Dear Cherished Interested’s,                                                                                         May 28th, 2023

Safety-belt..

I understand where the perspective comes from.  Christianity to most of the non-Christian developed world-mind is at best a crutch.  It can also be seen as only a means of control employed by Christians who are mentally defective or evil. 

I blew it again today.  I was unable to prevent a developed world white person coming into the children’s worship time on Sunday and take one of the children out so that white person could do the job they get paid to do.  A job they have 167 other hours a week to do, other than that hour.

The free work we do in this world is seen as valueless.   This is part of our challenge with regards the message of Jesus Christ.  None of us can do anything to earn what Jesus does.  Jesus simply loves enough to do it for us.  None of us could do anything to have life and be part of creation, God simply loves enough to do it for us. 

By teaching that money and control is all there is to spend time on, we teach so much antithetical to the message of sun and rain and soil and growing things.  Things that we can manipulate some now but, still we cannot create.

Being unpaid and unwilling to live divorced from the local community and the local community of faith around a precious group of children, we are ostracized.  Any and all mistakes, real or imagined, are tabulated and memorialized for use later.  Manipulation for control is good, apparently.  Manipulation for money even better.  Those who complain about feeling manipulated by folks from economically dependent cultures need only look at what we can so sadly teach. 

That is precisely what we face in North America too.  Our culture exported faith to much of the world.  Now our culture exports the shunning of faith as irrelevant mental illness in the way of finding money, money, money.  Faith need not be spoken.

Covid shut down the economy here.  Covid killed many as the disease.  Covid may have killed more in the economic devastation wrought by the global fear that shut down this economy based on tourism.  This is part of what happened at Josephine Sunset Home, an eldercare facility in Stanwood Washington during Covid times too.  The disease took our elders.  The disease took our elders community away and gave them only isolation.  That isolation brought death too.

With people who look like me teaching that money, their paid position to raise money from those who only need to be motivated to give money, and the children learning to be part of that motivating for money, and their worship time together is to be abrogated to that..??

I know.  Vern, stop being a jerk. “I’m only doing my job.  And I get paid to do my job.”  This is only part of the spiritual pressure to extract us from trying to teach that when the money stops, when the buildings collapse, when there is no food to share, when our last breath is taken, there is still a place called home for all of us.  

That is what lets us take our next breath.  That is what lets us teach Jesus’s self-sacrifice by striving to live self-sacrificially.

I can be so furious but, only Jesus has the authority to overturn the money changers tables.  I do not.  I can be so deeply troubled and hurt but, only Jesus has the authority to judge, I do not.  Respect is no longer a part of our world-leading-culture-through-economic-means.  Respect is now a means to an end, a manipulation.  That is poison shared by too many of us too.  Still, I am not qualified to judge.  Pray for me.  Please.

Being a plow-point, the forward most tip of a tool that breaks open the ground and turns it over as part of preparing that ground to become soil, something good for roots and growing, is brutal.  We are not wealthy people because that is often where I found myself in North America. 

That is still where I find myself with North Americans, Europeans, most folks who can afford to travel because they want to.  I know it makes no sense.  We got rid of the house and nearly everything and travelled because we had to.  I pray some day our children will all come to understand that.  It may help them too.

How do we keep going?  You!!, If only one of the readers of this get this far and can know that your inability to articulate words in prayer for us is beautiful beyond expression.  The Holy Spirit wordlessly groans for us.  If you take the time for that groaning to go up to God, because of God, because of you.  You keep us going.

Faces keep us going.  Our sick little non-four-wheel drive forces us to be on foot a lot.  We get to see and be seen.  Just two days ago a young one, who had never seen me before, was dumb-struck watching me climb into the truck at the edge of the road.  I spoke in the language of this mountain.  The eyes got bigger and that little one ran back the way they came to chatter emphatically with other little ones.  Probably something like, “you won’t believe what I just saw!..  and..  and.. it spoke to me!!”

Faces keep us going.  We are known some and the greetings almost always come with deep sincere smiles and waves.  Often a group of two or more women will respond to my greeting now while walking with howls of laughter as they greet me, someone they have seen in their churches, in return as Kisali. 

Here is the joke they all share with such joy.  Kisali means big-brother.  Those who know what I look like understand that I am fairly tall at 190 centimeters, about 6’ 3”.  I have to order shirts and shoes in order to get them the right size.  I am still about 300 lbs and look ridiculous, especially here among the majority genetically predisposed to be beardless head to toe.  I am not.  It is a wonderful joke that means they are too busy laughing to ask for money or even be afraid.

Faces keep us going.  Local pastors, living and serving hand to mouth multiple parishes, who don’t just smile but beam at us.  Local pastors who come quietly to visit us with problems they cannot fix themselves as they live hand to mouth.  We do what we can, which isn’t much.  But we do have the freedom not afforded much of the North American church anymore.  We have no insurance policy.  We have no lawyers, and as unaccompanied missionaries we have no national church telling us what we can and cannot try as ministry and service.  So we try.  Sometimes what we have to try is, “no.”

If we fail.  By Gods grace and help we may come to find forgiveness and energy to try again.     

