Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                         May 28th, 2023

Safety-belt..

I understand where the perspective comes from.  Christianity to most of the non-Christian developed world-mind is at best a crutch.  It can also be seen as only a means of control employed by Christians who are mentally defective or evil. 

I blew it again today.  I was unable to prevent a developed world white person coming into the children’s worship time on Sunday and take one of the children out so that white person could do the job they get paid to do.  A job they have 167 other hours a week to do, other than that hour.

The free work we do in this world is seen as valueless.   This is part of our challenge with regards the message of Jesus Christ.  None of us can do anything to earn what Jesus does.  Jesus simply loves enough to do it for us.  None of us could do anything to have life and be part of creation, God simply loves enough to do it for us. 

By teaching that money and control is all there is to spend time on, we teach so much antithetical to the message of sun and rain and soil and growing things.  Things that we can manipulate some now but, still we cannot create.

Being unpaid and unwilling to live divorced from the local community and the local community of faith around a precious group of children, we are ostracized.  Any and all mistakes, real or imagined, are tabulated and memorialized for use later.  Manipulation for control is good, apparently.  Manipulation for money even better.  Those who complain about feeling manipulated by folks from economically dependent cultures need only look at what we can so sadly teach. 

That is precisely what we face in North America too.  Our culture exported faith to much of the world.  Now our culture exports the shunning of faith as irrelevant mental illness in the way of finding money, money, money.  Faith need not be spoken.

Covid shut down the economy here.  Covid killed many as the disease.  Covid may have killed more in the economic devastation wrought by the global fear that shut down this economy based on tourism.  This is part of what happened at Josephine Sunset Home, an eldercare facility in Stanwood Washington during Covid times too.  The disease took our elders.  The disease took our elders community away and gave them only isolation.  That isolation brought death too.

With people who look like me teaching that money, their paid position to raise money from those who only need to be motivated to give money, and the children learning to be part of that motivating for money, and their worship time together is to be abrogated to that..??

I know.  Vern, stop being a jerk. “I’m only doing my job.  And I get paid to do my job.”  This is only part of the spiritual pressure to extract us from trying to teach that when the money stops, when the buildings collapse, when there is no food to share, when our last breath is taken, there is still a place called home for all of us.  

That is what lets us take our next breath.  That is what lets us teach Jesus’s self-sacrifice by striving to live self-sacrificially.

I can be so furious but, only Jesus has the authority to overturn the money changers tables.  I do not.  I can be so deeply troubled and hurt but, only Jesus has the authority to judge, I do not.  Respect is no longer a part of our world-leading-culture-through-economic-means.  Respect is now a means to an end, a manipulation.  That is poison shared by too many of us too.  Still, I am not qualified to judge.  Pray for me.  Please.

Being a plow-point, the forward most tip of a tool that breaks open the ground and turns it over as part of preparing that ground to become soil, something good for roots and growing, is brutal.  We are not wealthy people because that is often where I found myself in North America. 

That is still where I find myself with North Americans, Europeans, most folks who can afford to travel because they want to.  I know it makes no sense.  We got rid of the house and nearly everything and travelled because we had to.  I pray some day our children will all come to understand that.  It may help them too.

How do we keep going?  You!!, If only one of the readers of this get this far and can know that your inability to articulate words in prayer for us is beautiful beyond expression.  The Holy Spirit wordlessly groans for us.  If you take the time for that groaning to go up to God, because of God, because of you.  You keep us going.

Faces keep us going.  Our sick little non-four-wheel drive forces us to be on foot a lot.  We get to see and be seen.  Just two days ago a young one, who had never seen me before, was dumb-struck watching me climb into the truck at the edge of the road.  I spoke in the language of this mountain.  The eyes got bigger and that little one ran back the way they came to chatter emphatically with other little ones.  Probably something like, “you won’t believe what I just saw!..  and..  and.. it spoke to me!!”

Faces keep us going.  We are known some and the greetings almost always come with deep sincere smiles and waves.  Often a group of two or more women will respond to my greeting now while walking with howls of laughter as they greet me, someone they have seen in their churches, in return as Kisali. 

Here is the joke they all share with such joy.  Kisali means big-brother.  Those who know what I look like understand that I am fairly tall at 190 centimeters, about 6’ 3”.  I have to order shirts and shoes in order to get them the right size.  I am still about 300 lbs and look ridiculous, especially here among the majority genetically predisposed to be beardless head to toe.  I am not.  It is a wonderful joke that means they are too busy laughing to ask for money or even be afraid.

