Safety amidst Al-Shabaab

This post of Janel's originally appeared on everthinehome.com, and is gratefully reposted with permission.

It was early on a sunny Saturday afternoon, and I was herding my children across a busy street from the craft market we’d just strolled around extensively; for a blessed ten days out of the year, my parents were finally here, in Uganda. Missionaries throughout time haven’t had this luxury, and my family and I reveled in it, slaking our thirst for closeness. Grant it, after keeping track of four kids ducking into various craft stalls and bartering with locals for upwards of two hours, my wallet was not the only thing running on empty.

And that’s when I got the call from another expat friend of mine. Did you get the e-mail from the embassy this morning? She wanted to know. Her tone was urgent, strained. The Marines had called a government-employed friend three times that morning, stressing that the friend stay home. There wasn’t a lot of information, but go home. Go home now. It has never been like this before, my friend said. Do not leave home unless they give you the go ahead.

By this time I was shooing children in the van with barked commands, slamming the door, knocking the vehicle into gear. Already frazzled from an entire morning out, I swallowed as my parents perceived my obvious alarm. Navigating the erratic dangers of Kampala congestion for the—what would it be, 45 minutes home?—seemed now as a gauntlet between myself and safety. From what? Had ebola made it to Uganda? Just pray, I told my parents, unable to say more and already embarrassed by my clear lack of emotional control. Just pray. Maneuvering our way through the city, I attempted to collect myself and disclose what I knew more calmly to my kids, who had been eyeing me with obvious alarm.

When our compound’s gate was at last locked behind us, I started digging for information. An Al-Shabaab terrorist cell targeting Americans had been discovered in Kampala. (Given twin bombings four years ago by Al-Shabaab and the recent Westgate incident in Kenya, these threats were not empty.) We were advised to remain in place until the threat could be eliminated.

In the end, 19 suspected terrorists were in fact arrested in and around our city, in possession of at least two suicide vests and explosives. My family and I saw nothing. The sunlight streamed through our windows as we munched a fresh broccoli salad and leftovers, then popped in a DVD and played some Monopoly.

You see, despite the threats that most would associate with Africa, this threat was actually a first in my three years here. I feel fairly comfortable with my ability to pilot, say, my minivan in the urban crush of motorcycles and oblivious minibuses; I know how to treat malaria, schistosomiasis, amoebas; I jog around our neighborhood. I feel relatively safe in my city, perhaps because I’ve been shielded from common menaces like theft or police encounters. This event was unprecedented, and of course, nestled in that sweet window of time when one might like one’s parents to feel assured that their grandchildren are not imperiled.

But here’s the reality. In the Gospels, we see Jesus Christ striding calmly through a mob with stones curled in their hands and murder in their hearts. And we see Him handing himself over to a torch lit mob, a kiss from a friend evaporating on his cheek. In the fullness of time, Jesus’ death was part of His life, God’s written story for Him.

Truthfully, I could have been in the path of one of the tornadoes that trundled its twisted path through our U.S. state of origin last April, slaying fourteen. Perhaps it sounds trite or overused—but I am unquestionably safest in the center of my God’s will. My security is not dependent on my zip code or even the terrorist group bent on my countrymen’s demise. I could be ducking in a hail of gunfire in Afghanistan or sitting around my in-laws’ dining room table, and my story and safety are still cradled in the Life-Giver and -Taker’s hands, for His glory. And in this, I find deep comfort. For each of us calling Jesus Lord, “For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21). I relish my renewed safety and the efforts of officials to keep my family safe—and if someday that is no longer true, something tells me that when I set foot in Heaven, my mind won’t be fixated on that for too long.

How about it....? Kilimanjaro in 2015!

Join John to climb Kilimanjaro in February, and raise funds for the impoverished served through eMi East Africa! It's the experience of a lifetime. C'mon, you know you want to. Click here for more information!

Thanks for praying!

Here and there you've asked me about last Saturday, and the incredible opportunities there for this nation with such a history of brokenness and violence. Thank you so much for praying!

