10.12.09: DAY NINETY. Southampton, UK
Home. Everything is fresh and lovely. Every other sentence is, ‘I haven’t... for 3 months’. You need to pray for my crossing the road instincts – apparently stepping out into traffic is not safe here. Everything is quite normal, quite as I’ve always known it, but I have the lightest feeling of strangeness, like a sound in the distance you don’t notice until it’s gone.
The man at immigration announced to me, after several minutes of accusations (me trying to avoid offending him with as many ‘sebo’s as I could muster), that I had lied to get a police report/got my bag stolen just to avoid having to pay for another visa... and sent me through. Praise God. Apart from that the flight was uneventful and boring (except cackling uncontrollably through the latest Pixar film at 5 in the morning). But at least I’m home safe. As I said to Eric, “Things like this remind us we’re not really in control of our lives.” (He said, “I never feel in control.”)
Lost my photos, lost my journals, lost my notes. I'm not going to stop missing them. But thinking about it, most people in the history of the world, most people today, don’t have detailed records of everything in their lives. They use their memories. I’ve still got all those. I’m fine. Although the robbery made me really keen to get home, it’s not putting me off going back. I’m already dreaming about a couple of opportunities...
What makes a good story is that the main character not only does exciting things; they change. So I really hope I have (Tell me if you notice anything!) God’s shown me how passive I can be and how I need to fight for what I’m passionate about, or limit what he can do with me. And he’s pointed out that I try to do everything and cope with everything on my own, worrying that I’m a burden or an irritation to people. There’s some big things to work on! (Please pray for them)
So this is the end of my Ugandan story. If you’ve been reading, thanks for reading. If you’ve been praying, thank you so much for that. It’s made a lot of difference; that immigration guy could have sent me back to buy another visa with money I don’t have. I hope your lives are every bit as full as mine – I’m sure they are, or can be. I hope you have a fantastic Christmas. God hasn’t abandoned us, but come to live with us; what a great thing to celebrate! I think that’s good news for us all.
Love & shalom!
Friday 11 December 2009
Tuesday 8 December 2009
Days 83-88: Africa wins again
8.12.2009: DAY EIGHTY EIGHT. Eric's Office, the British High Commission.
I stopped eye-sieving the dead ground at the side of the road and slashed, African-style, against a wall. I said out loud, "Jesus. I'm looking forward to how you're going to sort this out. You owe me an explanation."
I should be arriving home in Southampton right about now. But I'm not. I'm sitting in the corner of Eric's office, waiting for the phone call that will tell me my new passport is ready. We was robbed.
YESTERDAY I sent Dad a text, 'All done. Packed. Just left Emmanuel's. Brian & Elspeth taking me for lunch then airport. Very nice! See you tomorrow morning!' We walked out of the restaurant, over to the car, and Brian said, "The car's open." Then I looked at the boot -both rucksacks gone. Um...
The armed Guard pretends not to understand, changes his story, but won't tell us anything. The guy from inside who pretends to be the Manager won't get anything out of him; starts telling us how things are often taken from that car park. I interrupt him, 'saying that doesn't help anything, does it? I asked you how you can employ someone and not be able to trust them.'
It takes me half the drive on to the church to realise that not only my passport, books, journals, work notes, and photos have gone; but the copies of my passport and visa. My flight is at 19:50. I can't leave.
Get to the church and Eric rings. He works at the passport place. There's hope. "You need to get a police report. And two passport photos (Oh- those were in the rucksack as well). And 411,000 for a new passport. (Good grief) And if you come after 4, they will charge you for every hour you keep them - it's 3 now; postpone your flight and come tomorrow." I'm not going home. I want to go home. I'm stuck here. I hope Brian has enough money.
There's a lot of praying in the hope that the two bags will somehow appear. They are bright red and bright orange, after all. We go back and pick over the area before going to the police shed. At least that goes straight forward.
I'm slowly coming out of shock as we drive to Garden City for the photos. Getting used to the idea. Trying to see the positive side. Because I believe there must be one. "In all things he works for the good of those who love him", Elsepth remembers. My new passport photos look pretty good. We see a PINK PINEAPPLE in the car park. We have an affogato and watch the light shift over the city through christmas bunting, and it tastes good (I heave my suitcase up the stairs. Once bitten, twice shy. Could have done with a bit of OCD two hours ago). Someone tries to scam us (we think), and so we wrestle with the old question of giving once again. And Brian tells us how Richard has come up with a new acronym. You've heard of 'TIA', right (brew)? "This is Africa". Well how about 'AWA'? "Africa Wins Again".
SUNDAY
We didn't finish friday so we agreed to have our dress rehearsal after the service. No one brought their costumes. I rang Rose and she was at home - 'I'll be 30 minutes.' '30 minutes?' 'I'm in Bukasa'... Was she going to wait until I phoned? Turn round and discover Judith has gone home. I just told her not to leave. When they all finally arrive I actually tell them all off and make it a teaching point. 'When you're late you mess everyone else about', 'You must communicate with people', 'Dress rehearsal means exactly like performance'. Someone manages to completely ignore me directly asking them questions for 30 seconds, before I give up on the point of despair. I march across the room, bend my knees, and point both hands at the floor. Ssttaanndd hheerree!! I get Felix to lead the warm up. They must hate me. I make them all smile, like 5 year olds. The (non)dress rehearsal is a total drag. I go round Eric's for lunch an hour and a half late.
Guess what? Someone else came 45 minutes late for the warm up. I kept the MCs flapping for 10 minutes making sure the cast were as psyched as I could get them. And they did well... they just about kept going, through the worst series of technical problems I have ever seen.
I specifically arranged with the technical guys that we would use the two sockets on the back of the stage for our lights. We rehearsed the stage set up that afternoon, and rehearsed with the lights in place. But how could it be so easy for the technical guys to stick an extension lead in one socket and wreck everything? Here comes the key moment, where Jesus appears to Paul in a blinding light; where we flick the switch for the main lights off and the spotlight on... and we have complete darkness. 30 kids scream. They think it's a power cut. None of the actors knows what to do. The main lights come on again. Off again. On again. Every time a scream. Finally the spot appears, actors scrabbling round to their places. It looks beautiful. But then we're back to chaos. The mics bang, hum, crackle and fizz; random people tell other random people to go and fiddle the normal lights on; the actors muddle through. And then we have the spotlight switch again at the end. It goes just as badly; it looks just as beautiful. I clap them off as they applaud the wall instead of the sound desk (not deliberately), and there is a bare scatter of other applause. Africa Wins Again.
SATURDAY was great. I went to bed after midnight as we get caught in a great Denzel Washington film about a black university debating society in 30s America. Some scenes that made me feel quite ashamed as a white man in a black room. Reminded me again of the wonder, the power, the importance of story & drama. Why we do it.
Had a great time with Eric, and the waters of the Nile. It smells funny but it feels so good. Forget my perforated eardrum. Swimming was beautiful, flipping out in the rapids was incredible. The yuppies reminded me I'm in for a culture shock when I get home. And Eric told me something which summed up the choice of the christian nutter: "Jesus doesn't necessarily shield us from the consequences of radically following him. If we give our money away, we may have to miss meals. If we tell people the good news, we may get kicked out of school. If we go to the warzone, we may get killed. If we follow Jesus, Satan will attack us. He can mess us up. But we should still do these things. Because the reward of following Jesus is not his protection, his provision, or his gifts - though he gives us all three. The reward is Jesus himself."
So this morning I thanked Jesus that something I've been doing has made me worthy of having my bags taken. And I remember that the battle is never finished - Satan doesn't respect our holidays, when we think 'now my work is done and I can just go home'. And I remember I need to be weaned off my posessions anyway. And I realise that if Brian and Elspeth hadn't had their flight postponed a day, there would have been no money and no way to get home. And I thank God that Eric is best mates with the guy who gives passports and is just about to deliver mine. This isn't the way I wanted to get home, but God's still made it all okay. Africa strikes, but God Wins Again.
Tim
I stopped eye-sieving the dead ground at the side of the road and slashed, African-style, against a wall. I said out loud, "Jesus. I'm looking forward to how you're going to sort this out. You owe me an explanation."
I should be arriving home in Southampton right about now. But I'm not. I'm sitting in the corner of Eric's office, waiting for the phone call that will tell me my new passport is ready. We was robbed.
YESTERDAY I sent Dad a text, 'All done. Packed. Just left Emmanuel's. Brian & Elspeth taking me for lunch then airport. Very nice! See you tomorrow morning!' We walked out of the restaurant, over to the car, and Brian said, "The car's open." Then I looked at the boot -both rucksacks gone. Um...
The armed Guard pretends not to understand, changes his story, but won't tell us anything. The guy from inside who pretends to be the Manager won't get anything out of him; starts telling us how things are often taken from that car park. I interrupt him, 'saying that doesn't help anything, does it? I asked you how you can employ someone and not be able to trust them.'
It takes me half the drive on to the church to realise that not only my passport, books, journals, work notes, and photos have gone; but the copies of my passport and visa. My flight is at 19:50. I can't leave.
Get to the church and Eric rings. He works at the passport place. There's hope. "You need to get a police report. And two passport photos (Oh- those were in the rucksack as well). And 411,000 for a new passport. (Good grief) And if you come after 4, they will charge you for every hour you keep them - it's 3 now; postpone your flight and come tomorrow." I'm not going home. I want to go home. I'm stuck here. I hope Brian has enough money.
There's a lot of praying in the hope that the two bags will somehow appear. They are bright red and bright orange, after all. We go back and pick over the area before going to the police shed. At least that goes straight forward.
I'm slowly coming out of shock as we drive to Garden City for the photos. Getting used to the idea. Trying to see the positive side. Because I believe there must be one. "In all things he works for the good of those who love him", Elsepth remembers. My new passport photos look pretty good. We see a PINK PINEAPPLE in the car park. We have an affogato and watch the light shift over the city through christmas bunting, and it tastes good (I heave my suitcase up the stairs. Once bitten, twice shy. Could have done with a bit of OCD two hours ago). Someone tries to scam us (we think), and so we wrestle with the old question of giving once again. And Brian tells us how Richard has come up with a new acronym. You've heard of 'TIA', right (brew)? "This is Africa". Well how about 'AWA'? "Africa Wins Again".
SUNDAY
We didn't finish friday so we agreed to have our dress rehearsal after the service. No one brought their costumes. I rang Rose and she was at home - 'I'll be 30 minutes.' '30 minutes?' 'I'm in Bukasa'... Was she going to wait until I phoned? Turn round and discover Judith has gone home. I just told her not to leave. When they all finally arrive I actually tell them all off and make it a teaching point. 'When you're late you mess everyone else about', 'You must communicate with people', 'Dress rehearsal means exactly like performance'. Someone manages to completely ignore me directly asking them questions for 30 seconds, before I give up on the point of despair. I march across the room, bend my knees, and point both hands at the floor. Ssttaanndd hheerree!! I get Felix to lead the warm up. They must hate me. I make them all smile, like 5 year olds. The (non)dress rehearsal is a total drag. I go round Eric's for lunch an hour and a half late.
Guess what? Someone else came 45 minutes late for the warm up. I kept the MCs flapping for 10 minutes making sure the cast were as psyched as I could get them. And they did well... they just about kept going, through the worst series of technical problems I have ever seen.
I specifically arranged with the technical guys that we would use the two sockets on the back of the stage for our lights. We rehearsed the stage set up that afternoon, and rehearsed with the lights in place. But how could it be so easy for the technical guys to stick an extension lead in one socket and wreck everything? Here comes the key moment, where Jesus appears to Paul in a blinding light; where we flick the switch for the main lights off and the spotlight on... and we have complete darkness. 30 kids scream. They think it's a power cut. None of the actors knows what to do. The main lights come on again. Off again. On again. Every time a scream. Finally the spot appears, actors scrabbling round to their places. It looks beautiful. But then we're back to chaos. The mics bang, hum, crackle and fizz; random people tell other random people to go and fiddle the normal lights on; the actors muddle through. And then we have the spotlight switch again at the end. It goes just as badly; it looks just as beautiful. I clap them off as they applaud the wall instead of the sound desk (not deliberately), and there is a bare scatter of other applause. Africa Wins Again.
SATURDAY was great. I went to bed after midnight as we get caught in a great Denzel Washington film about a black university debating society in 30s America. Some scenes that made me feel quite ashamed as a white man in a black room. Reminded me again of the wonder, the power, the importance of story & drama. Why we do it.
