Dear Cherished Interested’s,

Actually this is August 1st, Monday. Apologies for being slow. Computer issues, power issues, busy-ness issues. I am grateful to a New Zealander, from home, for help with my computer.

I wrote to a dear mentor, and the Pastor of much of our children’s growing up, about a difficult topic. I will name the topic, extortion. Some may prefer a different terminology. It is part of the background everywhere we turn here and can be seen as needs, often very real needs, propelling people to pursue us, Hilda and I, as potential cash.

Saturday was typical busy with Hilda diligently helping with the community wide educational support program up at The Children’s Village. She had a spontaneous story-time Saturday morning too for about 150 children and she found a book and read it to them herself. Then down early in the afternoon for food and rest. Then back up late in the day for Zoom story-time with readers from other places around the globe reading a book live to the children in residential care here.

Upon returning to Silverleaf Academy in the growing dusk after Saturday’s busy-ness we were met by someone. Someone none of you will ever know, whom we have tried to help in the recent past. Someone who is able to talk a way onto the campus and to the little house Hilda has to use.

Nothing, however, is ever the fault of this unfortunate one. Instead, it is always the fault of other people or misfortunes. We fed this dear one. We listened to this dear one. We forgave what help had been given earlier as a loan. We emptied the refrigerator into two sacks for the children of the dear one. We then said no. No, to anymore cash.

One of the things Hilda and I must stay aware of is the fact that in order to come and strive here, as we believe we are supposed to, we had to sell our home in WA State. No more mortgage, no more debt, no more property taxes, no more community association dues. That is what helps us get from moment to moment here. If we tell that to someone coming to us for help and they do not hear it, do not respect it, then we are not seen by them as people. Especially, if that dear one coming for help has a home.

Hilda and I understand need verses want having skated thin financial ice our whole lives together. We understand those things in the context of where we are from, North America. This is a different place with so much real need at every turn we could be used up in no time.

Like home, those facing the deepest real need are often the ones least likely to ask for any help. It is then good to have relationships with folks, local folks who know situations both seen and unseen. This is often the women. Women who take the world on their shoulders for each other and those children who have no one. We are not dead to the unresponsive face drawn thin and gaunt accompanying a person struggling for the next step. We cannot help them all. This is hard work.

We had given those sacks from our refrigerator to the dear one as they had left and we did something we loathe to do. We shut and locked the door. Then we sat during our Saturday evening time of resting, in preparation for Sunday’s big busy push, and talked and prayed that we had done rightly.

You see, living in trust takes trust even in the face of failure, real or perceived. We were quiet and listening in our thoughts anguishing in no small way about the possibility of missing an opportunity to be doing what is most right. In this place of no public safety nets, questionable nutrition, limited and costly education, lives are dependent upon doing what is most right. We cannot help them all. This is hard.

Then there was a knock at the locked door.

We have been sharing our spare bedroom with a very young cook who is on-site to help feed about 24 visitors form America and the UK. She had gotten word that her father had been taken to hospital. The local mother she is working with to keep this clump of visitors fed is one of those relationships that knows the seen and much of the unseen stories. She sent this deeply concerned young woman to us in the middle of their combined heavy work.

In came this cook and straight to Hilda. Hilda doesn’t have much Swahili. Hilda speaks fluent mom. The cook knows English well, if not proficiently. Hilda told our young roommate that she was not traveling on a motorcycle for hire to the hospital to see her father. Hilda turned to me and together we said to give me a minute to get my boots on, that I will take her.

I want to point out in these events piled upon each other that Hilda and I were praying that we had done the most right thing by turning away one with a story. One who did not see Hilda and I as people. One whose story, as checked through local women today, has proven to be false.

We closed the door and locked it on an extortion. God sent another to knock. God sent another with a real need. One who simply wanted us to know that she might not get back from the hospital and not to expect her coming in even late, if at all. Hilda knows the danger of local motorcycle taxis and injury and deaths are common, especially after dark. This real need came. This real need came not expecting anything just knowing that we would worry if she did not arrive for her bed as normal.

The joy in serving real need was found in the faces of Aunt, Uncle and Mom of the young cook. Father is now wheelchair bound struggling with blood sugar and an apparent stroke. NO one asked me for money. No one asked me to pray. Pray we did.

I would not take the cook back to her work until she hugged her mother and her father. That was the right thing to do. That is not a wealthy home. But it is a beautiful home. All the little children were comfortable watching the evening’s troubles and a family coming together. Then comfortable to fist bump the big hairy white man as he took their young Aunti out into the dark night and back to work.

It is your Prayer that keeps us close with The Spirit so we have any chance to doing anything rightly.

We as Americans can feel bled dry by a dangerous world that our sons get sent into to die for, by a hungry world that has made our agriculture the most efficient the world has ever seen. We cannot help them all. This is hard. Extortion is in that mess too. Hilda and I want no part of that.

We write and share because we are in need of prayer. And we know it. Trying to be empty enough after a lifetime being the ones full of solutions is not always my way. Staying out of the way so God can bless. Sometimes with, even such as us, in the mess.

Going to get this off right away before we lose connectivity and power.

Please forgive also the spelling and grammatical errors.

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Also please continue to Pray for:

Gratitude for travelling mercies given for critical persons connected with the work here, they are safely where they need to be.

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 –

Hilda’s invisibility to those who can only see their own authority –

Sorry, still my Visa situation (another 3 month extension for us both granted!) -

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.. we miss them too..

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 -

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..

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,

It could be heard in their voices as they walked to the truck. Our two Sunday school and text study helpers were not bickering with nor challenging each other as teenage siblings do. They sounded like they were walking on air while congratulating each other in amazement. They had done well and they were walking in the glow of that. That was Sunday morning.