 

It was a very African day--as in the conference began approximately two hours late, and there was ululation and dancing and a lot of sitting and sweating! And we ate gravy with bread and fingers, rather than silverware, which shows you that I still have to adjust my cultural expectations after nearly three years in this country. (It was good!) I also was intrigued simply because I have never been in this sort of training where people responded that in conflict, they typically take it to their tribe's elders...another interesting cultural note, and one for which I have a great deal of respect. I have never been translated into Arabic before, and have never translated my PowerPoint, which is probably why its translation was so dubious.

 

All of the information--material which I love so much (thank you, Peacemakers!)--seemed to be well received, for which I am so grateful after having to hurriedly condense my notes and adjust my expectations on the length of African-sized discussion time. The discussion did go well—well, the ones I could keep, given the time limits. I can still see what I wish I would have spoken differently, and pretty much fell facedown on the bed in fatigue when I arrived home to my American house. I'm praying for God to somehow multiply what I was able to communicate.

 

One heart-rending e-mail expressed, I must confess that the session has made me understand how frequent i have caused pain to others even in silence. May God bless as you deliver his children. I am so grateful that God does continue to deliver us from ourselves--and may He continue to do this in sweeping waves for the people of Sudan.

All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself

and gave us the ministry of reconciliation.

2 Corinthians 5:18

Another way to pray: Bringing peace for Sudan

This past week has had a sobering note in the evenings, where I usually am cuddling up with a good book for a few minutes to dissolve some of the day's tension, a mzungu-sized, steaming mug of tea in my hand. The book this time is still riveting, and it's more than insightful. I'm reading a book about the Sudanese civil war, which has a history extending (to my surprise) a lot longer than my life. Considering so many of my students are Sudanese, this story of the Lost Boys is harrowing, sobering. It's hard to believe humanity has endured this, and inflicted this, on each other. I now look at my students with a renewed, compassionate curiosity. How much of this story is theirs? What true stories compose their past?

***

This past Thursday concluded what's become one of my most encouraging times at the refugee center: During the lunch break between my two Bible classes, it's been incredibly meaningful to conduct a training in peacemaking for the teachers. They have had so much insight and valuable discussion. This material never fails to amaze me in its ability to penetrate to our hearts, to the realities of what our hearts hold dear.

In fact, it keeps changing me each time I teach it. It's transformed my home, too. Our kids are different because of the principles we understand from the Word about conflict. When we're resolving a fight and I ask, "What are your choices here?", even the youngest can tell me he can "talk it out, get help, or overlook"--and that most likely, he's chosen to "attack" instead. He knows that in an argument, he has the chance to "glorify God, love others, and become more like Jesus." This amazes me.

The teachers from the refugee center have been tremendously responsive and even vulnerable. Watching God do this in our midst, and change our hearts like this, still stuns me. Even as I write, I shake my head in amazement.

It's leading to some other opportunities too, like training the refugee youth within the next couple of months.

And...this weekend, I've been very graciously invited to offer the training for a few hours at a conference of Sudanese women in Kampala. The theme: Peace, Justice, and Reconciliation. I am humbled that, particularly as I am just coming to understand the gravity of conflict in their past, God would use this material to continue His seeds of true peace for the Sudanese people.

Now, keep in mind that as my friend Scott says, if a mzungu walks into a surgery theatre and asks for the scalpel, it will most likely be handed over! So I am under no delusions of some great gifting bringing this about. But I do feel strongly that these truths have great power to penetrate people's souls. I want so much for these people for which my affection is blooming, and whose past is scarred with more violence, unrest, and loss than anything my mind can grasp.

If peace is to thrive in Sudan, it has to take root in the hearts of the Sudanese. It means creating a culture of true forgiveness and peace in homes and families. And there's only one Person who can make that happen. I long for God to take these "loaves and fish" and feed far more than I can see. Will you pray for my words and their hearts this weekend?

Thanks.

Guess what?!!