Faces keep us going.  Local pastors, living and serving hand to mouth multiple parishes, who don’t just smile but beam at us.  Local pastors who come quietly to visit us with problems they cannot fix themselves as they live hand to mouth.  We do what we can, which isn’t much.  But we do have the freedom not afforded much of the North American church anymore.  We have no insurance policy.  We have no lawyers, and as unaccompanied missionaries we have no national church telling us what we can and cannot try as ministry and service.  So we try.  Sometimes what we have to try is, “no.”

If we fail.  By Gods grace and help we may come to find forgiveness and energy to try again.     

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From last time…

I cannot describe the spiritual attacks we have been facing as the time hopefully approaches (June 1^st?) when we will engage with the University again.  Relationships here on the ground in addition to my imperfections and mistakes are being used to try to drive us away from our striving.  Each day is a sincere struggle.  Hopefully that means we’re on the right track.  Please pray for those around us.  Please pray for the local faces which fearlessly now smile and greet us as we walk.  

Please keep crumpling us up and throwing us at God.  That is where we need to be.  God will sort us out.

One day at a time.  Just like how you each live.  Just one day at a time. 

Thank you, each of you.

              -------------------------------------------------------

What to Pray for:

Our armed forces families, our leadership, our people, whole world round, all of Gods kids -

All the tough and blessing expressed above –

The love of folks –

Whatever is on your hearts and minds for us –

For our children and grand-children who miss us.. 

For Makumira Secondary School looking to share stories and partner in some way with a foreign school, Great leaders, teachers, students, programs, strong backs, minds, and hearts –

For our health to stay ahead of whatever is before us –

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 each and every one of you –

Each and every one of your prayers, your precious conversations with God –

Prayers, Your Prayer, Even your groaning prayers makes all the difference..

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

 Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                         May 15th, 2023

Pastor Lazaro(Lazarus) has trusted me with the people of his Maasai Parish, his Leganga Parish, and now his Ngyani Parish.  Our first parish of his to visit was his Maasai Parish and we did not preach there but were honored by the trust of being taken into some of the most impoverished families on the planet.  This is a community that out of complete desperation can fall victim to trafficking of young women promised jobs that take them far away from family.   

Sunday we walked a short way down the mountain to get our ride to Kanisa Ngyani.  This is the church of the retired Pastors wife around whom The Children’s Village has grown up.  One of her many adopted sons is my English student, he was our ride to their church. 

Local folks planned for me to preach there yesterday with the Pastor translating.  This is the second time and the second church that I have preached for this pastor who was going to translate for me but he has been called away to an emergency each time. 

My English student, was directed by the evangelist to translate for me.  Andrew did well.  Andrew was also singing and singing was a larger than normal part of yesterday’s worship and why we were invited to attend, and preach.  Kanisa Kilinga also sent a kwaya(choir) to worship with Kanisa Ngyani.  About a third attending were worshiping choirs.

Andrew translated for both services. 

Andrew is very shy and reserved while being extremely soft-spoken.  His fellow choir members did not expect to ever see Andrew translating from / preaching from / the pulpit and he did amazingly well in spite of turning to mug and make faces at his choir-mates keeping half the back row where they were seated laughing in their joy. 

Joy and eager teasing by gesture at seeing this extremely bright young man doing something so unexpected.

Where we are the first born child of a family is brought to the church after they can walk and let through the iron altar rail to stay in the altar space where pastor, evangelist, and other presiders direct worship. 

That was the case at the Ki-Swahili service yesterday.  A presider then closes the gate preventing the toddler from reuniting with family below the altar.  The toddler is kept there until the family buys their child’s freedom by offering a goat or cow or sheep or sum of money.  Then they can have their child back. 

That little child wandered into the altar space through the open gate and after the gate closed walked directly up to me lifting his tiny arms to be lifted onto my lap.  There he stayed on my lap for about 5 minutes before squirming down to wander around up in his altar jail waiting for the goat.  The goat came and his father handed the rope for the goat through the rail to his tiny son who held obediently.

This unexpected blessing of total acceptance by a local toddler who had never seen me before was extremely heartening.  Yes the child went home with Mom and Dad.   

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The Sunday prior we were at Kanisa Mulala participating from the back row where four of the girls from The Children’s Village came to sit with Hilda sharing our Swahili Worship books. 

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We found an old friend this last week too.  David Mtui was the business partner of Elizabeth Hudgins, a retired English teacher from Vancouver Washington.  Elizabeth and David took care of two mission groups I have been part of coming here.  The second group included our elder daughter. 