Had a great time with Eric, and the waters of the Nile. It smells funny but it feels so good. Forget my perforated eardrum. Swimming was beautiful, flipping out in the rapids was incredible. The yuppies reminded me I'm in for a culture shock when I get home. And Eric told me something which summed up the choice of the christian nutter: "Jesus doesn't necessarily shield us from the consequences of radically following him. If we give our money away, we may have to miss meals. If we tell people the good news, we may get kicked out of school. If we go to the warzone, we may get killed. If we follow Jesus, Satan will attack us. He can mess us up. But we should still do these things. Because the reward of following Jesus is not his protection, his provision, or his gifts - though he gives us all three. The reward is Jesus himself."
So this morning I thanked Jesus that something I've been doing has made me worthy of having my bags taken. And I remember that the battle is never finished - Satan doesn't respect our holidays, when we think 'now my work is done and I can just go home'. And I remember I need to be weaned off my posessions anyway. And I realise that if Brian and Elspeth hadn't had their flight postponed a day, there would have been no money and no way to get home. And I thank God that Eric is best mates with the guy who gives passports and is just about to deliver mine. This isn't the way I wanted to get home, but God's still made it all okay. Africa strikes, but God Wins Again.
Tim
Wednesday 2 December 2009
Days 72-82: Snapshots from the race of life
22.11.09: DAY SEVENTY TWO.
God’s answer to yesterday’s email, this morning, in church: “Want to be radical? The answer is in me. The answer is me. The answer is to love me, to keep me no.1; in everything to consider my opinion, to decide to do what might most please me. Stop worrying about how your life looks to you; just engage with me.”
27.11.09: DAY SEVENTY SEVEN. 11am
The boys are playing football on the lawn in front of me. School’s out. And I’m off after a ‘serious’ (Ugandan English) week. Racing the dawn to rehearse the groups at the school, for performances at their final assemblies yesterday. Now I remember why I do this drama stuff. Goodbyes are great for finding out what people were actually thinking.
It’s life, so it hasn’t all been easy or delightful, but here’s a sprinkling of lovely moments:
-watching the four lads faces crack as we did the penguin song together (probably the most embarrassing action song ever created)
-Jacob introducing me at the Makerere CU, getting the whole chapel (including me) leaping around screaming ‘hallelujah’, and then leaving me to preach!
-chatting to Gloria in the slum as she draws nearer to Jesus. (You know you’re made for something when it energises you. 2 hours of serious questions and I bounced home!)
-a good long phonecall from home after a very trying rehearsal
-two full-sky rainbows
-listening to the God Story, scrubbing my undies in the twilight
…and of course the biggest adventure of the lot, trying to run the MTN Kampala Marathon (10k). Firstly, I now have so much respect for all you guys who keep asking me to sponsor you to run half marathons. That’s twice what I did last Saturday. That’s insane. Sure, I didn’t do proper training, the altitude has an effect, and Kampala is famously built on 7 HILLS… but basically, I didn’t make it.
Why would you put the biggest hill right at the end? I stopped and sat down was because I felt my head swimming; the old sign that I was passing out with dehydration. I begged water from some other runner and downed 3 sachets of ‘blackcurrant flavour’ sugar salt stuff, walked to the top of the hill and then hobble-jogged the last ‘k’ or so.
What made it actually a great experience was going with Isaac, Emma and Jude. Scrabbling together something to wear with 30 minutes ‘til the starting gun; stretching in the back of the pick up on the way down; trading stories at the end (Emma made the first 100, Jude stayed with him for the first 2k, then went ‘oh’, and mostly walked the rest).
And above all, I will remember Isaac running slowly with me, telling me stories, taking pictures, giving encouraging tips. He showed what he could have done by asking to sprint the last straight - ‘Of course’ – he practically boinged through the crowd. He came in the top 40 last year without training. And if he hadn’t run with me, I don’t know how I could have done it. It certainly would have been no fun at all. Thank you Isaac, and thank you Jesus! You know what I need.
9.17pm
Another great time with the Button family. Ended up watching Peter & Paul, an adaptation of the Bible book called Acts, starring Anthony Hopkins (amazing) as Paul. Fascinating. I’m getting well into this stuff. Really turns me on. Bible adaptation. Yeah. It’s point 2 on my ‘life goals’ after all. Also love Paul. What a legend. Bit of a hero. Another clue about who I am and want to be. The commission from Matthew 10 is my commission. To preach, minister, and plant. Just got to find the forum – my equivalent to the synagogue, the areopagus and the street. Then go change the world.
30.11.09: DAY EIGHTY.
Looking back, it’s hard to see what I’ve achieved out here. Okay, the evangelism adventures [2.12.09 – another guy gave himself to Jesus this lunchtime!] and clarification of my life direction are invaluable, but the drama work, while stretching, leaves me feeling a bit hollow. I can’t see what I’ve really achieved – we’ve produced some sloppy, uninspiring drama, and worked some kids hard. I’m not confident it will be continued – I’ve not managed to train group leaders. I’ve been enduring and serving faithfully, dutifully, rather than passionately leading people into growth and vision. I’ve been moulded by circumstances rather than on top of them – in reality and in my psychology. And the truth is, because most of the people in the word live by reacting to circumstances, the world makes room for proactive people.
I’ve also, I discover, missed the chance to get mentored by Pastor Milton. It sounds vaguely familiar an idea but he certainly hasn’t done it. I’ve mulled over stuff in these writings but not talked to anyone about them, so got no light/perspective/challenge. I think I’m hosting a spirit of independence, ‘I can do this myself’, that is stopping me humbly asking these mature people around me for help, wisdom, advice; to talk things through. Why? Not wanting to be a burden (that lie – God save me); and also no sense of ‘Help!’ I’ve just been doing my bit and then switching off. Heart not it. Mostly. That really sucks. Maybe this is an underlying root of negativity in my life, wider than just this trip. Help me Jesus. Save me from myself.
27.11.09: DAY SEVENTY SEVEN. 11am
Saturday made me realize why the New Testament often uses the image of running a race as a metaphor for life. It’s spot on. I remembered the Bible passage from my parents’ wedding: ‘Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up! Again, if two lie together, they keep warm, but how can one keep warm alone? And though a man might prevail against one who is alone, two will withstand him – a threefold cord is not quickly broken.’ (Ecclesiastes 4.9-12)
I had quite a ‘moment’ coming down the closing straight between flocked barriers, longing to see a loved one waiting for me beyond the finishing gate… and suddenly remembering that when I finish my race of life, I will see Jesus standing with open arms and two little words which somehow add up to far more than everything it cost to get there. ‘Well done. Well done.’
Final performance sunday night, still a long way to go. Please pray. Also safety when rafting saturday. And a good home straight.
Love and peace,Tim
God’s answer to yesterday’s email, this morning, in church: “Want to be radical? The answer is in me. The answer is me. The answer is to love me, to keep me no.1; in everything to consider my opinion, to decide to do what might most please me. Stop worrying about how your life looks to you; just engage with me.”
27.11.09: DAY SEVENTY SEVEN. 11am
The boys are playing football on the lawn in front of me. School’s out. And I’m off after a ‘serious’ (Ugandan English) week. Racing the dawn to rehearse the groups at the school, for performances at their final assemblies yesterday. Now I remember why I do this drama stuff. Goodbyes are great for finding out what people were actually thinking.
It’s life, so it hasn’t all been easy or delightful, but here’s a sprinkling of lovely moments:
-watching the four lads faces crack as we did the penguin song together (probably the most embarrassing action song ever created)
-Jacob introducing me at the Makerere CU, getting the whole chapel (including me) leaping around screaming ‘hallelujah’, and then leaving me to preach!
-chatting to Gloria in the slum as she draws nearer to Jesus. (You know you’re made for something when it energises you. 2 hours of serious questions and I bounced home!)
-a good long phonecall from home after a very trying rehearsal
-two full-sky rainbows
-listening to the God Story, scrubbing my undies in the twilight
…and of course the biggest adventure of the lot, trying to run the MTN Kampala Marathon (10k). Firstly, I now have so much respect for all you guys who keep asking me to sponsor you to run half marathons. That’s twice what I did last Saturday. That’s insane. Sure, I didn’t do proper training, the altitude has an effect, and Kampala is famously built on 7 HILLS… but basically, I didn’t make it.
Why would you put the biggest hill right at the end? I stopped and sat down was because I felt my head swimming; the old sign that I was passing out with dehydration. I begged water from some other runner and downed 3 sachets of ‘blackcurrant flavour’ sugar salt stuff, walked to the top of the hill and then hobble-jogged the last ‘k’ or so.
What made it actually a great experience was going with Isaac, Emma and Jude. Scrabbling together something to wear with 30 minutes ‘til the starting gun; stretching in the back of the pick up on the way down; trading stories at the end (Emma made the first 100, Jude stayed with him for the first 2k, then went ‘oh’, and mostly walked the rest).
And above all, I will remember Isaac running slowly with me, telling me stories, taking pictures, giving encouraging tips. He showed what he could have done by asking to sprint the last straight - ‘Of course’ – he practically boinged through the crowd. He came in the top 40 last year without training. And if he hadn’t run with me, I don’t know how I could have done it. It certainly would have been no fun at all. Thank you Isaac, and thank you Jesus! You know what I need.
9.17pm
Another great time with the Button family. Ended up watching Peter & Paul, an adaptation of the Bible book called Acts, starring Anthony Hopkins (amazing) as Paul. Fascinating. I’m getting well into this stuff. Really turns me on. Bible adaptation. Yeah. It’s point 2 on my ‘life goals’ after all. Also love Paul. What a legend. Bit of a hero. Another clue about who I am and want to be. The commission from Matthew 10 is my commission. To preach, minister, and plant. Just got to find the forum – my equivalent to the synagogue, the areopagus and the street. Then go change the world.
30.11.09: DAY EIGHTY.
Looking back, it’s hard to see what I’ve achieved out here. Okay, the evangelism adventures [2.12.09 – another guy gave himself to Jesus this lunchtime!] and clarification of my life direction are invaluable, but the drama work, while stretching, leaves me feeling a bit hollow. I can’t see what I’ve really achieved – we’ve produced some sloppy, uninspiring drama, and worked some kids hard. I’m not confident it will be continued – I’ve not managed to train group leaders. I’ve been enduring and serving faithfully, dutifully, rather than passionately leading people into growth and vision. I’ve been moulded by circumstances rather than on top of them – in reality and in my psychology. And the truth is, because most of the people in the word live by reacting to circumstances, the world makes room for proactive people.
I’ve also, I discover, missed the chance to get mentored by Pastor Milton. It sounds vaguely familiar an idea but he certainly hasn’t done it. I’ve mulled over stuff in these writings but not talked to anyone about them, so got no light/perspective/challenge. I think I’m hosting a spirit of independence, ‘I can do this myself’, that is stopping me humbly asking these mature people around me for help, wisdom, advice; to talk things through. Why? Not wanting to be a burden (that lie – God save me); and also no sense of ‘Help!’ I’ve just been doing my bit and then switching off. Heart not it. Mostly. That really sucks. Maybe this is an underlying root of negativity in my life, wider than just this trip. Help me Jesus. Save me from myself.
27.11.09: DAY SEVENTY SEVEN. 11am
Saturday made me realize why the New Testament often uses the image of running a race as a metaphor for life. It’s spot on. I remembered the Bible passage from my parents’ wedding: ‘Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up! Again, if two lie together, they keep warm, but how can one keep warm alone? And though a man might prevail against one who is alone, two will withstand him – a threefold cord is not quickly broken.’ (Ecclesiastes 4.9-12)
I had quite a ‘moment’ coming down the closing straight between flocked barriers, longing to see a loved one waiting for me beyond the finishing gate… and suddenly remembering that when I finish my race of life, I will see Jesus standing with open arms and two little words which somehow add up to far more than everything it cost to get there. ‘Well done. Well done.’
Final performance sunday night, still a long way to go. Please pray. Also safety when rafting saturday. And a good home straight.
Love and peace,Tim
Saturday 21 November 2009
Days 59-71: Going crazy
21.11.09: DAY SEVENTY ONE. Chewing sugar cane.
I’m remembering the night Eric came over. The night we hunted the rat, hopelessly flapping sandals round the house until Emmanuel and Jane double teamed it with a walking stick and one of those woven baskets which may be used for sorting grain. Proper warrior stances and everything in their dress and shorts.
Talking to Eric in the taxi raised a question that I’ve lived with for a long time. Should I be a nutter? I’m frequently conscious of how my life falls short of Jesus, and even other Christians. If I really believe ‘with God, all things are possible’, why don’t I take advantage of it, and solidly do impossible things? Sell all I have and give it to the poor… tell everyone I meet about Jesus… go and pray for disabled beggars and see Jesus heal them… What really makes my head explode is when I hear people talk about regularly missing sleep so they can do more things to follow God. Eric has a high powered city job (with frequent foreign travel), a one year old son, 8 dependants, and leads the Worship, Evangelism and Youth work at church. And last Saturday, I discovered he’s also doing a Masters degree. HOW?!