This is Tuesday morning and it is raining very well. Unlike the common electrical affliction of low or partial voltage shorting across somewhere that leaves light bulbs glowing dull even when switched off, there has been no voltage at all through most of the night. I am writing on battery.

This morning Hilda has decided to stay home. Not stopped by a respiratory bug which I have shared on to her, she intends to work from here as power and internet access allow. The rain is falling well on the big banana leaves outside and a local monkey troupe is calmly occupying a large tree in the back corner of the property behind the house. Their activity level muted against the precipitation.

The grandfather who lived long enough for me to know him had a home in Florida. Nana and Papa had grapefruit and orange trees. The boy scouts there would have work-party-fund-raisers in which they would pick everyone’s ripe fruit for them, box it up, and even ship some as directed. We would get at least one box on the farm. Those oranges predated the ones that have been selected for since. They were thin-skinned and mottled in color with lots of discolorations. Those visual imperfections had no bearing upon the quality and value of the fruit. That is the type of orange we get here. That is a perfect breakfast when fighting a respiratory bug. Not overly sweet and with enough of an acid bite to take the soreness out of the swollen tissues of the mouth and throat.

I’ve had this bug since last week, going into town for meds Friday afternoon. Saturday was a push as Hilda’s driver needed to get her up to The Children’s Village so she can teach. Then back down to the big road for a meeting while she was teaching. Then back to the Silverleaf Academy house where important things were locked up for others who were coming to disperse them Saturday. Then back up to The Children’s Village to collect Hilda and take her home for a few minutes rest and a bite to eat. Then back up to The Children’s Village for on-line live Storytime. Then a birthday party. Then, well after dark, take a couple folks across the mountain to 2 mountain lodge where they were staying. Then finally home to sleep.

Sunday I had no voice. Sunday we slept in and missed the 7:am English Service at the Cathedral. I wasn’t scheduled to preach but I need worship as much as anyone else. We collected our helpers, two local born teenage siblings of adoption, from up on the mountain, took them to the house and as Hilda stuffed them with breakfast they read aloud my message/text study for the Children’s Village Mama’s.

We selected which scheduled verse of the Psalm was to be the start for the Sunday School and we discussed that.

When the time came I drove to the dining hall on campus and stayed in the truck. Hilda and the boys handled the whole thing. From outside in the truck I could hear the boarding students singing the praise songs they have inside them, the songs Hilda has taught them for each day of the creation story in Genesis, and even the prayer setting I wrote years ago and have been singing in blessing over them. They boys had forgotten some of the words but were well supported by the boarding students who remembered every word and each note.

Then up the mountain to The Children’s Village where they did Sunday School with the Children there. These are children these two siblings have known and shared life with for their whole lives.

Then the two siblings read out my message in English while translating it into Swahili on the fly without me. This they did while leaving room for the Mama’s to read the scheduled scriptures out for each other. This they did around singing hymns, these Mama’s who have known these two siblings their entire lives here on the mountain.

When I heard our helpers so completely removed from teenage competition mode as they came out to the truck afterword, I knew I had to brag on what losing my voice let happen. I don’t need to be part of it. It is so cool to see that worship happens with or without us. That Worship is now becoming normative for two local born geniuses and those other children they have been made a family into and among. Survival is still central for so many. Survival with hope.. hope through worship.. worship in gratitude.. wow! Wow, Wow, Wow..

We didn’t come here to do this. We simply came. This has all come out of others asking us to do what we have been asked to do. Local folks wanting us for things we did not plan.

Your Prayer makes all the difference.

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Also please continue to Pray 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 –

Hilda’s invisibility to those who can only see their own authority –

Sorry, still my Visa situation (another 3 month extension for us both in the works hopefully!) -

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.. we miss them too..

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 -

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..

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, 

June 25-28th 2022

Saturday morning.. and we are up at The Children’s Village so Hilda can teach, monitor teaching and of course add more to her plate by adding another story-time to the day.

There is a story-time Saturday evenings for the residential care children up here at the village in which, as technology functions, a Zoom meeting brings a story reader live from some other part of the world to these littles right here. These littles whose home is this place of several buildings terraced into the steep sides of Mount Meru.

To say this story-time and the Friday night story-time at Silverleaf Academy down in Usa[pronounced Ooosa] for those residential school kids takes weekly research, planning and time is to say far too little about far too much. Still Hilda wanted to spread a love for reading into yet another group of children.

Saturday morning’s this well protected and loved Children’s Village opens for supplemental education for children of the surrounding community. Some of this, surging mass of beautiful eager youth, are getting their very first story-time today. Hilda with computer and projector left the office just a little while ago and I can hear her boisterously animated and happy recitation of a story projected for the littles to read for themselves while hearing it.

Volume is not a problem, obviously, as there are two walls between us and I’m blasting Telleman as loud as the laptop computer in front of me will go but can still make out Hilda’s happy tones.

Why blast Telleman? Why not? Besides, it dares the peek through the door into the office so the ones who dare to peek can get the reward of being seen, acknowledged, smiled and waved at. Words aren’t necessary when the old hairy white guy who drives Hilda around and who the Mama’s call Mchungaji Kisali looks so much like a ridiculously oversized Father Christmas.

Their curious smiles, shining eyes and waves in response are far better than words for me too.

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Back up to The Children’s Village for Monday morning meeting. Just had a brief in truck cab meeting with a vital one for this community about where the truck is to be useful this week. That is, at least for the current moment.

Moments bring change. When at work as The Spirit directs, one often finds the prevalence of change a direct sign of the Spirit, as The Spirit uses those who seek to not let their own limited intellects and wisdoms be in complete control of every moment, every plan.

Are you feeling trapped and stagnant? Is everything comfortably under control? Does that bother you?

