Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                         April 15^th 2024

Ten or so kilometers out into the bush?  That is where the stupid little truck sat, front end just enough lower than the back that no significant weight remained on the only working drive axle.  It had down-poured all night.  We left before daylight leaving 2 hours to get where we were headed, using wipers intermittently for the first half hour or so.  In theory, we were going only ½ an hour into the bush.  This was Sunday, yesterday.

Week ago Saturday, we had a navigator to get there.  We had been called last minute and asked to be a mobile videographer’s stage.  So, on a dry Saturday, after very long wait for hair, make-up and dress, 4-ish hours, we drove preceding the bride, her parents and driver.  We drove to another new, still being built church so this young Meru Evangelist could marry her young Mchungaji Maasai husband.

That was a challenge.  Water crossings, wash outs, deep saturated mud flows over-washing and burying whole sections of track.  Bride had an almost new four wheel drive to follow us.  They nearly got stuck too.

Ceremony presided over by Bishop.  This is only the second generation of Maasai Bishop.  It makes ones head shake to think that, twenty years ago, here in Tanzanaia, I had sat and talked on the porch of and with the missionary who had baptized the, first, Maasai Bishop.  These precious people have seen unbelievable change while still living bush. 

I sat with students from the Theology program from the university.  Then, insanely, I got out to the truck to leave with the videographers just to find the bed packed full of standing African women in long tight wedding dresses all packed in like sardines and clinging to each other so no one should fall out.

Most of those faces have been posted on our wall next to our door since last November, so we can keep praying for them.  Over seventeen in the bed of the truck alone, another five or six in the back seat of the cab.  Videographers were the second load out from the church to the home of groom’s family.

Too much to write about wedding day but, we absolutely could not leave to beat nightfall, without eating food, without a whole wedding cake to take home with us, without a whole barbequed leg of goat wrapped up in local vegetation too.  And the bed of the truck loaded with bride and grooms things heading to accommodations nearby the university and her church a couple communities over along the big road.  And a full back seat too.

Yesterday I had been requested to preach for young couples’ thanksgiving first official Sunday as husband and wife.  I used the message written months ago as studied from the scheduled readings for yesterday.  I was late to the church. 

But, we had gotten to within walking distance.  Walking distance for local folks.                                             By God’s infinite grace, we’re often included as local folks too.

The groom walked out to an older brother’s, [Maasai extended family is ..  diverse  .. terminology is not the same though we can try to come close], house where the stupid little truck got stuck blocking the track.

Leave the truck right there.  Wait for the sun to dry up the track for a few hours and if need be, oxen and ropes are just two homes over, “right there, Babu, right there, worry not.”  This groom is the young Maasai Mchungaji, who lost family in the big bus wreck that killed, so may foreign, missionaries too.  Life goes on.  Strength comes in choosing to live life in the face of death.

Hilda and I walked with family, bride and groom, grooms parents and extended, about 5-6 kilometers.     

Yes, with the groom translating, Evangelist of the new church directing, I still gave the message.  A hard message about sacrifice and suffering.  Especially challenging for leadership as the message is directed towards those called to shepherd.  Something must have gone well.  The Evangelist, older man, saw the printed copies that the groom and I presented from, and later asked for a copy for himself.    

I was bought three offering of eggs, and one of okra from ‘third-offering’ outside at the close of service.  They were all dutifully, and with laughter, presented to Hilda by elders handling the auction/offering.

Hilda fell only once.  It was not bad at all.  But, the fall to one knee, was in one of the water courses rushing and full, we had to cross to and from the church.  Of course, smart phone video of our almost-baptism, was happily shared to us.  Eggs, okra, Bibles and worship books are all fine too.

A Maasai Angel, we know at this church who teaches confirmation and feeds people, greeted Hilda and the young lady Mchungaji accompanying us, in her typical manner.  She threw her arms around both at the same time; and smiled in that embrace so hard her eyes leaked.  This Angel got the copy of the message I had presented from as soon as I had left the sanctuary.

This Angel is also a Bibi, grandmother, but as a bush woman is decades younger than us.  Still, to watch her leap, dance and sing with the choir of little ones, or big ones; well, amazing is too small a word.

