Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                         August 22-24th, 2023

We lost power early this morning.  Because of that and the weather being warm and sunny, we pulled out the sewing kit. 

Hilda has spent the whole day repairing the hat my Dad gave me when we moved the folks off the farm in 2005.  It is a wonderful hat that is nearly completely perforated to let the breeze whirl around the top of your head.  The brim and the top patch are solid to provide shade.  The rim of the brim has had the worn open areas reclosed to contain the strands that hold the brim out and up.  She is now going completely around the rim of the brim for the second time with bright green thread to give the tan hat a green character.  Somebody loves me.

I’ve been working on the holey back-pack after re-securing the burst from the binding zipper of my Bible cover. 

Why would you care about two hands-on older folks taking advantage of beautiful weather to sit outside undercover on the porch where they can see to stitch stitches?  Well, with the gate open for the whole local throng of ambulatory to walk by and see their wealthy white neighbor’s managing needles and thread to fix rather than just pitch and buy new, we were once again visible doing exceedingly normal things for just folks to do.

I forgot it is Tuesday.  Mchungaji Ombeni and the visitation/prayer team were walking by too.  They saw Mchungaji Kisali and Mama Mchungaji Kisali both heads down over diligent stitching.  Without even a moment’s thought the visitation/prayer team came right on in to watch and use Mchungaji Ombeni’s phone to take pictures of their missionaries from America working together outside in the light. 

Their missionaries were somehow again doing the familiar yet completely unexpectedly normal person thing.  We stitched and read the Bible and prayed and shared insights of the moment and, after being prayed over with laughter, joyfully sent the team along with a sleeve of cookies and a couple bananas for Mchungaji.

Thank God the power failed this morning again.

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The permission came quickly for us to attend the children down at Makumira Secondary School [Mak 2] on Sundays at 4:30.  Requirements from Headmaster include that the message be given in English and that at least three songs be sung in English.

Two Sundays ago was our first time at 4:30 with the children at Mak 2, around two hundred of them.  The message was the same one prepared for the Mama’s at The Children’s Village so..  It was a grown up message.  A grown up message for Mama’s of littles who need them and teenagers at Mak2 [English medium Lutheran boarding school]. 

Two days ago the second time was a jumble of other things occurring at the same time so..  Let go and wait..  4:30 is not firm.. 

We got going about 5:30 and had only about 120 children.  I introduced the Kyrie, which they had never heard of and we sang:  The Kyrie as given in music from Ghana in the blue with-one-voice we brought along.  We also sang ’Gracious Spirit, heed our pleading’ as arranged by the Lutheran Theological College, Makumira, Tanzania [the university I am seeking acceptance into] also from with-one-voice and we sang ‘We are marching in the light [Siyahamba]’ as in with-one-voice and also the red worship book.     

That hour between plan and actual service time had about eight of the girls practicing the three planned English songs.  They then sat around Hilda and I and chatted in multi-lingual joviality about all sorts of things.  Somewhere, perhaps my whiskers, a lions roar entered the discussion so..  

I roared like a lion.  This I do nearly every Sunday for the littles up at The Children’s Village as part of the songs they have.  

That roar was a surprise to these teenagers.  After that roar, the teenage girls around us re-gathered themselves in laughter.  One literally up from the floor where she fell in shock, but arising laughing too.

Extra copies of the message have been left each time in both languages.  This thanks to the computer and internet allowing me to translate English into Swahili. 

Two nights ago, one of the teenage girls, who know us from The Children’s Village and are students at Mak 2, came to the truck before we left to say that all the attending teens in service wanted a copy of the message.  The Girls plan to see to that when the school office opens.   We can’t afford copies like that, thankfully they have a plan.    

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Stupid little truck had Monday to Thursday in town being worked on last week.  Brand new turbo [guts] same housings.  Bushings, ball joints, axle seals, alignment re-strung old-school.  Result is a truck that no longer smokes and climbs the mountain one or two gears higher than before. 

Took the stupid little truck back into town yesterday and will collect it again Thursday.  Praying that four wheel drive and diff-lock can take similar strides for the better.   

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So children of all ages have taken us into their circle of possession.  Many of those children are old enough to have children and, a few, grand-children of either their own, or of deceased siblings, now in their care.  How do I face this responsibility?  How do I face the millstone around my neck?

Every time I give a message, either myself or through a local indigenous voice, I remind myself that this may be the last message I ever give.  Let it be as truthful as God can help me make it.  

Your prayers are beautiful in their results.. Thank You..

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The Jewish, former Islamic, father of my Confirmation student has been back in Africa for 3 or so weeks.  He left this morning with his Tanzanian daughter to return to the U.S. and her school.  That father wanted me to know that he will be back in time to attend his son’s Lutheran Confirmation now scheduled for December.   

Pray, pray, pray..  Time for confirmation preparation is so often less than important here too.  Imagine how difficult for this young man whose faith is different from his parents.  Pray, pray, pray..

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August 25^th is another step towards Theological training here.  I can be rejected or accepted at this next step like all the others over the year and a half.  If I get through, if my name is still on the list, there is at least another step.  No further conversations yet with the university as I am not yet accepted.  Pray please.. 

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We have a white board and dry erase markers in the house.  It has rough plans for stairs I need to build if nothing more important appears to take the few resources first. 

That white board has residuals from lessons in Swahili we are taking from a local teacher who comes to the house twice a week.  Glory is competent.  Glory is intelligent.  Glory is curious.  Glory is kind.  Glory is consistent.  We love and are so very thankful for Glory.  