That is good. That is good because it means The Spirit is tapping on your shoulder and steering your vision, perhaps preparing to quicken your feet by disturbing your heart, disturbing your comfortable, your familiar. Let go of those things and ask The Spirit, ask Jesus, ask God to pour into your heart. Then wait.. and hold on. Go ahead. Do it. Love you for considering it for even the briefest instant.

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In the quiet before that last rush of arrivals for Monday morning meeting when walkers from the surrounding community arrive with their little ones for baby school and preschool. A familiar sight is a young girl, barely woman, with a blanketed well clothed bundle wrapped to her back or clenched in her arms to her chest, a little head on her shoulder.

There was one pair this morning. Arriving all alone for me to see while working in the truck and they bring again the wondering of: is that a brave big sister bringing her little sibling or little cousin or little neighbor.. or is that perhaps another brave, too young, mother bringing her very heart, the very fruit of life from her, too young, yet mighty womb to trust that heart here, in this place, on this mountain?

I can hear the thoughts, some even leaking out of myself over the years.

We don’t know whether the woman of that womb was knowing or unknowing, willing or even.. unwilling. None of that matters to a too young mother and the life that sprung knitted lovingly together out of bits self-sacrificially given by the one trusted to have that precious and mighty womb.

Forgive me for being less than politically appropriate.

Forgive me please as I risk being mistaken for being brazenly insensitive for daring to give a definition of inexpressible beauty. That is a young girl, barely woman, with a blanketed well clothed bundle wrapped to her back or clenched in her arms to her chest, a little head on her shoulder. If she is a mother, no matter how young, she is a woman and she is beautiful. That beautiful woman has chosen to, or unwillingly at first, sacrifice more, than over half of us can know, to bear and bring another living one like her precious self into a world that believes lies about lots of things.. especially about her.

The wrong side of the tracks.

That idiom means something to North Americans of a certain age group. Who needs to hear the message of Jesus more than those who are least likely to have examples of it in their lives? Many of those who do this hard caring for children here are themselves from tortured, abused, and difficult backgrounds that required overcoming, salvation from.

Hilda and I are profoundly affected, even at this stage of our lives, as we live with others who have had to be self-reliant from their earliest years and are surprised that we are still here. Surprised we haven’t given up and fled back to where we came from. They are surprised too that if they, like the littles peeking through the office door, dare to open up even a little about something that we will strive to put them first.

If that means turning Telleman down and listening?..! If that means acknowledging the hard won pride and hard won love in the life in front of us and sharing burdens of any kind, then that is what we are to strive to do.

Hilda’s little truck has been pressed into service in late after work hours this last week helping the cousin of someone from the wrong side of the tracks. The one from the wrong side of the tracks was raised by the same grandmother who raised his cousin. His cousin, who loves him like a brother, and uses her tremendously impressive entrepreneurial insight, work ethic, and trust of such as us, to do simple things no matter how difficult.

Simple things for large, connected, mostly unbroken and joyful families. Not so simple for bits and pieces of often discouraged remnants of families from the wrong side of the tracks.

Big parties are expected. Big engagement party to celebrate a bride to be, and her family. Big wedding and party afterword to celebrate the groom and his family, of whatever size and make-up, as well as the precious new couple. The two made one who are seed for more family.

Hilda’s driver got to help by hauling sixty cases of soda pop in half liter glass bottles and crated twenty bottles up. This, Hilda’s little truck did in two loads crawling slowly around the unmarked rutted tracks high on Mount Meru many kilometers above the big road.

There were two deliveries, one for the engagement party and one for the wedding. The cousin who works with, and lovingly watches out for both Hilda and I, managing communication and directing quite literally every bottle and every turn. She quite comfortably even reached over and blew the horn in warning for anyone coming at us unseen due to rise, twist, turn or hidden intersection in the track.

Then Hilda’s driver escorted this infinitely capable one to her cousin’s bride’s engagement party Thursday night. And Hilda to the wedding on Saturday.

Back story is that the young man getting married has no living parents and was raised by others. His bride’s family are also from the wrong side of the tracks. There are wealthier, better connected, elements who were maligning the couple and their ability to pull off any sort of gathering as is expected.

Shame was expected. So, shame was projected. So, the grooms cousin said.. NO!

The groom’s cousin worked her job all last week and worked with Hilda’s driver after hours to get things collected and delivered. Then, after sending Hilda’s driver home,” to rest”[finger wave included], she worked through the night.

She worked several nights preparing the locations. Then she showed her determination and love by making sure the bride slept while helping to prepare her gown and other attire. She did the brides hair, make up and dressed her so everything was perfect walking every step of the way with the bride so nothing ever got out of place.

This is a massive undertaking that needs a committee, she organized that too. And she found and stretched too little money to purchase everything, including the best beef and chicken I’ve had since getting here. This for hundreds of guests. Sound system, DJ, tents and chairs, security, and always time for aunts and uncles, friends, and always.. the Bibi who along with precious auntie and uncle who raised the groom.

Never underestimate folks from the wrong side of the tracks.

Since starting on this section yesterday, Hilda’s driver got called away to help get a pick-up truck back on the road. A Toyota Hilux that had gotten flown half way across a meter deep rubble and mortar ditch. Then the truck punched into the high bank on the other side of the ditch wracking the steering and other front axle components way out and giving that corner of the truck some cosmetic challenges too. No obvious radiator or engine damage though.

The truck came to rest one front tire in the high bank, one, diagonally opposite, rear tire was on the road. The other rear tire was in the air, the other front tire resting in the air near the bottom of the ditch. No wreckers are available, let alone adequate to the task. I have no tow rope or chain of any kind yet. However, given that this vehicle is owned by one of the community’s, indeed Tanzania’s, most treasured still living persons, most of his male staff was attending the scene.