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From last time…

I cannot describe the spiritual attacks we have been facing as the time hopefully approaches (June 1^st?) 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,                                                                                         May 15th, 2023

Pastor Lazaro(Lazarus) has trusted me with the people of his Maasai Parish, his Leganga Parish, and now his Ngyani Parish.  Our first parish of his to visit was his Maasai Parish and we did not preach there but were honored by the trust of being taken into some of the most impoverished families on the planet.  This is a community that out of complete desperation can fall victim to trafficking of young women promised jobs that take them far away from family.   

Sunday we walked a short way down the mountain to get our ride to Kanisa Ngyani.  This is the church of the retired Pastors wife around whom The Children’s Village has grown up.  One of her many adopted sons is my English student, he was our ride to their church. 

Local folks planned for me to preach there yesterday with the Pastor translating.  This is the second time and the second church that I have preached for this pastor who was going to translate for me but he has been called away to an emergency each time. 

My English student, was directed by the evangelist to translate for me.  Andrew did well.  Andrew was also singing and singing was a larger than normal part of yesterday’s worship and why we were invited to attend, and preach.  Kanisa Kilinga also sent a kwaya(choir) to worship with Kanisa Ngyani.  About a third attending were worshiping choirs.

Andrew translated for both services. 

Andrew is very shy and reserved while being extremely soft-spoken.  His fellow choir members did not expect to ever see Andrew translating from / preaching from / the pulpit and he did amazingly well in spite of turning to mug and make faces at his choir-mates keeping half the back row where they were seated laughing in their joy. 

Joy and eager teasing by gesture at seeing this extremely bright young man doing something so unexpected.

Where we are the first born child of a family is brought to the church after they can walk and let through the iron altar rail to stay in the altar space where pastor, evangelist, and other presiders direct worship. 

That was the case at the Ki-Swahili service yesterday.  A presider then closes the gate preventing the toddler from reuniting with family below the altar.  The toddler is kept there until the family buys their child’s freedom by offering a goat or cow or sheep or sum of money.  Then they can have their child back. 

That little child wandered into the altar space through the open gate and after the gate closed walked directly up to me lifting his tiny arms to be lifted onto my lap.  There he stayed on my lap for about 5 minutes before squirming down to wander around up in his altar jail waiting for the goat.  The goat came and his father handed the rope for the goat through the rail to his tiny son who held obediently.

This unexpected blessing of total acceptance by a local toddler who had never seen me before was extremely heartening.  Yes the child went home with Mom and Dad.   

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The Sunday prior we were at Kanisa Mulala participating from the back row where four of the girls from The Children’s Village came to sit with Hilda sharing our Swahili Worship books. 

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We found an old friend this last week too.  David Mtui was the business partner of Elizabeth Hudgins, a retired English teacher from Vancouver Washington.  Elizabeth and David took care of two mission groups I have been part of coming here.  The second group included our elder daughter. 

Elizabeth was aware of our planning to come and strive at trying to get me into theological training here.  Unfortunately Elizabeth died of COVID between us selling our house and getting to the plane to fly over.  It has taken about a year and a half to find David. 

Thank You for praying for things none of us can know about.  We were a safe place for David to share about the loss of Elizabeth.  He was comfortable to embrace each of us with sincere happiness.  It has been eighteen years since we have been together in Tanzania.  God willing we will take a break and go see his farm on Kilimanjaro soon.

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I cannot describe the spiritual attacks we have been facing as the time hopefully approaches ( a couple more weeks? ) 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,                                                                                                     May 1st, 2023

We dashed to Nairobi Wednesday morning last week.  Our Visa required leaving the country for a few days and then returning.  So we did.  Without the truck we were limited so we took the bus to Nairobi Kenya. 

Those of you who know the space I take up understand that buses, planes, and small cars are actually extremely uncomfortable to get into and out of, let alone spend hours travelling between nations.  I survived.  We were travelling with an ardent supporter.  The same young man who has managed the government processes that hopefully leads me to applying for matriculation into Tumaini University Makumira sometime this very month. 

We learned right along with him the severe expense of making this trip to Nairobi.  My impressions of the Nairobi I saw was that it is a city trying so hard to be New York, right down to Burger King and Kentucky Fried, that wealth has gone to both its head and heart. 

Bluntly, Nairobi is cruel to her own people.  You leave the hotel bastion out past metal detectors, heavy locked gates, guards to step out on streets with too few sidewalks yet tall fences topped with barbed wire and spikes on both sides protecting wealthy properties behind them.  I found one facility nearby with the words “Faith Center” locked securely up without a soul in view within its perimeter.

We found new shoes for Hilda with a street vender they are bright RED.  So Hilda is happy.  We are poor bargainers as empathy even for those trying to take unfair advantage lives too close to our surface.  Still, that placed us on the street in the right place at the right time to encounter a Burundian father with five children refugees all who had not eaten for days. 

How mean is Nairobi?  In a wealthy part of town it took two American visitors from Tanzania with the wrong East African currency to find a way to get them fed, if only for that day.  We had no local connections in Kenya and could not make heads nor tails of the paperwork they had that entitled them to wander the streets homeless, foodless, looking for help from a church, any church.  All the Nairobi churches apparently are locked up like many places, even at home in the U.S.  Many behind those walls and fences I described.

