Dear Cherished Interested’s,

Hilda and I are home and in the loving care of children and grandchildren. We leave the Pacific Northwest from Portland Oregon October the 4th to return to Tanzania.

vwilliamson@sprynet.com / facebook messenger / Hilda’s Phone number 360-815-4302

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We teach, when we can, the willing. We may never see if we teach anything to the unwilling.

How about learning? Am I willing to learn?

Our trip home had a flight that was nearly 17 flight hours and covered the distance from Doha, Qatar, to Dallas Fort Worth, Texas, USA. After leaving Hilda’s house around 4:30am to get to the airport and our first flight of about 8 hours then waiting in Doha about 8 hours, I sat in the wrong seat. I very kind gentleman from India came and looked at me but noticing my head nodding said nothing.

It was a packed 777 with fascinating linguistic properties. Most conversations were in English but not the English common to English speaking countries or regions. The conversations were in the English of the 3rd, 4th, or further removed language from the speakers’ native tongue. We were in a sea of Asian and Arabic brown in which one could fool oneself that we pale-faced ones were the only outsiders. But no, as the flight spread into its 8th or 9th hour barriers were coming down. Folks were milling about the steerage parts of the flight we occupy. They were happily assisting those who may have looked or dressed like everyone else but did not have English, did not have Hindi, did not have Arabic and were isolated by a tribal or regional tongue that was rare on any airline flight.

Starched up businessmen, now rested and calm, happily wandering the aisles taking notice of grandmothers who had said nothing to anyone and trying the many lesser known languages they knew from their youth and villages nearby where they grew up. That is when that very kind man from India returned to greet, take my hand, and bridge my ignorance with his gracious English of India.

I had taken his seat on a packed flight. He didn’t care. He simply found another and when the opportunity returned he let his feet and curiosity take him back to the sleepy oversize one who had displaced him. We were able to shift and return his seat to him but he was interested in discovering who we were. He is T.D. Lazar Chennai, Pastor. He is a grandfather like me. He is a Pentecostal leader of a missionary movement based in India with outreach and churches now also in the U.K. and Dallas.

We had a very good conversation about how God uses us. We had a very good conversation about how leadership that does not reflect what Christ did on the cross, is typical in the governments of most countries. It was very good to have a conversation with another older one who shares a conviction that the most important thing we can do is leave room for God to reveal God-self to those who need to know that here and now with faulty human leadership is not all we are intended for.

He has many degrees but wants more. He did not care that I lack the requisite degrees for North America. He asked questions and laughed. Smiled, listened, challenged, spoke about family and left the flight after a very long joyful conversation calling me Pastor. Someone, such as he, serving outward from his home continent of India through many churches, in many places, willing to discover and identify with such as me.

How about learning? Am I willing to learn?

In Tanzania I now have, a helper/fixer, who is a catholic professional man who calls me father and is, among other things, helping me strive after a pathway for matriculation into theological training in TZ. A day before flying he notified me that at least one of the commissions or departments or ministries of the Government that certifies institutions, instructors and students into educational opportunity needed not only all my limited college work but also my High School Transcript from over 40 years ago.

I was dubious at best as it was so long ago and I had been a severe minority working kid who could not afford the time for school when I was there. I shook my head and put a posting on social media for those who went to High School with me to send me anyone, any contacts they might have so I could try. Within 36 hours of that post two of the beautiful women I had grown up with had found and e-mailed my High School Transcript to me, and my primary school records as well, and some standardized testing results too. We had a brief moment of internet connectivity in Doha that lasted long enough to receive that e-mail and then share it on to Tanzania.

How about learning? Am I willing to learn?

Yesterday we left early to drive north of the border into Longview WA. There we got a minimal breakfast at a diner near to a medical services provider I needed paperwork from before trying to organize a Commercial Driver’s License(CDL) Physical. Given that I’ve unexpectedly taught defensive driving in TZ and I don’t know what is ahead and I’ve had my CDL since ’83, before Hilda, I’m trying to keep it.

After finishing breakfast I headed to wash my hands and passed a table full of clear-eyed guys of a broad age range. I looked them over and they looked back. So, I said that they looked like a meeting I might like to join. There was laughter and a conversation and Hilda came over and we did not pay for our breakfast. I had found a local Mens’ Bible Study regular Tuesday morning breakfast.