Definitely someone from the right side of the tracks, here, but what is here if not the wrong side of the tracks for too many to notice? I was honored to be trusted to be called. I was called by a neighbor who loves this person. I just knew that Hilda’s driver was only going to be a fifth-wheel, old, in the way, spoiled, white guy, ridiculously underfoot.

The staff, of this beloved personage, are all white-haired guys like me. They did bring a couple young ones along to learn. They left and returned with an older work truck filled with dirt and rock. Without language all of us white haired guys started packing rock over to fill the ditch under the rear tire left high in the air. I was able to grab a couple shopping bags from Hilda’s truck as I had left it. They were good for moving dirt for this ditch filling operation.

That loving neighbor is the adoptive dad/uncle to our Sunday school helpers. One of those Sunday school helpers was also on scene. He eagerly pitched in to fill one bag while the other was carried and dumped. He and his dad/uncle were full of questions about how Hilda’s driver would proceed so I noted a couple things about how preparations to the scene were going for an attempt to get the truck back on the road, hopefully under its own power.

Before I knew it those things were eagerly shared by that gifted young translator whose hands were now dirty like all the old guys hands were. I didn’t expect him to say anything at all. He must have said it right. The staff head man paused, looked, then re-directed the guys again. I knew the attempt was ready when that head man, the professional and long-time driver to the personage, walked to the driver’s door, right side here.

All the largest guys, including this old one, clawed our way into the bed of the truck and sat above that high in the air rear tire. The truck started and ran without even much fan against fan shroud tic. First attempt didn’t completely work. But it did get both front tires into the ditch. However we had prepared and the ditch was filled in mostly the right places.

This on a steeper portion of the road up the mountain from the big road to the first hospital erected here over a hundred years ago by German Lutheran missionaries.. Right across the road from the first church of nearly the same date.

Even with good guessing there still was a high rear tire and much of the ditch fill had followed the now significantly freed trucks precipitous acquiescence to gravity. The truck was turned off immediately followed by further wordless evaluation by old white-hair-eds. Some of the younger guys were starting to have the cast of defeat about them and were standing hunched against the cold silently watching, a couple arguing and pointing.

Believe it or not the driver, and Hilda’s driver, moved at the same time without speaking. He went back to and through the driver’s door. I crawled back into the bed of the pick-up and our Sunday school helper eagerly raced me to the high side of the truck again.

Several other fellows joined and those who could reach the cab-guard held on tight. The others held on to them. I had one hand for the cab-guard the other against the back of our Sunday school helper who could only cling to the side of the bed, just in case.

The truck started and everyone in the bed of the truck threw their weight to the high side. Down it went and the tire caught with a little jerk of movement then the other side took air and we all threw our weight over there. Back and forth, little by little, it crawled out of the ditch as it also fell downhill and back onto the road.

Part way through this somewhat questionable maneuver there was a moment of stillness long enough to get almost everyone out of the truck bed. Especially our Sunday school helper lovingly retrieved over the side by his dad/uncle who had dashed in for that unspoken purpose.

Almost everyone was out of the truck bed. Hilda’s driver just can’t move very fast anymore but was enough weight to throw for the very last bit. There was excellent driving by the head-man with a truck floundering, two front tires pointing wall-eyed and only one of them still straight up and down.

Hilda and her co-workers had passed by the scene together in a Children’s Village mini-bus to go to the office at Silverleaf Academy in Usa. Hilda’s driver caught up with her there and changed into Sunday clothes to attend the funeral of a Children’s Village guard’s mother. Then helped that determined loving cousin to collect those sixty cases of empty bottles and get them returned.

One gets to hear great stories when hanging out with the worker bees from the wrong side of the tracks.

What had been expected to be more hard times, for folks over there, love had overcome. Both families were overjoyed for how everything had turned out. Both families had done all they could and everyone bubbled when talking as they all completely believe that God had overflowed the cups of even their greatest unexpected hopes.

Love is real. These two families will never forget. And they are tied together by what they can’t believe they witnessed for their now married children.

Centurions, Canaanite women, Samaritans and Gentiles like most of us. We all started out on the wrong side of the tracks until someone chose to be available, listen, perhaps challenge some and then participate. That Jesus still chooses us. We can do nothing of any value without him. Nearly everything we do with Him, no matter how seemingly small, turns into something of deep lasting value for someone we will be sharing forever with. That’s a little of what we get to be part of.

In theory there is a donation of furniture from a local re-opening lodge tomorrow. Mount Meru Lodge established 1959 is under new ownership. So glad they want to help. That is what the Monday plan was anyway. We’ll see what the next five minutes brings.

Sorry too many stories to share but glad to get these out there..

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Okay one more.

Eighteen years ago while being the wheels for a palliative care nurse out of the Selian Lutheran Hospital in Arusha, the old hospital not the new one, a group I was part of visited patients. The neighbor, an elderly Maasai man, of one of those patients, also an elderly Maasai man, blessed our group leader, a gutsy and infinitely capable woman. He blessed her including what we would consider an inappropriately intimate laying on of hands. He nearly got his block knocked off. Yes, it was written all over that dear woman.

Turn around is fair play. God got me yesterday while collecting cases of empty bottles.

I’d been to the funeral before so had the Crucifix and corn husk rosary a Mexican brother from Freeborn Lutheran Church had given me around my neck. This as a wonderfully ancient and always surprisingly skeletal Meru Mountain Man with full beard, knit cap, blanket, and walking staff spied me waiting for a key to arrive.

The loving and capable cousin mentioned above who usually tells me to ignore trouble, listened to her mother Meru coming from this wonderful man who saw me, and instead asked if I had any coins. I had to stand and dig but found one. I gave it to him.