Yes people were asking for help everywhere we went.  We went anyway.  We went by foot so we were easy to see. 

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We talked our way into a tall nearly double bullet shaped skyscraper which has windows all the way around.  The guards noted the cross that I wear nearly all the time now as it both invites requests for help and, I believe, shames many false requests away.  The guards overcame my size with the help of that cross and little beaming Hilda.  After explaining our desire to simply go up into the building to look out those windows to many guardians outside and then inside we followed a trail of smiles to a desk and waited for Daudi. 

Daudi is an engineer in the building trades who is responsible for this building.  His English is impeccable.  He came smiling out to greet us and took us to the highest unoccupied floor of the building where we could walk around the open unfinished floor and view the city in 360 degrees.  We got to know Daudi. 

On the way out he brought me a pen and paper and I drew up and talked with him about potential full pasture fed, low animal stress, dairy farming only made possible at the equator with its non-stop growing season. 

We discussed layout, rotating paddocks, central watering and central robot milking.  As a farm kid himself with family still milking cows by hand he was very attentive, interested, and thankful.  He also insisted he was taking the idea to his friends at Government house.  Unbelievable..  May he get rich..  May his wealth save friends, family, neighbors, friends, strangers..

Roy, if you are reading this there in Bolivia, yep..  same idea I asked you to give your Mennonite buddies there near you in the mountains. 

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After two nights we headed back.  Little girls with babies wrapped to their backs and little boys swarming us at the bus station lamenting plaintively in Swahili and English phrases intended to illicit assistance.  Having never changed to the correct Kenyan currency from the Tanzanian currency(much weaker) we were ill prepared to provide any assistance. 

The border crossing both ways still has my head shaking. 

First is the swarming by tribal craftswomen(Maasai) who zero-ed in on Hilda and I before we could exit the bus to be processed and then again upon leaving processing to return to the bus.  Again, the wrong currency helped but, being at the border and the craftswomen being Maasai who ignore the border, they knew their highly fluid prices literally coming and going. 

While waiting in the bus for our fellow travelers to be processed and return, I pulled out my bi-lingual Bible.  Inside the back cover I keep a small book of Swahili Hymns.  I dared, thanks to the last year and a half of Sundays with the Mamas at The Children’s Village, to sing the Swahili Hymns I am able to figure out by knowing the English tunes they are written to.

Persistent peddling through the bus windows significantly abated and then stopped.  Confusion and some disbelief ensued as they gave up, walked away, came back after hearing some semi-familiar text, and then went over to a nearby wall to talk with our ardent supporter who was telling them some story. 

Those who were still near our bus were over there listening to him.  Did I tell you he is a Dad who was almost a Catholic Priest?  I bet he wasn’t missing an opportunity.

A couple of our fellow passengers walked forward in the bus to look over my shoulder and sing the hymns along with me.  I could hear emotion amazement and joy.  Hilda was where she could witness the emotions and made a friend sharing contact info through shared Swahili hymns with her large white hairy husband.

Processing at the border was embarrassing.  We do not have diplomatic passports.  Word had gone ahead of us each time.  We were collected out of que each time by smiling border guards who took us past everyone else and then to each window out of one country and the next window into the next country.  I looked up to see that we were taken through the Diplomatic passport track, our ardent supporter happily chatting with guards and immigration officials he obviously knew.  Well, either those specific officials or their bosses.

We were so quick in processing that we got back to the bus before it could be moved from one side of the station to the other and the drivers were shocked as we were.

Processing back into Tanzania a couple of workers challenged me to explain what a Kenyan Pastor in the news had been doing.  The Kenyan pastor in question has been arrested for insisting that his people fast until they die so they can be with Jesus sooner.  If life is impossibly hard, this may indeed appeal to the helpless. 

I am ever more convinced however, that life is what our God and Savior are most about, having created life and then providing means for life eternal.  In the twenty or so seconds we had to discuss a matter on their hearts I shared my conviction that life is the point, not death.  Life is not to be wasted as it is intended to last forever.  Anything that wastes life seems ever more anti-Christ to me and I pray that the arrested pastor gets help and his people wiser leadership.  I often pray that for myself and those I try to serve too.

For those who know the area, it was raining as we left Nairobi but soon cleared.  We crossed the border coming south into Tanzania coming to predominantly Maasai Longido, then Engikerat and very many Kilometers to Oldonyosambu.  That is where the first signs of any water darkened the bottom of dry riverbeds nearly all the way from Nairobi to Arusha.  Five years of drought are hopefully breaking further afield than just the mountains.  This will save many invisible but so precious lives.

We were back late Friday and did not miss our Saturday and Sunday duties.

Tomorrow we take a child to the doctor in town.

Today is a local holiday..  Still the farm kid, self-employed logger, often holidays confuse me and I never seem to remember or understand them.  Thanks for praying for us in our endless confusion(s)..