That whiteboard also has a space for names.  Names of books, and names of little ones from the neighborhood.  One shelf below the whiteboard is piled with books, many donated by our daughter Margretta and her two young sons.  Those books are still very valued here where devices and connectivity are extremely rare. 

Little girls appear at the door to see Bibi.  Some are very familiar now.  They come in, pick a book and sit to read.  Now, sometimes, they come to pick a book and watch their name go on the whiteboard along with the name of the book.  Then they go home with the book. 

So far, the books have all come back.  Older girls occasionally take out a book that is much below their own reading level to take home.  That is when I believe they are sharing this opportunity with a younger sibling, cousin, or neighbor.  Being a teacher starts early for some. 

Gratitude is beautiful among these little girls.  They will come and read then go be with Hilda in the kitchen.  They will grab all Hilda’s dirty dishes and clean them.  This all the while laughing and smiling and practicing English through questions and answers.  Their questions, Hilda’s answers.  Hilda’s questions, their answers. 

Your prayers are beautiful..

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Yes please …

Relationships here on the ground in addition to my imperfections and mistakes are being used to try to drive us away from our striving.  Each day is a sincere struggle.  Hopefully that means we’re on the right track.  Please pray for those around us.  Please pray for the local faces which fearlessly now smile and greet us as we walk.  

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

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

Thank you, each of you.

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

What to Pray for:

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

All the tough and blessing expressed above –

The love of folks –

Whatever is on your hearts and minds for us –

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

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

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

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

For each and every one of you –

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

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

Vern W

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

 Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                                     August 10th, 2023

Drove all the way to Kenya and all the way back to Leganga, between Makumira and Usa River.  But for refilling a slow leak on the driver’s front tire, which is ongoing anyway, no additional major mechanical truck issues. 

We brought the German newlyweds along with us as far as Arusha, their next way point on their literal year around the world together. 

At Leganga we took our travel companion/border/immigration guide and fixer home up a short tortured side track.  After getting the truck turned around and pulled as far off to the side as possible I turned the truck off.  We were talking while I was checking the mirrors and listening, all windows open. 

I leaned forward to pull the door latch and no sooner had it popped open about eight to ten inches a piki piki (motorcycle), I did not hear, came flying over the rise behind and past us through the ruts. 

Driven so typically without care for even the piki drivers life it was skimming past the side of the truck and caught the opening door jerking it out of my hand and sending the motorcycle and driver to the dusty hard ground. 

Those of you who know part of my story know that I have a long association with motor vehicle, highway and off-highway trauma.  My earliest childhood friend outside my cousins was killed in third grade by a drunk driver.  I’ve lived and am still living through some horrendous mistakes of my own.  As the boss of many professional drivers I’ve been to accident scenes and cleaned up messes that still haunt.  As a professional driver myself, I’ve seen things, felt things, heard things, recovered from things that still haunt and violate peace even when they aren’t violently jerking a door from my hand.

Piki piki driver is sore.  Good.  Driver was checked out at the hospital.  Driver is fine.  Good.  Piki piki is fine.  Too bad, wish it was trashed.  Door of the truck is not good.  Two weeks later and I am still closing the door with a full body block from the outside.  Another thing on the list for the stupid little truck with no working four wheel drive, low range or even diff lock. 

Stupid truck that went nearly eight hours, most at significant highway speed, on only half a tank of diesel. 

The speed, the violence, the noise of impact after the silence leading up to it.  All after the successful trip to Kenya and back.  This tough stupid old guy is still shaken and angry. 

That is what spiritual attacks do.  Sometimes it is a piki piki that you did not see, hear or predict no matter how diligent the striving.  Sometimes it is silence from a person when what you expect is something different.  Screaming, anger and defiance is easier to take.  Not knowing and being unable to predict is normal. 

To my eldest grandson with his learners permit this very week..  I still don’t like much of what is normal.

Why do I call it a spiritual attack?  Because, even if it is only my reaction.  My spirit is attacked for failing to avoid being the means of someone else facing death, near death or pain.  After seeing the faces of the parents of my childhood friend even a decade after my friend’s death, I know that I have failed miserably to successfully avoid inflicting suffering. 

Thankfully, I suppose, my spirit is not so hard that it is incapable of being wounded in the failing too.  That dark stuff I ask you-all to pray me/us through has been deep and affecting for these last two weeks. 

I have been asking God, what I am doing here?  I have been asking God, how I can do anything?  I have been asking God about my complete lack of certified training? 

Thank you for your prayers.  Thank you for your faith..  I know you are taking this often paralyzed man and dropping me down through the torn open roof into the presence of Jesus.

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Hilda’s tiny little, now fixed and fully recovered, mother cat just made me laugh by jumping over a hedge the height of my shoulder trying to snatch a bird.  Another failure.  This one humorous in its determined contortions and complete fullness of failed effort.   She’s now inside resting and sulking on the rug about two yards away.

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Another of my first year Sunday worship helpers at The Children’s Village had a still living Grandmother of his ask if I would help him prepare to be confirmed in the local Tanzanian Lutheran Church.  We have about three weeks before he goes back to school.  Yes!  As usual I don’t feel qualified.  Too bad.  The answer is Yes! 

We plan to meet two times a week.  He is reading his Bible, the bi-lingual one we gave him last Easter.  Found a local Luther’s Small Catechism two days ago in town around another medical transport.    Commandment one through five discussed.  Questions and comments from his reading discussed too.