Drumroll, please: We are SO EXCITED to tell you that God has answered our prayers and waiting for the last 11 months: After our "final" work permit status granted last year that we appealed, we have been granted a THREE YEAR work permit!!

I am still in shock and utter delight over here. God has plans for us in Uganda! Thank you so much for standing with us in your prayers. We deeply miss our U.S. family and friends, but we are thrilled to have this future ahead of us here. He has done an incredible thing in our midst.

Please, praise God with us! And pray that we'll be 100% faithful to the opportunity He's giving us. We love these people, and we love this work He's doing.

Got a minute?

Author's note: This post originally appeared on everthinehome.com, and is gratefully used with permission.

There’s a saying here in Uganda: “Mzungus”—Westerners—“have watches; Africans have time.”
And it always makes me grin, because it’s so often true. One of my most-loved aspects of Africa remains the stretching, spacious time for relationships. Ancient rhythms of chatting while sorting beans, farming, sweeping, and walking find their modern counterparts even here in the city. My African friends talk about everything, or nothing at all; they joke, and relate lengthy, winding stories. They swap anecdotes over steaming cups of black tea with as many heaps of sugar as they can afford. It’s as if the whole continent expresses love through long, easy conversation.

Slowly, this has wiggled its way into my distinctly American DNA, too. My patience since arriving two and a half years ago has grown with every meandering chat, every friend who stops (often without calling) by my gate. I’ve learned to stop my car to speak with friends on our lane; to walk when I don’t have to drive in order to exchange greetings and snippets of conversation with our community. Their three-or-more part greeting process has become a natural part of my, yes, slightly slower-paced, margin-widened days.

It might sound tedious. And at times, it is. There are definitely a few zigzagging narratives through which I would love to find a convenient shortcut, and more than one rambling conversation has plopped itself in the middle of my mzungu time commitments, when I must resist glancing at my clock, blinking the seconds away.

And yet—it seems this is well-timed for my family and me. When I visited the U.S. recently, I was amazed by how the pace of American life had quickened even in our short span away from the continent—while my own stride had decelerated. I found myself wanting my children to be able to walk in step with American ways whenever God calls them back there…and yet, to carve out generous spaces to feed real, face-to-face relationships uninterrupted by headlines, tweets, status updates, or handheld devices. Personally, no matter in what zip code (or lack thereof) I live, I want to curl my feet beneath me on my back porch, truly listen to a friend, and be listened to. I want to consistently make time for people.

More importantly, as I age in my spirituality, I’m uncovering more and more that healthy, thriving depth of spirituality is found less in doing for God than it is being with God.[1] My Type-A cultural bent doesn’t foster natural environment for a rich, contemplative relationship with God to thrive. More often, I want to hand God a slot of my time and pat myself on the back for leaving Him some white space: “Here’s your time, God. GO!”

So, yes, I’m still learning these unhurried, attentive rhythms. Truth be told, I’m sure that most witnesses to my life would hardly describe it as “unhurried”! But in my relationships with people and with God, perhaps a little Africa is just what this mzungu needs.
 
[1] The author recommends this and further thoughts discussed in Scazzero, Peter. Emotionally Healthy Spirituality: Unleash a Revolution in Your Life in Christ. Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson (2006).

Would you pray?

I've told you a bit about the Bible class I teach at the local refugee center on Thursdays. We do crazy stuff: songs, drama, candy throwing, crossword puzzles, to hopefully engage them in these powerful truths. Over half of my students are of a different religion, and as I get to know them more--their stories, traditions, former occupations, beliefs--my heart longs for them to experience real freedom and healing, through Jesus.



Now, after nine months of laying the foundation of the Old Testament, and building relationships with them, today I'm sharing the Messianic prophecies with them. Next week, I'm hoping to show The Nativity Story. I am so energized to get to the heart of God's story with them, and for them! And the stakes, though completely in God's hands, feel high.

I'd love you to pray for my students, and also for me, that words may be given to me in opening my mouth boldly to proclaim the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador...that I may declare it boldly, as I ought to speak (Ephesians 6:19-20).

Thanks, friend.