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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

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,                                                                                                     April 20-22, 2023

Mchungaji Ombeni, the local pastor, had me read scripture for the 3:pm Good Friday service.  He insisted that I read aloud in Ki-Swahili.  Then I had to speak extemporaneously.  I asked Ombeni if he had already spoken at prior seasonal opportunities about the two Josephs and the two Peters and a couple other topics which he answered all in the affirmative.  I asked if he had spoken about Mary.  He said no.  I had my topic and standing two steps below Ombeni so our ears and mouths could be near enough to hear he graciously translated. 

I still do not understand what I am reading aloud in Swahili however, God somehow gives me clear pronunciation and fluent diction.  I cannot explain it.  No need for a microphone either.  Not too bad for someone who has never been comfortable in front. 

Please don’t be too shocked.  I am not doing something I want to do.  I am doing what I have to do, God help me..  I was scheduled to preach Easter Sunday, my translator, Mchungaji Omeni, was called for emergency fill in a little ways further up the mountain, his fill in, in Mulala, was a wonderful young Ki-Meru speaker so my message waited for Easter Monday. 

Easter Monday was surprisingly full.  After my message was given, Ombeni took his huge smile out to the benches and pulled Hilda forward to speak while he again translated.  She can easily speak extemporaneously.  Career teaching, forty years of Sunday school, and one of eight siblings.

Last Saturday the local Sunday school here in Mulala gathered about 75 children from local parishes onto two large busses including about 15 adults for a morning at the airport watching aircraft, many for the very first time.  Many littles even enjoyed watching cars on the way to Kilimanjaro International Airport, this too a rare thing for them, some of them pointing and claiming this car or that car as their own.

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Truck is gone for a week at the Truck Doctor..  Please pray, yes, please pray that parts can be found and that four wheel drive function be restored.  I used my farm-kid traction control to get the truck out of the hole where the house is and up to the Kanisa(church) where I have been allowed to park it.  Yesterday I took it to town and left it there.  Farm-kid traction control?  The truck bed is full of rocks. 

Monday the truck was still stuck in the hole where the house is.  We set off in the rain to walk the 4 kilometers to Makumira Secondary School down closer to the big road.  We made it about half way before folks who know us saw us walking and sent other folks to take us to Mchungaji Ombeni’s house.  He insisted that he drive is down the rest of the way to the school with the church’s working four wheel drive. 

Today, Saturday, cats and dogs rain again (thank God for a real rainy season!!)  I set off to walk about a kilometer and a half to where I tutor English.  Ruts have become torrents.  Depressions pools.  The younger brother of the man whose house we are residing is was out bundled up in knee length foul weather gear, bare foot, using a shovel to buttress piles here and dig water way to save what little road there is to get in and out.  

It is Eid.  Eid ends the Ramadan fast and celebrates family often including goats cooked and shared with families who have chronic malnutrition.  Eid feast means no community education support at The Children’s Village.  I walked by beneath the Village and came upon littles walking to education support not realizing the Saturday off.  One bright-eyed one asked if Hilda would be up waiting for her there.  I explained Eid and had a companion for a significant part of my walk as she walked back home. 

Walking means we need extra time.  We need extra time as we are slower.  We also need extra time as we are considered by many here now as their people.  We are to be greeted.  We are to be spoken too and appreciated and included.  This is their choice.  We have been diligent in seeing people and not shacks or torn imperfect clothing or the different manner of speaking since arriving among these people. 

We do not ignore them.  We do not hide behind raised tinted car windows.  We risk being taken advantage of.  God pours love into us for each face.  Even the angry faces that frown and glare.  Amazing..  I think you have been praying for us.  Thank you so very very much. 

We walked early afternoon to the home of a retired pastor whose wife is the center of The Children’s Village.  We were fed and had a wonderful conversation at the table afterword.  One of their many adopted children is likely my best English student.  The walk in the rain was about two kilometers the other way from the house from this mornings walk.  My English student happily drove us home.

Hilda is preparing for folks to come to the house for supper today.

A week ago Thursday we had a houseful from The Children’s Village operations staff who came, were fed well, and we then sang Nyimbo(hymns) together.  It was a blessing quite beyond expectation.  I even managed to lead a few.  The young man who is in charge of the Saturday education programing jumped up to pray happily.  Folks know where we are.

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,                                                                                                     April 5^th 2023

My computer is dead once again.  Back on Hilda’s..

Hey..  Not giving up..  We’re now in a house up on the mountain.  Mulala is the community.  We’ve preached at the local church twice now since appearing among these precious people.  Local Tanzanians are our human salvation.  Mixed bag as they are a tremendous challenge as well.  That must mean that we are trusted to be challenged.  Thank you for praying us there.  Thank you for praying us empowered in those challenges. 

When part of working with missionary Pilot trainees at Mission Aviation Training Academy at the Arlington Washington Airport, some of what often got shared is how when striving in missions some of the most difficult times can come through fellows in mission alongside us.  As many of you know Hilda and I are unaccompanied.  We are only able to serve because of what local Tanzanians have asked us to be part of.  No organization surrounds us with any support.  Your prayers are what surround us and keep our faces in front of God’s face.  Your prayers are what keep any reflection in our faces even remotely true in any way to the face of God.  Thank you for that too.