Given that the precious people who adopted him are Jewish, one a Jewish convert from Islam, we discussed right away his [responsibility and Joy] to honor his parents regardless of how they see or understand Jesus. 

Jesus the brilliant and loving radical Rabbi who died and stayed dead?  Jesus the Prophet of God who did not die on the cross and hence did not rise from the dead?  Jesus the creator with God and The Spirit who chose to be born of Mary, a woman and mother like each of us has.  Jesus who then lived the common ground we share much of with other Abrahamic traditions.  Jesus who takes all our sin to the cross and grave to leave all that mess we make behind in his death there only to rise from death like the Son of God we Christians know him to be.      

This is particularly important for this student of an impoverished Tanzanian Grandmother who is herself a Lutheran Pastor living another mountain over.  And son of loving Jewish parents through whom he now has a Jewish grandmother and Islamic Grandmother and Grandfather too.  His prayers, his faith are important for all those around him.

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Yesterday..  It had rained early and so we could not get the stupid truck up the hill out of the house to get to a long awaited meeting at Makumira Secondary School.  A meeting to plan Hilda facilitating teaching there again.  We called a huge piece of our hearts who then called a taxi we know.  

Hilda has missed two weeks of Sunday Worship and, last Sunday, she missed Sunday school too.  After the patient she attended on Monday, she had a consult with our pharmacist.  She was dragging on the way to the meeting yesterday morning and could not have walked to 2-3 kilometers down the mountain even if we had the time.

Hilda got to her meeting and after bouncing around to different locations and returning to the school to collect her from her meeting I discovered that they had given her an office with desk & chair and wanted to keep her the whole day.  Praise God!

I left and got our taxi free to make a living after dropping me and some supplies back up the mountain at the Mulala house.  After one in the afternoon I had still heard nothing from Hilda.  Not surprising as internet, airtime, etc are things that work only when they do. 

It had dried enough I was able to get the stupid truck out and went to find and collect her.  My turn with the bug had come upon me with some intensity.  My teeth were chattering even with scarf, sweater and hat..  at the equator, how ridiculous is that!  Other sucky symptomology well entrenching itself. 

I walked onto campus to find her.  She managed to text that she was in the computer room.  Students, calling me pastor, directed me.  Crossing the open gathering area before the offices next to the computer room the computer room door opened and Hilda came out surrounded by girls in school uniform.  One precious teen girl bobbing left and right behind a crude column to peek at me with such a huge smile.  Others calling for Babu, that’s me, and packing Hilda’s bag. 

For our adult children, that is the green ‘Brentley’ diaper bag that we had in Bellingham for mostly the boys diaper times.  They are long out of diapers, one is busy with two littles of his own now.  That bag is still going strong.

Those brilliant teenage girls, who know us from The Children’s Village and who attend this school, rushing forward to ask that I come for them on Sunday too.

After discussion it was agreed that we would ask the head of school for permission to share what I prepare for The Children’s Village Mama’s on the mountain each Sunday morning.  Share that same message with the students at Makumira Secondary at 4:30 Sunday afternoons.

Please pray, we have permissions to seek.  We do not want to let them down.  We have been consistent now into our second year of their young lives.  We do not want to let them down.

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Tough little kids here where the median age is 19.  Taking Hilda home we got an astonishing number of smiles waves and greetings by name.  Littles calling out to Babu, me.  One really tiny one, still all head, running down the side of a horribly washed out and steep section of road across the mountain fell face first into the rocks disappearing behind the skirts of the barely bigger girl ahead of him.  We saw her gather up his shoes that had gone flying and we expected real damage as we got close but instead about five were jumping up and down yelling Babu, me.

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This morning, early, between quarter after one and quarter of three, I was texting with Central America.  T is a former medical school, former member of our US military, former truck driver.  We met T, here.  T has turned her deep unjustified suffering into powerful empathy. 

After travelling much of the world she chose to reach out this morning for advice about how she might continue to proceed turning her vast gritty empathy into reality for other women, with other women.  This is not someone we spoke overtly about faith with when we shared a few meals in Tanzania, but I have been sending greetings for this last year.  Greatly good conversation across the equator from two sides of the earth. 

Please pray for T.  She was born in 88 so fits right in there with our birthed ones.  Even more so now as the two sons by marriage we have are either active or recently former US military too. 

T wants to work with women.  Abused women and children.   Like the awesome warrior she is she wants to find land and bring safety first then community and training for sustainable tomorrows.  God’s heart lives in this one.  Please pray..

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Yes please …

Relationships here on the ground in addition to my imperfections and mistakes are being used to try to drive us away from our striving.  Each day is a sincere struggle.  Hopefully that means we’re on the right track.  Please pray for those around us.  Please pray for the local faces which fearlessly now smile and greet us as we walk.  

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

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

Thank you, each of you.

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

What to Pray for:

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

All the tough and blessing expressed above –

The love of folks –

Whatever is on your hearts and minds for us –

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

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

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

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

For each and every one of you –

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

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

Vern W

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

 Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                                     July 25th, 2023

It is overcast.  It is cool for here.  Here is just north of the Kenyan border on the way to Nairobi but we did not go that far.  We got to the bush.  That is where we are going to be for another 24 hours.  Peacock and other birds sound everywhere.  Eland and other smaller members of that herbivorous family wander in camp and outside the fence that keeps the larger more aggressive critters away from trouble.

Visa compliance got us here.  We are grateful. 