Every night he goes to bed at, say, 10. Sleeps 3 hours. Gets up. Prays. Studies for university. Goes back to bed at 3am, sleeps until 6. Gets up, goes to work. Every day. That’s so he can have every evening free to work at the church. What?! I’ve had loads of advice over the years about keeping a balanced lifestyle, not doing to much, taking too much on, keeping my days off, doing some exercise, treating myself every once in a while… But Eric has some SERIOUS callings from God. We’re talking international revival. We’re talking multiple war torn Muslim countries transformed by Jesus. I don’t think I’m ever going to quite get there. But Emma suggested to me this week that the more we hunger for God, the more we’ll get him. The more we give our lives to him, the more we’ll find life in him. I think he’s right. So what does that mean for me?
15.11.09: DAY SIXTY FIVE. Eric’s, 10.05pm
I don’t know what’s going on. At the service this morning I felt provoked to give all my cash to the offering and trust God would provide some to get me home. After a struggle I went for it, shook out my wallet and trusted God.
16.11.09: DAY SIXTY SIX. 7.55am, Eric’s porch. (Supper was served, and there was a good film on TV…)
Back to the story. My other thought was that if God didn’t provide the money, I could stay overnight and go back tomorrow with Brian. Now I see that also includes a provision- the offer to stay. So without either I’d be screwed.
It all started from reading a book (you can’t be too careful…); the biography of a guy called Hudson Taylor. When he was younger than me, and without any dramatic or incontestable direction from God, he began putting himself in situations where God would have to provide for his needs or else he’d not be able to pay his rent, or starve. He didn’t tell anyone he was in need, just relied on God to get him the money when he needed it. He did it to test himself, to make himself ready for the big things God had called him to do. I’ve been feeling confident enough in Jesus to try this, too. I know I need to put myself to the test before some bigger steps of relying on God I can see in the future. Plus, I do long to push the envelope in following Jesus.
So the day went on: the service finished, people chatted around; I was invited over here for lunch as usual; we had our rehearsal. All went well, but with me frequently remembering (strange feeling) that my wallet is empty and that bar a miracle, I can’t get home. I keep reminding myself of God’s goodness, love for me, the ease with which he can provide 60p (my taxi fare home). I keep guessing how it’s going to come – probably right at the end of my day, after drama, when I’d normally be catching a taxi. Drama ends and I walk home with Ezekiel, here. Sit and chat. Take tea. Enjoy giving away a banana (did you see that, Father?) Nice time… and every minute or so I’m scrambling under my breath ‘help me Jesus’. It’s getting later and later. Nearly 8, with 1½ hr trip home. Send an ‘I’ll be late’ text to Brian. Still nothing happens.
And I give up. I tell God, ‘if you don’t get me the money by 8, I’m asking someone for it and going home. I can’t go any later.’ I’ve realised I’m sort of imposing myself on Eric and I’ve no invitation to stay. 8 passes, and I’ve decided Ezekiel’s the guy who will have 2000 shillings and who I feel okay asking to borrow from. He’s in the shower. 8.20, he’s out. I go ask. He’s very cool about it. I make to leave, and Eric invites me to stay over. Just as I give up and beg the money myself.
Now I don’t know what to do. Should I stay or should I go? Is this the answer to prayer, God’s intention, his better plan for me than getting the money? By now though, I’m thinking I want to get home for food, work, toothbrush, anti-malarials… So I decline, go out and try to catch a taxi, still in two minds. After 5-10 minutes of no taxis- which shows it was late and made travelling seem even less wise, Joel comes home and says ‘why don’t you stay over. It won’t be safe to travel.’ Okay lord.
It was actually a good night, and a good-
12.35pm. La Bonita theatre, town. (I got called for some good African tea and ended up watching 2 hours of Arsenal’s unbeaten 2003/4 season! Brilliant. Then just as I go, Emma says, ‘why don’t we got to the Miracle Centre lunch hour?...’)
-morning too – as you see. It’s been nothing dramatic, to say it’s DEFINITELY GOD’S WILL, but it has all come together quite nicely.
8.30pm. Back to mine.
The conclusion: live by faith, follow God, and say goodbye to your nicely ordered life. On one hand, being open to God’s alternative plans for your day, your life, is the gateway to ‘life in all its fullness’, ‘life that is truly life’. But it also includes that slept-over-after-a-party feeling, with a heavy cold, and hunger like you get when all that separates you from yesterday’s dinner is a small white roll. Plus a lot of ‘what the hell is going on?’
I’m still not sure what God’s saying though. Was giving all my money the right decision? Or should I hold back and provide for myself? I don’t feel the second option is right, but I also feel impressed that, while I should move boldly forward without waiting to have all the cash I need, I should also diligently seek provision as I do such things. I’m also reminded of the axiom ‘the need does not constitute the call’. Just because something radical could be done, doesn’t necessarily mean I should do it, at the moment. The Spirit will lead me step by step, at the pace I can take. So I’m going to be a nutter. But not an insomniac. Not yet.
A couple of crazy things I’m doing tomorrow that could use your prayers:
- running the Kampala Marathon 10k without registering, no training, walking trainers and a bacterial chest cold.
- preaching to the Makerere Main CU – and trying to bring a challenge!
Also, 4 productions coming to perform in the next two weeks.
And; today I got some great news which makes my decision about what I will do in January even harder. I need to hear God!
Shalom (think it sounds cool? check out everything it means!),
Tim
I’m remembering the night Eric came over. The night we hunted the rat, hopelessly flapping sandals round the house until Emmanuel and Jane double teamed it with a walking stick and one of those woven baskets which may be used for sorting grain. Proper warrior stances and everything in their dress and shorts.
Talking to Eric in the taxi raised a question that I’ve lived with for a long time. Should I be a nutter? I’m frequently conscious of how my life falls short of Jesus, and even other Christians. If I really believe ‘with God, all things are possible’, why don’t I take advantage of it, and solidly do impossible things? Sell all I have and give it to the poor… tell everyone I meet about Jesus… go and pray for disabled beggars and see Jesus heal them… What really makes my head explode is when I hear people talk about regularly missing sleep so they can do more things to follow God. Eric has a high powered city job (with frequent foreign travel), a one year old son, 8 dependants, and leads the Worship, Evangelism and Youth work at church. And last Saturday, I discovered he’s also doing a Masters degree. HOW?!
Every night he goes to bed at, say, 10. Sleeps 3 hours. Gets up. Prays. Studies for university. Goes back to bed at 3am, sleeps until 6. Gets up, goes to work. Every day. That’s so he can have every evening free to work at the church. What?! I’ve had loads of advice over the years about keeping a balanced lifestyle, not doing to much, taking too much on, keeping my days off, doing some exercise, treating myself every once in a while… But Eric has some SERIOUS callings from God. We’re talking international revival. We’re talking multiple war torn Muslim countries transformed by Jesus. I don’t think I’m ever going to quite get there. But Emma suggested to me this week that the more we hunger for God, the more we’ll get him. The more we give our lives to him, the more we’ll find life in him. I think he’s right. So what does that mean for me?
15.11.09: DAY SIXTY FIVE. Eric’s, 10.05pm
I don’t know what’s going on. At the service this morning I felt provoked to give all my cash to the offering and trust God would provide some to get me home. After a struggle I went for it, shook out my wallet and trusted God.
16.11.09: DAY SIXTY SIX. 7.55am, Eric’s porch. (Supper was served, and there was a good film on TV…)
Back to the story. My other thought was that if God didn’t provide the money, I could stay overnight and go back tomorrow with Brian. Now I see that also includes a provision- the offer to stay. So without either I’d be screwed.
It all started from reading a book (you can’t be too careful…); the biography of a guy called Hudson Taylor. When he was younger than me, and without any dramatic or incontestable direction from God, he began putting himself in situations where God would have to provide for his needs or else he’d not be able to pay his rent, or starve. He didn’t tell anyone he was in need, just relied on God to get him the money when he needed it. He did it to test himself, to make himself ready for the big things God had called him to do. I’ve been feeling confident enough in Jesus to try this, too. I know I need to put myself to the test before some bigger steps of relying on God I can see in the future. Plus, I do long to push the envelope in following Jesus.
So the day went on: the service finished, people chatted around; I was invited over here for lunch as usual; we had our rehearsal. All went well, but with me frequently remembering (strange feeling) that my wallet is empty and that bar a miracle, I can’t get home. I keep reminding myself of God’s goodness, love for me, the ease with which he can provide 60p (my taxi fare home). I keep guessing how it’s going to come – probably right at the end of my day, after drama, when I’d normally be catching a taxi. Drama ends and I walk home with Ezekiel, here. Sit and chat. Take tea. Enjoy giving away a banana (did you see that, Father?) Nice time… and every minute or so I’m scrambling under my breath ‘help me Jesus’. It’s getting later and later. Nearly 8, with 1½ hr trip home. Send an ‘I’ll be late’ text to Brian. Still nothing happens.
And I give up. I tell God, ‘if you don’t get me the money by 8, I’m asking someone for it and going home. I can’t go any later.’ I’ve realised I’m sort of imposing myself on Eric and I’ve no invitation to stay. 8 passes, and I’ve decided Ezekiel’s the guy who will have 2000 shillings and who I feel okay asking to borrow from. He’s in the shower. 8.20, he’s out. I go ask. He’s very cool about it. I make to leave, and Eric invites me to stay over. Just as I give up and beg the money myself.
Now I don’t know what to do. Should I stay or should I go? Is this the answer to prayer, God’s intention, his better plan for me than getting the money? By now though, I’m thinking I want to get home for food, work, toothbrush, anti-malarials… So I decline, go out and try to catch a taxi, still in two minds. After 5-10 minutes of no taxis- which shows it was late and made travelling seem even less wise, Joel comes home and says ‘why don’t you stay over. It won’t be safe to travel.’ Okay lord.
It was actually a good night, and a good-
12.35pm. La Bonita theatre, town. (I got called for some good African tea and ended up watching 2 hours of Arsenal’s unbeaten 2003/4 season! Brilliant. Then just as I go, Emma says, ‘why don’t we got to the Miracle Centre lunch hour?...’)
-morning too – as you see. It’s been nothing dramatic, to say it’s DEFINITELY GOD’S WILL, but it has all come together quite nicely.
8.30pm. Back to mine.
The conclusion: live by faith, follow God, and say goodbye to your nicely ordered life. On one hand, being open to God’s alternative plans for your day, your life, is the gateway to ‘life in all its fullness’, ‘life that is truly life’. But it also includes that slept-over-after-a-party feeling, with a heavy cold, and hunger like you get when all that separates you from yesterday’s dinner is a small white roll. Plus a lot of ‘what the hell is going on?’
I’m still not sure what God’s saying though. Was giving all my money the right decision? Or should I hold back and provide for myself? I don’t feel the second option is right, but I also feel impressed that, while I should move boldly forward without waiting to have all the cash I need, I should also diligently seek provision as I do such things. I’m also reminded of the axiom ‘the need does not constitute the call’. Just because something radical could be done, doesn’t necessarily mean I should do it, at the moment. The Spirit will lead me step by step, at the pace I can take. So I’m going to be a nutter. But not an insomniac. Not yet.
A couple of crazy things I’m doing tomorrow that could use your prayers:
- running the Kampala Marathon 10k without registering, no training, walking trainers and a bacterial chest cold.
- preaching to the Makerere Main CU – and trying to bring a challenge!
Also, 4 productions coming to perform in the next two weeks.
And; today I got some great news which makes my decision about what I will do in January even harder. I need to hear God!
Shalom (think it sounds cool? check out everything it means!),
Tim
Thursday 12 November 2009
Days 53-58: The chicken at the end of the world
8.11.09: DAY FIFTY EIGHT. Taxi stage, Iganga.
I am sat on a chicken. My chicken. Just when I thought they couldn’t be any more good to me, Ezekiel and Florence send me on my way with a cockerel, a loaf of bread, and pay my taxi fare. I don’t understand how people can be so good. Culture doesn’t cover it. I’m pretty sure I don’t deserve it. They live in a concrete shell without power or running water. They just paid out a fortune to put on a massive Introduction for their daughter, with hundreds of guests. And another thing: amid the mayhem that would have certainly given me ulcers, Ezekiel remained cheerful and attentive to every guest. He was concerned with my transport arrangements, comfort and enjoyment… and he barely knows me! I kept treading lightly, not wanting to burden, but he was a picture of affability the whole weekend, even when his wallet disappeared. They even outdid me in expressing gratitude for my visiting them! I was cynical last time about Ezekiel stealing our schedule, but now I think he might have just been looking after us.