I have no Meru to speak of but one can know when someone has chosen to really love you. After laughing together two tall old men with beards and no common language but God, I got my blessing.

I already have four kids and six grandkids. Isn’t that blessing enough?

If only I’d stayed sitting in the truck.. Have to get more coins in the ash tray.

Seriously though, back in the truck moments later and laughing about what had just happened, my eye went to the rear view mirror on the driver’s door. There walking away up the mountain rising behind, about a quarter of a kilometer away, was my brother Christian, staff raised high above his head along with both arms. His whole body expressing joyful prayer as he walked up his mountain.

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Also please continue to Pray 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 –

Hilda’s invisibility to those who can only see their own authority –

Sorry, still my Visa situation -

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.. we miss them too..

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 -

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

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..

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, 

Keep it up, and thank you again for those moments of prayer. Even just one instant of throwing us at God. That is right where we need to be.

About 25 years ago Hilda and I and family met another family. A family who had traveled so Maasai father could attend Trinity Lutheran College, formerly Lutheran Bible Institute, located in Issaquah WA. We met them at Church, Immanuel Lutheran Church, in Everson WA. At that time they asked about Hilda and I, and we about them, and the decision was made that we would pray for each other. They wrote us down for specific prayer. They were meeting so many people while in the US.

It was with them in those brief moments in a receiving line where both Hilda and I openly communicated in any public way that we hoped to become missionaries. Arguably, we have been missionaries in many ways much of our lives especially if we regard the mission as that stated in Matthew 28, The Great Commission. A co-mission we have learned together through serving each other, our children, other children, other children’s folks, other folks, community, stranger, each however imperfectly, requiring us to hold onto God and that precious person, Lord and Savior Jesus.

It is most often culturally unacceptable to speak of such things in public. And, care must be taken when speaking of such things in private too. One must always consider the audience and if love keeps you quiet, let love pick a time. If time is brought by love for you to speak, don’t hesitate. The smallest of spoken or unspoken speaking by action or inaction can be used. And, if no time, no opportunity comes for you to speak about God, leave it. Trust God to be at work whether you are there or not.

Back to prayer.. So, two couples from opposite sides of the earth agreed to pray for each other. Communication, being most significantly limited over the intervening years, lead us to last week. That precious African Maasai husband and father had died a year ago, February 28th. My closest cultural bridge into this part of the world is who died a year ago February 28th. He was that to many folks.

As you all know, we came anyway. Part of our being here has been a long search with many false starts and dead ends to find this Maasai Pastor, Teacher, Missionary’s precious spouse and son. Last Wednesday, thanks to Reverend Dr. Justin Mungure of the Cathedral in Usa River. He and I traveled to the far side of Arusha to find Mama Mchungaji Lemboris Justo Polangyo, Janet.

She had not had to sell and leave the home she and her husband had shared. She was not on the far western side of the country. She was not way down south nor up in the Northwest near Kenya. Lemboris is buried in their garden, her garden. She is well. She is amazing. After finding her Justin had chosen not to tell her who he was bringing to visit her. She greeted Justin through the passenger window of the truck before I could bend low enough to be seen.

We haven’t seen each other since their prior home in 2005. I knew it was Janet while driving up the road as she has not changed one iota. After bending low to get my head away from the roof of the truck, Janet instantly recognized me. My hand was sought for, taken, and words poured out as tear brightened eyes. Thank you for praying this into our lives. God does not need us to take care of anyone and can often simply take them home to himself for the most perfect best of care. I am amazed and humbled. The beard was no longer muddy red but white. She saw and knew me anyway.

Okay from here, in Usa, you head west into and significantly through Arusha on the road that takes you to Nairobi Kenya, the big main road. It was new ground for me so it felt a very long journey but really wasn’t. While traveling west you look for a sign for a business called Maasai-land. That is where you turn right, North-ish, off the main road onto village roads and follow those signs for just a little bit. Then you turn right again. You leave those signs to head East-ish on village roads and just past the new Seventh Day Adventist Church, on the right, you look for a Gate on the left, among the multitudes of gates in the high walls at the side of the road. If Janet is waiting outside the gate, you have found it. There, that’s the simplest version of directions involving unmarked twists and turns.

Janet’s son David is currently in Seattle and a pilot in training with Alaska Airlines. Janet and I were able to muse about how children grow and get crazy busy so communication, even when facilitated by modern tech, becomes sparse. We can still pray for them all and use these vacuums drawing at our hearts to exercise and grow our trust in God who made, knows and loves them so much better than we.

Feel free to contact me if you want more and I will try to provide what you want. Again, Thank you..

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This is Monday and yesterday I tried an experiment. I wrote out a message in English tying the three scheduled readings for that Sunday together. I then had my young co-presenter of messages to The Mama’s of The Children’s Village read it while he and his compassionate, caring, amazingly capable, and highly confident brother were waiting for breakfast. Hilda feeds them eggs cheese and rice. That and Juice has turned out to be a favorite Sunday morning repast before our race through two Sunday Schools and message for Mama’s.

After the Mama’s singing hymns, we asked permission to try our experiment. I read the prepared message in English, phrase by phrase, and my teenage Genius co-presenter struggled through successfully translating a much more complicated message than ever before into Kiswahili.

The Mama’s were pleased and the Mama’s were proud. My Genius co-presenter and his brother both had their earthly salvation and start right here among these very Mama’s.

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We’re up here again today for a regular Monday Morning meeting. I’m working in the truck in the rain and waving at folks coming up the steep mountain to The Children’s Village. Woman of all sizes ages and shapes with children wrapped in cloth tied to their backs.

