Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                           January 10, 2023

Apologies for the over-long time between this post and the last. 

I had a wonderful moment of Joy this morning.  And this with Hilda right there to witness it.  We were together with two Meru sisters.  One I have been tutoring in English for a while.  The other has ardently refused to use English around me.  She will speak to Hilda in English, but not Babu(grandfather).

Today both sisters brought the local NIV Bibles in English we gave them and we had a tutorial.  This consists of reading scripture aloud to the small group trusting Babu to help with pronunciation.  Then Babu pauses the reading to question them about specific words.  We then define the specific words and discuss their usage in the text.  This is a new pairing as students and sisters can be competitive.  I still think they will work out well. 

On good days the elder sister will trust me enough to ask about anything.  Yes, anything..  It took time to come to that point.  The younger sister did extremely well this morning reciting scripture in English in front of Babu and Bibi(grandmother).

They are both products of corporal punishment in the school environment.  Consistent positive affirmation of each good portion of recitation combined, not with the stick, but calmly spoken pronunciation by me given and then repeated by me with a smile, broken into pieces even, so they can practice has been productive.  It has also created the safe place for questions, any questions.

Both of these young women have beaten the median age of 17.  They are both 20 something and neither has a child yet.  Yes, they are extremely intelligent polyglot people who seem to learn well in an environment of humor first.  Seriousness is present when necessary too but not first.  Safe place first. 

My quiet moment of Joy with them came when in 1^st Peter we came to where Peter says we are slaves to Christ.  These two beautifully dark Meru women were completely unfamiliar with the English word .. slave.  I pointed it out to Hilda while the two sisters were communicating in brief and Hilda’s head shook in disbelief as she affirmed that she had heard it too.

Where survival is paramount looking to the past for reasons to hate your neighbor makes no sense whatsoever.  There is most often no time for it.  Besides, local history here started getting written down only when the first German Lutheran Missionaries arrived on Meru from Kilimanjaro.  This around the latest 1890’s and early 1900’s or the time my grandparents were born.  Not all that long ago.   

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My Sunday Helper Elisha left yesterday to become a boarding student at his school, Makumira Secondary.  He is now of an age and disposition that it is deemed by his loving Aunt/Mama to be of benefit for his appreciation of structure and consequence.  Makumira Secondary is a church school owned and operated by the community through the local Tanzanian Lutheran Church.  Hilda and I have met the headmaster who is pint-sized amazing. 

No child on campus there flinches away from any member of staff.  Corporal punishment is banned in the Lutheran church schools.  The headmaster himself waters the vast garden maintained to feed the school, he has had the children dig tilapia ponds for protein to add to their diets.  They have cows giving milk and last year when we walked the campus with him he was bubbling about cow manure digesters soon.  Bio-gas from cow manure so the cooks don’t have to use wood or dry dung to cook with all the time.  An older man with white coming into his hair but total human dynamo.  They have two sources of water so nothing important dries up.  The sources are springs with ram pumps moving it to where it needs to go.  The last place on campus to get water and the first to dry up is the boys dormitory.  The girls get water first. 

With the departure of Elisha my last Sunday helper has moved along.  I am hopeful to find new ones.  God willing. 

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With the close of Hilda’s work with the three NGO’s as a contracted member of staff, we are feeling our way ahead in faith again.  This time though we have been given some amazingly precious people right here who have chosen to know and want us in their work and their lives.  We are praying that within the next 2 to 3 weeks we will be residing further up Meru and significantly closer to The Children’s Village. 

Local ones are making that happen.  Women have been talking quietly with other women and finding opportunities for us.  Miracles from impoverished busy ones seeking the slightly better off ones, they know and trust and might have an empty house.  We think one has been found.  The owners let us look and wanted a list of improvements they insist upon completing in the next 2 weeks before we move there..  God knows..  We sent a list..  All we heard back was that the list was fine.. 

The very same trust that sold the house, drove to Georgia and sold the truck is demanded of us again.  Only our crazy has attracted some unbelievably precious souls who feel we are theirs now too, Mama Mchungaji Ngakisali and Mchungaji Kisali..  Ki-Meru for big brother pastors wife and Big brother pastor.

Often these dear ones do not want our white faces to be seen until negotiations are complete.  They do not want us to be taken unfair advantage of financially or emotionally.  My first brother Pastor here reminded me this very week of our story insisting that to do what we have done to be here is meaningful somehow in and of itself.  It’s only meaningful if God’s love is the compelling impetus. 

That brother is Mchungaji Ombeni.  He put us to work doing pre-marital counselling of his own parishioners within three hours of meeting us.  He has been trusted with three new preaching points.  He saw the truck at work with me in it, stopped and insisted I preach for him again this coming Sunday several kilometers up the mountain at his most distant parish. 

That should keep me out of sight of those seeking to harass, yet, still at work for the Lutheran Church here.  Brave.  They are so very brave.

Did I mention that my almost Catholic-Priest-fixer who knows everyone in the national government and introduces me as “father” to folks he trusts signed paperwork for the national authorities that they could hold him responsible for any of my actions, good or bad?

I should be blown away, shouldn’t I?  

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Christmas Day we worshiped with the littles at the Children’s Village and then the Mama’s as normal.  Then, with others helping, we took all of them to where we stayed our first two months here, Two Mountain Lodge.  The Mama’s did not have to cook.  The children did not have to clean up.  We served them a good lunch.  Then the children got a big celebration cake.  Then the Mama’s each got their own celebration cake.  Our friends at the lodge had fun making it all happen too.

There goes the budget..  WORTH  IT!   Then one week later..

Dear close ones were going to an evening New Year’s Eve service in town, Arusha.  We asked if they wanted some quiet company as this whole year our church duties had prevented us from worshipping with them.  WE aren’t dead you know..  we can do a midnight service Saturday and still do church stuff Sunday morning, we’ll have the afternoon to catch up..  right?

The truck had four angels and one fine young man in the back seat on the way.  We collected another young man, husband to one of the angels, there.  The two young men rode in the bed of the truck on the way back to Nkoaranga though when that time eventually came.