Still, I’m glad to be moving on. I got to a point last night, after the groom’s party arrived 4 hours late, trying to help with abrupt young men slamming pavilion poles around me, when I thought, ‘I’ve had as much culture as I can take.’ [I’ve been sat on this taxi for an hour, and we’re literally just pulling away] Yesterday reminds me how proud, judgemental and anti social I am. I once heard the phrase ‘an iceberg with social skills’. Interesting.
I asked a guy how he copes with waiting so long at functions like this. When I got him to stop guessing what I was saying, giving completely random answers, and repeated my question more clearly, he said, ‘We listen to the music. Maybe dance. We enjoy it.’ And a couple of minutes later they did dance. Some of the church choir jumped up and began gyrating to the house music, and a moment later my companion had begged a girl’s headscarf and was whisking hips with the best of them. Fantastic. It happened a couple of times over half an hour, then back to sitting around waiting; no sign that the DJ, vicar, schoolmistress, had it in them. It’s like the openness and sociability you sometimes see on taxis – one minutes there’s mud silence, the next everyone’s in on the joke. A culture waiting to break out. Life in all its richness hidden beneath city clothes. How much of that spirit is waiting in the children and young people I work with, and I haven’t seen it?
6.11.09: DAY FIFTY SIX. 11am, In a taxi.
10 minutes from Iganga now. Need to keep an eye out for the Busoga Uni sign where I’m meeting Ezekiel’s man. This guy I’ve never met and know nothing about. Then I go and preach at the CU, as I discovered last night in another ‘pardon’-filled phonecall. I’ve got my shoe-shoes on, suit out. I’m not ready and able. God help me.
3.25pm, Ezekiel’s veranda.
I guess he did. Encouraged that the students appreciated what I was saying (plenty of nodding and no more than a few walking off!), and that I got the dress code right. I’m loving this experience of being ‘on retreat’. No work pressure, no city craziness – I can hear some children in the distance, but as many birds and insects. Just a few cars. It’s overcast and cool. I’m looking out on countryside…
Now it’s raining. And Ladysmith Black Mambazo are singing in my head; ‘Rain, rain, beautiful rain.’ It’s wonderful when life, the world, is just clear like this. Simple. Feeling alive. Savouring. I’m sitting here thinking about what I want, what do I want to do, and sure I want adventures – in my work as much as my holidays – but what I really feel I want is… ‘to love and be loved’. Now here I am sitting on my own, thousands of miles from home, a hundred from anyone I know, and it’s partly the welcome warm heart of Africa, but mainly its Jesus: I’m feeling very loved indeed.
7.11.09: DAY FIFTY SEVEN. 8.50am, deep in the village.
I’m hiding back in my room. There’s only so long you can sit on cushionless wood frames between strangers when you slept 5 hours and nodded another couple wedged between dog collars in the front of a pickup cross country (with 2 more men sharing a sofa on the back!). It was pretty wild when we got here, around midnight. The ‘overnight’ consisted of a wild disco for all the local lads (girls afraid to come out after dark) – interspersed with preaching from every reverend in the district… and me. Oh yes, Ezekiel hadn’t mentioned that one either. It was 12.30. I was dead. But the Spirit led me to a bit of Matthew I was stirred by this morning and the translation gave me time to make it up as I went along. So Jesus carried me through again.
8.11.09: DAY FIFTY EIGHT. 7.55am. Taxi stage, Iganga.
2 days of extremes: fascination and boredom, overwhelming love and loneliness. I felt I was at the end of the world. Looking out into the Milky Way, I felt I could almost step into it. I wasn’t looking up. I was looking forward. The sky wasn’t dark – it was shimmering. Stars beyond stars like distant cities and towns, like a map of the world, like a tent for God. I’ve felt really lonely out here- as a special guest, pawing matoke alone while others watched hungry; hundreds of merrily chatting strangers, none with good enough English to hold a pleasant conversation; scores of children staring everywhere I went; repetitive music and rituals all in a language that I have once on this trip (followed with horror) referred to as ‘mumbo jumbo’.
I suspect last night was the outer limit of my journey from home. 8 weeks - 2/3 of the trip exactly. Pretty neat. The rest is bringing this baby in to land. Then I’ll discover what’s next. Thank you Jesus for never leaving me, for being my real companion so far from home. I came here looking for you and you are faithfully showing me more each day. This morning I feel convicted that I won’t ever know you just through study, but through life.
Tim
I am sat on a chicken. My chicken. Just when I thought they couldn’t be any more good to me, Ezekiel and Florence send me on my way with a cockerel, a loaf of bread, and pay my taxi fare. I don’t understand how people can be so good. Culture doesn’t cover it. I’m pretty sure I don’t deserve it. They live in a concrete shell without power or running water. They just paid out a fortune to put on a massive Introduction for their daughter, with hundreds of guests. And another thing: amid the mayhem that would have certainly given me ulcers, Ezekiel remained cheerful and attentive to every guest. He was concerned with my transport arrangements, comfort and enjoyment… and he barely knows me! I kept treading lightly, not wanting to burden, but he was a picture of affability the whole weekend, even when his wallet disappeared. They even outdid me in expressing gratitude for my visiting them! I was cynical last time about Ezekiel stealing our schedule, but now I think he might have just been looking after us.
Still, I’m glad to be moving on. I got to a point last night, after the groom’s party arrived 4 hours late, trying to help with abrupt young men slamming pavilion poles around me, when I thought, ‘I’ve had as much culture as I can take.’ [I’ve been sat on this taxi for an hour, and we’re literally just pulling away] Yesterday reminds me how proud, judgemental and anti social I am. I once heard the phrase ‘an iceberg with social skills’. Interesting.
I asked a guy how he copes with waiting so long at functions like this. When I got him to stop guessing what I was saying, giving completely random answers, and repeated my question more clearly, he said, ‘We listen to the music. Maybe dance. We enjoy it.’ And a couple of minutes later they did dance. Some of the church choir jumped up and began gyrating to the house music, and a moment later my companion had begged a girl’s headscarf and was whisking hips with the best of them. Fantastic. It happened a couple of times over half an hour, then back to sitting around waiting; no sign that the DJ, vicar, schoolmistress, had it in them. It’s like the openness and sociability you sometimes see on taxis – one minutes there’s mud silence, the next everyone’s in on the joke. A culture waiting to break out. Life in all its richness hidden beneath city clothes. How much of that spirit is waiting in the children and young people I work with, and I haven’t seen it?
6.11.09: DAY FIFTY SIX. 11am, In a taxi.
10 minutes from Iganga now. Need to keep an eye out for the Busoga Uni sign where I’m meeting Ezekiel’s man. This guy I’ve never met and know nothing about. Then I go and preach at the CU, as I discovered last night in another ‘pardon’-filled phonecall. I’ve got my shoe-shoes on, suit out. I’m not ready and able. God help me.
3.25pm, Ezekiel’s veranda.
I guess he did. Encouraged that the students appreciated what I was saying (plenty of nodding and no more than a few walking off!), and that I got the dress code right. I’m loving this experience of being ‘on retreat’. No work pressure, no city craziness – I can hear some children in the distance, but as many birds and insects. Just a few cars. It’s overcast and cool. I’m looking out on countryside…
Now it’s raining. And Ladysmith Black Mambazo are singing in my head; ‘Rain, rain, beautiful rain.’ It’s wonderful when life, the world, is just clear like this. Simple. Feeling alive. Savouring. I’m sitting here thinking about what I want, what do I want to do, and sure I want adventures – in my work as much as my holidays – but what I really feel I want is… ‘to love and be loved’. Now here I am sitting on my own, thousands of miles from home, a hundred from anyone I know, and it’s partly the welcome warm heart of Africa, but mainly its Jesus: I’m feeling very loved indeed.
7.11.09: DAY FIFTY SEVEN. 8.50am, deep in the village.
I’m hiding back in my room. There’s only so long you can sit on cushionless wood frames between strangers when you slept 5 hours and nodded another couple wedged between dog collars in the front of a pickup cross country (with 2 more men sharing a sofa on the back!). It was pretty wild when we got here, around midnight. The ‘overnight’ consisted of a wild disco for all the local lads (girls afraid to come out after dark) – interspersed with preaching from every reverend in the district… and me. Oh yes, Ezekiel hadn’t mentioned that one either. It was 12.30. I was dead. But the Spirit led me to a bit of Matthew I was stirred by this morning and the translation gave me time to make it up as I went along. So Jesus carried me through again.
8.11.09: DAY FIFTY EIGHT. 7.55am. Taxi stage, Iganga.
2 days of extremes: fascination and boredom, overwhelming love and loneliness. I felt I was at the end of the world. Looking out into the Milky Way, I felt I could almost step into it. I wasn’t looking up. I was looking forward. The sky wasn’t dark – it was shimmering. Stars beyond stars like distant cities and towns, like a map of the world, like a tent for God. I’ve felt really lonely out here- as a special guest, pawing matoke alone while others watched hungry; hundreds of merrily chatting strangers, none with good enough English to hold a pleasant conversation; scores of children staring everywhere I went; repetitive music and rituals all in a language that I have once on this trip (followed with horror) referred to as ‘mumbo jumbo’.
I suspect last night was the outer limit of my journey from home. 8 weeks - 2/3 of the trip exactly. Pretty neat. The rest is bringing this baby in to land. Then I’ll discover what’s next. Thank you Jesus for never leaving me, for being my real companion so far from home. I came here looking for you and you are faithfully showing me more each day. This morning I feel convicted that I won’t ever know you just through study, but through life.
Tim
Tuesday 3 November 2009
Days 40-52: Evangelism
30.10.09: DAY FORTY EIGHT
I got really pumped by a Simon Guillebaud talk (know the feeling?) on the 7th and wrote down some life goals & ‘Uganda goals’. Did you know people with written goals achieve 50-100x the success of people who just have goals in their head?! The first two things I wrote:
- Lead several people to Jesus.
- Do evangelism and make friends in Soweto.
They were really things I hadn’t gone anywhere near but would be gutted if I didn’t do. I’d never led anyone to Jesus in my life, and there was a cholera outbreak in the slum at the time. But this week we led 2 guys to Jesus in that bar, and last night I bumped into, and finally agreed to go back home with the painter guy called Sam who started talking to me on the street once and keeps wanting to meet again. Guess what? He lives in Soweto.
Just a single room in the twilight (no power this week) – a bed, two chairs and a packing case desk cover almost the whole floor. It smells of damp. You get to it down an alley then along a run of bricks above a little open sewer. He gets a couple of sodas, lights a candle and we trade life stories. And I didn’t know what I was going to do between drama club and getting lift home. God is good.
22.10.09: DAY FORTY ONE. Meeting Juko.
The guy’s an Emir. That’s no.2 in the local mosque. So he’s interested, but in a difficult position. All 3 of us visited his home (a crumbling room in the back of the Imam’s house, by the railway track out in the swamp) for lunch. I remembered, to visit someone’s home in this culture is how to honour them, rather than invite them to yours. He’s a good guy. We had a good time. Ezekiel shared his story of leaving Islam for Jesus – apparently for the first time ever – and was very impassioned. He shared it in Luganda so that’s all I got. Juko told us how a pastor charged him for his friend to be healed, and the guy is still paralysed 2 years later; how a producer told him ‘born agains are more honourable in business,’ then ripped off his song. I’m so sorry. Thank God we don’t believe in Christians! It does seem Jesus is drawing Juko to himself – he works with Christians, coaches a church football team, his sister’s become one, he’s open & interested and now we bump into him. We left him our numbers and Joel’s Luganda Bible. Pray he reads it and meets Jesus!
29.10.09: DAY FORTY SEVEN
Joel said, ‘that place is no good in the rain.’ But I remembered Hebrews 11.6 ‘Without faith it is impossible to please God’, and thought ‘He would totally love it if we just went out and trusted Him to hold off the rain.’ So we went for it. For much of the next 2 hours it did rain. Unanswered prayer? Nope. Jesus had a much more cunning plan.
Literally the first place we came to, through a couple of houses on the main road, was a bar. Now there are a few differences between bars in Uganda and the UK. Firstly, it consisted of a bench lined thatched hut with half height walls, about 2 metres across. Second, the men sitting round were drinking through long hollow sticks from a few odd pots on the floor containing what looked like Waggamma’s excellent apple & lime juice; only we could smell the alcohol 10 metres away, and when the first guy I spoke to took a draught, blister patches appeared all over his face. Uganda has a drinking problem. The guy told me work is temporary, as and when. Thousands of men sit in bars like that across the country all day, sucking up slime and massive debts.