We are up here not because of any fellows in mission.  We are up here because of the same cultural divide faced by anyone daring to live in spite of human longing after money and power first.  Simply, we were not willing to be manipulated and have our pockets picked by highly educated non-Tanzanian folks seeking money only, in service to good things, and those local Tanzanians who have been taught those behaviors in order to have a job.  Yes it is sad. 

Hold on though.  The best, God things, happen anyway.  

The house has power when power is available.  Water, either falls and is collected from the roof in buckets, or we take the little truck further up the mountain to community water near a local hospital tucked up among farms and semi-tropical vegetation and fill buckets and tubs.  Hot water happens when power and water come together. 

WE are well.  In fact, Hilda’s mosquito bites are finally starting to heal up and she is off all the medications needed to combat the severe allergic reactions and post bite infections.  Yes, Hilda is tough. 

Local pastor and wife came to eat supper with us and we were told that many local folks know us as the old white people who don’t ignore them walking along the road but wave and greet as best we can each one.  Many of the littles know Hilda from her Saturday morning participation at The Children’s Village in remediation and tutorial programs for all local children close here on the mountain. 

Another piece communicated to student missionary Pilots was the need to have a habit of participation in ministry wherever they are.  The Academy in Arlington required pilot trainees to be part of active ministry with some local congregation.  The fact is that if ministry among others is not a bones deep habit where culture and language are shared, it will likely have no chance of expression where culture and language are not shared. 

Our bones deep convictions are seen by people and communicate beyond these seemingly impossible barriers.  That is why I keep being asked to preach, something that continues to surprise me from my experiences of a lifetime at home in America.  That is why we have a house up on the mountain when somewhat narrow-minded well-meaning people from North-America, Europe, and other “developed world” context and training inadvertently teach idolatry of money and power first and at any cost to those local ones they work through. 

Humility is hard.  Many life-long ones seeking to help here maintain separations with the local folks having their own gathering places, services, and group-think.  This invades the thinking of many locals too.  All we can do is strive to be aware and willing to lose everything when needing to teach something different.  This we must strive to do with love, patience and grace.  Only your prayer keeps us even remotely in those precious things. 

Our consolation is among those who have nearly nothing, are left out, and still choose to see we have a house to live in.  

While writing Hilda is dancing among wet laundry hung throughout the house on clotheslines strung between curtain rods overhanging windows.  Windows put into this home that never had them.  Windows put into this house by impoverished local others intending us to be here.  We are getting a rainy season this year, however brief it may or may not be. 

One of her two cats, who came with us up the mountain, was missing for four days after arriving up here.  She is overjoyed to have the cat appear in the middle of the night a couple nights ago, well fed and well taken care of.  That cat does not want to leave her side. 

The doors are barred at night but fully open during the day.  Children of all ages come with buckets of water, requests, waves, and smiles.  One very bright teenage girl visits Hilda whenever she can to practice and challenge her already very good English.  And like Hilda’s cats, she is very comfortable in Hilda’s company.  So far, no one has touched the little truck parked outside. 

Saying no..  It may sound harsh, but we spend a lot of time saying no.  We say no to nearly all requests for money.  To protect dignity that seems so willing to be sacrificed, we would rather purchase some eggs or fruit so those who come with defined need can afford to service it themselves.  Also I have to say no to being a taxi-service.  Fuel costs a lot.  We live down a very steep, very rough, shared driveway that I can only drive out of by quickly getting into second gear and speeding in an attempt to fly up onto the main road.  Hilda climbs up to hold traffic as I make my attempts.  Yesterday a tractor and wagon loaded with corn stalks tried to climb out the same driveway and failed.  I was asked to pull them out.  I had to say no. 

School for Vern..  Through the efforts of another amazing local one I now have a Tanzanian Primary School certificate and a Tanzanian Secondary School certificate and a Tanzanian Secondary School transfer certificate.  We have been told..  that in May..  I will be..  applying with those things to be accepted as a student at Tumaini Universtiy Makumira.  Further..  we have been told..  that after some more paperwork with the Tanzanian Government that is in process..  Hilda may be lecturing in the science program there. 

This long year and a half has taught us not to hold our breath.  However, given that we are unaccompanied missionaries.  Given my rejection by a PNW ELCA candidacy committee for being stubbornly adherent to not only a call to pastoral ministry, a call that same committee overwhelmingly affirmed, but also to the long-time call to seek training here among one of the fastest growing Lutheran denominations globally, any progress brought about by the local people right here has to be God sent. 

Whatever barriers we have striven to overcome to study scripture here are barriers reduced for anyone else in the future.  That is more important than any success for me as an individual.  The church must seek discomfort in inclusion of truly impoverished faithful ones no longer as students, but teachers. 

No, we don’t know it all.  That candidacy committee was so very young.  Pray for them.  May sincere regret appear in hearts to break them open to more growth for each precious one.  We still long to include them, indeed anyone willing to let us sacrifice ourselves in the strange and even eccentric ways we are striving in.  The church is not merely American.  The church is not merely urban.  The church is not merely ordained pastors.  The church needs every piece wherever and however it lives. 