Two days ago on Saturday Hilda was not teaching as usual up here. Instead there was a bi-annual gathering in support of reunification. Reunification is where a child, or children, are successfully returned to life with some remaining part of their birth family. The brilliant self-sacrificing global citizen - North American Woman, who trusts us with her sons, her Children’s Village children and Mama’s on Sunday, spoke briefly with me of the tremendous value in gathering familial remnants in an intentional and strictly nonjudgmental way.

It allows participating to see each child is taken care of. It allows former residents of the village to see those they had spent much of their early life growing up with. It allows children to see some piece of where they came from before the village and perhaps renew some small hope in belonging outside the village and nearby community.

Then there are those children who are quite literally the last of the line, or otherwise alone. There are no participating adults for them.

Well, that’s when Babu is called forward to stand behind some precious little man who arrived into care too late and is the size of 4 or 5 but has clung tenaciously to life on this earth for 9 or 10 years. After the obligatory affirmation by applause and photos, God and whispered permission by caring one, gave me the good sense to pick him up, this tiny old man permanently stunted in any developmental measure, and hug him. Hug him away from any camera and tell him how proud I am of him. Surprisingly those tiny thin arms squeezed back, hard. Thankfully his younger twin siblings got here earlier in their development but drug use and neglect by parents weigh hard on their growing too.

Good news is that old young man didn’t fade, trying to become invisible, into the background of many better off children yesterday. He hears just fine. He doesn’t speak. Instead, he walked right up with a smile and bumped my fist before darting away still smiling.

If you remember one of our earliest posts upon arriving and a trip to a waterfall with little ones leaving their shoes in our care so they could wade out into the pool at the waterfalls base. This is the same little one who used me as a ladder to climb up on the rock I was sitting on to leave his shoes high and dry behind me. Then he bent over my shoulder to look at the side of my head and face. He has never been able to take a direct look. Not before yesterday morning and gathering for Sunday School.

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Saturday foolishness included me watching the boys dragging the girls around in a tug of war with a big rope. Then I stepped to the last girl in line to reach around with just one hand and plant big fat feet. It was enough. The girls won. It was the right thing to do because even the boys were smiling and laughing. A second go had me on my face. More laughter and high fives after I came up smiling. Third go with the rope and the head Mama placed us on each side in a mixed up fashion.

I was again on the end with a couple young ladies, Kemper and Mimi, from the US. Again all I could do was reach in with one hand and try not to stomp all those little feet around me. The steepness and hard concrete stairways downhill of us had me pulling uphill far more than any other way. We won again. We all did, all tired happy kids and keepers.

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Can’t quite describe what it’s like to drive onto the Silverleaf Academy Campus, where Hilda’s house is, and have to drive with one hand with the other held high above the roof to wave back to the people with happy young voices calling out hello to Babu na Bibi. It does us good. I hope it shares to you-all some too. At home in the US, I spent much of my life being the wrong flavor for many. My head just shakes. Who do we not see around us simply because they challenge us?

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

Also please continue to Pray for:

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 –

Hilda’s invisibility to those who can only see their own authority –

Sorry, still my Visa situation -

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.. we miss them too..

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 -

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

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..

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,

Something wonderful, beautiful, is happening in the office this Saturday morning while I am writing.

Two of the littles from The Children’s Village are on a Zoom meeting with the people who sponsor them. This is a first ever Zoom between Children’s Village residents and their sponsors.

I am blessed to know both of these littles, some of their stories, and even some of their trials.

Zoom, even stuttering, halting, and intermittent, has never been more beautiful than filled with two littles and those from afar who love and support them. Consistently support them over many years with pictures to share from prior, pre-covid, visits over the lifetime of these precious littles.

Their eyes are bright and shining. Looking intently at maps to find where each other are. Speaking mostly in English yet using Kiswahili to spur the memory of that language for a gifted and eager sponsor.

Two bright volunteers, one from New Zealand one from Canada, have come to facilitate this meeting of precious people supporting and loving from across oceans, time zones, cultures and generations. What is taught about the value of these littles by sponsors living Christ this way is huge. Only a few find ways to afford connection like this and their reward is beyond description.

Any and all can pray. “Pray in The Spirit at all times..” Ephesians..

Eternity will be filled with such beautiful connection in which distance across oceans cultures and age are meaningless. We are blessed to participate in that eternal future by cherishing the lives, investing in the lives, around us in ever enlarging circles, like the ripples on a pond from a skipping stone. Cast our prayer like that skipping stone trusting the living waters of eternity to respond and reflect and connect.

Those waters do.

Living bare and vulnerable to those waters may not be easy, may not even be what we think is in our particular wheelhouse. But know that, from whatever wheelhouse, if we look out, with eyes for the water that supports our craft of life, we will learn to read that precious living water that springs up within us fortunate to lift thirsty others in seemingly tiny ways. Those too are the ways of eternity.

Floating and even walking, like precious Peter, on waters with Jesus is just a start. Those living waters buoyancy lovingly supporting us in our limits of fear is but grace knowing where we are in our maturational moment. Those living waters surround and sustain even when other turbulence closes over our heads to bring us deep into fearful darkness. Darkness that the light will always overcome, especially when we open our fearfully clenched eyes.

With bright and shining eyes, now ever in training for the waters ways, let us seek in the deep for others.

Do we really need our craft of life? Do we really need our comfortable wheelhouse? Or can we trust the ultimate teacher challenging us to fish for others. Our teacher walks on water. Our teacher’s hands, scarred by nails, are the mightiest of creation because they’ve been at work since before creation.

Those hands catch us up and let what weighs us down take us under. Under where we are sustained to look, learn, love, and lesson anew that others, with clenched eyes who are lost in the deep, need the light we are trusted to bring. Be that a smile, the briefest touch, an embrace that never wants to cease, or a Zoom call, all wafted around and too them by those precious living waters that well up wherever we are.