It is like a hot rolling dry Alaska.  So it is Africa, full of living things and nearly nothing for miles in every direction that is obvious rude sign of human occupation.  There is humanity all around but this humanity lives and builds with the materials at hand.  Their occupation is therefore mostly reserved and tucked into the red brown earth beneath the muted and more strident green canopy of Dr. Seuss thorn and other trees.

There is one high voltage powerline running south to behind a hill rising up to the east.  Otherwise, sight can focus into such a comfortable distance. 

A low young mountainous far-ness rising up to the south and west completely un-interfered with.  My old feet want to follow that blessed relaxed gaze full of life in spite of challenge.  Full of life in spite of challenge out beyond the fence and up into the wild passes, gulley’s, swales, and ridges crinkling the dry earth peeking out through that sparse yet indomitable canopy of ageless determination of greys, browns, and nearly all faded and brighter greens possible.

I know other places.  I know cities.  If God calls me to serve there I will. 

But here is where angels meet shepherds to proclaim our effusively creating God bursting in among us from the willing womb of yet another angel of God.  The only shortly earthbound type of angel called woman through whom we all get to find life. 

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Hilda had a birthday celebration on Friday as we went and collected a cake made just for her where we spent our first quarter of a year.  Staff who throw their arms around her in joy.  Staff who text her to share their lives on that mountain that has swept Hilda in among themselves. 

Then Saturday after they had worked long and hard to clean up after a group of developed world educators, I brought two loving ones to the house with yet another birthday cake.  Hilda spent many joyful hours in the kitchen with two women who love her showing, teaching, laughing, and cooking. 

Cooking so much that Hilda knew that impossibly, more was afoot.  Then, their young eager voices preceding them, about fifteen young ones came beaming into the house without running water, without electricity.  Hug Bibi, laugh and dart quickly to the book shelf to select one to hover over and touch and study.   

Women calling children to wash dishes and pots outside next to the water tank in tubs at their feet.  Me sneaking Oreos to the young little girls doing as directed.  That is only their special thing, those little diligent hands and eager capable backs, eyes and minds.

Cake and Soda and beans and chapatti and rice and large common plate.  One for the girls.  A smaller one for the boys.  Joy in preparation.  Joy in the consuming.  Joy in the cleaning.  Yes, boys and girls cleaning the house and more dishes and gathering empty soda bottles to the case.  Smiling, wiggling, wrestling, three boys pulling on one arm another braced against the end of the couch in flag position pulling on my other arm. 

Almost dark.  The women directing me to take the littles back across the mountain to where they walked from in the hot afternoon.  Three boys sitting on the floor of the pick-up bed, arms around the roll bars and each other.  The oldest boy riding shotgun with the two youngest boys on his lap.  The back seat full of beautiful bright-eyed baby angels, at least a half dozen. 

Dropped off in the dark at their homes without water, without electricity.  I had noticed a van filling with more people on the way to those homes awaiting their children.  I got nearly back to gather those hard working women who gave their love to Hilda in kitchen diligence together.  They had the truck to take them across the mountain too.

Back again to Hilda’s birthday house in time to find the people of that van-full filling Hilda’s house with smiles even in the darkness together.  Five adults, three children braving dark to come to Hilda’s birthday house with bubbling joy.

Busy Sunday..  Travel Monday..  Long talk with newlywed German couple..  Hilda to bed peacefully in the bush in warm bed in a luxury tent with bathroom but..  no water..  limited and failing electricity..   

I got to hang out with camp staff and work with them until midnight swept past.  Water(cold) restored partially for the newlyweds and the Birthday Hilda.  They would find out when they awaken.  Electricity restored for Hilda tent..  only for a few hours..  We didn’t need it anyway..

We have the sounds of living things eagerly surrounding us with their eager living..

Ostrich eggs brooding in the warm equatorial sun even beneath clouds.  Aggressive baba Ostrich, head bobbing angrily over the fence to snap beak at walkers by..  Don’t get close to his kids..  Love it.. 

Happy birthday Hilda..

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From last time…

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

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

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

Thank you, each of you.

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

What to Pray for:

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

All the tough and blessing expressed above –

The love of folks –

Whatever is on your hearts and minds for us –

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

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

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

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

For each and every one of you –

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

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

Vern W

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

 Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                         July 21st, 2023

Heard this week from a brother living in the UK.  Thank You Geoff!!!  Nuts and bolts of what we are doing came out of his concern for our transportation stuff.  

So, nuts and bolts of being a stranger in a strange land.  No one is any stranger than me.  

And, this land is deeply wonderful and wonderfully full of wonderful precious people.  People who, like we, are familiar with how things get done.  Done here and done there are not the same done.

Some nuts and bolts..

Preparing for another dash north of the border to Kenya for a couple days just to come back south and be legal per Tanzanian law for another 90 or so days.  Balancing timing so as to cross borders with Visa’s current and then updating as returning is one of the many little things that most locals have no idea about.  Timing is everything so we return to Kenya before that Visa is invalid.  Then we return to Tanzania before that Visa is invalid.  Getting dated multi-entry stamps each way both sides. 

Bureaucracies worldwide grasp after money anywhere they can.  If it is out of sight from those they allegedly serve, all the better for that grasping to remain hidden.       

That said, we have been treated well either at the airport or the border.  Having the right signature on your Visa stamp helps.  If the correct head man signs and stamps your Visa then fewer attempts to manipulate the system for cash are made on you.     

Every penny, every shilling, needs to go so much further as where we live is a place not of wants but of so very many actual deep needs. 