Who am I to be saying, living, teaching these things?  Nobody.  I did hard, even dangerous, physical work for half a century.  If success happens for me here, it is NOT my doing.  I know I am unqualified in the eyes of those so believing and sure that they are.  I care too much.  God does not care. 

Hilda does not want our struggles glossed over so we won’t.  Hard is too small a word and the attacks are deep, slanderous, and spiritual too.  We pray that means we are doing something right.  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,                                                                                         March 15th, 2023

Sunday we needed to skip the Cathedral and arrived at the first church at 6:30 am.

The Lutheran Church here in Tanzania has loosened up liturgy.  Each congregation can worship with significant freedom.  Sunday we started at Mulala.  This is where I was the adult for and both Hilda and I stood up for Elisha as he was baptized and confirmed.  Mulala is relatively high church, in a very small and remote community way, with stations and roles and liturgy to match.  I gave the message through a local pastor who found my English a bit beyond his comfort.  He managed valiantly. 

Then we packed two Evangelists and Mchungaji Ombeni into the still two wheel drive pick-up and headed up to Kyota.  Kyota is higher on the mountain than Mulala or Kilinga. 

The tracks traveled to and from are very rough and the continuing dry weather makes dust of the parched ground that settles onto everything and into the lowest holes of the track making them invisible.  The larger rocks that can crack an axle casing, if struck hard, are just soft mounds in the thick dust.  Most of these tracks have never seen a road grader as there isn’t one, nor is there room for one anything like the size of what we would use while building woods road in the US. 

We got to Kyota and Worship Music was already coming from the Kanisa(church).  We parked close to a tree next to the church and went to prepare in the rectory building behind and to the side of the church.  At this service I got to sit with Hilda. 

There were two Evangelists, an older man, for here, and a bright-eyed older, for here, woman.  The older man had been reserved and quiet all morning.  He is amazing.  He has nearly no English and I have no Meru.  That is why he was so quiet around me.  After service we shared a long moment with my heavily butchered Swahili, we needed to.  So quiet, so reserved, he had moved through the morning like a stoic shadow.  

Service at Kyota was far more Pentecostal in flavor with raised hands, half the congregation standing and dancing together in front as the Kwaya(choir).  Then came the message and the stoic shadow came alive.  He couldn’t help it.  There wasn’t enough room or freedom in front so he danced with joy through his preaching out among the congregation wiping the perspiration and having sing-song back and forth affirming readings by another young man evangelist who stood and read from the congregation. 

Alcohol is a huge problem here and this tall older Evangelist has been clean and sober, he believes, only because God saved him from it.  Service was full, joyful, and long. 

On the way down from Kyota, as a group, we went to the home of an Elder Grandmother who had been celebrated that morning in service and Hilda prayed for her in her home at the gathering for the community. 

On the way up to Kyota one track had been nearly closed by a line-up of tipped loads of rock and dirt.  It is what they have.  Aggregate of all sizes mixed together.  Quite a few of the larger rocks had tumbled into the barely open portion of the track.  Open only by driving over the piles with the left side wheels of the truck.  That is likely where things got knocked and started moving.  There while climbing and fish-tailing slightly through the deep dust, not too unlike snow, on the way up.  The dust rises at times to completely obscure all vision so even if hot with a truck full of people, windows are closed. 

On the way down, on a different track to avoid the piles, one of those hidden deep holes sucked a front tire into nothingness.  Power on.  The grade was steep enough that we slid on the frame on that side for an instant before tire hit the other side and rose.  The rear tire did the same and scraping and rubbing ensued.  While stopped a little further on a motorcycle passed us and told me, through Mchungaji Ombeni, that there were parts back near that deep dust filled hole.  It was a plastic wheel well liner pinched like a mud-flap can be when backing into piles and pulled from the vehicle.  It is tied to the roll bar in the bed of the truck waiting another trip to the truck doctor.  There is nearly no room for my hands on this little truck, still a big compact truck for here. 

The day before a piki, motorcycle, had tried to park under the driver’s side front door of the truck too.  Truck Dr. has things to do. 

Some more rubbing was located and shoved out of the way leaving me dust to above the knees.  When we caught up with the children and Mama’s at The Children’s Village after 5:30 pm, Babu’s vumbi(dust) was quite a source of humor.  The Children went to study and do homework.  The Mama’s and I had their service. 

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

Currently Friday includes teachers professional development at Imbaseny Peace School in Maji Ya Chai(community east of Silverleaf School).  That occurs for Hilda in the morning.  I then drive her from there to religion class for the youngest ones at Silverleaf which happens in the afternoon. 

Saturday mornings are still spent by Hilda at the community education support program up at The Children’s Village.  I take her.  Then have an English tutorial a little lower on the hill.  We try to rest for Sunday on Saturday afternoon.  Sometimes we get to rest.

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

The threads in the fabric need to move in order for the needle to pierce the fabric of these lives here so another thread can be drawn through, the thread of our lives.  This has to happen so the fabric of living where we are from can come close to the fabric of living where we were.  This has to happen so strength can be shared by both weaves of fabric, both fabrics of living.  That piercing needle is rude and often unexpected.  Both fabrics of living are used to their own weave and tuck.  Both fabrics are used to their own lay and waft when blown by events. 