Surely we learn that it is in the dark depths of overwhelming things that we finally come together. And together, those nail scarred mightiest hands of creation, catch us up into God’s eternal smiling brightness. There to warm us, fill us, while working our connections, the very knots of the net we are stitched into, before what weighs us down sends us deep once more.

Let’s pray that the fishing continues..

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

Also please continue to Pray for:

Hilda’s invisibility to those who can only see their own authority -

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.. we miss them too..

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 -

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 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..

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,

“There are, so far, fewer legal hurdles here. I remain unemployed here but for the free work that the world sees no value in. If it did, everyone would be doing it. It is that important.”

The above words from eleven days ago.

Five days ago I was called to bring my passport to an office on campus. There I was faced with irritated questioning by three TZ immigration representatives. They informed me that I have been doing nothing correctly. When informed by them that God’s call is all well and good but in their view not as over-archingly important as their interpretation of TZ law and regulations, I stopped talking, closed my eyes and started to pray.

Scripture demands that we strive to respect and follow the local authorities of our world. Without those local authorities we would likely have more chaos to contend with. We are blessed in the U.S. to have regular opportunity to change who bears local authority. Every place is different. God isn’t.

As of two days ago I was directed to refrain from any activities other than those in Nkoaranga at the Children’s Village. That leaves the Children at Silverleaf Academy without me. That allegedly leaves requests to preach at local pulpits to be forsaken.

Did you notice that I indicated that the Silverleaf Academy Children would be without me?

No one has told Hilda to change anything. She is a cute little Bibi(grandmother) who is simply a science teacher teaching local teachers how to teach laboratory science.

She has been a Sunday School Teacher far longer than a science teacher. The Silverleaf Children will have Hilda tomorrow, Thursday, for bible study and praise time. Sunday the Silverleaf Children will have Hilda for Sunday School/Worship time, and hopefully our local polyglot teenage helpers too.

I preached the two Sundays following Bishop Kitoi at the Cathedral. Last Sunday we sang almost the entire service time foregoing sermon as planned by the church. I will forsake no request. Local Pastors I have preached for have been informed of what’s going on. They assure that no one can touch me.

TZ authorities have unfortunately threatened the work of those around me. As if feeding and educating children was anything less than necessary everywhere. Patience, patience, patience..

There are three local women who work with Hilda.

Again it reads like a stupid joke from years ago. A Catholic woman, an Assemblies of God woman, and a Pentecostal woman got together to save the ministry of a Lutheran woman with Catholic and Presbyterian roots and her husband also a Lutheran with Presbyterian roots. This they did quietly championed by their Jewish boss.

Do we remember that all of us Christians serve a Jewish boss, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ chose to be born to Jewish people, be raised a Jew, be buried as a Jew. Jesus is infinitely more but was he also a Jew when He was raised? What would Joseph, his mother and followers say? Forgive the tangent.

I don’t know enough yet. Two of those three wonderful women intend to take me to their Pastors so I can be locally accepted as a Received International Missionary serving here. I don’t know anything of any process of any church or government agency yet but may be serving as a received missionary perhaps under a non-lutheran local Church authority. We will see. Hilda is still solid. I am the problem.

Pray please..

For Hilda to stay invisible.. and at work..

That I stay quiet and out of sight, when, I am supposed to be quiet and out of sight. That we both be prepared for whatever God wants for and from us.

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

Also please continue 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.. we miss them too.. for the family of a beloved rescued greyhound who is so dearly missed but no longer suffering..

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 -

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 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, Even groaning prayers make 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,


I answered a Dear Mentor’s questions this last week. Interested ones often think alike so here are some of my answers.

Seminary is at a full halt at the moment. It's in God's hands. I have been counseled, regarding my education, by Reverend Dr. Mungure a graduate of Makumira, to attend instead the Open University of Tanzania. This is an on-line school and internet is poor at best. So, I have been unable to access the website. There remain Government entanglements that cannot be resolved without internet access and payment by phone for services as well so my palms are open to the earth and I am letting go of that for now.. must wait to see what comes.

The week before last week Bishop Kitoi, who was a missionary Pastor from here to both urban and rural Wisconsin for over 15 years, preached every service at the cathedral in Usa, TZ. Even though busy, and at the age where he has been having the deaths of his wife's parents and his own this spring, he went out of his way to look Hilda and I in the eye and speak about our common ground, not only as missionaries, but as people who love both Tanzania and The United States.

This he fearlessly did as part of service. He also asked us to share one of our fears for the world of our present moment. It is easy to feel helpless with war is once again in Europe. Eighty years have passed since the European war my parents’ generation survived at tremendous known and unknown cost.

As Hilda and I had been talking already, I spoke not of war but a faltering economy. A faltering US economy and a monetary policy that devalues the US currency inflicts tremendous harm to the citizens of the US. Also, that degradation of the US dollar, also devalues many local currencies around the world tied to it. So as the US economy degrades making life much harder in the US, that same faltering economy literally kills people around the world who have no access to safety nets of any kind.

Bishop called our nation, the US, “That mighty Nation”. If the US economy catches a cold, people around the world die. Our choices affect others whether we know it or not, whether we see them or not.

The only reason Bishop Kitoi left his mission work in Wisconsin was that his fellows at home voted him in as Bishop in his absence. And then they called him home to serve them here. He is glad to be home however I am sure of a few things from brief conversations with him. He is still a missionary. He misses that hard work he was doing in the U.S. The job of being pastor to pastors is vital but difficult. Changes he is trying to shepherd into place for his folks here are coming slowly, but he is not a quitter.

Makumira University may be one of those changes that has to wait for now. Restructuring his church of charge to free up his pastors and motivate them into deeper evangelistic outreach through being and walking with the people in their poverty, hunger, lack of health care, and all the seemingly unnecessary death, is serious work. Education is all part of that however that involves the national church too. Generations of presumptions can build even in just the little over one century that the church has been here. These are my thoughts. I share them in confidence with you. We face similar with our own layers of church so comfortable with familiar presumptions in the US too.