Elizabeth was aware of our planning to come and strive at trying to get me into theological training here.  Unfortunately Elizabeth died of COVID between us selling our house and getting to the plane to fly over.  It has taken about a year and a half to find David. 

Thank You for praying for things none of us can know about.  We were a safe place for David to share about the loss of Elizabeth.  He was comfortable to embrace each of us with sincere happiness.  It has been eighteen years since we have been together in Tanzania.  God willing we will take a break and go see his farm on Kilimanjaro soon.

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I cannot describe the spiritual attacks we have been facing as the time hopefully approaches ( a couple more weeks? ) when we will engage with the University again.  Relationships here on the ground in addition to my imperfections and mistakes are being used to try to drive us away from our striving.  Each day is a sincere struggle.  Hopefully that means we’re on the right track.  Please pray for those around us.  Please pray for the local faces which fearlessly now smile and greet us as we walk.  

Please keep crumpling us up and throwing us at God.  That is where we need to be.  God will sort us out.

One day at a time.  Just like how you each live.  Just one day at a time. 

Thank you, each of you.

              -------------------------------------------------------

What to Pray for:

Our armed forces families, our leadership, our people, whole world round, all of Gods kids -

All the tough and blessing expressed above –

The love of folks –

Whatever is on your hearts and minds for us –

For our children and grand-children who miss us.. 

For Makumira Secondary School looking to share stories and partner in some way with a foreign school, Great leaders, teachers, students, programs, strong backs, minds, and hearts –

For our health to stay ahead of whatever is before us –

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 each and every one of you –

Each and every one of your prayers, your precious conversations with God –

Prayers, Your Prayer, Even your groaning prayers makes all the difference..

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

Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                                     May 1st, 2023

We dashed to Nairobi Wednesday morning last week.  Our Visa required leaving the country for a few days and then returning.  So we did.  Without the truck we were limited so we took the bus to Nairobi Kenya. 

Those of you who know the space I take up understand that buses, planes, and small cars are actually extremely uncomfortable to get into and out of, let alone spend hours travelling between nations.  I survived.  We were travelling with an ardent supporter.  The same young man who has managed the government processes that hopefully leads me to applying for matriculation into Tumaini University Makumira sometime this very month. 

We learned right along with him the severe expense of making this trip to Nairobi.  My impressions of the Nairobi I saw was that it is a city trying so hard to be New York, right down to Burger King and Kentucky Fried, that wealth has gone to both its head and heart. 

Bluntly, Nairobi is cruel to her own people.  You leave the hotel bastion out past metal detectors, heavy locked gates, guards to step out on streets with too few sidewalks yet tall fences topped with barbed wire and spikes on both sides protecting wealthy properties behind them.  I found one facility nearby with the words “Faith Center” locked securely up without a soul in view within its perimeter.

We found new shoes for Hilda with a street vender they are bright RED.  So Hilda is happy.  We are poor bargainers as empathy even for those trying to take unfair advantage lives too close to our surface.  Still, that placed us on the street in the right place at the right time to encounter a Burundian father with five children refugees all who had not eaten for days. 

How mean is Nairobi?  In a wealthy part of town it took two American visitors from Tanzania with the wrong East African currency to find a way to get them fed, if only for that day.  We had no local connections in Kenya and could not make heads nor tails of the paperwork they had that entitled them to wander the streets homeless, foodless, looking for help from a church, any church.  All the Nairobi churches apparently are locked up like many places, even at home in the U.S.  Many behind those walls and fences I described.

Yes people were asking for help everywhere we went.  We went anyway.  We went by foot so we were easy to see. 

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We talked our way into a tall nearly double bullet shaped skyscraper which has windows all the way around.  The guards noted the cross that I wear nearly all the time now as it both invites requests for help and, I believe, shames many false requests away.  The guards overcame my size with the help of that cross and little beaming Hilda.  After explaining our desire to simply go up into the building to look out those windows to many guardians outside and then inside we followed a trail of smiles to a desk and waited for Daudi. 

Daudi is an engineer in the building trades who is responsible for this building.  His English is impeccable.  He came smiling out to greet us and took us to the highest unoccupied floor of the building where we could walk around the open unfinished floor and view the city in 360 degrees.  We got to know Daudi. 

On the way out he brought me a pen and paper and I drew up and talked with him about potential full pasture fed, low animal stress, dairy farming only made possible at the equator with its non-stop growing season. 

We discussed layout, rotating paddocks, central watering and central robot milking.  As a farm kid himself with family still milking cows by hand he was very attentive, interested, and thankful.  He also insisted he was taking the idea to his friends at Government house.  Unbelievable..  May he get rich..  May his wealth save friends, family, neighbors, friends, strangers..

