keep going on, and to keep going and to keep going, and to keep going. You keep hoping and I'll keep causing strength to rise when you hope. And you'll feel like you have been swept up on the wings of eagles and you will run and not get weary and walk through it all and not faint. HE said I will hold you. Even when you let go of Me I'm not going to let go of you. . . We will never, not be carried by the strong hand of a universe-making God and He will bring us through. That is the promise of the everlasting God!"

I noticed a body response from the couch as he heard these words and could directly relate it to his current circumstance.

We finished watching the DVD and he was shaken, but not in a feverish state. It was the spirit of God impacting him with the truth.  I asked him if he believed that God cared about Him, that God made him and is giving him every breath of life. He responded, "yes." And we prayed together thanking God for life and breath and His care.

The room was very quiet and heavy with the real stuff of life--God's presence and His truth ordaining our lives.

He wanted to watch more, so we watched, "Symphony," which is an incredible journey through God's creation and how all of His creation praises Him.

I am grateful for this opportunity to care for this young man. To give Him truth, To be a point of place where he can experience God's love and care through His people.

He continues slowly to improve, by the way. His breathing has stabilized and his fevers have been non-existent as the day has progressed.

It is these kind of interruptions to life that reawaken me to the reality of the needs in our community. Fatherless children become wayward young men. But, in these opportunities to show love, care, truth and compassion, perhaps he will see what he has yet failed to embrace all of his years at New Hope.

O Lord, let Him truly see YOU. And grant us more opportunities to offer him a holy gathering place where He sees your love in action and is able to receive in himself the ability to breathe You in without struggle.

The Connection

I was recently reading John 20 where Jesus talks to the disciples after appearing to their company of hiders for fear of the Jews.

They have bona fide fear--the Jews killed their leader and Lord and they had to wonder if they were going to be next. Mixed up with fear must have been hatred, anger and desire for revenge.

He immediately addresses their deepest need with, "peace be with you." Peace annihilates the tensile bonds of our failure to let go of our struggle against anxiety and the fallout of sins others have committed against us or those we love.

He continues,  "As the father has sent me so I am sending you," and he breathed on them.

Of course. They would need His peace first before being sent out by Him. They couldn't go out in His name without true peace. For crying out loud, they were wallowing in turmoil as evident by their inability to even go out, hence their hiding.

They couldn't reveal the truth of who He is in their state--mixed bags of fear, hatred, anger and maybe even a more than healthy desire for revenge. He is none of that nonsense.

And what else did he say was needed?  His Holy Spirit. "Receive the Holy Spirit, if you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven." Surely they cannot move as true disciples of Him, if they attempt to do so without His Spirit.

And what reason does He give here for their need of the Holy Spirit?

To exact forgiveness.

This word, forgiveness--it has been catalyst for many lengthy journal entries, intense prayers and pleadings, watershed moments of surrender to His ways and the sudden rush of release from the chains of trying to play God in other people's lives, while refusing to allow Him to be God of mine. And again today, seeing this word produced another turning point in going deeper still in Him.

My eyes were opened to notice His instruction on forgiveness falling immediately after His directive to receive the Holy Spirit.

This connection powerfully hit me.
I got a clearer understanding as to why Jesus would say in Matthew 6:14-15, "For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you, but if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses." This has always seemed such a harsh, unbending statement. In context, it is not. It is simply another Kingdom reality. If His spirit lives in me, I must let Him LIVE IN ME! If He forgives, and He most definitely forgives, I MUST forgive.

He has breathed on us His Holy Spirit. God, who loves and is just and therefore, through the genuine justice bought by Jesus' sacrifice, forgives. In order to refuse to forgive we must suppress His Holy Spirit in us. That most certainly must be the perfect definition of grieving the Holy Spirit.

How can his Spirit thrive in us if we continually work to suffocate Him rendering Him without rule?

When I defiantly choose to NOT forgive when His Holy Spirit lives in me, I reveal a self-centered, skewed perspective, not God's perspective, and in doing so I quench His Spirit.

Should I be surprised then at Christ's strong words regarding God's response to our acts of forgiveness or the lack thereof?

What has God Himself done for us? Forgiven.

His Spirit living in us means His ways become our ways. If we do not allow His Spirit to live out His ways in us we are working against Him. "Those not for us are against us."

Who am I that I refuse to forgive others? His very own Holy Spirit lives in me. Yet, I cannot show any evidence of His life in me when I instead foster a fertile environment for the bitterness incurred with the failure to forgive.

Matthew 18 was the pivotal point of my understanding of God's ultimate forgiveness--MANY years after I thought I understood salvation and forgiveness.