So along come Joel and I, roll in out of the sporadic rain, a few greetings (we are quite welcome and the atmosphere is jovial throughout); then Joel says, “We’ve come to preach to you about Jesus.” And it’s not ‘clear off’; it’s ‘go on, then’. So I get talking to Tom, trying to find out where he’s at so I know how to help him, even though he’s mainly just like ‘tell me what you want to say.’ Him and the last guy we talked to (not so good english) were both “born Christians”, and really struggled to see ‘being saved’ as anything more than just a stricter religious deal (e.g. ‘no drinking’).
However, word must have spread about out us, because suddenly a couple of young guys, one with a faded hip-hop cap and the other a broken front tooth, tap me on the shoulder. “We want to get saved”, says broken tooth.
2.11.09: DAY FIFTY TWO
Yesterday was another evangelistic adventure. Almost a catalogue of organisational failures and ‘misfortunes’ (we know who didn’t want us going), God still saved 5 people in the hour we actually spent in the postnatal recovery ward at the main Mulago hospital. I got stuck in an interesting but unfruitful conversation with a family of 7th day Adventists – perhaps partly because I was well attracted to the ‘born again’ sister of the patient. I asked to go then, to get back for my rehearsal, but that was the moment it all kicked off.
The room of mothers waiting and hoping for their premature babies wanted prayer. We went and prayed together. We go to leave – the lady by the door asks to get saved. She doesn’t speak English so I get out the way. Joyce wishes aloud we had bibles to give these new believers. I have one – we go straight & give it to a Muslim lady who’s just given her life to Jesus. Get back, a bulging lady wants prayer to deliver. As we pray, I see a lady stop behind us, watching, waiting. One of the others prays with her. In the premature deliveries room, I see Joel kneeling with another lady, holding hands and heads bowed. Sylvia said when they caught us up at the taxi rank, “They just kept asking, ‘can I have a special prayer?’”
I guess God was really at work. The funny thing is, it never feels anything but completely normal when such things happen. I wonder if that’s just my insensitive side, or if there’s also so some truth that such things are normal with Jesus. Certainly it is in the Bible. I don’t think anything magic happens the moment you step on African soil. Maybe we still handicap ourselves by considering healings, miracles, conversions as ‘amazing’ things. Maybe if we just regarded them as normal, but desirable, we’d make space for a lot more.
30.10.09: DAY FORTY EIGHT
On the taxi, in the street, people don’t seem any less ‘secular’ than they do in the UK. They’re equally cynical of the men who stand at the crossroads with a bible and a mini-PA, shouting at the traffic. Which makes me wonder: if I was bold enough to approach people in the UK, and say ‘I’ve come to tell you about Jesus. Who wants to hear?’, would people start coming to me and saying, ‘How can I be saved?’
This week’s just been really positive all round. Something about crossing the halfway stage – suddenly it seems I’ve only a short time left. Suddenly I’m getting up early, I’m writing, I’m battling circumstances to get to rehearsals, I’m on top, I’m here. Suddenly I’m thinking, ‘this is pretty cool’. I hope this is more than a trick of the mind. Father, let it be a change for life!
Do pray for Humphrey & Pious, the two lads from the bar. No response to texting; no sign of them at church Sunday. Hoping they went to Humphrey’s mum’s church. Also for me – keeping positive, ongoing rehearsals, Wednesdays in Soweto, and Saturday morning I’m preaching at a student service in Iganga, all of which I really need Jesus’ help with!
Also, do let me know what you think about all this stuff; especially if you're not a christian! If these emails get a bit exclusive do let me know - I want them to be for everyone.
Love and Shalom, Tim
I got really pumped by a Simon Guillebaud talk (know the feeling?) on the 7th and wrote down some life goals & ‘Uganda goals’. Did you know people with written goals achieve 50-100x the success of people who just have goals in their head?! The first two things I wrote:
- Lead several people to Jesus.
- Do evangelism and make friends in Soweto.
They were really things I hadn’t gone anywhere near but would be gutted if I didn’t do. I’d never led anyone to Jesus in my life, and there was a cholera outbreak in the slum at the time. But this week we led 2 guys to Jesus in that bar, and last night I bumped into, and finally agreed to go back home with the painter guy called Sam who started talking to me on the street once and keeps wanting to meet again. Guess what? He lives in Soweto.
Just a single room in the twilight (no power this week) – a bed, two chairs and a packing case desk cover almost the whole floor. It smells of damp. You get to it down an alley then along a run of bricks above a little open sewer. He gets a couple of sodas, lights a candle and we trade life stories. And I didn’t know what I was going to do between drama club and getting lift home. God is good.
22.10.09: DAY FORTY ONE. Meeting Juko.
The guy’s an Emir. That’s no.2 in the local mosque. So he’s interested, but in a difficult position. All 3 of us visited his home (a crumbling room in the back of the Imam’s house, by the railway track out in the swamp) for lunch. I remembered, to visit someone’s home in this culture is how to honour them, rather than invite them to yours. He’s a good guy. We had a good time. Ezekiel shared his story of leaving Islam for Jesus – apparently for the first time ever – and was very impassioned. He shared it in Luganda so that’s all I got. Juko told us how a pastor charged him for his friend to be healed, and the guy is still paralysed 2 years later; how a producer told him ‘born agains are more honourable in business,’ then ripped off his song. I’m so sorry. Thank God we don’t believe in Christians! It does seem Jesus is drawing Juko to himself – he works with Christians, coaches a church football team, his sister’s become one, he’s open & interested and now we bump into him. We left him our numbers and Joel’s Luganda Bible. Pray he reads it and meets Jesus!
29.10.09: DAY FORTY SEVEN
Joel said, ‘that place is no good in the rain.’ But I remembered Hebrews 11.6 ‘Without faith it is impossible to please God’, and thought ‘He would totally love it if we just went out and trusted Him to hold off the rain.’ So we went for it. For much of the next 2 hours it did rain. Unanswered prayer? Nope. Jesus had a much more cunning plan.
Literally the first place we came to, through a couple of houses on the main road, was a bar. Now there are a few differences between bars in Uganda and the UK. Firstly, it consisted of a bench lined thatched hut with half height walls, about 2 metres across. Second, the men sitting round were drinking through long hollow sticks from a few odd pots on the floor containing what looked like Waggamma’s excellent apple & lime juice; only we could smell the alcohol 10 metres away, and when the first guy I spoke to took a draught, blister patches appeared all over his face. Uganda has a drinking problem. The guy told me work is temporary, as and when. Thousands of men sit in bars like that across the country all day, sucking up slime and massive debts.
So along come Joel and I, roll in out of the sporadic rain, a few greetings (we are quite welcome and the atmosphere is jovial throughout); then Joel says, “We’ve come to preach to you about Jesus.” And it’s not ‘clear off’; it’s ‘go on, then’. So I get talking to Tom, trying to find out where he’s at so I know how to help him, even though he’s mainly just like ‘tell me what you want to say.’ Him and the last guy we talked to (not so good english) were both “born Christians”, and really struggled to see ‘being saved’ as anything more than just a stricter religious deal (e.g. ‘no drinking’).
However, word must have spread about out us, because suddenly a couple of young guys, one with a faded hip-hop cap and the other a broken front tooth, tap me on the shoulder. “We want to get saved”, says broken tooth.
2.11.09: DAY FIFTY TWO
Yesterday was another evangelistic adventure. Almost a catalogue of organisational failures and ‘misfortunes’ (we know who didn’t want us going), God still saved 5 people in the hour we actually spent in the postnatal recovery ward at the main Mulago hospital. I got stuck in an interesting but unfruitful conversation with a family of 7th day Adventists – perhaps partly because I was well attracted to the ‘born again’ sister of the patient. I asked to go then, to get back for my rehearsal, but that was the moment it all kicked off.
The room of mothers waiting and hoping for their premature babies wanted prayer. We went and prayed together. We go to leave – the lady by the door asks to get saved. She doesn’t speak English so I get out the way. Joyce wishes aloud we had bibles to give these new believers. I have one – we go straight & give it to a Muslim lady who’s just given her life to Jesus. Get back, a bulging lady wants prayer to deliver. As we pray, I see a lady stop behind us, watching, waiting. One of the others prays with her. In the premature deliveries room, I see Joel kneeling with another lady, holding hands and heads bowed. Sylvia said when they caught us up at the taxi rank, “They just kept asking, ‘can I have a special prayer?’”
I guess God was really at work. The funny thing is, it never feels anything but completely normal when such things happen. I wonder if that’s just my insensitive side, or if there’s also so some truth that such things are normal with Jesus. Certainly it is in the Bible. I don’t think anything magic happens the moment you step on African soil. Maybe we still handicap ourselves by considering healings, miracles, conversions as ‘amazing’ things. Maybe if we just regarded them as normal, but desirable, we’d make space for a lot more.
30.10.09: DAY FORTY EIGHT
On the taxi, in the street, people don’t seem any less ‘secular’ than they do in the UK. They’re equally cynical of the men who stand at the crossroads with a bible and a mini-PA, shouting at the traffic. Which makes me wonder: if I was bold enough to approach people in the UK, and say ‘I’ve come to tell you about Jesus. Who wants to hear?’, would people start coming to me and saying, ‘How can I be saved?’
This week’s just been really positive all round. Something about crossing the halfway stage – suddenly it seems I’ve only a short time left. Suddenly I’m getting up early, I’m writing, I’m battling circumstances to get to rehearsals, I’m on top, I’m here. Suddenly I’m thinking, ‘this is pretty cool’. I hope this is more than a trick of the mind. Father, let it be a change for life!
Do pray for Humphrey & Pious, the two lads from the bar. No response to texting; no sign of them at church Sunday. Hoping they went to Humphrey’s mum’s church. Also for me – keeping positive, ongoing rehearsals, Wednesdays in Soweto, and Saturday morning I’m preaching at a student service in Iganga, all of which I really need Jesus’ help with!
Also, do let me know what you think about all this stuff; especially if you're not a christian! If these emails get a bit exclusive do let me know - I want them to be for everyone.
Love and Shalom, Tim
Tuesday 20 October 2009
Days 31-39: Poverty vs affluenza
15.10.09: DAY THIRTY FOUR.
Today Joel and I went ‘door to door’-ing round Soweto. Think JWs, with curtains to rap on instead of wood. This seems to be completely natural for the locals. But also I’m feeling increasingly keen on telling people about Jesus.
As it happens, most people we talked to turned out to be Christians! The most exciting encounter was actually walking home. We bumped into Juko, an old pal of Joel’s. And a Muslim. We bantered about his hat, but some quite interesting chat about Jesus opened up as I ignored Joel telling me to preach at him. The guy seemed quite open and even mentioned chatting more, so we exchanged numbers.
I wasn’t shocked by the slum as I thought I might be. Maybe I’m just aware that such conditions exist already. Hearing people’s life stories gets me, though.
Paul’s [none of these are real names] is quite instructive. Growing up in the city on the streets after both his father and stepfather (he was born out of marriage and then his mother got this other guy) refused to support him; now being put up in a cool Christian bachelor pad with the promise of work in a to-be-started Christian media studio, but for the past year unable to do anything except church stuff due to a couple of problems with the computer and Chris having no time to sort things out; just waiting trusting God one day things will open up for him to actually get somewhere. Bit of a metaphor for Africa perhaps – profoundly grateful but completely dependant and just trusting in God that one day things will come ok.
There’s these tough stories everywhere – Chris is separated from his British wife, left with a 10 month old boy, and his mum died in the last year too; Daniel came to know Jesus from a Muslim background, but the time I asked him the details he looked wretched until I managed to get out of him ‘I don’t like to talk about it’; Jonathan and Milton, supported by their uncle through school as their dad seems null and void; Marie kicked out with her two preschool girls by the man who took her out of school and never married her. The older I get the more I realise the whole world, and in fact, the church, is stuffed with stories like these. ‘There but for the grace of God, go I.’
16.10.09: DAY THIRTY FIVE.
Dan arrived from Norwich on Sunday and has been plumbing away since. Really nice to have someone else to talk Norwich with. Most exciting, he gave himself to Jesus yesterday. He’s very matter-of-fact about it, but Elspeth did a little dance tonight just when he said he’d actually contacted his parents. So we’ve been having some good chats.
17.10.09: DAY THIRTY SIX.
