Dear Cherished Interested’s, March 15th, 2023
Sunday we needed to skip the Cathedral and arrived at the
first church at 6:30 am.
The Lutheran Church here in Tanzania has loosened up
liturgy. Each congregation can worship
with significant freedom. Sunday we
started at Mulala. This is where I was
the adult for and both Hilda and I stood up for Elisha as he was baptized and
confirmed. Mulala is relatively high
church, in a very small and remote community way, with stations and roles and
liturgy to match. I gave the message
through a local pastor who found my English a bit beyond his comfort. He managed valiantly.
Then we packed two Evangelists and Mchungaji Ombeni into the
still two wheel drive pick-up and headed up to Kyota. Kyota is higher on the mountain than Mulala
or Kilinga.
The tracks traveled to and from are very rough and the
continuing dry weather makes dust of the parched ground that settles onto
everything and into the lowest holes of the track making them invisible. The larger rocks that can crack an axle
casing, if struck hard, are just soft mounds in the thick dust. Most of these tracks have never seen a road grader
as there isn’t one, nor is there room for one anything like the size of what we
would use while building woods road in the US.
We got to Kyota and Worship Music was already coming from
the Kanisa(church). We parked close to a
tree next to the church and went to prepare in the rectory building behind and
to the side of the church. At this
service I got to sit with Hilda.
There were two Evangelists, an older man, for here, and a
bright-eyed older, for here, woman. The
older man had been reserved and quiet all morning. He is amazing. He has nearly no English and I have no
Meru. That is why he was so quiet around
me. After service we shared a long
moment with my heavily butchered Swahili, we needed to. So quiet, so reserved, he had moved through
the morning like a stoic shadow.
Service at Kyota was far more Pentecostal in flavor with
raised hands, half the congregation standing and dancing together in front as
the Kwaya(choir). Then came the message
and the stoic shadow came alive. He
couldn’t help it. There wasn’t enough
room or freedom in front so he danced with joy through his preaching out among
the congregation wiping the perspiration and having sing-song back and forth
affirming readings by another young man evangelist who stood and read from the
congregation.
Alcohol is a huge problem here and this tall older
Evangelist has been clean and sober, he believes, only because God saved him
from it. Service was full, joyful, and
long.
On the way down from Kyota, as a group, we went to the home
of an Elder Grandmother who had been celebrated that morning in service and
Hilda prayed for her in her home at the gathering for the community.
On the way up to Kyota one track had been nearly closed by a
line-up of tipped loads of rock and dirt.
It is what they have. Aggregate
of all sizes mixed together. Quite a few
of the larger rocks had tumbled into the barely open portion of the track. Open only by driving over the piles with the
left side wheels of the truck. That is
likely where things got knocked and started moving. There while climbing and fish-tailing
slightly through the deep dust, not too unlike snow, on the way up. The dust rises at times to completely obscure
all vision so even if hot with a truck full of people, windows are closed.
On the way down, on a different track to avoid the piles,
one of those hidden deep holes sucked a front tire into nothingness. Power on.
The grade was steep enough that we slid on the frame on that side for an
instant before tire hit the other side and rose. The rear tire did the same and scraping and
rubbing ensued. While stopped a little
further on a motorcycle passed us and told me, through Mchungaji Ombeni, that there
were parts back near that deep dust filled hole. It was a plastic wheel well liner pinched
like a mud-flap can be when backing into piles and pulled from the vehicle. It is tied to the roll bar in the bed of the
truck waiting another trip to the truck doctor.
There is nearly no room for my hands on this little truck, still a big compact
truck for here.
The day before a piki, motorcycle, had tried to park under
the driver’s side front door of the truck too.
Truck Dr. has things to do.
Some more rubbing was located and shoved out of the way leaving
me dust to above the knees. When we
caught up with the children and Mama’s at The Children’s Village after 5:30 pm,
Babu’s vumbi(dust) was quite a source of humor.
The Children went to study and do homework. The Mama’s and I had their service.
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Currently Friday includes teachers professional development
at Imbaseny Peace School in Maji Ya Chai(community east of Silverleaf
School). That occurs for Hilda in the
morning. I then drive her from there to
religion class for the youngest ones at Silverleaf which happens in the
afternoon.