So, took TZ shillings down off the mountain to our fixer this morning.  2 million TZ shillings to try to buy Kenyan Shillings.  Should be about 102,500 K shillings.  We’ll see.  That same 2 million to buy US dollars gets you less than 800 US dollars.  US dollars are preferred at the border by both crossing stations, both countries, so some will be changed for US dollars. 

The local bank has no Kenyan shillings this morning.  Nor will they have any anytime soon.  Cash machines can go days without cash in them.  Forget any expectations.  Banking works only how it can where it happens.  Shillings and fixer left to go to the big town, Arusha, for meetings for other client needs and hopefully to find Kenyan shillings there.  If not, off to Kilimanjaro and Moshi, another bigger town the wrong direction from where we travel to Kenya on Monday.

Yes we can get to Kenya that way too but there is unrest north of the border in that direction so locals who love us have called our fixer to insist we go the other way which takes us away from the urban unrest and into the bush north of us on the way to Nairobi.  We are staying in the bush.  Nairobi urbane ugliness is not for this farm-boy. 

We leave Monday with or without the right currency.  Paying exchange at the border however was really bad last time so..  fingers crossed.

Yes, cash machines only give out local TZ currency.  Banking inside involves the guards and paperwork.  Ques and paperwork.  Administrators and paperwork.  Then, finally, cashiers locked behind glass, and paperwork.     

The local guards, cashiers and admins are starting to know me.  If I come with a large bill to try to get change for smaller bills and the bank is not busy, I often get waved now right to a cashier so I can buy small bills to give to the little ones who worship with Hilda at church for offering. 

The guards at the local bank have never asked us for money.  They call me pastor in Swahili.  They smile and wave and ask about Hilda.  They beam at Hilda and if monkeys or birds or some other critters are playing behind the bank, they make certain she gets to see them. 

The new local bank manager sat and ate with us at a local church run rehabilitation facility a few weeks back.  Many of the people, we attend English service with at the Cathedral in Usa, use the same bank for their work so we have become known. 

The only time we had white faces, other than our own, in English service was when some missionaries from Cyprus followed me there.  My head still shakes at what happens.  Miracles abound.

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After dashing off the mountain to chase currencies for travel for Visa compliance, I dashed back. 

The local Bishop, a Tanzanian Missionary to Wisconsin, USA, for years serving in rural, suburban and urban American Lutheran churches has another family funeral before him.  His Father and Mother and now, this week, his brother has died.

I stayed away from this funeral too.  His people do not need my big hairy white face distracting them from comforting their Bishop.  The local man they called to be Bishop while he was still serving in America.  They informed him that he was Bishop a few years ago.  They told him to come home.  He did.

This Bishop’s last year has been very hard with the deaths and serious illness for him as well.  From a distance, he looks like a different man, drawn, gaunt and shrunken from life.  Hilda reports speaking with him and describes his attitude as reserved, calm, positive, yet tired.  Please Pray for Bishop Kitoi.  He loves both Tanzania and the United States, so very deeply. 

Dashing up from currency stuff I collected Hilda and our neighbor, who took us along a nearly impossible track to get 15 cases of soda and about ten cases of bottles water.  We then delivered them to the Bishops nephew’s house and greeted the family.  I have been to visitation in this house to pray with these people.  I prayed for and with this brother of Bishop just about a month ago. 

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

From last time…

I cannot describe the spiritual attacks we have been facing as the time hopefully approaches (coming soon we hope.. a loving representative of ours is engaged with University staff working our process for us so cultural and linguistic issues are sidestepped without more financial outlay on our part ) when we, ourselves, will engage with the University again. 

We now have a calendar of University Enrollment process days and verbal assurance that I will be attending theological studies in September.  I continue to breathe.  I’m not holding it.

Relationships here on the ground in addition to my imperfections and mistakes are being used to try to drive us away from our striving.  Each day is a sincere struggle.  Hopefully that means we’re on the right track.  Please pray for those around us.  Please pray for the local faces which fearlessly now smile and greet us as we walk.  

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

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

Thank you, each of you.

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

What to Pray for:

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

All the tough and blessing expressed above –

The love of folks –

Whatever is on your hearts and minds for us –

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

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

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

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

For each and every one of you –

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

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

Vern W

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

 Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                         July 10th, 2023

Soup soup was what Hilda and the ladies had.  Soup was the ram sacrifice for a first born child that I bought three or so Sundays ago.  We gentlemen had goat soup.  Elders all gathered and got meat and soup.  Hilda and I count as elders here so we did too. 

Yesterday, we were back in the back of Mulala church with little ones who walked there from the Children’s Village.  It was nearly a three hour service.  That is fine.  People gather as they can.  The church bell starts ringing at 5 AM and rings for quite a while to let a mountain of people who do not have and likely cannot afford a watch know to prepare and come to church.

We then walked on up to The Children’s Village with those bright little ladies who sit with Hilda when we are here. 

There is an older pastor of some local denomination [likely Pentecostal] who is there at The Children’s Village every Sunday before us to pray, teach, and love on the children too.  He walks from much further up the mountain.  He walks from nearly the end of the road up where forest ends human occupation. 

A tremendous blessing has been his acceptance of me, indeed us.  A particularly beautiful part of each Sunday is a greeting of limited verbal communication beyond identifying each other as brother and pastor in Swahili and or English, a little Meru, and long handshake becoming trusted embrace with his head laying first against one shoulder of mine then the other. 

I am so thankful that these little ones see Christian brothers accepting each other no matter any dogmatic or polity differences. 