The service was peopled by something between 500, we were among and could see, but simulcast to other nearby tents at just under a thousand.  It was this median age of 17 spending 9 hours of praising in a predominantly modern Tanzanian Joyful Pentecostal way. 

I counted four white heads beyond our own.  There had to be nearly a whole hour of singing and jumping to “Jesus Hop” among other praise song and dance performed live by the same musicians, singers and dancers for nearly Seven of the Nine hours.  Rapid-fire Swahili preaching and surprisingly slow moments of teaching through scripture took the rest.

We drove home with the rising sun. 

I got to 7:am English service New Year’s Day at the Cathedral before it started after changing my shirt.  Then went home after to collect Hilda and eat some.  We did our normal with the littles and Mama’s ..  Then..

Collected up nearly an identical truckload of angels and took them back into town for another praise time with the same praise team.  They had slept for a little bit.  It was blissfully brief anyway, only 90 minutes with communion. 

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WE don’t fit the expected boxes..  The local folks have decided to either love us or hate us for that.  The ones who love us seem to be winning..  I think your praying has been a huge part in that.  God is listening, watching..  laughing some too?? 

Thank You for that.

Also please Pray for:

Visa situation..  Due soon..  two weeks until we are illegal..  May we be able to learn and be lead into what is best for the benefit of what God would have us do, how God would have us do those things and stewardship of the resources God has put into us for God’s purposes -

Gratitude..

Gratitude for our time in the Pacific Northwest and over to Colorado for those dear children and grandchildren who miss us and whom we are overjoyed to have had our precious time with.

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

Imbasenny school is one of two schools run by a Mchungaji here.  He requests prayer for Imbasenny school as that school has no external support and parents school fees fall short of what the job takes.

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

Our armed forces families, our leadership, our people, whole world round, all of God’s kids -

All the tough and blessing expressed above –

The love of folks –

Whatever is on your hearts and minds for us –

I continue to be under much harsh spiritual attack concerning my sense of self-worth and those many things I have yet to get to, please, only as you are comfortable, remember me, indeed us.. the world doesn’t like what we are doing out of love we don’t own.. yet have none the less -

For our health to stay ahead of whatever is before us, for us to let our health fail so others can shine –

For a way for us to invest with our experience and even financially in support of local industrious people so we can afford to stay and continue to make a difference one face at a time –

For those who have braved the donate button to discover Kajun Crofton, our daughter who helps getting each one of your donations to us and every blogpost to where you can read it –

For you who find other ways to uplift and support us -

For each and every one of you –

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

Prayers, Your Prayer, skipping stone and even groaning prayers make all the difference..

If we should ever cross your mind, even if we are strange and confusing, just grunt, crumple us up and throw us at God.  That is where we need to be.. 

Vern W

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

Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                           December 20th 2022

What should I tell you about..  Stupid little truck, still with no low range and no four-wheel-drive, with twelve big and little people crammed in everywhere even in the bed of the truck.  This is only the second time in a year that people were allowed in the bed of the truck mostly ladies and littles.  I let the men walk out.  It had been another Confirmation party at the end of a road made for donkeys and not vehicle traffic.  The adverse going in was bad but on the way out it was absolutely the wrong way.  The ladies in tight dresses and high heels not wanting to sit on the floor of the bed where they could hold either the roll bars or each other.  Too bad..   

Many of these ladies had actually decided in the falling darkness to help themselves to the bed of the truck after I had placed two teenage boys against the back of the cab, seated on the floor of the bed, each with an elbow locked around a roll bar.  The grandmothers and little littles crammed in the back seat, about six.  As I headed out, those walking the track ahead left the track to climb uphill away from where the truck needed to go.  Also uphill is not where gravity would take the truck should the track fall out away from under the truck or the truck lose its way should a tire turn wrong. 

It was dry...  That is the only reason I went in.  It was dry.  It was steep.  Nothing was flat in any direction.  We creeped down until, we could no longer creep.  Then we really went over the edge, nose down, and picking up speed negotiating the turns to the bottom.  Now the big climb up and out over the worst and steepest part, a climb on the way out.  I told Hilda we had a load of angels so the truck had big enough wings to fly up and out over terrain I would never have taken a tractor on the farm.  I took tractors nearly everywhere on the farm. 

I was extremely thankful for the track to flatten off as it came to the “road”.  The road is surfaced by years of monsoon rain wash rounded over by use.  This looks a bit like an over-ripe over-tall crop of fescues bent over by weather into rugged hummocks.  This and rocks between the size of a fist and a head that had erupted leaving deep gouges means putting each tire carefully so no axle gets a hole punched in it.  The trailer hitch found ground only once all afternoon and night.

God is good nobody got ejected.  All were happy and grateful.  The littles and the Bibi’s the most so.

The last two young ladies who had been transported the longest distance however, did not want to go home.  They wanted to get out at a roadside bar.  That is part of why giving rides willy-nilly is not our common practice.  You save them some shillings by letting them ride and then they chose to spend those shillings on alcohol.  Alcohol makes zombies everywhere, even here.  I know I sound hard but by denying a ride and leaving pockets empty may help save one or two from becoming the walking dead.   

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No one at Silverleaf Worship for two weeks.  Less than 20 littles at the Children’s Village as so many are given a chance this time of year to try living with some part of family, no matter how distant, in hopes that with support it can become permanent for each one.

The Mama’s have decided they want my messages written out for them so they can look up the citations and study through the week.  This is the new practice for about a month now.  The message is written in English.  Then when internet is available, two windows are opened up, one to translate the English into Swahili, the second to translate the Swahili back into English.  This enables me to modify my English message until it translates back into English from the Swahili provided close enough to what I seek to teach to let it go entirely on faith from there. 

Elisha reads my message in Swahili now standing while reciting each piece of scripture.  He stand with weight on his left foot when reading from the Old Testament, weight on his right foot when reading from the New Testament.  He sits down when reading prose coming from me.  This is made plain on the page by using bold face, italics and his good knowledge of the books of the bible.