Dan said, ‘they worry about things a lot less over here. Life’s a lot less complicated.’ I think that’s really true, and I think it explains a lot. In the UK, we’re kind of overwhelmed by life. Too many choices, too many responsibilities, too many things to do, and we walk round with a perpetual headache. Life and everything we’re doing, even the things we love, becomes a burden instead of an opportunity. I’ve not heard of ‘escapism’ here once. The world catches us up in its craziness over unimportant things like share prices, body weight and how up to date our clothes/electrical goods are. ‘Do I own their latest CD?’ ‘Am I insured for this?’ ‘What happens if any conceivable thing goes wrong?’ And so all our efforts are spent relieving the pressure of our worries. Recognise this?:
WAKE UP -
THINK OF ‘ALL THE THINGS I HAVE TO DO TODAY’-
TRY AND DO THEM -
FAIL -
GO TO BED -
WORRY -
REPEAT.
In Africa they’re always fire fighting problems. In the UK we’ve gone too far – we’re always fire fighting worries. Surely the whole point of forward planning is to save us worrying! The other thing this does is squeeze out the important things in life: understanding who we are and what life is for; loving people; enjoying anything!
So what do we do? We can’t all swan off to Uganda. I think maybe understanding our condition could help a lot (Oliver James calls it ‘Affluenza’… though I haven’t read the book) – make us take our western neuroticism with a pinch of salt. I know I’m guilty of expecting to do too much in any given time, and so I’m always disappointed. Let’s give ourselves a break – no one else around us is going to ease up the pressure on us; at least we can stop adding to it ourselves. I guess that means we should also put less pressure and worries on other people too. I had a great chat with my friend James once (on the way to an all-you-can-eat Chinese) where we agreed it would be much better to never own anything valuable enough to be worth insuring – that’s one less worry that even costs us money! I guess some things - like foreign medical expenses - need covering; but there’s a principle: do less, buy less, email less (ahem)… worry less.
Ultimately though, I don’t think we can live in the UK without having at least a mild case of affluenza. Complete withdrawal from the world is not the answer. Just as poverty is the unavoidable affliction of the majority world, this disease is ours. We can’t get round it; as Jesus said, ‘in this world you will have trouble’. Thank Him it doesn’t have to be that way forever!
18.10.09: DAY THIRTY SEVEN.
All that general stuff I wrote yesterday – I think I was talking about me. Most of the time I perceive life, my day, as a burden rather than an opportunity. Today I’m quite excited about my full day as a chance to do a lot of good, and I really see that difference in attitude. The Spirit met me somehow last night – I heard a wind in the trees and sat out for a while on my front step, actually feeling so glad to be here.
I drove in early with Emmanuel, and he did his pastor’s bit on me, which was great. He said this issue is important because seeing work as a burden makes it just a job and not adventuring with God – and because we don’t have joy in it, the Holy Spirit also pulls out! Serious problem.
20.10.09: DAY THIRTY NINE.
Really feeling overwhelmed today. They’ve said ‘go ahead, write the play’, I’m now up to leading 5 different groups/7 sessions a week, Steph’s told her community workers in Mbale I’m coming to do a play with them, I could fit in speaking at Ezekiel’s youth service in Iganga, and Joel’s heard back from Juko who wants to meet up! Just looked back through my journal and saw Emmanuel told me, ‘don’t fill up all your time with work’. But because of feeling guilty about ‘not working as hard as the others’, that’s what I’m doing. I also saw the pictures He gave me about ‘hanging on’. Help me Lord!
Um, I’d really appreciate your prayers for:
- me to know how much of this stuff to do
- talking to this guy tomorrow
- joy in what I’m doing.
I’ve also had some bright ideas for the next few months/years and would love to hear how much they’re from the Father. If you hear anything from Him for me that could be really helpful as well as encouraging.
Love, Tim
Today Joel and I went ‘door to door’-ing round Soweto. Think JWs, with curtains to rap on instead of wood. This seems to be completely natural for the locals. But also I’m feeling increasingly keen on telling people about Jesus.
As it happens, most people we talked to turned out to be Christians! The most exciting encounter was actually walking home. We bumped into Juko, an old pal of Joel’s. And a Muslim. We bantered about his hat, but some quite interesting chat about Jesus opened up as I ignored Joel telling me to preach at him. The guy seemed quite open and even mentioned chatting more, so we exchanged numbers.
I wasn’t shocked by the slum as I thought I might be. Maybe I’m just aware that such conditions exist already. Hearing people’s life stories gets me, though.
Paul’s [none of these are real names] is quite instructive. Growing up in the city on the streets after both his father and stepfather (he was born out of marriage and then his mother got this other guy) refused to support him; now being put up in a cool Christian bachelor pad with the promise of work in a to-be-started Christian media studio, but for the past year unable to do anything except church stuff due to a couple of problems with the computer and Chris having no time to sort things out; just waiting trusting God one day things will open up for him to actually get somewhere. Bit of a metaphor for Africa perhaps – profoundly grateful but completely dependant and just trusting in God that one day things will come ok.
There’s these tough stories everywhere – Chris is separated from his British wife, left with a 10 month old boy, and his mum died in the last year too; Daniel came to know Jesus from a Muslim background, but the time I asked him the details he looked wretched until I managed to get out of him ‘I don’t like to talk about it’; Jonathan and Milton, supported by their uncle through school as their dad seems null and void; Marie kicked out with her two preschool girls by the man who took her out of school and never married her. The older I get the more I realise the whole world, and in fact, the church, is stuffed with stories like these. ‘There but for the grace of God, go I.’
16.10.09: DAY THIRTY FIVE.
Dan arrived from Norwich on Sunday and has been plumbing away since. Really nice to have someone else to talk Norwich with. Most exciting, he gave himself to Jesus yesterday. He’s very matter-of-fact about it, but Elspeth did a little dance tonight just when he said he’d actually contacted his parents. So we’ve been having some good chats.
17.10.09: DAY THIRTY SIX.
Dan said, ‘they worry about things a lot less over here. Life’s a lot less complicated.’ I think that’s really true, and I think it explains a lot. In the UK, we’re kind of overwhelmed by life. Too many choices, too many responsibilities, too many things to do, and we walk round with a perpetual headache. Life and everything we’re doing, even the things we love, becomes a burden instead of an opportunity. I’ve not heard of ‘escapism’ here once. The world catches us up in its craziness over unimportant things like share prices, body weight and how up to date our clothes/electrical goods are. ‘Do I own their latest CD?’ ‘Am I insured for this?’ ‘What happens if any conceivable thing goes wrong?’ And so all our efforts are spent relieving the pressure of our worries. Recognise this?:
WAKE UP -
THINK OF ‘ALL THE THINGS I HAVE TO DO TODAY’-
TRY AND DO THEM -
FAIL -
GO TO BED -
WORRY -
REPEAT.
In Africa they’re always fire fighting problems. In the UK we’ve gone too far – we’re always fire fighting worries. Surely the whole point of forward planning is to save us worrying! The other thing this does is squeeze out the important things in life: understanding who we are and what life is for; loving people; enjoying anything!
So what do we do? We can’t all swan off to Uganda. I think maybe understanding our condition could help a lot (Oliver James calls it ‘Affluenza’… though I haven’t read the book) – make us take our western neuroticism with a pinch of salt. I know I’m guilty of expecting to do too much in any given time, and so I’m always disappointed. Let’s give ourselves a break – no one else around us is going to ease up the pressure on us; at least we can stop adding to it ourselves. I guess that means we should also put less pressure and worries on other people too. I had a great chat with my friend James once (on the way to an all-you-can-eat Chinese) where we agreed it would be much better to never own anything valuable enough to be worth insuring – that’s one less worry that even costs us money! I guess some things - like foreign medical expenses - need covering; but there’s a principle: do less, buy less, email less (ahem)… worry less.
Ultimately though, I don’t think we can live in the UK without having at least a mild case of affluenza. Complete withdrawal from the world is not the answer. Just as poverty is the unavoidable affliction of the majority world, this disease is ours. We can’t get round it; as Jesus said, ‘in this world you will have trouble’. Thank Him it doesn’t have to be that way forever!
18.10.09: DAY THIRTY SEVEN.
All that general stuff I wrote yesterday – I think I was talking about me. Most of the time I perceive life, my day, as a burden rather than an opportunity. Today I’m quite excited about my full day as a chance to do a lot of good, and I really see that difference in attitude. The Spirit met me somehow last night – I heard a wind in the trees and sat out for a while on my front step, actually feeling so glad to be here.
I drove in early with Emmanuel, and he did his pastor’s bit on me, which was great. He said this issue is important because seeing work as a burden makes it just a job and not adventuring with God – and because we don’t have joy in it, the Holy Spirit also pulls out! Serious problem.
20.10.09: DAY THIRTY NINE.
Really feeling overwhelmed today. They’ve said ‘go ahead, write the play’, I’m now up to leading 5 different groups/7 sessions a week, Steph’s told her community workers in Mbale I’m coming to do a play with them, I could fit in speaking at Ezekiel’s youth service in Iganga, and Joel’s heard back from Juko who wants to meet up! Just looked back through my journal and saw Emmanuel told me, ‘don’t fill up all your time with work’. But because of feeling guilty about ‘not working as hard as the others’, that’s what I’m doing. I also saw the pictures He gave me about ‘hanging on’. Help me Lord!
Um, I’d really appreciate your prayers for:
- me to know how much of this stuff to do
- talking to this guy tomorrow
- joy in what I’m doing.
I’ve also had some bright ideas for the next few months/years and would love to hear how much they’re from the Father. If you hear anything from Him for me that could be really helpful as well as encouraging.
Love, Tim
Tuesday 13 October 2009
Days 24-30: The African feeling
5.10.09: DAY TWENTY FOUR. YWAM ‘Hopeland’ base, somewhere outside Jinja.
Tonight, stalking through the throbbing tropical darkness with no agenda, swigging a bottle of Stoney ginger beer, I finally felt it: The African Feeling. I don’t know if it’s just a nostalgia thing, remembering that first holiday in Tanzania aged 12, in swimming pools and land rovers and semi-open air restaurants. But I like it. I feel at home in it. I feel alive in it. Doing my first proper squat-job just now didn’t faze me. The mozzie net suits me fine. A great evening telling wonderful stories from around the world. Maybe it’s the ex-pat life I’m eulogising.
But there was other nostalgia today as well – rolling through Jinja, the covered arcades, the cafes, the Busoga Trust office (www.busogatrust.co.uk). A surprisingly lovely chat with Johnson, who runs the trust in Uganda. He told me I should live in Africa. ‘It’s a beautiful place to be’, he said. I certainly taking some samples. And when I signed his visitor’s book, I saw Rev Ezekiel had visited just before me. So I stopped wussing out, that weird paralysis concerning ‘someone you used to know’ broken by the great joy of giving and receiving interest in Johnson. I got in touch, arranged to meet, great. I realise this is a way of giving love – choosing to visit, devote time to people. O r to host. That I might do nothing practical, might even take these guys away from their vital work, just emphasises how African culture (and, I think, the human heart) prizes the power of simply giving someone your attention.
11.10.09: DAY THIRTY
Just had a great moment. The last few weeks we’ve been watching East Africa’s answer to X Factor: the snappily titled Tusker Project Fame Season 3. Our favourite, throughout, has been the down to earth reggae singing Rwandan with the French accent – Alpha. Oh yes. The worry throughout has been that the Kenyans would win because they have a bigger population and more money. But they had 2 contestants in the final tonight, and they split the Kenyan vote. When Alpha’s name came out the envelope, me and the rest of the household exploded off the sofas, danced round the room screaming “Alpha!” Good times.
9.10.09: DAY TWENTY EIGHT. Independence Day (‘Uganda’s 47th birthday – 2 years above the life expectancy’, according to the comedians I saw tonight)
Got on better with drama groups this week. Some lovely moments, like when playing ‘Pass the clap’, starting to invent new ways of passing, Juko put ‘the clap’ down his trousers and I told him to go and wash it… Yesterday Namuya actually waited for me to walk together.
10.10.09: DAY TWENTY NINE
First session taking 4-12s. I’ve been thinking, ‘I won’t know what to do, they’ll be bouncing off the walls’, but they were fantastic, really well behaved, I was clear, and we did some good stuff.
7.10.09: DAY TWENTY SIX. LMCC office, Namuwongo.
I’ll do this later. Two ragged little boys have followed me in and seem to be expecting me to entertain them. I’ve got nothing. But interruptions like this are usually from God, so let’s try and go with it…
8.10.09: DAY TWENTY SEVEN. 7.22pm. Still in Namuwongo, over half an hour after I got in the taxi.
Now I know what Gridlock looks like.