Given that this Meru Pastor’s wife is one of the indomitable Mamas of The Children’s Village who is not happy without my written message on her lap as my helper reads the Swahili out for all, I am not surprised. 

The reading glasses she got from us so she could read again on her cute little nose, sticker labelling strength and tag hanging from string telling brand still in place.  Many of the Mama’s wear their reading glasses with strings and tags still in place.  Meru Minnie Pearls, for those so aged reading this.   

I preach or present, thinking, that each time is going to be my last.  My life of rejections, big and small, woven into my expectations.  My desire to be ready for the next change God requires woven likewise like two differently colored strands, rejection darkness and service brightness more valuable when together. 

Again surprisingly yesterday, after literally calling blessing of God on me, the Mama’s said that they need my prayers supporting their work.  Their precious hard work.  They are prayed for.  We sing, we go through the message written for them.  They get the priestly blessing two different ways.  We almost always laugh. 

Then after I go collect Hilda and come back by where they are preparing food while we were worshipping, they drink in, shine on, and love Hilda so deeply. 

Children happily wave good bye without fear now. 

We have not disappeared but kept coming back for over a year.  Your prayers have kept us consistent for these children who have lost more than many can even imagine let alone live through.  Can’t thank you enough for that..  There are no words.  

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

Had a young man come with us into town on a medical transport for another much younger child.  He did awesome with someone who is his littlest brother.  These young people who have lost everything, in time learn to share huge empathy for each other.  It was fun.  That littlest one goes back to the doctor on 8/7.  Doing well.  Really well.

Yes both of these young people are rare in that they actually have been all the way to our house.  More than once.  Caregiver’s trust is amazing. 

Having a teen fluent in both English and Swahili makes town trips so much more productive.  As a reward, after feeding them well, I took them to a special place.

There is a locally owned and operated business by a pair of young men that I have been made welcome at.  They recycle plastics.  They make plastic lumber.  They make items out of plastic lumber.  The head young man is from here but been blessed to go to college in the Pacific Northwest. 

I took the teen to visit these young entrepreneurs and walked in to find the white board in their office still with the pictures I drew there for them over a month ago.  It is so easy to erase a white board.  They kept them. 

This is one of those places where inventive people invent.  It is so very much fun to swing by and just talk with them about what they are working on and what they might want to work on and how and why. 

This is another place where I have received unexpected acceptance.  My hands understand what they are doing and they know this.  My pockets, as a missionary, are far too empty to help that way.  They do not care.  They like that I understand enough to participate with my experience and crazy creativity of my own. 

Yes, it turns out that they are Christian having gone to St. Judes School for gifted impoverished children.     

Your prayers have made this connection happen too.  Keep praying!!  Thank You!!!

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

Just translated, by computer, the last possible message for the 2023 local church calendar.  New Years message for the first of January 2024 has been completed.  Every Sunday for the year now has at least one message prepared.

Your Prayers keep my feet to the fire and my heart longing for study of The Word. 

You save my life..  You do that.. 

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

From last time…

I cannot describe the spiritual attacks we have been facing as the time hopefully approaches (coming soon we hope.. a loving representative of ours is engaged with University staff working our process for us so cultural and linguistic issues are sidestepped without more financial outlay on our part ) when we, ourselves, will engage with the University again. 

We now have a calendar of University Enrollment process days and verbal assurance that I will be attending theological studies in September.  I continue to breathe.  I’m not holding it.

Relationships here on the ground in addition to my imperfections and mistakes are being used to try to drive us away from our striving.  Each day is a sincere struggle.  Hopefully that means we’re on the right track.  Please pray for those around us.  Please pray for the local faces which fearlessly now smile and greet us as we walk.  

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

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

Thank you, each of you.

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

What to Pray for:

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

All the tough and blessing expressed above –

The love of folks –

Whatever is on your hearts and minds for us –

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

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

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

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

For each and every one of you –

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

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

Vern W

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

 Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                         June 27th, 2023

Hilda’s student, my first year Sunday service translator, and young man who I was adult for on his baptism and confirmation day is here.  The Aunti now Mama of Hilda’s student is here.  The Mama of three who does our laundry and cares for the house is here.  A chicken was brought, dispatched, scalded, plucked, fried and half is now in a soup pot. 

Us two guys are in the freshly cleaned living room.  Three happy women are hovering over the soup pot communicating with sign, some English, much Swahili.  Tanzanian praise music is blasting from the Bluetooth speaker.  Blasting but not overwhelming eager human communication.  Communication eager to hear and find ways to serve each-others’ needs. 

One of Hilda’s stupid cats goes from one person after another to find a lap or hand or foot to rub on.  The other stupid cat is patrolling outside in the gathering darkness.

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

This last Sunday we sat in the back of Mulala church, with four young ladies from The Children’s Village, for the first service which was full and long as lots of little babies were baptized.  One was a first born. 

There was a ram brought as offering to buy the freedom of that precious little first born. 

Third offering outside on the grass had me promising into the ear of Mchungaji Ombeni that whatever he needed to buy that offering ram would be provided, somehow.  The ram is now named soup.  I paid for it.  I got to name it.

The ram is being cared for this week and next week between services, in addition to other offerings of meat promised by many eager others, Soup will become soup.  Soup will be made of soup for the elders.  So, after first service next week in Usa at the Cathedral, we are invited to partake of soup-soup as we walk to the Children’s Village for Sunday school and worship with the Mama’s. 

Yesterday, after being required to teach from Sunday’s readings to visiting Evangelist, Mchungaji and other church staff, I hauled the visiting down off the hill with the bags of produce.  Bags of produce that is most of what they earned for their time given here. 