He then participates in the blessing from Numbers 5 and sings that blessing with me too.

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25th December 2022                   Zab 106:46-48 / Isa 9:6-7 / Lk 2:15-20                         Good News Translation           

Psalm 106:46-48             ⁴⁶ He made all their oppressors feel sorry for them.  ⁴⁷ Save us, O Lord our God, and bring us back from among the nations, so that we may be thankful and praise your holy name.  ⁴⁸ Praise the Lord, the God of Israel; praise him now and forever!  Let everyone say, “Amen!”  Praise the Lord!

Isaiah 9:6-7       ⁶ A child is born to us!  A son is given to us!  And he will be our ruler.  He will be called, “Wonderful^[a] Counselor,” “Mighty God,” “Eternal Father,” “Prince of Peace.”  ⁷ His royal power will continue to grow; his kingdom will always be at peace.  He will rule as King David's successor, basing his power on right and justice, from now until the end of time.  The Lord Almighty is determined to do all this.

Luke 2:15-20      ¹⁵ When the angels went away from them back into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let's go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us.”  ¹⁶ So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph and saw the baby lying in the manger. ¹⁷ When the shepherds saw him, they told them what the angel had said about the child. ¹⁸ All who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said. ¹⁹ Mary remembered all these things and thought deeply about them. ²⁰ The shepherds went back, singing praises to God for all they had heard and seen; it had been just as the angel had told them.

What do we do with this baby?  What do we do with these angels?  What do we do with angels who fill the night with proclamation about a baby, a son, given to us?  A baby we did nothing to earn.  A baby given not as a needy dependent, but a baby given to us as our ruler.  Further, God is determined to do this.  God, who gives us everything including life, gives us this child to rule over us.                                                                                              

Babies can rule a healthy human heart even while they sleep.  They make the simplest of sounds that bring care-givers close to be certain all is well.  Babies long to be held close to hear the beating heart of their mother and father.  Babies long to drink the best food.  Babies eat, sleep, grow..  In just a short time, babies are children walking, then running.  Each stage of growing bringing new ways this gift of life, this gift of a child, can rule over healthy parents who love.  That may be the most important thing we are to do with this child born to us.  We are to love this precious life.  This precious life that comes without planes, guns or bombs, without an army or navy or even a fancy car.  This precious life is open to those willing to love.  Love like we have been loved.  Loved with the creation of a time, a place, other people, and our lives.                                                                                                                                          

How do we know this precious child is given for us?  How do we know we are the people receiving the gift?           

The birth announcement was not made in King Herod’s court.  The birth announcement was not made before Caesar in Rome.  The birth announcement was not made to the Sanhedrin at The Temple.  The birth announcement was not made among or to the powerful.                                                                                                                

The birth announcement was made to those who watch over and care for sheep.  The birth announcement was made to people who care for life.  God’s announcement was made to people who do not leave their animals to go to town.  God’s proclamation was made to people who only rarely got to go to Temple.  People who spend their time with animals.  Even spending time with animals to protect and guide them at night.       

I too have tended animals in the dark of night.  Angelic proclamation would get attention.  Enough attention for dutiful shepherds to leave their flocks in the care of a few shepherds.  So the rest could go see.  Shepherds would have been at home in the stable with the animals surrounding this child and his family.  Shepherds might have even been the first to understand the deep meanings of this baby Jesus in the cattle trough.                     

Jesus came for us who know hard times, hard work and rejection.  We who know hard times, hard work and rejection can begin to appreciate the hard times, hard work and rejection Jesus faced as a baby, and as our Savior on the Cross.          

Njoo Bwana Yesu, Njoo!!!                                                      Mungu Asifiwe..

Christmas message for these wonderful women who live for children who need someone to do just that.

Merry Christmas You amazing people who remember us..  Thank you so much..

 

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Also please Pray for:

Hilda’s temporary contract with the local NGO ends next month, her work will hopefully transition over to Tanzanian hands.  If not it will come to a close.  Money is super-tight here like at home there.  We don’t know what is ahead though the few locals in the know are working as hard as we to discover what that may be.  We know we are used and God’s trust is even more beautiful than the trust we have among God’s children here.  Keep your good work up?  Please.  You are doing the best of best by taking even a moment of your precious time with God to think of, to mention, us.

Yes, reluctantly, you can help us if you wish and you don’t need tax paperwork.  We cannot provide that.  We are just folks.  We are not an organization.  Your Church is an organization and can provide paperwork and if moved by The Holy Spirit can help us and get you that paperwork.

If that is not possible, please consider The Small Things of Nkoaranga, Tanzania.  They are the parent NGO responsible for The Children’s Village we have been diligently around and among this last year.  They can get you tax paperwork and have sincere needs to attend.  The perimeter fence project and more importantly, on-going school fees for about fifty children.  These are too much for this old couple who live hand to mouth alone, but, money goes much further here.  These are easy do’s for a group of us.  God Bless you for reading and even considering.  Thank you.

Silverleaf Academy has wisely chosen to find ways to make local provision alone work.  This means that these children come from organizations or families that can provide well enough for their education that Silverleaf Academy can stay open and do their diligent best without the vagaries of foreign funding.  Still, Hilda has poured her life into the teaching staff here and they have blossomed so much like the littles have.  If you are being prompted by The Spirit, I don’t think they would say no to a helping hand.  They should be on-line with several schools.  The address for this one is above.  Yes, they know our names.

Gratitude..

Gratitude for our time in the Pacific Northwest and over to Colorado for those dear children and grandchildren who miss us and whom we are overjoyed to have had our precious time with.

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

Imbasenny school is one of two schools run by a Mchungaji here.  He requests prayer for Imbasenny school as that school has no external support and parents school fees fall short of what the job takes.