Saturday mornings are still spent by Hilda at the community
education support program up at The Children’s Village. I take her.
Then have an English tutorial a little lower on the hill. We try to rest for Sunday on Saturday
afternoon. Sometimes we get to rest.
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The threads in the fabric need to move in order for the
needle to pierce the fabric of these lives here so another thread can be drawn
through, the thread of our lives. This
has to happen so the fabric of living where we are from can come close to the
fabric of living where we were. This has
to happen so strength can be shared by both weaves of fabric, both fabrics of
living. That piercing needle is rude and
often unexpected. Both fabrics of living
are used to their own weave and tuck.
Both fabrics are used to their own lay and waft when blown by events.
This is hard work and at times very dislocating and
painful. Forgive me please for riding
the needle and being rude and unexpected.
That is what Hilda and I are to do.
My fabric of living is pierced as well and my head shakes in disbelief
of the rude and unexpected too.
Thousands of times in hundreds of ways communication falters
and fails. Pray that trust holds
together and stays strong as the rudeness of the unexpected needle and thread,
unexpected lives, disrupt and pull familiar fabric of living in rude and
unexpected ways. Pray that we can remain
trusting that this sewing of diversity in living fabrics brings shared strength
to all the fibers, each precious life.
Luke ten verses one through twelve talks of our leaders in
this work. Their example holds true for
all of us. We are to live and work
together serving the willing by working alongside the willing, sharing food and
building fabric of life together. This
may sound romantic and can even come off as holier than thou, but. We have lived long enough and through enough
to know that dusting off ones sandals is nothing but heartbreak and dread. Guide the thread of our lives. Steer the sewing so the dust is meaningless
but for being held in common. A badge of
shared labor and purpose in disparate fabrics come together.
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WE don’t fit the expected boxes.. The local folks have decided to either love
us or hate us for that. The ones who
love us seem to be winning.. I think
your praying has been a huge part in that.
God is listening, watching..
laughing some too??
Thank You for that.
Also please Pray for:
.. Except for perhaps
needing to drive to Kenya to cross the border and re-enter TZ every 90 days,
the Visa stamp in our passports indicates current until 2024. Thank You!
Gratitude..
Gratitude for our time in the Pacific Northwest and over to
Colorado for those dear children and grandchildren who miss us and whom we are
overjoyed to have had our precious time with.
Makumira Secondary School, my brilliant helper Elisha’s school, is looking
to share stories and partner in some way with a foreign school, Great
leaders, teachers, students, programs, strong backs, minds, and hearts –
Moses Confort Home / Upendo School / Blue Sky School -
Imbaseny Peace school is one of two schools run by a
Mchungaji here. He requests prayer for
Imbaseny Peace school as that school has no external support and parents school
fees fall short of what the job takes.
This is endemic for most parents here.
Hilda’s continued invisibility to those who can only see
their own authority –
Our armed forces families, our leadership, our people, whole
world round, all of God’s kids -
All the tough and blessing expressed above –
The love of folks –
Whatever is on your hearts and minds for us –
I continue to be under much harsh spiritual attack
concerning my sense of self-worth and those many things I have yet to get to,
please, only as you are comfortable, remember me, indeed us.. the world doesn’t
like what we are doing out of love we don’t own.. yet have none the less.. –
Us is not only Hilda and I but a growing circle of local
folks. Please imagine them too as you
pray for ‘us’. -
For our health to stay ahead of whatever is before us, for
us to let our health fail so others can shine –
For a way for us to invest with our experience and even
financially in support of local industrious people so we can afford to stay and
continue to make a difference one face at a time –
For those who have braved the donate button to discover
Kajun Crofton, our daughter who helps getting each one of your donations to us and
every blogpost to where you can read it –
For you who find other ways to uplift and support us -
For each and every one of you –
Each and every one of your prayers, your precious
conversations with God –
Prayers, Your Prayer, skipping stone and even groaning
prayers make all the difference..
If we should ever cross your mind, even if we are strange
and confusing, just grunt, crumple us up and throw us at God. That is where we need to be..
Vern W
May life be as Music to your Heart – May Music be as Heart to your Life –
May Heart be as Life to your Music