We went to the medical services provider and I was informed that my account was with the branch up north in Mount Vernon so they could not help me. I asked more questions and begged.

The young man tasked with telling me to go away called his boss at home and together they found a solution that got me the paperwork I needed for a CDL Physical. Then, they sent me to a practitioner for a physical without an appointment. When that provider was not available, that unavailable providers staff sent me to another provider in a nearby community calling and organizing my appointment for that afternoon for me.

Hilda’s phone was not working so we were travelling unfamiliar ground without maps, only what little was in my head. She got that figured when we were 3 travel minutes from the provider that gave me my physical. That provider was not happy with my blood pressure so required me to rest for an extended time while sending staff in to check on me and re-take my blood pressure until he was happy with the reading to document. Official medical passed, paperwork e-mailed to WA State last night.

Yesterday = breakfast paid for by others, impossible to do paperwork done, CDL medical completed without prior appointment, and when leaving the first provider to go to the second provider, someone driving by on the street called my name. It was one of the guys who bought our breakfast way across town.

How about learning? Am I willing to learn?

Brothers from India on a long flight to America, Sisters from decades ago who still care, brothers from an early morning diner breakfast, sibling strangers daring the impossible to happen in one day without appointments..

I’m trying..

Your, sacrificed time, thought, and prayer to throw us at God makes everything possible. Thank You, thank you, thank you.

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Also please continue to Pray for:

Travel mercies for Hilda and I. Plane travel represents a supreme physiological trial to someone my shape, size and medical history.

Affordable time in the Pacific Northwest and over to Colorado for those dear children and grandchildren who miss us and whom we miss deeply.

Makumira Secondary School, my brilliant helper Elisha’s school, is looking to share stories and partner in some way with a foreign school, Great leaders, teachers, students, programs, strong backs, minds, and hearts –

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

Visa situation, we will be good again until after we return -

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 –

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,

Yesterday Hilda and I had a meeting with Reverend Doctor Angela Olotu, the long-time serving chair of the Theology school at Tumaini University Makumira. We have tasks assigned for us to do. This time, however, we have been directed to have the direction and assistance of the University Registrar, Lawi Mawuyo, the local man who successfully got us onto campus and into our meeting with Rev. Dr. Olotu.

I intensely communicate that I am a child here in TZ. I do not know what I do not know. Further, that everything I do know from North America is not applicable to East Africa and Tanzania. Nearly every communication now must re-enforce this near seemingly troglodyte ignorance as any apparent competence on my part, as evidenced in meetings, is illusory in the context of where we are.

Our sense of God’s laughter in our joy yesterday includes but is not limited to:

Going to Hilda’s purse for her business cards and finding the two we needed and only the two we needed. One for Lawi and one for Rev. Dr. Olotu.

Rev. Dr. Olotu’s description of meeting with us as an unusually calm and peaceful time in her normal life of frenetic busy-ness.

The completely gracious acceptance of Hilda and I by everyone on campus yesterday.

Rev. Dr. Olotu’s excitement over Hilda’s Science Teaching credentials and experience, now local experience too.

Finding Rev. Dr. Justin Mungure at the Cathedral in Usa River within half an hour of leaving the meeting at Makumira. Monday is a day he is scheduled to be elsewhere. He arrived at the same time we did. We spoke briefly then received assurance that the first task we were given is already accomplished and that he will communicate with Dr. Olotu, who directed his own training, to handle whatever is needed.

That first task? We were directed to become officially attached to a local Tanzanian Parish.

We have attended regularly and preached when asked in three local parishes. Our heart is with them all. Given however, that most of our Sunday’s start with 7am English service at Usa Cathedral we went there directly from the meeting at Makumira.

We are now officially attached to the parish of the Usa River Cathedral of the KKKT/ELCT, a Tanzanian Lutheran Church. It appears that we may be sent as their own people for theological study and perhaps to serve as a science educator at Tumaini University, Makumira.

Freeborn Lutheran church of Stanwood WA is now sewn to a parish in Tanzania. Our Saviors Lutheran church of Stanwood WA and Faith Lutheran church of North Lakewood WA are sewn now likewise. Let alone all the other places and people tied to us over our times and places.