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

Visa situation..  Good now until after Christmas..  May we be able to learn and be lead into what is best for the benefit of what God would have us do, how God would have us do those things and stewardship of the resources God has put into us for God’s purposes -

Our armed forces families, our leadership, our people, whole world round, all of God’s kids -

All the tough and blessing expressed above –

The love of folks –

Whatever is on your hearts and minds for us –

I continue to be under much harsh spiritual attack concerning my sense of self-worth and those many things I have yet to get to, please, only as you are comfortable, remember me, indeed us.. the world doesn’t like what we are doing out of love we don’t own.. yet have none the less -

For our health to stay ahead of whatever is before us, for us to let our health fail so others can shine –

For a way for us to invest with our experience and even financially in support of local industrious people so we can afford to stay and continue to make a difference one face at a time –

For those who have braved the donate button to discover Kajun Crofton, our daughter who helps getting each one of your donations to us and every blogpost to where you can read it –

For you who find other ways to uplift and support us -

For each and every one of you –

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

Prayers, Your Prayer, skipping stone and even groaning prayers make all the difference..

If we should ever cross your mind, even if we are strange and confusing, just grunt, crumple us up and throw us at God.  That is where we need to be.. 

Vern W

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

 Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                           December 5th 2022

We needed to be two places at the same time so..  I took Hilda to the duka(shop) of dearest bravest beloved friends where she was to wait until others were ready to walk up to the church in Nkoaranga, across from the hospital. 

Confirmation Sunday at Nkoaranga and Hilda was there all day to support a precious someone’s precious child.  Rites of passage are still a major thing here.  Statutory prescriptions about legal adult age are not the end of it.  Folks go through ceremonies and trials and overcome and endure and get celebrated along with all those who endured with them on the way.  One of those rites, Confirmation, takes the local pastor and the Bishop’s representative and many hours at church.  Party after..

The prior Sunday I had been too ill and so Elisha and Hilda handled both Sunday schools and message sharing with the Mama’s.  All I did was drive. 

With Hilda attending Confirmations with Elisha in support of his neighbors, yesterday, I got both Sunday schools and message sharing with the Mama’s on my own.  This started down at Silverleaf Academy, on Momela Rd, Usa River, Arumeru District, Arusha, Tz, where Hilda has had both office and little house.. 

The littles were gathering chairs to face towards the big windows on the entrance side of the dining hall, this was normal.  The littles all called me Babu, this was normal.  “Babu, you were sick last week.. how were you sick?”,..  fearlessly asking me anything, this was normal.  “Where is Bibi?”..  Bibi not being here with me is.. not ..normal.  “Babu.. where is Elisha?”..  this from some bright eye-ed little ladies and Elisha not being with me is also.. not ..normal.

With some already having gone home I suppose the number in attendance were about thirty instead of forty.  This is their praise time.  I am only a witness and focal elder. 

The normal things happened.  Unbidden, the littles quieted then one of them stood holding her palms together and with eyes closed opened their praise time together in prayer, a prayer in unison with all there and loud enough that thirty little voices filled that vast dining hall big enough to feed four hundred. 

Then the dining hall almost shook as they danced in place and sang songs from inside them in Swahili and English and now also the songs inside them in English given them by Bibi.  I sang too, stopping every once in a while to just be wrapped up by the sound of them all ..and sight of them all.

The bigger girls who came in from a large lake out in the bush at the beginning of the year who I was not to convert to Christianity and to whom I have never spoken alone to about anything, were hovering.  This was new.

They were hovering around the group getting the very few sleepy boys and littler girls up to participate.  Also, hanging from their ears and necks I saw crosses, probably gifted them by the other older school girls already gone home.  This was also new.

Quick prayer here..  Please..  for these growing bush girls now wearing outward signs of Christianity..  Please God, be ever in their lives in ways that builds their relationship with You God.  Their relationship with You is what is important and I selfishly want to have them in eternity too.  Grant them safety and protection from both those of ill-will and those of good-will.  I pray my time with them brings them nothing that you won’t help them to overcome.  I pray that my time and the time of their fellow students brings to those who love them nothing that you won’t help them to overcome.  May those hearts that arranged this opportunity for these girls to have education and freedom from F.G.M. be comforted, uplifted and empowered ever further in the ways you God would see fit… 

Bwana Yesu Asifiwe..

There were no teachers. There were no Christian Mama’s.  There was only one Mama and she is from the big lake out in the bush and came to the school in part to protect all her bush girls from Christianization.  She was there with all of us clapping to the music and singing what she has come to know in her own way too. 

This Mama from the bush lake is impeccably put together, not one of her short cropped hairs is out of place.  Her traditional clothing is always spotless, she sees and hears everything.  She is pencil thin and stands so straight she impresses with much more height than she has.  She is several inches shorter than Hilda, maybe 85-90 pounds.  She displays nearly no expression other than attention to everything.  She needs, will never need any make-up.  That would be an absolute sin.  The truth in that calm yet alive face that suffers no foolishness is nothing to cover. 

If she is thirty, I shouldn’t be surprised but has to still be in her twenties at the most, though a very deeply rural and want-filled-wise twenty-something. 

She has the infinite respect of all the girls on campus.  I don’t think she has ever raised her voice, or ever needed to.  Her eyes speak.  I watched once her holding another woman’s sick child to quiet it and so the mother could get some rest.  She and that calming child were surrounded by the girls in rapt attention as she tended this sick baby and spoke clearly, calmly, and irrefutably, simply teaching other future women her hard-won wisdom from living where there is nothing a developed-world person would recognize as resource. 

Once again, my grandmother from the 1890’s is in sight.  As is the younger grandmother from 1900.  Wisdom we’ve forgotten is gifted often through those who go unseen.. and unheard.  Loud, center of attention, demanding, all just cover, like make-up.  Truth, openness, competence, wisdom, nothing else.

I had re-re-re-read the message planned for the Mama’s up at the Children’s Village and thought I could simplify that well enough but, after the littles all got seated in the middle break from singing they keep for me, we unsurprisingly just talked about babies. 

Asked the question about what is special about December?  Christmas!  Jesus’ Birthday!  Who else here has a birthday?  This while sticking my own hand up to show that indeed I had been born too.  We talked about God being born as a baby just like all of us.  We talked about what that says about the importance of babies.  We talked about the vulnerability of babies and what that says about the importance of God and God’s choice to come as one.    