It rained all afternoon. The road to the school, being resurfaced, is now impassable. The driver is pulling overtaking moves that make me blush. Town taxi park is 40+ minutes walk, but I wonder if it still might be the best move. I’ll text home for a straw poll…
Pay, get out, haggle a boda (motorbike taxi), bundle for a taxi in town, chat to the lady next to me, who manages disasters for the Red Cross. The conversation grinds to a halt as the passengers nod, and I write this (more and more raggedly as we get out of the jam and beyond street lights):
Those boys were hard work. I was trying to talk to them, asking questions, as I might usually do when trying to engage with someone. But their English wasn’t great, so every question took about 3 attempts, if they got it at all. And then I didn’t understand half their answers – they were rarely answers to what I’d actually asked. But they didn’t make any efforts to initiate anything else. I don’t know what they wanted, or expected. My best guess is they just had nowhere else to go. They stay with one’s grandfather in the city, who feeds them but can’t afford their school fees. One’s mother is still alive but workless in the village. They both wore their school uniforms – possibly their only clothes. I’ve seen them in the same dirty half-buttonless shirts and cut down belted up men’s trousers before. I couldn’t identify the set of white marks on one’s head.
I don’t know how they keep smiling. It’s like a default or something. They may be bored, hungry, bereaved and hopeless, but they’re just aware of a strange mzungu who might do something interesting, be nice, or give them something. All those heavy things which would crush me don’t seem to affect their mood at all. Maybe it’s a spiritual thing, like I wondered last week. Or maybe Africans only think in the moment, while I consider the ups and downs and responsibilities of my whole life most of the time. We think it’s foolish: not to worry where our next meal is coming from and so miss a good few. But is there a secret of happiness there?
I gave them nothing, by the way. Not because I thought it unwise. Because I didn’t want to. I felt pressured, abused. I’d done nothing to stir friendship except not tell them to clear off or ignore them. In a way I treated them as equals, human beings. But also that’s nonsense. We’re not equal. I have every thinkable advantage over those guys. And I didn’t even give them a sandwich, or tell them about Jesus’ offered relationship with them. I made same excuse, shut the door on them and ate my packed lunch.
I’ve been driven really strongly on this trip to connect with and understand Africans as equals in a way that’s totally right and good. But I’ve also been feeling a lack of simple compassion. I don’t want my heart broken, my greed exposed, my mind blown by the inconceivable injustice of reality. I want to do my bit and go home. But God sent me those two boys because He doesn’t just want me to be good – He wants every part of me. And I don’t want to change.
Roughing it for 3 months doesn’t let me off the hook. Like Tolstoy, I can live and work as a serf, but I’m still a master. The question is; how can I be a good master? To an extent, that’s what people want. That’s what people need.
Love you all very much,
Tim
Tonight, stalking through the throbbing tropical darkness with no agenda, swigging a bottle of Stoney ginger beer, I finally felt it: The African Feeling. I don’t know if it’s just a nostalgia thing, remembering that first holiday in Tanzania aged 12, in swimming pools and land rovers and semi-open air restaurants. But I like it. I feel at home in it. I feel alive in it. Doing my first proper squat-job just now didn’t faze me. The mozzie net suits me fine. A great evening telling wonderful stories from around the world. Maybe it’s the ex-pat life I’m eulogising.
But there was other nostalgia today as well – rolling through Jinja, the covered arcades, the cafes, the Busoga Trust office (www.busogatrust.co.uk). A surprisingly lovely chat with Johnson, who runs the trust in Uganda. He told me I should live in Africa. ‘It’s a beautiful place to be’, he said. I certainly taking some samples. And when I signed his visitor’s book, I saw Rev Ezekiel had visited just before me. So I stopped wussing out, that weird paralysis concerning ‘someone you used to know’ broken by the great joy of giving and receiving interest in Johnson. I got in touch, arranged to meet, great. I realise this is a way of giving love – choosing to visit, devote time to people. O r to host. That I might do nothing practical, might even take these guys away from their vital work, just emphasises how African culture (and, I think, the human heart) prizes the power of simply giving someone your attention.
11.10.09: DAY THIRTY
Just had a great moment. The last few weeks we’ve been watching East Africa’s answer to X Factor: the snappily titled Tusker Project Fame Season 3. Our favourite, throughout, has been the down to earth reggae singing Rwandan with the French accent – Alpha. Oh yes. The worry throughout has been that the Kenyans would win because they have a bigger population and more money. But they had 2 contestants in the final tonight, and they split the Kenyan vote. When Alpha’s name came out the envelope, me and the rest of the household exploded off the sofas, danced round the room screaming “Alpha!” Good times.
9.10.09: DAY TWENTY EIGHT. Independence Day (‘Uganda’s 47th birthday – 2 years above the life expectancy’, according to the comedians I saw tonight)
Got on better with drama groups this week. Some lovely moments, like when playing ‘Pass the clap’, starting to invent new ways of passing, Juko put ‘the clap’ down his trousers and I told him to go and wash it… Yesterday Namuya actually waited for me to walk together.
10.10.09: DAY TWENTY NINE
First session taking 4-12s. I’ve been thinking, ‘I won’t know what to do, they’ll be bouncing off the walls’, but they were fantastic, really well behaved, I was clear, and we did some good stuff.
7.10.09: DAY TWENTY SIX. LMCC office, Namuwongo.
I’ll do this later. Two ragged little boys have followed me in and seem to be expecting me to entertain them. I’ve got nothing. But interruptions like this are usually from God, so let’s try and go with it…
8.10.09: DAY TWENTY SEVEN. 7.22pm. Still in Namuwongo, over half an hour after I got in the taxi.
Now I know what Gridlock looks like.
It rained all afternoon. The road to the school, being resurfaced, is now impassable. The driver is pulling overtaking moves that make me blush. Town taxi park is 40+ minutes walk, but I wonder if it still might be the best move. I’ll text home for a straw poll…
Pay, get out, haggle a boda (motorbike taxi), bundle for a taxi in town, chat to the lady next to me, who manages disasters for the Red Cross. The conversation grinds to a halt as the passengers nod, and I write this (more and more raggedly as we get out of the jam and beyond street lights):
Those boys were hard work. I was trying to talk to them, asking questions, as I might usually do when trying to engage with someone. But their English wasn’t great, so every question took about 3 attempts, if they got it at all. And then I didn’t understand half their answers – they were rarely answers to what I’d actually asked. But they didn’t make any efforts to initiate anything else. I don’t know what they wanted, or expected. My best guess is they just had nowhere else to go. They stay with one’s grandfather in the city, who feeds them but can’t afford their school fees. One’s mother is still alive but workless in the village. They both wore their school uniforms – possibly their only clothes. I’ve seen them in the same dirty half-buttonless shirts and cut down belted up men’s trousers before. I couldn’t identify the set of white marks on one’s head.
I don’t know how they keep smiling. It’s like a default or something. They may be bored, hungry, bereaved and hopeless, but they’re just aware of a strange mzungu who might do something interesting, be nice, or give them something. All those heavy things which would crush me don’t seem to affect their mood at all. Maybe it’s a spiritual thing, like I wondered last week. Or maybe Africans only think in the moment, while I consider the ups and downs and responsibilities of my whole life most of the time. We think it’s foolish: not to worry where our next meal is coming from and so miss a good few. But is there a secret of happiness there?
I gave them nothing, by the way. Not because I thought it unwise. Because I didn’t want to. I felt pressured, abused. I’d done nothing to stir friendship except not tell them to clear off or ignore them. In a way I treated them as equals, human beings. But also that’s nonsense. We’re not equal. I have every thinkable advantage over those guys. And I didn’t even give them a sandwich, or tell them about Jesus’ offered relationship with them. I made same excuse, shut the door on them and ate my packed lunch.
I’ve been driven really strongly on this trip to connect with and understand Africans as equals in a way that’s totally right and good. But I’ve also been feeling a lack of simple compassion. I don’t want my heart broken, my greed exposed, my mind blown by the inconceivable injustice of reality. I want to do my bit and go home. But God sent me those two boys because He doesn’t just want me to be good – He wants every part of me. And I don’t want to change.
Roughing it for 3 months doesn’t let me off the hook. Like Tolstoy, I can live and work as a serf, but I’m still a master. The question is; how can I be a good master? To an extent, that’s what people want. That’s what people need.
Love you all very much,
Tim
Sunday 4 October 2009
Days 17-23: Cultural differences
4.10.09: DAY TWENTY THREE
I am not going back in again tonight. Phew. Time on my hands a thing of the past. Still, I hope it’s the right call. I’m invited back to watch Watoto Church Drama Team’s play at the National Theatre (not quite as great as it sounds), and to the after show party. Firstly, ‘watoto’ is Swahili for ‘children’; what a great name for a church. Secondly, this is the thing I mentioned cryptically last week – I might get to write their next play! After the show last Saturday got randomly chatting (some of my guys knew some of them)… and there you go. Amazing. Random opening, perfect opportunity, and I’ve got a great solution to do this play idea I’ve had since last year; seems a bit God-breathed to me. So I’m hopeful.
Makes this seem a little prophetic…
28.9.09: DAY SEVENTEEN
Chatting to David tonight about careers etc. He was really confident about building a whole computer business. And he doesn’t even have any way to get to Uni. Realised I can be confident about building a successful career in writing, community theatre and pastor/teaching – in spite of hearing since forever that none of those things are ‘real jobs’ which will ever be enough to live on. I think I have so far managed pretty well to keep pursuing these things, in spite of such received ‘wisdom’. But I don’t feel particularly confident that I might be successful in these things; you know, like, better than other people also trying to do it. But I realise, these things are what God’s made me good at, so He’s going to give me good paid work in them too… if I stay confident – making confident choices, relating confidently with contacts, and working hard. I can do it! I can be a professional writer. I can pastor a great church. I can direct life transforming projects for all sorts of lost people. All I’ve got to do is GO FOR IT with Him. Praise God! Thank you Jesus!
(I also had a really fresh praise time this morning with some old Delirious songs. Drawn back to simply loving Jesus. Please, more of that. “We want to be known as people who are completely in love with you!”)
29.9.09: DAY EIGHTEEN
Ended up chatting with Immaculate for maybe a couple of hours after dinner. Amazing. She is an amazing follower of Jesus. Amazing stories, intimacy, knowledge of God. Jesus really blessed me by inspiring her to share wisdom & encouragement with me at length like that. Hallelujah. Thank you Jesus!
1.10.09: DAY TWENTY
I was thinking at breakfast this morning, ‘why are people here so free, positive and focused on following Jesus, when people in the UK aren’t?’ ‘Why are we so held up by our difficult experiences, when Africans who’ve experienced much worse are not?’ And this morning, the link popped into my head: it is our mental response to suffering, not the suffering itself, which gives us hang ups. And of course in the UK, we are ignorant of Satan’s tactics, even seeing hang ups as our right, and not wanting to let them go. So we are taken out of the game. The other thing is the temptation of the ‘nice little life’; for Africans that is rarely an option, so it remains clear that following Jesus is their only hope. But for us, it is a real and increasing temptation (I’ve heard from older folks).
1.10.09: DAY TWENTY Thoughts from the Taxi home. Late.
Today just felt like a case study for the doctrine of work. Work was created good, exciting, fulfilling; we rebelled against God and the consequence was that work became hard, mundane, frustrating. I went in today for three appointments:
1) Meet Mary to plan the children’s drama group at church. Rearranged from Tuesday, when on my way to see her she came the other way, going to town. Today I arrived at the school, after texting ahead, and she was out.
2) Secondary school drama club. Tuesday’s session spent trying to teach image work to a group with five year 7/8 girls. (Is there anything they won’t giggle at?) Today, tried to play ‘blood potato’ but they wouldn’t close their eyes. Tried to play ‘knots’ but they kept letting go their hands. Tried to read through a script one had written, but never got more than a few lines in a row as there were only two hand-scrawled copies and they were wandering around the room the whole time, whatever I said. (Can they not understand what I say half the time? Why don’t they say so? Are they just unable to treat an open space as anything except a playground?) Had another sound chat with the older boys walking home after.
3) Rehearse church youth drama team for performance at the crusade. Postponed from Tuesday and Wednesday nights when people didn’t come. Put it off until the end of the evening as people needed to sing in crusade outside. Half different people from the group that staged it on Sunday. Our preacher & interpreter roaring through the PA outside. Came unsure of what I’d do, unable to plan. Got totally into it. Characters, motivations, staging, editing; I was leaping about the room like a crazy person, and accumulated a little audience of local children as well as young people from the church. Real pumping stuff. But I thank God for patience. I can’t assume people are stupid, and I communicated extremely clearly, but somehow I found myself saying AGAIN; ‘No, when he says that you come on stage, you stand there, you say this then just mime, don’t say any more until…’ These guys are in their early twenties! It was painful.