Keep Praying please.. this is God stuff.. your heart touches our heavenly father.. thank you for that..

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We attended, by escorting a precious local one, a wedding Saturday evening not far from Hilda’s house on the Silverleaf Academy campus. Hilda found herself in the company of alive strong joyful women who swept her along with them.

We are now often the eldest at such things and we surprise many of the youngers who dare to converse with us. I think that’s funny. It’s also an opportunity.

Hilda was with those women. I sat off to the side and around the corner from a large opening into the facility that graced folks coming inside for the reception. Along came a young man from Brooklyn who with his significant other, from Pittsburgh, run food and education programs among inner city poverty there in Brooklyn. Guess who they wanted to talk about without initially knowing they did?

Yes, they wanted to talk about God. And they wanted to discuss their relationship with God and Jesus as expressed by nothing they have or can do and also how it is expressed through them and their work.

That sort of thing coming into my life as our own children are so very capably busy with their and their children’s lives is such a joy.

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Now to the other end of the age spectrum.

Last Friday Matron, retired head nurse for the local Nkoarganga Hospital who monitors and supports the health of every child at The Children’s Village and teaches families about nutrition and many other topics about childcare, rearing, family management, etc. admitted to me that she was unwell. Something she would never let show.

As I went down off the hill I took her and a couple others with me. After leaving the others off along the way, instead of taking her to the bus, I took her to her home in the nearby bush. Matron lives with her husband and her brother in law who both need constant care. The home is an island in the dried up dust bowl of failed crops down on the plain below Mount Meru. The water well produces water filled with flouride salts making it unpotable and severely limiting of vegetable crops that can be safely grown for human consumption.

I was not allowed to drop her at her gate and go on.

Nope, this under the weather octogenarian, jumped out of the truck to open her gate insisting that I get a glass of milk before I go. This farm-boy still appreciates fresh raw milk. Even as served here which is so hot that the skin cells of your mouth must renew themselves between sips, the top of the milk cooked into a film over and over as the film is consumed. Layers of cells scoured away by the indescribable heat with each sip so that even as the beverage cools, the mouth left more raw with each sip, feels any remaining heat as powerful as the very first.

I sat on the porch with those two elderly men and their care-giver, youngers appearing to check in and then disappear at calm directive given. The life in each of these elders showing just as brightly in their eyes as any young one anywhere, especially when they decide their guest is okay.

Matron’s current husband came into her life as husband in 2015 and perhaps started as a marriage of economic survival for elders caring still for many young ones, but, I got to see mutuality of deep warm humor-filled commitment in their eyes as they would regard one another. And also happiness in the eyes of her brother-in-law at this elder couples sincere togetherness in spite of any troubles.

As I left this island of near centennial determination amidst dust-devils and rooster-tails that overrun the truck at every opportunity, even in first gear, I turned wrong and did not come directly through a few bush kilometers to the big road. Instead I wandered unlabeled tracks the squishing radial tires pumping dust as they rolled through parched puddles of the sneeze inducing powder. Rough sections being rocky and rutted taking you among Maasai cows and goats, donkeys and people, some of the youngest people shocked to see anything like me. Smiling and waving sometimes helps. I was far enough from the big road that my pitiful Swahili only got blank stares. Ki-Meru or Ki-Maasai only out here.

My two words, “barabara kubwa(road big)?” spoken with a big smile eventually got a smile in return with a finger pointing the way. I was close.

Not feeling well had not gotten in the way of Matron waving at her neighbors from the passenger window of Hilda’s truck and then turning to look up at me laughing that they’ll all think she is rich now because a mzungu(dizzy-world-traveler) was driving her home instead of her walking.

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Hilda and I fly home leaving Tanzania September 1st for a month in the Pacific Northwest. We leave the Pacific Northwest from Portland Oregon October the 4th to return to Tanzania.

vwilliamson@sprynet.com / facebook messenger / Hilda’s Phone number 360-815-4302

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

Also please continue to Pray for:

Travel mercies for Hilda and I. Plane travel represents a supreme physiological trial to someone my shape, size and medical history.

Affordable time in the Pacific Northwest and over to Colorado for those dear children and grandchildren who miss us and whom we miss deeply.