One final observation with this precious group of little boys and girls of this little academy in this little place in this little country and my all too little time with them;  We started with the perfect provision of two teenage boys coming every Sunday to translate, read scripture, read out prayer written in one language which they spoke out for us in another.  Except for singing, yesterday no Swahili was used. 

This group of developing world youth have acquired competency in English well enough to speak with me in a group about deeply spiritual things.  From the ones fortunate to be fluent from the beginning to those bush girls taller than Hilda and small as a china-doll who came without even Swahili, I believe their attention, their questions, their participation boys and girls both.  Their participation in their own service ever opened and closed in prayer by them shows power, nothing less than miraculous power. 

Yesterday, Sunday the 4^th , may be the last Sunday I have with the boarding students at Silverleaf Academy. 

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There are but about a dozen of you reading these posts.  Please regard what prayer is and has done. 

Thank you.. 

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Also please Pray for:

Hilda’s temporary contract with the local NGO ends next month, her work will hopefully transition over to Tanzanian hands.  If not it will come to a close.  Money is super-tight here like at home there.  We don’t know what is ahead though the few locals in the know are working as hard as we to discover what that may be.  We know we are used and God’s trust is even more beautiful than the trust we have among God’s children here.  Keep your good work up?  Please.  You are doing the best of best by taking even a moment of your precious time with God to think of, to mention, us.

Yes, reluctantly, you can help us if you wish and you don’t need tax paperwork.  We cannot provide that.  We are just folks.  We are not an organization.  Your Church is an organization and can provide paperwork and if moved by The Holy Spirit can help us and get you that paperwork.

If that is not possible, please consider The Small Things of Nkoaranga, Tanzania.  They are the parent NGO responsible for The Children’s Village we have been diligently around and among this last year.  They can get you tax paperwork and have sincere needs to attend.  The perimeter fence project and more importantly, on-going school fees for about fifty children.  These are too much for this old couple who live hand to mouth alone, but, money goes much further here.  These are easy do’s for a group of us.  God Bless you for reading and even considering.  Thank you.

Silverleaf Academy has wisely chosen to find ways to make local provision alone work.  This means that these children come from organizations or families that can provide well enough for their education that Silverleaf Academy can stay open and do their diligent best without the vagaries of foreign funding.  Still, Hilda has poured her life into the teaching staff here and they have blossomed so much like the littles have.  If you are being prompted by The Spirit, I don’t think they would say no to a helping hand.  They should be on-line with several schools.  The address for this one is above.  Yes, they know our names.

Gratitude..

Gratitude for our time in the Pacific Northwest and over to Colorado for those dear children and grandchildren who miss us and whom we are overjoyed to have had our precious time with.

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

Imbasenny school is one of two schools run by a Mchungaji here.  He requests prayer for Imbasenny school as that school has no external support and parents school fees fall short of what the job takes.

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

Visa situation..  Good now until after Christmas..  May we be able to learn and be lead into what is best for the benefit of what God would have us do, how God would have us do those things and stewardship of the resources God has put into us for God’s purposes -

Our armed forces families, our leadership, our people, whole world round, all of God’s kids -

All the tough and blessing expressed above –

The love of folks –

Whatever is on your hearts and minds for us –

I continue to be under much harsh spiritual attack concerning my sense of self-worth and those many things I have yet to get to, please, only as you are comfortable, remember me, indeed us.. the world doesn’t like what we are doing out of love we don’t own.. yet have none the less -

For our health to stay ahead of whatever is before us, for us to let our health fail so others can shine –

For a way for us to invest with our experience and even financially in support of local industrious people so we can afford to stay and continue to make a difference one face at a time –

For those who have braved the donate button to discover Kajun Crofton, our daughter who helps getting each one of your donations to us and every blogpost to where you can read it –

For you who find other ways to uplift and support us -

For each and every one of you –

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

Prayers, Your Prayer, skipping stone and even groaning prayers make all the difference..

If we should ever cross your mind, even if we are strange and confusing, just grunt, crumple us up and throw us at God.  That is where we need to be.. 

Vern W

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

 Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                           December 3rd 2022

Trust is rare.  I wasn’t going to write about the other funeral, the quieter one, the only slightly smaller one.  I gathered up the young cousin of the deceased and took her with a bag of clothes to the mortuary below the hospital up on the mountain.  I then left her there to wash and clothe her cousin and at her direction followed a piki-piki(motorcycle) to her uncle’s house.  There I was instructed to back in, park the truck and then enter the compound to sit by the front step with Mama Mchungaji Ombeni, Pastor Ombeni’s spouse, a friend. 

My job in those long early moments of the long day was the same as Mama Mchungaji.  Attend, be with, a family whose 18 year old daughter was being brought home to be buried in the small banana grove behind the home.  Chai and mandazi, tea and deep fried flour dough shapes like donut only not always that circular, were joyfully served.  I drank all the tea and ate one of the mandazi served asking that the rest be shared out among those making preparations.  Time passed with little ones coming to quietly look, a couple then even choosing to sit near me. 

The brother of the one dropped at the mortuary to wash and dress came and collected me after changing the clothes he had worn all morning to put up canopies, set up chairs, and take a turn with the shovel crew in the banana grove to open the earth for his cousin.  “It is time Babu.”  We walked out of the compound to find a short line of cars, all washed and ribbon-ed in purple and white.  Our little truck had also been so adorned. 

People gathered through the banana trees to the narrow dirt drive and were sorted into each decorated car.  This would be a rare luxury for folks who rarely travel other than by foot.  I was trusted with the brother of the washing and dressing cousin and also with three young girls to fill the back seat.  It wasn’t until later that I learned that those three young girls, I was trusted with, were the deceased ones younger siblings.  The youngest had been gathered to stay with Mom and Dad in another car. 

The luxury of travel in a car was meaningless but for the level of fatigue of those mourning.  Young girls stifling sobs and smearing tears could care less for the means of travel.  In these overlong sleepless sorrow-filled moments, however, the means of travel made the travel to the mortuary to collect and bring sister home to the small banana grove possible. 