In that passage Jesus tells us of a powerful master who forgave the massive debt of one of his servants. It was a debt he would never have been able to pay in his lifetime--never mind how he came by that debt or the incredible stupidity involved in incurring the weight of something beyond repayment, yet forgiven and relieved is how he suddenly found himself.

And what did he do for immediate celebration of his freedom?

He continued in his stupidity.

With the lightness of newfound release still fresh in his being, he picked up his old shackles and threw them, with perfect aim, onto someone who owed him a paltry sum and, amidst angry words and threats, threw him in jail.

All my "valid" reasons for withholding forgiveness from those who deeply hurt me suddenly are without power and my ridiculous pride over thinking I have any justification for withholding forgiveness is exposed. The reality of God forgiving me for my heinous acts drains the power from any reason to not forgive.

Who am I to fail to forgive?

God has forgiven my debt which I could never, ever, ever, ever, repay. I have sinned against the LORD over all, the Creator, the King. Yet, he lovingly holds out His forgiveness as I acknowledge the blood sacrifice of His Son bringing me life amidst justice.

Who am I to grab someone else in a chokehold of unforgiving anger? Stupid, absolutely asinine.

Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. 1 John 4:7-8

You! Go Bathe!

Early on Sunday mornings Geoff grabs a basket, a metal bowl and about a kilo of beans for sorting, then he heads out to the porch to sit in the sunshine while he starts the bean prep for lunch. A couple of weeks ago, while making my REQUIRED java, (decaf mind you, another "I'm now over 50" story for another time . . .) I heard a voice other than Geoff's at 7 :15 and found Kakande, firmly planted in the chair next to him, talking and laughing. Bubbly, our black lab mutt, never wanting to be left out of anything, had also joined them.

I tell you with confidence that you do not have the up close and personal knowledge with which to absolutely appreciate God's miraculous work that was occupying the plastic lawn chair across from Geoff. So, let me fill in your cavernous knowledge gaps.

We arrived at New Hope Uganda only 8.5 years ago. The founders of New Hope arrived 29 years ago. Twenty-Nine years ago Kakande was already of full grown size, yet of minimal mindset and a complete inability to care for himself. Truthfully, he scared young children and adults both with his unpredictable behavior and unkempt appearance. He "lived" with his grandmother two villages away from New Hope, but wandered all the nearby villages, neglected and also frequently abused by many. He had a harsh demeanor and usually only showed up for food. One of the nurses in the clinic followed him as closely as was possible with all his other nursing responsibilities, but there were still long absences in which we didn't know where he was or what was happening to him. A little more than eight years ago, our veranda became one of his chosen landing places. Whenever we had bananas, we shared. He didn't talk he just sat: disheveled, smelly, covered either with wounds or with bandages (depending on whether or not he'd already been to the clinic that day) and he drank tea, ate bananas, smacked his lips and belched.
Our kids, then 2, 3, and 4 didn't know what to make of him, but they would say hello and move about their toddler business acutely aware of his presence. We attempted to talk with him, but between our small amount of polished Luganda and his lack of enunciation, we didn't usually say much. And that was about the extent of our interaction with him.

2009. The year everything began to change for Kakande. One of the most beloved blessings to ever set foot on New Hope soil is Kate Tolhurst. She came with her humongous heart for those with special needs and over the course of the past five plus years has built a special needs program called, "Treasures in Jars of Clay." Among the many she serves is Kakande. Long story, somewhat shorter, Kakande is now a permanent part of the New Hope Community. In 2012 a small room was completed for him where he has his own bed and a place for his clothes and his radio. He fetches water each and every day for the special needs program and Aunt Kate's house. He likes to help us in our gardens from time to time. He loves to make tea in the afternoons at Aunt Kate's house and he attends David Family devotions most nights in the week. He is gentle with the young ones and loves to worship God. He talks to all of us now A LOT, though with very limited vocabulary and many slurred words, and HIS SMILE, oh, his smile is amazing! Every once in awhile he will spend  his own money on buying treats for the other special needs kids. Even though they can't eat what he brings due to their physical condition--it is his huge heart that fills them with the nutrients of love.

One who used only to beg for food now gives freely. One who had few clothes and all of them dirty and torn, now is properly clean-clothed.  Though, he still has a fairly narrow focus: his primary seemingly insatiable desire is food! He loves food! He is fed three meals and snacks everyday, but his nose can still keenly track roasting meat. He visits our house EVERY DAY at some point and usually that point is during a meal time. His draw to food is only broken by the sound of a motor vehicle moving. If he hears ours or another van moving he comes running to be a part of the ride! When Geoff had a motorbike, he wanted to go wherever Geoff was going, ALL THE TIME. Sometimes we just rode him around the yard because the smile on his face was an easy reward.