Makumira Secondary School, my brilliant helper Elisha’s school, is looking to share stories and partner in some way with a foreign school, Great leaders, teachers, students, programs, strong backs, minds, and hearts –

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

Visa situation (another 3 month extension for us both granted!) we will be good again until after we return -

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 –

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,

Hilda and I fly home leaving Tanzania September 1st for a month in the Pacific Northwest. We leave the Pacific Northwest from Portland Oregon October the 4th to return to Tanzania.

During that time in the states these two grandparents hope to see and hug each and every child and grandchild we can. That is our first priority.

Hilda needs to renew her driver’s license and I hope to renew my commercial drivers’ license. A bit of a task and expense with hurdles due to age, time in Africa and being less than medically perfect. I had no idea that my many years using that license would prove to be valuable here. It has. Also if we need to return in a more full time way to the states after Hilda’s contract to teach teachers expires in December, I may need the license wherever we find ourselves.

Freeborn Lutheran Church, a courageous little church near Stanwood WA, blessed and sent us with a letter. Two other local churches, Our Saviors Lutheran Church in downtown Stanwood and Faith Lutheran Church in North Lakewood WA also prayed over, blessed and sent us.

These three churches are near some of our children. We plan to be with each as possible too.

vwilliamson@sprynet.com / facebook messenger / Hilda’s Phone number 360-815-4302

Part of the sending involves experiencing education and pastoral formation here.

I have seen use, having preached five times from three different pulpits in local churches in Usa River, Kilala, and a new rural preaching point here on Mount Meru. I have also been presenting messages from the weekly scheduled readings of the local Tanzanian Lutheran Church in a small intimate study / worship time each Sunday with the Mama’s who care 24/7 for the residential care children of The Small Things, Happy Children’s Village in Nkoaranga. Everything Hilda and I have done and continue to do has been at the request of local people.

I am as yet not in a formal Theology program. I have found another person who is part of the local University that motivated our coming all this way so I could finally go to school. I have received an assurance that this coming week of the 15th of August 2022 that I will be seeing the head of the Theology program at Tumaini University, Makumira. There have been many false starts. Hoping and praying this is better.

We came this far for many reasons. There are many hurdles but here are four big ones. No one from America has ever tried to attend full time this local Theology program. The culture of theological education here in TZ, and the details surrounding matriculation are vastly different from those of North America. The Government of TZ is completely involved in accreditation, evaluation, and certification of not only schools and universities but also every student. I am still a child in this culture not knowing what I still do not know. Confusion reigns.

Still, local pastors and people here are praying our way, before us, just as so many of you are.

vwilliamson@sprynet.com / facebook / Hilda’s Phone number 360-815-4302

Thank you to each of you for all the patience you extend and likely will need to continue to extend. Communication between where you are and we are, is still less than ideal. While we are in motion in the Pacific Northwest we may be difficult to find but believe that we want to be found. We need to speak to what your prayers have done and continue to do. How we are dependent upon whatever moments you sacrifice to throw us at God in prayer.

!! Additional bout the Mama’s at the Children’s Village.. !!

Two of the local Tanzanian teenagers who have helped with Sunday school and the messages with the Mama’s are now safely in school with their folks in Connecticut. The remaining young man is still here. I was able to spend a day with him just hanging, walking, stupid movies on line, food and Hilda’s kittens, this last week. I hope to be able to again before we leave for the month of September.

I have prepared for him, from the scheduled scriptures, a message for the Mama’s for each week we are to be gone. Pray for him too please. His name is Elisha. He is a brilliant teenager who misses his family deeply. Brilliant teenagers, in this nation with a median age of seventeen, who miss their family, are apt to face distractions. May those distractions be edifying and enlightening for him and may he and those loving and caring for him and his little brother be safe and ever the beautiful people they are.

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

Also please continue to Pray for:

Travel mercies for Hilda and I. Plane travel represents a supreme physiological trial to someone my shape, size and medical history.

Affordable time in the Pacific Northwest and over to Colorado for those dear children and grandchildren who miss us and whom we miss deeply.

Makumira Secondary School, my brilliant helper Elisha’s school, is looking to share stories and partner in some way with a foreign school, Great leaders, teachers, students, programs, strong backs, minds, and hearts –

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

Visa situation (another 3 month extension for us both granted!) we will be good again until after we return -

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 –

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,

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.

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

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?

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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 -