This is how the stupid little truck pays for itself, no matter how many repairs, no matter how many trips to empty fuel stations to find one with diesel.

After collecting sister and caring cousin the short motorcade took everyone back home.  There was no church portion for this smaller funeral.  Instead Mchungaji’s gathered at the home and presided there.  I was seated with them.  Purposely I put myself in the furthest seat in the row.  Never knowing, one often thinks about what one could say if called upon.  I was not. 

If I had been, it would have been the story of Lazarus, brother of Mary and Martha, raised by Jesus.  The obvious piece being that with Jesus there is more life, count on it.  The less than obvious pieces would  include that Jesus wept at the human loss, joined the human loss.  Another would have been to watch the hands.  Jesus said to open the grave.  The hands of regular people moved the stone away.  Jesus called Lazarus out of the grave and told regular folks to use their hands to unbind him of the grave clothes. 

Having spent the morning with these in mourning I had wanted to be prepared to remind the community that our hands have a role to play in helping people find freedom from what binds them.  That long after the grave is refilled and covered with flowers.  That long after the sermons and the food are all gone we have to keep unbinding this family from their loss.  We get to live The Kingdom of God right here and right now by spending time to unbind them from those less than visible grave clothes that make breathing hard, that make seeing beyond the cloud of tear hard too. 

Mother to this child looked seventy with stress and then no more than eighteen herself.

This 18 year old daughter had been unable to attend church.  She was her parents’ miracle child.  Born hydrocephalic and with torturous spinal deformations she had lived without medical treatment in their home and in their care for 18 years.  Prayer and care did indeed make this precious and beloved child the miracle the whole family regarded her as.    

I walked around their precious child with the Mchungaji’s then over to those strong parents giving my wrist to be bumped by theirs.  I had only given them time.  They had given me their other children to transport across the mountain and back.  Then they decided to trust me with their dignified tears, their heads bending towards each other as they looked up from their seats to see my own eyes full but not leaking.

I am not made completely of stone.  Neither is God.  As another Mchungaji arose to speak the sky opened up and water in the compound was two inches deep in minutes. 

The well-worn canopies deflected most to the sides but not all.  From my furthest of Mchungaji seats I got my chance to preach.  Outside the canopies were many other elders.  I gave my seat to the first Bibi(grandmother) I could then stood in the rain gathering as many of my fellow white-haireds in front of me and as far under the canopy as could be packed.  If I am not in the way, it is amazing how many people can fit. 

Preaching slackened as did the rain. 

People standing in water parted to make way for the deceased miracle child to be carried into the banana grove.  All Mchungaji’s went with her.  As the preaching began at the head of the grave and she was lowered in by hand the sky opened up again.  Young men had jumped into the grave to lower her into their mornings work. 

Nearly everyone endured, some picking banana leaves for use as an umbrella.  The bathing and dressing cousin came and stood next to me.  After a time she took my glasses and carefully wiped them with her kitenge so I could see a little better.  She wiped her own.  She gave me her cousin’s glasses to hold so she could do this.  He had gone forward without his glasses to help with the shifting of soil and stone to inter the daughter brought home, and going home.

The bathing and dressing cousin stepped forward and gathered two bunches of flowers into her arms.  She gave one to me.  After nearly all the mourners had placed flowers standing in the freshly turned soil atop the grave she stepped forward, I alongside, to place every flower we held likewise. 

Then as I was turning to follow back to the canopies I saw the final mourners coming forward.  This is when I learned who had been trusted to me and our stupid little truck.  Mother, Father, and those young girls who had sobbed quietly and smeared tears over broken faces in the safety of that back seat.  All the way to the mortuary.  All the way back.

Without the privilege of efficient verbal communication, something real, somethings good got done. 

That is not possible without what each of you do.  I am impossibly inadequate in too many ways to enumerate.  I am only a witness reporting to you about the miracles God is doing everywhere and all the time. 

Thank you for the prayers that make that possible.  You are all part of beautiful things.  We are made for that.  Thanks again.

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

 

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

Also please Pray for:

Hilda’s temporary contract with the local NGO ends next month, her work will hopefully transition over to Tanzanian hands.  If not it will come to a close.  Money is super-tight here like at home there.  We don’t know what is ahead though the few locals in the know are working as hard as we to discover what that may be.  We know we are used and God’s trust is even more beautiful than the trust we have among God’s children here.  Keep your good work up?  Please.  You are doing the best of best by taking even a moment of your precious time with God to think of, to mention, us.

Yes, reluctantly, you can help us if you wish and you don’t need tax paperwork.  We cannot provide that.  We are just folks.  We are not an organization.  Your Church is an organization and can provide paperwork and if moved by The Holy Spirit can help us and get you that paperwork.

If that is not possible, please consider The Small Things of Nkoaranga, Tanzania.  They are the parent NGO responsible for The Children’s Village we have been diligently around and among this last year.  They can get you tax paperwork and have sincere needs to attend.  The perimeter fence project and more importantly, on-going school fees for about fifty children.  These are too much for this old couple who live hand to mouth alone, but, money goes much further here.  These are easy do’s for a group of us.  God Bless you for reading and even considering.  Thank you.

Gratitude..

Gratitude for our time in the Pacific Northwest and over to Colorado for those dear children and grandchildren who miss us and whom we are overjoyed to have had our precious time with.

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

Imbasenny school is one of two schools run by a Mchungaji here.  He requests prayer for Imbasenny school as that school has no external support and parents school fees fall short of what the job takes.

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

Visa situation..  Good now until after Christmas..  May we be able to learn and be lead into what is best for the benefit of what God would have us do, how God would have us do those things and stewardship of the resources God has put into us for Gods purposes -

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..

If we should ever cross your mind, even if we are strange and confusing, just grunt, crumple us up and throw us at God.  That is where we need to be.. 