And we have witnessed first hand the therapeutic effect animals have on the physically and mentally challenged. Though Kakande cannot clearly speak our dog's name, "Bubbly" he tries with "Buppy!" he loves to pet her, and though she does not always allow him to, he greets her anyway.

I laughed out loud that Sunday when he, Bubbly and Geoff were on the porch together. Kakande, formerly unkempt and smelly, was instructing, "Buppy! Okunaba!!!"  (Bubbly, go bathe!)

The contrast between Kakande then and Kakande now is only one of the many ways this ministry is making a difference in the community. Thank you for your support of New Hope Uganda. Together we are making a difference. www.newhopeuganda.org

"Buppy okunaba!" directs Kakande as he takes a gander in Bubbly's ear

Kakande tries to assure Bubbly that having a bath won't be as bad as she expects it to be.

Bubbly shoots a begging, pleading glance Geoff's way--trying to weasel out of the inevitable scrub!

The Latest on Ketty

Dear friends of Aunt Ketty Okoth,

Our meeting with the oncologist began at 7:45 p.m. last night in Kampala. I had the CT scans and written report in my hands at 2 p.m., but the words of the radiologist were ambiguous so I kept my numerous thoughts to myself and didn't share them with Aunt Ketty as I didn't want to speak out of turn.

When we walked out of International Hospital Kampala after 8:30 last night we were beside ourselves with emotion. It had been a very long day. I had been awake since 3:15 a.m.and left for Kampala at 5 a.m., Geoff had taught in Kampala the day before to the Investment Year students and had stayed in town overnight, and Ketty had traveled to town with the Vogt family yesterday who took her to lunch to celebrate God's miracle work in her body--even before any of us knew actual CT results. 

The oncologist's words included: "remarkable improvement", "dramatic", "remarkable response to radiation", and as he provided details in medical terms of what he saw I noticed Ketty's glazed over look. She was not comprehending what was being said. She stopped him and started, "Doctor, forgive me, but if we could go back a little and review, what are you saying? Am I healed of the cancer?" To which he replied, "Yes, Ketty, you have responded well to the radiation and chemotherapy and it appears that the esophagus has no more cancer, and though there is a small spot on the brain, it is most likely scar tissue."  Ketty asked, "So, what does that mean? Are we done? What about my liver and abdomen?" He then gave her the good news that no sign of cancer was seen in any of the organs. Her face was unchanged except for her big eyes and raised eyebrows. She then breathed deeply, shook her head, clapped her hands and said, "God, be praised." The doctor reminded her of their words together before her being sent to Nairobi last November regarding expecting God to continue His healing in her. And so He has! The follow-up plan is to perform CT scans every six months unless she is experiencing symptoms warranting an earlier check. 

On the way home she called her family and I sent notification texts of the great news. Geoff simply tried to drive as safely as possible given that we were caught in Kampala Friday night jams and then were traveling in village darkness coupled with bright oncoming headlights until we reached home around 11:30 p.m. Some of her children and her husband were still awake and enthusiastically greeted her as we pulled up to their home. We fell into bed well after midnight, full of thanksgiving.

THANK YOU for you financial support, your prayers, your messages of encouragement to Ketty and her family and your faith in the LORD GOD's goodness! Please continue to pray for her body to remain free of cancer in the future. 

The follow-up CT scans cost $300 and each doctor consultation appointment costs $30 with transport at $65. Our first follow-up appointment is March 6 and is simply for her to meet with the doctor to discuss her progress. If you desire to be a part of the financial support for these costs you may send monies to New Hope Uganda Ministries, P.O. Box 154  Belle Fourche, South Dakota, 57717 designating it for the Ketty Cancer Fund on a separate piece of paper.

Thank you all so much for your amazing support throughout this journey!!!!!

Building Boys

This post is mainly for the grandparents, uncles and aunties.  There is no deep philosophical thought or update from the ministry here today. Just a few pictures for the family.

After four very full days of school work, various daily chores, baby sitting and a morning French lesson, the boys settled into building their own unique creations. Toby went for the "Dangerous Book for Boys" as his inspiration, while Kevin got to work on some "Chima" Legos pieces.

Toby: making sure he fixes the electric connection just right

Taping up his creation. He took a metal math set container and transformed it into an enclosed "pocket flashlight box" 

Kevin watches intently as Toby puts on the finishing touches.

Then Kevin pulled his legos onto the couch and finished constructing what he'd started this morning.

He finished all the figures required for the story and has enjoyed setting them up for adventure throughout the afternoon.