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. 

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

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..

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

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.

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

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

 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.     

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

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.   

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

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. 

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

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.

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

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