Vern W

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

 Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                           November 20th 2022

Thursday last, another funeral.  This for the 83 year old grandfather of one of my English students.  That student’s big sister is the apparition from a couple posts back so her grandfather too.  Huge family and a nephew and his son handled the massive event.  That Nephews son is a good friend here, a young man who is becoming a Mchungaji, Pastor.  His Great-Uncle who lived next door is the babu who died. 

I went to support my student, her sister, their mother, the whole community.  Unexpectedly I met there others who were directly related as grandchildren who I knew from elsewhere.  So big a family that grandchildren had never met each other, even though they lived on and around the same mountain. 

Yes, I was trying to be what I can’t be, invisible.  The Nephews son came and collected me from the women and placed me with his father, at the head of the event.  Local Mchungaji’s of all different types came in to group officiate for this extremely diverse and massive family.  Many know me, the one who tries to be invisible.  To a person those who know me call me Mchungaji.  I was not only not hidden but was not seated in the Mchungaji section where they expect, even have demanded me to be.  I was seated with the head man and his son.  Thank God for the white hair.   

Like most things in my life I’ve learned the hard way that not all family looks the same.  So, I keep my big mouth shut.  I don’t need to know how many wives, if more than one.  I don’t need to know how many other lines of children were begat outside legal or church sanctioned relationship, or not.  They could have all been adopted too.  In that way, we are all very much the same.  We are all adopted into the best and only eternal family of God. 

There were a lot of mourning ones.  A whole section of bibi’s, grandmothers, all dressed in white.  With them could have been more bibi’s or younger wives, all seated together.  Different lines will choose cloth to have matching dresses made.  The same pattern will be seated everywhere but most often grouped.  Some head woman eyes from that matrilineal bundling gauged me narrowly.  I have learned.

The time came for the head man’s son to go forward and view the deceased in the coffin surrounded by Mchungaji’s.  I went forward with my friend. 

Often at these funerals of a particularly beloved patriarch mourners will weep so uncontrollably that they lose consciousness or control of their limbs.  A couple older women had to be helped away by others wearing the same pattern.  One young woman who went up alone was carried away by two pallbearers.  The woman having the hardest steel in her gazing at me had a rough time for a while with three women holding her until she could stop shaking, this while she was seated.  I have learned.. some.

I walked around the deceased.  Yes, I knew him.  He was one of that incredibly practical and accepting group of white haired men who had let me help get a beloved General’s truck down off the high bank of the roadway without anything bigger than another, smaller, truck to haul rock and dirt with.  Yes, that same General was there too.  No, beloved or not, this one of this nation’s first generals was in the peanut gallery.  Lucky man.  Did I say that I’ve tried to learn?

We walked around my deceased friend of shared toil and unshared language in just the correct way to come out in front of that matrilineal bundle.  I reached for and took each and every hand using my pittance of Swahili and eye contact to say how very deeply sorry I was.  Even the steel-eyed ones broke, trusting me with open expressions of surprised unexpected appreciation and eyes full of tear. 

My Fathers Dad, my grandfather, lost all of his many siblings.  My grandparents simply gathered the children up and took them home to raise with their own.   We don’t know what happens in lives where death is near, common, and takes so many young ones.  Families may get massive because death has taken so many parents that the remaining simply gathered together forming up whatever came of the pieces.  My dad’s cousins were his brothers and sisters too.  I am old enough to remember.

I may be identified by locals as Mchungaji, but I am not a local Mchungaji.  I am different.  Thank God they let me be.  With my white hair and my foreigner status I am able to get away with things that locals cannot.  Risk everything.  Jesus did.  Now we have family!!!

Yes, those young women who know and trust me could be seen in the corners of the crowd taking turns looking out for someone they also call Babu, me. 

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

Yesterday, that very same head man’s son got married.  Hilda was dressed in the chosen color and pattern of all the Groom side Bibi’s.  We were taken and placed at the table closest to the bride and groom.  We were back with the Mchungaji’s.  It was fine, good even.  These Pastors, all different flavor, seem so young to me and they blow my mind with their acceptance.  America needs to train pastors here.  Hilda and I were singled out to be given a whole separate wedding cake, being called forward as Mchungaji, and Mama Mchungaji, Van.  That is how the name my parents gave me, Vern, comes out here, Van.  Which makes people laugh because in Africa a Van is also known as a Lorry or a Truck.

This is how you know the head cook likes you.  It is dark.  It’s been raining heavily, PRAISE GOD!, you are soaked because you, pastor truck used to be a logger and don’t care if you get wet.  One mighty beloved Meru daughter literally stands in the line holding the surging crowd back and hands you two plates so she and others working the event can have some food too, you will have it for them.  Head cook knows there are no utensils so she puts a piece of chicken on your plate that when the good is nibbled away makes a good spoon for the rest of the plate.  People are looking out for us.  Your prayer support is amazing, nothing less than absolutely amazing..

Please keep reading to the end..  yes, important stuff in the prayer requesting..

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

Also please Pray for:

Hilda’s temporary contract with the local NGO ends next month, her work will hopefully transition over to Tanzanian hands.  If not it will come to a close.  Money is super-tight here like at home there.  We don’t know what is ahead though the few locals in the know are working as hard as we to discover what that may be.  We know we are used and God’s trust is even more beautiful than the trust we have among God’s children here.  Keep your good work up?  Please.  You are doing the best of best by taking even a moment of your precious time with God to think of, to mention, us.

Yes, reluctantly, you can help us if you wish and you don’t need tax paperwork.  We cannot provide that.  We are just folks.  We are not an organization.  Your Church is an organization and can provide paperwork and if moved by The Holy Spirit can help us and get you that paperwork.

If that is not possible, please consider The Small Things of Nkoaranga, Tanzania.  They are the parent NGO responsible for The Children’s Village we have been diligently around and among this last year.  They can get you tax paperwork and have sincere needs to attend.  The perimeter fence project and more importantly, on-going school fees for about fifty children.  These are too much for this old couple who live hand to mouth alone, but, money goes much further here.  These are easy do’s for a group of us.  God Bless you for reading and even considering.  Thank you.

Gratitude..

Gratitude for our time in the Pacific Northwest and over to Colorado for those dear children and grandchildren who miss us and whom we are overjoyed to have had our precious time with.