Our story brings questions everywhere.  The trust is mind-blowing.  We, Mchungaji Ombeni and I went back up the hill after leaving the visitors alongside the road waiting for what passes for a bus, with diesel fuel for his little truck in whatever containers we could scrounge and a small bag of fresh picked and shelled beans for Hilda from Ombeni’s farm plot. 

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

Sunday afternoon, after naming the ram soup and Sunday school and worship at The Children’s Village, we got invaded by five teens.  They ate and danced.  They ate and wiggled and listened to music.  They ate until they couldn’t eat anymore. 

Before they got gathered into the truck to be hauled back to where they belong they got together around tubs and washed all our dishes, pots and pans.  Then they swept the house and porch all the while laughing and goofing and smiling.  Mopping all the wet spots and messes up too.

Hilda and I remember our littles.  We loved having the house full of them and their tag-a-longs. 

Our littles are now raising their own.  We pray that they have full houses too.  We are thankful for the reminders coming into our house, wherever it is, filling our time with life.  Eager happy life in spite of struggles.  One of that gaggle of giggles is Hilda’s student, our baptism and confirmation son here with his, Aunti now Mama, to work around cooking chicken on real problems in these lives trusting us to come into our cold mountain house with two stupid cats.

Come and eat and dance.  Come and eat and wiggle.  Come and study.  Come and fill tubs with water to clean our dishes and pots and pans.  Come and blast Tanzanian Swahili praise music and communicate about deeply hard things trusting that something done today can make tomorrow a little better.

Hilda and I are weird.  Ask our children.  We aren’t biological family here anymore than we were biological family many places we have lived.  Yet, we are a place where people can come and talk openly.  Talk and pray and hope and cry and live more openly than many can with biological family. 

Thank You for praying that we are a place free of judgement.  Thank you for praying that we are given discernment; that if asked for and given is seen as trusted and valuable.  That is God stuff.  Your prayers do that!!

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

Both stupid cats are inside now and with people.  We have power for the moment so lights are on and studies with Hilda continue.  Two women are huddled close to an electric heater on the floor at their stocking-ed feet.  Swahili, fast and intense, working for those solutions that impoverished lives need for another tomorrow. 

Lives are on the line.  Yet, somehow, smiles and joy often win.  Smiles and joy often win even in the absence of resource.  Gratitude and diligence are the most strikingly beautiful of twins.  They often are birthed into moments we get to see by powerful and faithful women of this place.  They bring our daughters alive to us right here. 

Our sons are alive in the same way right here with us too. 

Our grandchildren are seen alive in the faces everywhere we walk. 

We have wealthy moments here where expectations are broken enough .. to leave room.

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

From last time…

I cannot describe the spiritual attacks we have been facing as the time hopefully approaches (coming soon we hope.. a loving representative of ours is engaged with University staff working our process for us so cultural and linguistic issues are sidestepped without more financial outlay on our part ) when we, ourselves, will engage with the University again. 

We now have a calendar of University Enrollment process days and verbal assurance that I will be attending theological studies in September.  I continue to breathe.  I’m not holding it.

Relationships here on the ground in addition to my imperfections and mistakes are being used to try to drive us away from our striving.  Each day is a sincere struggle.  Hopefully that means we’re on the right track.  Please pray for those around us.  Please pray for the local faces which fearlessly now smile and greet us as we walk.  

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

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

Thank you, each of you.

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

What to Pray for:

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

All the tough and blessing expressed above –

The love of folks –

Whatever is on your hearts and minds for us –

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

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

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

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

For each and every one of you –

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

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

Vern W

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

 Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                                     June 5th, 2023

After a late Saturday night request for a specific message about The Holy Trinity, I preached at the Cathedral in Usa River for the 7:00 morning English service yesterday.  Smiling folks came to tell me that it went well.  Amazing..  Always a struggle for me with confidence and I am deeply thankful that I am not alone when preaching.  Still, this is something I do because I have to.  Wanting to preach, wanting to be up front, is not part of it at all.

Paul is imprisoned when he writes:   Philippians 1             “ ¹⁴ And my being in prison has given most of the believers more confidence in the Lord, so that they grow bolder all the time to preach the message^[a] fearlessly.  ¹⁵ Of course some of them preach Christ because they are jealous and quarrelsome, but others from genuine good will. ¹⁶ These do so from love, because they know that God has given me the work of defending the gospel. ¹⁷ The others do not proclaim Christ sincerely, but from a spirit of selfish ambition; they think that they will make more trouble for me while I am in prison.  ¹⁸ It does not matter! I am happy about it—just so Christ is preached in every way possible, whether from wrong or right motives. And I will continue to be happy,..”

This position, this understanding, this expression of faith by Paul has become ever more central to my encountering how Jesus is preached and people are served everywhere; including here where at times we share very little in common.    

Later last week I was asked to attend another special prayer service up on the mountain.  As I walked into the rectory with Mchungaji(pastor I traveled and served with) and sat with the others gathered to run and serve the community through this service, I noticed among the accumulating ever more familiar faces, the face of a special pastor on this mountain.  He is respected by the others.  He is requested for special prayer services like this.  He has gifts of rare perception.  He has inside a kind of hard love that is so deep and powerful that it is willing to face anything. 

This prayer service is 90 percent music and dance then comes simple direct preaching.  The kind that allows those who fear the worst to come forward, run away, run back, then enter struggle to find peace they long for. 