I got a couple more kilometers in, collecting the truck later and bringing it to Gather Hilda, fill the bed with the couples’ things, like last Saturday, and the back seat with people.

I have to crawl under the truck today to verify, but I believe the driver’s side front quarter shaft is blown loose at the hub end.  I nursed it home, slowly, after bombing out of the bush like a maniac so as not to get sucked into another predicament without momentum enough to, bounce, fly, plow, through.

Navigators have taken me different ways, each time, to this place.  Our scheduled navigator for yesterday morning was ill and did not arrive.  We got turned around and in the wrong place while negotiating tracks moving with mud-waters and debris from saturation of overnight heavy rain and run off from higher elevations.

We found a church-school and beautiful young lady pastor went to ask directions.  Yes, she is now wearing new, good, shoes.  Pray-God, a young student, got his head master’s permission and climbed in the front seat to direct me.  Turns out, Pray-God’s sister went to school with the groom, and Pray-God’s father was joyfully known to the presiding Evangelist.  We kept him close to us all day including him with all ‘mchungaji-evangelist-churchleadership’ activities. 

His favorite part of the day’s activities, though, was obviously the insane bush driving.  He was grinning like a joyful madman with every impossible foot conquered by speed and God alone.

Thank you for praying us into such use, over and over.

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Blown CV joint driver’s side front hub.  Sent a Picture, and, my amazing Islamic fundi’s only response was that he is coming to get the truck this afternoon.  He has to drive out from town, likely in the rain, likely on his motor scooter, with tools.  Just to lay in the mud, like I did to take the photo, and take loose bits free.  Then drive back into town.  Town driving is a type of crazy that I can do, but strive to do only as rarely as possible. 

I was just in town with Hilda, one of our precious editors, and the beautiful lady pastor who got good shoes, just Saturday.  I spent part of Saturday with this fundi, mechanic, working-together on the truck.  We got all the lights working again, the HVAC control panel re-anchored into the dashboard, the tailgate to open and close again, and the engine cover re-fastened with found hardware.  This after he had to go to the hospital for stitches to his head.  No, he got the stitches fighting flooding in his shop.  He insisted I come to do the work anyway.  His wife and he also had a new baby 3 days before.

Your faith in prayer works wonders, always.

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We have not missed a week delivering Sunday messages to both the Mama’s on the mountain, and the children at Makumira Secondary School.  They get taken when we can get there either Sunday or before.

I had the good walk to Makumira Secondary School twice this week.

Hilda came home, from her walk for fresh produce, with a student from there on Monday last.  She, a student known to us for the full time we have been here.  We have watched her grow and matriculate to church secondary school, boarding.  She is one of the ones who would sit with Hilda and I in the Mulala mountain church.  She had been waiting on the big road for collection since early in the day but had missed the bus. 

We called headmaster.  After feeding her and getting her rehydrated, she let me carry her large backpack of supplies, all her worldly possessions, and walk her the few kilometers to school.  I returned her backpack to her when we could see the gate to the school so she could be seen bearing her own burden; and not be seen letting her trusted old one carry it for her.

I watched her safely enter the gate then turned and started walking home.  Along came head master with a truck full of people who made a large hole for me to squeeze in so they could take me a short distance to where I take a short-cut across the university campus I was told to stay off of by those embarrassed by their choices.

Friday I walked again, before breakfast in the cool, to deliver the messages.  The guard, who gets a copy of the message for himself each time, took them for the children and went back to work with school mechanic on the generator.  I left.  Not long after, here came the guard and mechanic smiling hugely to collect and take me to where I cheat across the campus.   

Your prayer again.  Thank you.

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The book, which is completely the fault of, and doing for, local Mama’s; is being edited in two languages and we pray that it will be affordably printed here before we, likely, head back to the states.

I know, absolutely crazy to think we can afford a printing, but we have to try

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You who read and pray and suffer along with us.  Please believe what we get to see.  Thank you for praying our strength and guidance for each moment with each face.   Folks like you are beyond precious.  vwilliamson@sprynet.com

Really blessed while deeply under attack..  all of it is spiritual..  I wish I could teach that to everyone so they could truly know it.  I didn’t know it for far too long. 

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.

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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 –

Pray for YWAM, YWAM families, Tanzanian families who choose Joy, over and over in defiance of death - 

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