I did preach again last Sunday, for Reverend Mungure, at the cathedral in Usa. On my way to service, I got the text that his scheduled pastor was unable to be there.

I can only preach knowing that I am not enough and that I am therefore not alone.

Somehow I can get their attention and keep it. I don’t just remind and declare Grace but I challenge and read aloud always scripture after scripture about this Jesus who made and makes everything except ”easy” possible.

I am aware that, as a large white man from the wealthiest nation in human history, I am able to speak plainly about not only the salvation of everyone in service but the salvation of everyone that every one of them is to be part of. I pray and prepare with whatever time I have. I have citations marked with little bits of paper in my bi-lingual Bible. Then words are given and I let them go. Somehow I am able to go from eye to eye in front of me, and last Sunday even a few outside the windows who were leaning forward to listen. God can and does use anyone.

Hilda was sick Sunday. So, I preached in the big sanctuary downstairs at 7:00 am for English service, drove up the mountain to collect our mostly regular two local teenage polyglot helpers and had praise/Sunday school with the boarding students at Silverleaf. Then back up the mountain to The Children’s Village for praise/Sunday school with those living there and singing and preaching just with and for the Mamas who are there 24/7 with the forty or so who still need to be in residential care.

Hilda and I are serving with only each other among adult young ones still trying to figure out how to keep children fed and receiving an education, and how to help others do the same. This in a context within which the church seems significantly irrelevant to keeping children fed and receiving an education. That is not a completely fair representation. It is muddy waters at best.

There are the casual thoughtless contempt’s for the work we do as missionaries, the same ones faced at home. There are, so far, fewer legal hurdles here. I do not have my job threatened as I did consistently at the State Parks for acknowledging God and not the state as ultimate authority. I remain unemployed here but for the free work that the world sees no value in. If it did, everyone would be doing it. It is that important.

Also, we are seen locally as elders who are not to do physical work. We are seen as not needed for such things and are not to displace local workers who know “the right way” of doing things. It’s a constant vacillation between the unwilling discovery that Vern can do things that were hitherto thought un-do-able and Vern being in the way. As you know, survival can leave even the most competent running in circles without them knowing it. Patience.. patience.. patience..

Most importantly though is the Children who know and trust us. Hilda, known as a teacher monitoring and teaching teachers on campus, is a lead in that.

However last Sunday without her showed that I have become accepted by the children as well, and not only as someone who consistently reads the Bible to and with them. This is a responsibility. The littles at The Children’s Village come from the hardest of situations and bear the many traumas. Some who are now boarding at Silverleaf Academy come from similar.

You know.. just walking into the impossible moment by moment and there to see God’s irrepressible surprises. Like last evening and Hilda walking home after Story-time at Silverleaf.

Story-time is where volunteers from the US or Europe brave the vagaries of technology and try to read aloud, live over a zoom call, a story sent them. They read this story to the children living right here. This happens Friday night at Silverleaf and Saturday night at The Children’s Village.

Hilda has yet to completely remove herself from this non-science education piece and likely won’t from Friday night story-time on campus near the house. This because, well.., she gets escorted home by some particularly precious and curious people. She is not allowed to carry her computer or anything else and the last two Fridays she has gotten swept home by a group of young women/girls who won’t even let her carry her own hands. The number has been growing over time, somewhere about a dozen now.

I’ve tried to meet them outside to look each in the eye and thank them for taking care of Hilda and seeing her home. Then they hand me Hilda’s things while looking up at me like they’ve never seen me before, which they have at least two times a week.

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As we are most significantly tent-makers, we don’t have any tracking nor reporting mechanism for donations. If tracking and reporting is important, what I’ve asked those who are listening and responding, with us in mind, to do is to please give through their local church. That gives folks records for tax purposes and maybe even opportunity to share a little about what’s going on with whoever may be interested. So far, individual folks have and are pitching in. .. amazing, just amazing ..

I am sure we can do this part better but unaccompanied by an organization, as we are, leaves us lacking some types of support that would enable us to better and more fully respond in this area. I apologize. I go dizzy with what I cannot accomplish at all, let alone well.

We are however grateful for the work we find before us; and what happens in spite of our not being enough, yet are here for none the less.

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

I met another amazing Islamic man this last week. He is a fourth generation gemstone magnate who has met US Presidents and has the pictures to prove it. He is literally called the king of Tanzanite, a locally only found gemstone, rarer than diamond. He and his wife continue to build museums while supporting the drilling of village wells. He and his wife support outreach to schools, orphanages, and the Tanzanian albino community who are isolated and even targeted in some areas.

I mention this extremely wealthy man because he was at work with his employees at their cultural arts museum in Arusha on a public holiday. He happily showed us gemstones we will never be able to purchase, carefully describing the chemistry and means of geological manufacture of each. He was happy and engaged bragging on his crew of cutters, polishers, and fitters, artists all and many, like him, having learned their trade from their fathers and grandfathers.

What is most important about this man is how he really came to life when discovering we are Christian missionaries. This knowledge of us allowed him to talk about his family’s involvement in and for the community. He knows every person his business supports, their spouses and children, their community involvements, their joys and concerns. That is what brings both him and his spouse life. Their treasure is not gemstones, it is people.

I needed to meet this man of tremendous wealth whose family could, but has chosen never to flee but instead stay and strive within, the poverty of their immediate world. He seemed very happy to meet me. I wanted you to meet him too.

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That brave mother of three from last blogpost is recovering. Thank You. Please keep on –

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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.. we miss them too..

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 -

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 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, Even groaning prayers make 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 -