Roy, if you are reading this there in Bolivia, yep..  same idea I asked you to give your Mennonite buddies there near you in the mountains. 

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After two nights we headed back.  Little girls with babies wrapped to their backs and little boys swarming us at the bus station lamenting plaintively in Swahili and English phrases intended to illicit assistance.  Having never changed to the correct Kenyan currency from the Tanzanian currency(much weaker) we were ill prepared to provide any assistance. 

The border crossing both ways still has my head shaking. 

First is the swarming by tribal craftswomen(Maasai) who zero-ed in on Hilda and I before we could exit the bus to be processed and then again upon leaving processing to return to the bus.  Again, the wrong currency helped but, being at the border and the craftswomen being Maasai who ignore the border, they knew their highly fluid prices literally coming and going. 

While waiting in the bus for our fellow travelers to be processed and return, I pulled out my bi-lingual Bible.  Inside the back cover I keep a small book of Swahili Hymns.  I dared, thanks to the last year and a half of Sundays with the Mamas at The Children’s Village, to sing the Swahili Hymns I am able to figure out by knowing the English tunes they are written to.

Persistent peddling through the bus windows significantly abated and then stopped.  Confusion and some disbelief ensued as they gave up, walked away, came back after hearing some semi-familiar text, and then went over to a nearby wall to talk with our ardent supporter who was telling them some story. 

Those who were still near our bus were over there listening to him.  Did I tell you he is a Dad who was almost a Catholic Priest?  I bet he wasn’t missing an opportunity.

A couple of our fellow passengers walked forward in the bus to look over my shoulder and sing the hymns along with me.  I could hear emotion amazement and joy.  Hilda was where she could witness the emotions and made a friend sharing contact info through shared Swahili hymns with her large white hairy husband.

Processing at the border was embarrassing.  We do not have diplomatic passports.  Word had gone ahead of us each time.  We were collected out of que each time by smiling border guards who took us past everyone else and then to each window out of one country and the next window into the next country.  I looked up to see that we were taken through the Diplomatic passport track, our ardent supporter happily chatting with guards and immigration officials he obviously knew.  Well, either those specific officials or their bosses.

We were so quick in processing that we got back to the bus before it could be moved from one side of the station to the other and the drivers were shocked as we were.

Processing back into Tanzania a couple of workers challenged me to explain what a Kenyan Pastor in the news had been doing.  The Kenyan pastor in question has been arrested for insisting that his people fast until they die so they can be with Jesus sooner.  If life is impossibly hard, this may indeed appeal to the helpless. 

I am ever more convinced however, that life is what our God and Savior are most about, having created life and then providing means for life eternal.  In the twenty or so seconds we had to discuss a matter on their hearts I shared my conviction that life is the point, not death.  Life is not to be wasted as it is intended to last forever.  Anything that wastes life seems ever more anti-Christ to me and I pray that the arrested pastor gets help and his people wiser leadership.  I often pray that for myself and those I try to serve too.

For those who know the area, it was raining as we left Nairobi but soon cleared.  We crossed the border coming south into Tanzania coming to predominantly Maasai Longido, then Engikerat and very many Kilometers to Oldonyosambu.  That is where the first signs of any water darkened the bottom of dry riverbeds nearly all the way from Nairobi to Arusha.  Five years of drought are hopefully breaking further afield than just the mountains.  This will save many invisible but so precious lives.

We were back late Friday and did not miss our Saturday and Sunday duties.

Tomorrow we take a child to the doctor in town.

Today is a local holiday..  Still the farm kid, self-employed logger, often holidays confuse me and I never seem to remember or understand them.  Thanks for praying for us in our endless confusion(s)..

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Please keep crumpling us up and throwing us at God.  That is where we need to be.  God will sort us out.

One day at a time.  Just like how you each live.  Just one day at a time. 

Thank you, each of you.

                -------------------------------------------------------

What to Pray for:

Our armed forces families, our leadership, our people, whole world round, all of Gods kids -

All the tough and blessing expressed above –

The love of folks –

Whatever is on your hearts and minds for us –

For our children and grand-children who miss us.. 

For Makumira Secondary School looking to share stories and partner in some way with a foreign school, Great leaders, teachers, students, programs, strong backs, minds, and hearts –

For our health to stay ahead of whatever is before us –

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 each and every one of you –

Each and every one of your prayers, your precious conversations with God –

Prayers, Your Prayer, Even your groaning prayers makes all the difference..

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

May life be as Music to your Heart – May Music be as Heart to your Life – May Heart be as Life to your Music