This is hard work and at times very dislocating and painful.  Forgive me please for riding the needle and being rude and unexpected.  That is what Hilda and I are to do.  My fabric of living is pierced as well and my head shakes in disbelief of the rude and unexpected too. 

Thousands of times in hundreds of ways communication falters and fails.  Pray that trust holds together and stays strong as the rudeness of the unexpected needle and thread, unexpected lives, disrupt and pull familiar fabric of living in rude and unexpected ways.  Pray that we can remain trusting that this sewing of diversity in living fabrics brings shared strength to all the fibers, each precious life.

Luke ten verses one through twelve talks of our leaders in this work.  Their example holds true for all of us.  We are to live and work together serving the willing by working alongside the willing, sharing food and building fabric of life together.  This may sound romantic and can even come off as holier than thou, but.  We have lived long enough and through enough to know that dusting off ones sandals is nothing but heartbreak and dread.  Guide the thread of our lives.  Steer the sewing so the dust is meaningless but for being held in common.  A badge of shared labor and purpose in disparate fabrics come together.

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

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:

..  Except for perhaps needing to drive to Kenya to cross the border and re-enter TZ every 90 days, the Visa stamp in our passports indicates current until 2024.  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 –

Moses Confort Home / Upendo School / Blue Sky School  -

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

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..  –

Us is not only Hilda and I but a growing circle of local folks.  Please imagine them too as you pray for ‘us’. -

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,                                                                                         February 22nd, 2023

For Ash Wednesday -

Her Maasai assistant wanted to know if I remembered any Maa.  Only one word, Lengai.  “Lengai ni Mungu” she joyfully, laughingly, told Daktari.  Lengai is Mungu is God. 

They now know us and like us and even enjoy us.  Remembering that one word of her assistant’s mother tongue while face down stripped to the waist in her simple surgical suite gave both of these angel’s smiles.  Yes, you can hear smiles even in different languages. 

Skin Surgery went well Tuesday, yesterday.  Clean facility and young Daktari, a Mama of three, the youngest two are twins.  She and her assistant wanted me to pray for the procedure before we started.  She also asked Hilda and I to keep praying for her as two infants and a toddler means nearly no sleep. 

The active invocation, willing wanting inclusion, of God into the work of their day is just cool.  It lifted tiredness along with spirits. 

We had a good conversation while Daktari dug, cut and stitched.  We talked about other scars they could see.  We talked about how one would get scarring like that.  We talked about working in the woods.  We talked about other traumas and the tricks you can play on your body to keep it working even when broken enabling yourself to get out of the bush and to the truck miles away.  Then you can go start working on not being broken. 

Hilda stood in the doorway holding the door close and speaking into the shared veracity of our crazy life together.  This taught much about a character allowing her to be here striving too.  Everything is fine.  Just some stupid skin things needing to go away before they get out of control.  Hilda insisted, found a way and made it happen.  We now have more people who like and want us in their lives. 

We are to meet the Gastroenterologist because he preaches too and we must meet his wife because of women’s bible studies she does all the time.  Stitches out in ten days.  Maybe then.  

For family who know much about how I have become less than physically perfect through the years, this means I now have access to an older and very well experienced Gastroenterologist.  This too is a good thing.  We are ultimately focused on self-care first, and ever, as medical professionals are few here facing desperate need beyond small stuff. 

While going to the truck to leave, a well-dressed young woman approached The Cross hanging around my neck and asked permission of me to come to the truck and talk with Hilda and I.  This is but one type of need that we have in front of us all the time.  This is polite.  This is educated.  This is put together. 

This is a mother of children also caring for her mother.  Between Covid and the overlong and continuing economic downturn her work in tourism has been gone for a long time.  Her asking to speak with Mama/Hilda and her demeanor meant that she has avoided prostitution so far.  All she wants is a job.  Any job that won’t make her sick and unable to care for those she strives to. 

Like the angels inside who took care of me, happy for work, this angel outside only wants a chance to work.  With work comes chance to feed children and her mother.  Do we know that all the children in her home are hers?  Do we know where the father is or are?  No.  She may simply be the only one left alive of her generation to strive in their care.  Like others we know, this polite, proud, capable one may be the aunt who managed the funerals and brought the little ones home with her, now her mother too. 

No good ending here.  We had to explain that we are self-funded missionaries and had no jobs.  Hilda wrote some numbers of local contacts down on a piece of paper for her but..  I wonder whether that angel has a phone any more, let alone one with minutes(air time) left.  Our contacts are no better off than we.  Pray connection and diligence pays off for this brave angel.  Please. 

The raised chin, the gratitude for us listening, and the tears she did not want us to see but could not keep from coming are truth telling of life for most here.  I pray for this angel, whose name I do not know, more than our new friends.  We aren’t dead inside.

My nature, our natures are deeply hurt by her plight but she did not want any money.  She is all those things listed above and money she knows is not durable nor lasting.  Her responsibilities demand more.  Her human dignity deserves more even as that dignity suffers to seek failed hope in such as us.    