How do I write about possession?  How do I write about those who fear it and face it? 

I would like to start with love that is so deep and powerful that it is willing to face anything.  Reputation of that love follows this older pastor who has had me in attendance now for two of these services high up on this mountain where fancy visitors don’t go and are never asked to.  I have been taken there and into that fear and the face of it.

I sat listening to language I did not know watching the pain and struggle that accompany the fear of what is faced.  My job was obvious.  I was there to pray.  That is what I did. 

As the struggling precious ones shook and dropped and wracked.  I prayed.  As others flew from their seats to keep the thrashing ones from hurting themselves or others, as women attended women safeguarding their modesty.  I prayed. 

The long line of women coming into and through the church to the front where prayer, laying on of hands, and groups of helpers worked with each precious one trying to come back to themselves, eventually stopped coming. 

That gruff old beloved and deeply loving pastor was done.  He did something that I did not expect.

After putting down his microphone, he came and sat next to me.  Then he turned to look me in the eye with such gratitude and thankfulness.  He knew that praying silently was what I had been doing.  He chose to be thankful to this stranger who has been brought now to two of these services for the desperate.  He knew that I was not there to judge.

I love this hard old mountain pastor because as he viewed that long line of fearful women coming seeking peace within themselves, his spoken question was.. “Where are all the men?”  This is a universal heartache for pastors here. 

Without the men seeking peace, the women return to situations that are unimproved.  Part of the greater prayer then is that the women return to their situations as improved people in themselves.  These desperate become missionaries into desperate situations that they cannot flee. 

There were still two struggling and writhing ones after the church cleared.  The old pastor was spent and was taken to rest.  Two groups of us stayed with the remaining two who were carried flailing and straining from church to the rectory where table and chairs were pushed without concern out of the way so those lost from themselves could be laid safely on the floor. 

Precious bibles were literally thrown across the room to land on that table shoved out of the way.  Small yet powerful writhing women were throwing four to six people around at a time.  I came into the room set my bible among those others that had landed on the table and without thinking put my glasses that I do need to see, on top of my bible.  Afterword I understood that not having glasses safeguarded all around me as they were not on my face to be taken in the thrashing and struggle. 

Silent prayer like I’ve had drawn out of me before in bush Alaska as well as here was all my mind and heart were focused on.  My hands are attached to the rest of me which is at times a gift of tremendous weight.  My hands were able to contain the right hand of one of these precious struggling women who came for help. 

She came for help and everyone there was willing to do anything, including throwing expensive tables and chairs out of the way and pitching precious expensive prized bibles through the air, so their hands were immediately free to safeguard as they strove to bring that help.   

The one whose hand was now in mine was no longer able to throw anyone around with that hand.  We prayed, we safeguarded, she returned in time peacefully to herself.  Her wet eyes opened and looked fearlessly into mine and after a time pulled my hand to find her way shakily onto her feet.  Immediately we got her to a chair. 

In about half a minute she was talking normally again with Mchungaji.  Mchungaji who did not judge her but simply smiled hugely at her success.  He then translated introduction and told me she had a young child.  He translated my thanks to her for her hard work as a mother to that precious child.  She stood, squared her shoulders, and was able to walk home before we left.

The last struggling one was taken by about eight people to a dark office in the rectory as Mchungaji and I were leaving.  Those loving people will not leave her even if it takes all night and into the next day.  Love doesn’t judge.  Love doesn’t give up either.

This is something I pray can be re-learned more broadly. 

The desperation and situations lived among the most impoverished people have analogs among the lives of people like you and me.  People who have rare moments of insecurity can learn from people who have only moments of insecurity. 

My time in bush Alaska is alive here.  My time among we who have only rare moments of insecurity is alive here.  This is what shepherds’ do.  Protect the vulnerable and battle what seeks to consume and destroy them.

Faith is academic and vociferous.  Faith at times needs to be uncompromising. 

Faith as love is also quiet, strong and in motion willing to give time, hands, protection and prayer.  Faith as love leaves room for hope.  Faith as love leaves room for God to be God.  Faith as love does not seek to be God, judge, condemnation or self-righteous source of shunning. 

That can happen among people here like it does everywhere.  However those shepherding, these moments of pleading with God for those desperate enough to be vulnerable in their need, also live lives with only moments of insecurity.  This empathy builds wisdom many elsewhere never find.  Wisdom that lets breathtaking good come in hard moments like these that too many ignore and run from.   

Love doesn’t judge.  Love doesn’t give up either. 

Yes, an older term is used here.  Witchcraft.  Mostly women coming to seek help in reclaiming themselves from the destruction of situations that don’t change so, they have to find the strength to be the change themselves.  Here witches are never burned.  Here they self-identify and come among people who will do anything to help.

Love doesn’t judge.  Love doesn’t give up either.  Everyone goes back to doing the best they can the next day.  They go together.

How do I know that these events are sincere and un-staged?  I was the only white person trusted to be there.  I may be the only white person many know.  I am the only white person many of the children have ever seen and they cannot hide that.  Not one person asked this white man for anything.  The ones wanting me there knew I would pray.  No one wanted any money.

Thank You for any discomfort this report may bring for any of you reading.  Your willingness to face that discomfort is beautiful.  Thank you for your prayer.  It really does matter more than anything else.

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

From last time…

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

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

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

Thank you, each of you.

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

What to Pray for:

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

All the tough and blessing expressed above –

The love of folks –

Whatever is on your hearts and minds for us –

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

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

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

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

For each and every one of you –

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

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

Vern W

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