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

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

Visa situation..  Good now until after Christmas..  May we be able to learn and be lead into what is best for the benefit of what God would have us do, how God would have us do those things and stewardship of the resources God has put into us for Gods purposes -

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..

If we should ever cross your mind, even if we are strange and confusing, just grunt, crumple us up and throw us at God.  That is where we need to be.. 

Vern W

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

 Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                           November 3rd 2022

I did not want to go up front.  I was waiting until the fund-raising was over to then quietly give what Hilda and I had agreed was what we could do at this time. 

There are two critical things in my view that keep The Children’s Village safe. 

Firstly is the community within which is exists.  Part of that are the people who work there.  And work there with the village at the center of all the works that come out from there.  That work is, at its heart, community support as the goal is to keep families together, find remnants of families and help them to stand up in this context of no safety nets beyond family and neighbor so children can return to family for life long nurture, rearing, and mutual support. 

Secondly is the Children’s Village more overt participation in the community.  A great way to see this is Saturday mornings while schools are in session.  Tutorial is available across multiple grade levels and topics as well as enrichment like dance, drumming, singing, and story-time.  This flurry of activity brings other children of the community to The Children’s village to participate.  Almost a hundred and a half children can be seen Saturday mornings climbing the steep hill up to take advantage of this weekly tutorial/educational support and enrichment which lasts the whole morning.

The community benefits from The Children’s Village.  The Children’s Village benefits from the community.  Community involvement in the work of The Children’s Village includes guidance from the community regarding improvements to The Children’s Village.  One such priority given The Children’s Village is the erection of a fence around the perimeter of the Children’s Village property, in significant part or whole. 

This last Saturday, the 29^th of October, was the first fundraising gathering at The Children’s Village for local folks to come together and give in support of building that fence.  Two of the largest giving groups at that gathering were the teachers of and the Mama’s of The Children’s Village.  Two groups of people who have engulfed Hilda and I with trust and acceptance, in spite of our limitations. 

After the honored guests being called forward to make their donations and then calling out others to support their donations and folks running forward to do just that, the young man acting as m-c indicated it was time for staff. 

He called Hilda and I forward as members of the local staff by the names we are known by here.  I handed the donation to Hilda so she could hand it to those documenting and counting.  No, I could not leave after that.  Some unbelievably gracious things were said and a call to support whatever Hilda and I had given was made.  Then these precious people of deep endemic need took time, effort, and joy to run forward themselves or put what shillings they could in the hands of the Village Children who ran forward to put those shillings in my hands.  They wanted to share in and support our giving.   

I was overwhelmed and I wept publically through a smile returned to each laughing, glowing one.  I still do not know all the names but with time each face now has gathered a story, one that grandparent eyes can collect, remember, and pray on. 

To be given Meru names by the Mama’s who worship with me as we study the scheduled readings for each Sunday together.  That and for community wide to have folks simply call us grandmother and grandfather in Swahili is precious.  We are theirs each time we are named.  And it brings our children and grandchildren at home in America into our hearts each time too, those precious capable littles who grew up, just yesterday, with us as their parents and the children they are so diligently parenting themselves.   

The fence project is a huge expense but one the greater community wants for its Children’s Village. 

Local folks for whom medical visits, medicine, travel any other way but by foot and at times even meals can be unimagined luxury, raised an amazing amount of hard cash.  They must have been planning, saving, and twisting arms for a while to be able to respond the way they did.  Hilda and I cannot describe the mountain moved by this laughing joyful gathering of local folks in this first of many fund-raisers necessary to fulfill the greater community’s directive for their Children’s Village.

Joyful givers giving not out of their surplus ..but their need.  The perimeter fence will be good but the real safety for this Children’s Village is the community that surrounds it, participates with it and wants good things for it and the work that grows from this place at its heart. 

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

I’ve been accused of sounding like an old testament prophet and as an old farm-kid and logger I identify some with Amos.  Maybe.. more than some.  I am hard on my home culture of abundance even as I weep and indeed pray for trials in so many lives there as well.

Last night..  I get a text..  not an emergency..  someone else wants to participate..

Someone(s) have participated in what Hilda and I are currently giving our lives over to. 

There are a couple who do this regularly and you know who you are.. 

We know about these from last night because they chose to name us too. 

This naming done as part of that donation/participation.  It came to The Small Things of Nkoaranga Tanzania, the non-profit organization responsible for The Children’s Village.  Its timeliness says huge things about those who made that choice.  A choice from logging country and the American heart of the truest abundance of service to others.  A heart for service, and even self-sacrifice, big enough to reach around the globe and across culture to respond.  Respond to what God did and does and is doing in YOU!

You know who you are too, and if any of you ever read this know that I don’t care how old or limited you may have come to feel you are.  Like those children who live in The Children’s Village who ran forward with joyful smile and even laughter to put shillings in my hands to support Hilda and I, I know your smiles and I miss that laughter falling from you as God pokes and participates through each of you. 

Part of our blog-post from September the 7^th details an encounter at a diner in Longview WA and again later that same day across town from that diner.  God made those happen.  God does not need my plans to make stuff happen.  God wants to poke and surprise and participate through all of us. 

Gentlemen, please tell everyone involved that this Amos wept again at learning of your attentiveness to your hearts for what God can and is doing.  The timing was perfect.  It arrived but a few hours after three of us here gathered to pray for the urgent needs of tomorrow.  WOW!..  Thank You, blessings ever..

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

Also please continue to Pray for:

Gratitude..

Gratitude for our time in the Pacific Northwest and over to Colorado for those dear children and grandchildren who miss us and whom we are overjoyed to have had our precious time with.

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

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

Visa situation..  Good now until after Christmas..  May we be able to learn and be lead into what is best for the benefit of what God would have us do, how God would have us do those things and stewardship of the resources God has put into us for Gods purposes -

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..

If we should ever cross your mind, even if we are strange and confusing, just grunt, crumple us up and throw us at God.  That is where we need to be.. 

Vern W

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