She is an angel no doubt because she spares nothing of herself to maintain and cherish life.  We all know someone like that who came from heaven too. 

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

For Ash Wednesday -

He is six years old.  His eyes track together some of the time but not all.  When he struggles to breathe, he can cough, so you quickly elevate his back and head and turn him so his airway can clear.  Speech has not developed.  His mouth works well enough to consume soft foods.  He can also turn and lift his head some to track voices and look up at you if you are the one holding him.  Otherwise, nothing of a voluntary nature works at all beneath his neck. 

How do I explain this kind of need?  Dare I try to explain this kind of need?  Let me put fear of offending aside once more and try. 

He lives at Moses Confort Home, no not a misspelling.  That is what the little English paper connected with this place has printed on it.  No international funding here.  No fancy boards of well off people controlling any money.  The wise and cagey angel grandmother in charge here took what little we left in her hand last time I was there and found recycled tin sheeting to start putting roof over where she and the littles live.  One family donated bunk-beds recently too.  About sixty or so littles live here.

He, this broken little boy of no hope and honestly no visible future here, is one of that sixty or so.  She will not give up on hm.  She spares nothing of herself to maintain and cherish life.  Neither do her neighbors.  Women with children and responsibilities of their own come day and night to hold this broken child who is dead without them. 

This visit it was my turn and with the lifting of my arms one of those local mothers trusted enough to put him there.  She watched for only a few minutes then left to go back to what awaits her at her home.    

I had been asked to help a young couple look for service opportunities for the young bride, married this very same Monday.  They have known each other for years.  He is Tanzanian.  She is a farm girl from outside Portland.  We met them last year and have not seen them since.  He contacted me for help just before the weekend when we are super-busy and so they spent Monday, their wedding day, in my truck going to places we have learned about. 

My whiteness and presumed wealth gets us through the door.  Then his native language and resilient and deeply sincere Christ-centered character got them willing acceptance, shown around, and invitation to participate.   He might also be seen as a little angry, a little reserved and slow to trust, a little judgmental. 

I think he has a right.  This young husband is someone who has never shut his eyes to any of it.  He has consistently been denied entry into the U.S. because of his gender and place of origin so he can visit his fiancée’s parents and family.  After years, they sent her to return alone to Africa with their blessing. 

I get to see this couple on their wedding day, not her parents nor her four siblings, nor her nieces and nephews.  I am a witness to something.  I am a witness to something sincere, beautiful, and sacrificed for.  I get to see their lives and life together and how it is treated in this time and place.

I share that with you.  By God’s grace I will share that with her parents and siblings and those connected and interested someday.  Maybe in forever.  I may be a witness of them and how they live and who they are in forever.  I am a witness right now for them with each of you.

I sat on the simple bench next to them rocking that broken six year old that the local angels would never give up on, day and night now for over six years.  We worked together, he and I, to get his airway clear as we rocked.  His eyes tracked together to my face, my large hairy white face.  He was not afraid when focus came for him.  He was grateful. 

We rocked as the newlywed couple talked with the brave angel local ones.  We rocked, they talked.  I, as witness, to this time and place.  This grateful hopelessly broken little man fearlessly watching and listening, witnessing too. 

We are right about God you know.  For some indescribably loving reason God has given us God’s face, and forever is the plan for us.  Forever starts right now.  In a world so comfortable with death and death seeking on so many levels, literal, and so inventing of new levels to inflict death on, here is another life the angels in poverty would not, do not, will not, give up on. 

One six decades, one six years, both watching, both listening, both serving as witness to what people chose, choose.  As able we witness for today.  As able we witness for tomorrow, for forever.  Life is not inconvenience.  Life is worth the effort, the struggle, the loss of idolatry to our plans. 

That rocking, hopelessly broken, little man was grateful, comfortable, and fearlessly chose to fall asleep.  He was still asleep when I set him in the awaiting Manger of arms outstretched by another man, a local man, there to receive him for a time.  Proof that life is worth sacrifice. 

That hopelessly broken little man will have much to teach about love whenever he comes to speak his testimony, wherever he speaks, to whoever his grateful speech is given. 

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

This is but one type of need that we have in front of us all the time.  She of the unwilling tears, that will not be refused their expression, is an angel no doubt because she spares nothing of herself to maintain and cherish life.  That rocking, hopelessly broken, little man was grateful, comfortable, and fearlessly chose to fall asleep.  He was still asleep when I set him in the awaiting Manger of arms outstretched by another man, a local man, there to receive him for a time.  Proof that life is worth sacrifice. 

Witness to angels right here who we get to see.  We all know someone like them who came from heaven too. 

Keep it up..  It is indescribably hard..  It is beyond humbling..  It is vital, beautiful, and true..  thank you..

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

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:

..  Except for perhaps needing to drive to Kenya to cross the border and re-enter TZ every 90 days, the Visa stamp in our passports indicates current until 2024.  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 –

Moses Confort Home / Upendo School / Blue Sky School  -

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..  –

Us is not only Hilda and I but a growing circle of local folks.  Please imagine them too as you pray for ‘us’. -

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