The honeymoon was over after the first rehearsals. I can’t change African culture, but it feels like that means they won’t ever get anywhere; my job is to train them, they seem untrainable. But I also remember this is how it went in Cape Town last year. I kept accommodating interruptions, kind of enjoying kicking back instead of work, and so we didn’t get the play ready to perform like we’d planned to. But in the last week or so things did come together and we got a lot done – enough to be a real achievement. Maybe I played it right last time, after all. Go with the flow. It will come together somehow.
4.10.09: DAY TWENTY THREE
I picked Steph up from the airport on Wednesday and it’s been great hanging out. Very encouraging, very wise. As I dragged her into work on Friday to photograph me preaching she took us into Steers and bought us ice cream. ‘But Africans don’t do this’, I started… It was really good. Caramel dip cup. And yesterday we went walking in Mabira forest, which I remember from last time as the place all the hijacks happen. Steph wasn’t impressed when I mentioned this as the taxi drove away. But actually it was fun, and the worst of it was 4 large ants trying to eat my leg. I feel that doing a bit of tourism is right, even while being sobered to hear today that most Africans live on $0.5 a day. I’m now able to translate that into real terms: ¼ of what I spend everyday getting what I’ve been calling ‘mega cheap’ taxis to & from work. I noticed several people from here didn’t come to church this morning ‘because the taxis are expensive’. In the margins of my ‘just enough’ is many people’s whole life.
I still think spending money on my fun is okay, because living in the UK, I can’t avoid hurting some people whatever I do. What the poor need is not for us to be a bit more ‘ethical’ - try and not affect them as much, pretend our lives aren’t woven together – but for us to give our lives to embracing them.
Have a look at these:
http://www.watoto.com/
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/mar/13/recession-aid-poverty-development
Loads of love,
Tim
I am not going back in again tonight. Phew. Time on my hands a thing of the past. Still, I hope it’s the right call. I’m invited back to watch Watoto Church Drama Team’s play at the National Theatre (not quite as great as it sounds), and to the after show party. Firstly, ‘watoto’ is Swahili for ‘children’; what a great name for a church. Secondly, this is the thing I mentioned cryptically last week – I might get to write their next play! After the show last Saturday got randomly chatting (some of my guys knew some of them)… and there you go. Amazing. Random opening, perfect opportunity, and I’ve got a great solution to do this play idea I’ve had since last year; seems a bit God-breathed to me. So I’m hopeful.
Makes this seem a little prophetic…
28.9.09: DAY SEVENTEEN
Chatting to David tonight about careers etc. He was really confident about building a whole computer business. And he doesn’t even have any way to get to Uni. Realised I can be confident about building a successful career in writing, community theatre and pastor/teaching – in spite of hearing since forever that none of those things are ‘real jobs’ which will ever be enough to live on. I think I have so far managed pretty well to keep pursuing these things, in spite of such received ‘wisdom’. But I don’t feel particularly confident that I might be successful in these things; you know, like, better than other people also trying to do it. But I realise, these things are what God’s made me good at, so He’s going to give me good paid work in them too… if I stay confident – making confident choices, relating confidently with contacts, and working hard. I can do it! I can be a professional writer. I can pastor a great church. I can direct life transforming projects for all sorts of lost people. All I’ve got to do is GO FOR IT with Him. Praise God! Thank you Jesus!
(I also had a really fresh praise time this morning with some old Delirious songs. Drawn back to simply loving Jesus. Please, more of that. “We want to be known as people who are completely in love with you!”)
29.9.09: DAY EIGHTEEN
Ended up chatting with Immaculate for maybe a couple of hours after dinner. Amazing. She is an amazing follower of Jesus. Amazing stories, intimacy, knowledge of God. Jesus really blessed me by inspiring her to share wisdom & encouragement with me at length like that. Hallelujah. Thank you Jesus!
1.10.09: DAY TWENTY
I was thinking at breakfast this morning, ‘why are people here so free, positive and focused on following Jesus, when people in the UK aren’t?’ ‘Why are we so held up by our difficult experiences, when Africans who’ve experienced much worse are not?’ And this morning, the link popped into my head: it is our mental response to suffering, not the suffering itself, which gives us hang ups. And of course in the UK, we are ignorant of Satan’s tactics, even seeing hang ups as our right, and not wanting to let them go. So we are taken out of the game. The other thing is the temptation of the ‘nice little life’; for Africans that is rarely an option, so it remains clear that following Jesus is their only hope. But for us, it is a real and increasing temptation (I’ve heard from older folks).
1.10.09: DAY TWENTY Thoughts from the Taxi home. Late.
Today just felt like a case study for the doctrine of work. Work was created good, exciting, fulfilling; we rebelled against God and the consequence was that work became hard, mundane, frustrating. I went in today for three appointments:
1) Meet Mary to plan the children’s drama group at church. Rearranged from Tuesday, when on my way to see her she came the other way, going to town. Today I arrived at the school, after texting ahead, and she was out.
2) Secondary school drama club. Tuesday’s session spent trying to teach image work to a group with five year 7/8 girls. (Is there anything they won’t giggle at?) Today, tried to play ‘blood potato’ but they wouldn’t close their eyes. Tried to play ‘knots’ but they kept letting go their hands. Tried to read through a script one had written, but never got more than a few lines in a row as there were only two hand-scrawled copies and they were wandering around the room the whole time, whatever I said. (Can they not understand what I say half the time? Why don’t they say so? Are they just unable to treat an open space as anything except a playground?) Had another sound chat with the older boys walking home after.
3) Rehearse church youth drama team for performance at the crusade. Postponed from Tuesday and Wednesday nights when people didn’t come. Put it off until the end of the evening as people needed to sing in crusade outside. Half different people from the group that staged it on Sunday. Our preacher & interpreter roaring through the PA outside. Came unsure of what I’d do, unable to plan. Got totally into it. Characters, motivations, staging, editing; I was leaping about the room like a crazy person, and accumulated a little audience of local children as well as young people from the church. Real pumping stuff. But I thank God for patience. I can’t assume people are stupid, and I communicated extremely clearly, but somehow I found myself saying AGAIN; ‘No, when he says that you come on stage, you stand there, you say this then just mime, don’t say any more until…’ These guys are in their early twenties! It was painful.
The honeymoon was over after the first rehearsals. I can’t change African culture, but it feels like that means they won’t ever get anywhere; my job is to train them, they seem untrainable. But I also remember this is how it went in Cape Town last year. I kept accommodating interruptions, kind of enjoying kicking back instead of work, and so we didn’t get the play ready to perform like we’d planned to. But in the last week or so things did come together and we got a lot done – enough to be a real achievement. Maybe I played it right last time, after all. Go with the flow. It will come together somehow.
4.10.09: DAY TWENTY THREE
I picked Steph up from the airport on Wednesday and it’s been great hanging out. Very encouraging, very wise. As I dragged her into work on Friday to photograph me preaching she took us into Steers and bought us ice cream. ‘But Africans don’t do this’, I started… It was really good. Caramel dip cup. And yesterday we went walking in Mabira forest, which I remember from last time as the place all the hijacks happen. Steph wasn’t impressed when I mentioned this as the taxi drove away. But actually it was fun, and the worst of it was 4 large ants trying to eat my leg. I feel that doing a bit of tourism is right, even while being sobered to hear today that most Africans live on $0.5 a day. I’m now able to translate that into real terms: ¼ of what I spend everyday getting what I’ve been calling ‘mega cheap’ taxis to & from work. I noticed several people from here didn’t come to church this morning ‘because the taxis are expensive’. In the margins of my ‘just enough’ is many people’s whole life.
I still think spending money on my fun is okay, because living in the UK, I can’t avoid hurting some people whatever I do. What the poor need is not for us to be a bit more ‘ethical’ - try and not affect them as much, pretend our lives aren’t woven together – but for us to give our lives to embracing them.
Have a look at these:
http://www.watoto.com/
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/mar/13/recession-aid-poverty-development
Loads of love,
Tim
Sunday 27 September 2009
Days 10-16: Into the jam
27.9.09: DAY SIXTEEN
Hello again. Unfortunately a good selection of the things which I was grateful hadn’t happened last week, have happened this week. I’m filling tissues as I type and squeezing green oranges from outside my window into hot water. I had a couple days home alone Thursday/Friday which were also tough in parts. Lonely, and aware of how little I have done for the folks here in contrast with how they have looked after me at great (unadmitted) cost to themselves.
Still, I’m okay. There have been some good times of meeting Jesus and going on adventures, as well. Also I noticed a school sign down the road, proudly bearing the official school motto, ‘No Pain, No Gain.’ Fair enough, but probably not the place I’d send my kids...
21.9.09: DAY TEN (In the back of the Landrover, on the farm, Kiboga)
I just turned down the chance to go back out for a walk with the cows. Sure, my shorts, shoes, socks are still soaking wet, from the downpour that caught us on our last trip. But I wonder about myself; am I wussing out? I feel quite uncomfortable being out here; not physically, but being worried about thirst and needing the loo and all the rest of it; how I’d deal with all that stuff and being a pain to everyone else; not being in control of the situation.
I was talking to Brian about it, and he said: ‘what’s all this about being in control? You’re born again, aren’t you?’
Do I have a problem about control? Always got to be on top of circumstances, or else paralysed with fear? God’s been showing me I’m not in control of my work, and to not let that stop me doing it; to enter into and stick with work I’m not in control of. Which is kind of important – how else can you ever achieve great things?
Of course, Africans are pretty okay with not being in control. They don’t worry too much about forward planning – Emmanuel waited until we were totally stuck in the swamp before he decided to jump out and engage the four wheel drive. But maybe forward planning is a bit of a killer. Maybe if I had taken an umbrella and my mac out on that little walk I wouldn’t have got wet. But I wouldn’t have got to run through the scrub after the shepherd, bounding between tussocks to keep out of the thickening mud, as my glasses fogged and my shirt stuck to my shoulders, knowing there was no way I’d get back to the huts before I was completely soaked. Wonderful. Being exposed to life is so much more fun than controlling it.
24.9.09: DAY FOURTEEN
Last night I took another adventure step – taking the taxi home from Namuwongo at night – changing at the massive jam of the main taxi park: which I’d never been to. It was fantastic. I absolutely love the feel of a big city centre in the evening – thousands of people all trying to get home, rammed together and shaken about; driving over traffic islands; shouting destinations; music blaring from all sides; neon lights everywhere; friendly advice; different languages and dress; mess; street sellers; horns blaring; not knowing where you’re going or how things are done, whether to get off when the taxi you’re on splutters out every few seconds and has to be started again, slipping back down the hill each time… Sitting there, I thought again about white water rafting down Bujagali falls and bungee jumping into the Nile. I could do that. It would be brilliant. I wonder how much they charge?
So I’m encouraged something’s coming loose in me. Africa’s making a man of me again. I pray so. I pray it lasts. I pray for more of the same.
27.9.09: DAY SIXTEEN
Turned up Friday for the all night prayer meeting - mainly as a way to see people – but no power in Namuwongo so it was off. Actually a real gift: got to spend the evening with Jacob, Joel and Emma(nuel) at their epic bachelor pad (Eric, Isaac, Ezekiel and possibly a couple of others also stay there, in what is probably a three bedroom house). Proper christian bachelor pads may be the best thing ever. Can’t wait to get into another one.
We had some interesting chat about Bible stuff, and I held forth on a few topics. Then I got my mind blown off by hearing the guys talk about the things God is doing in Uganda. The CU at Makerere University, for example, has 15,000 members, carrying out a thousand mission trips a term, helping 250,000 people a year be saved by Jesus! That’s almost unbelievable. I’ve seen all the desperately uncool ‘God is good’ slogans on roadside shops and Matatus (public taxis; a driver, conductor and 14 passengers in a Toyota Hiace), but had no idea what was behind it. All the ways of doing mission are so offensive to my western sensibility (even calling public evangelistic events, ‘crusades’), but they are having wonderful results for the country. I might have just stumbled into the middle of a revival.
The dedication of Christians is there as well as the fruit: Jacob let slip he used to lead the CU, and for that whole year got no more than 2 hours of sleep a night! Now I know in the UK people aren’t anything like as open to hearing the good news about Jesus, but I do wonder why we couldn’t put as much effort into mission as Ugandans clearly do. Weekly overnight prayer meetings & weeks of fasting seem to be a matter of course, where to me they sound virtually impossible. Maybe it’s because we just don’t believe it would do any good. I certainly can’t comprehend doing all that myself. But this is definitely one of the reasons I’m here – to taste some stuff that takes the lid off my walk with God. The guys have promised to expose me to some stuff that’s going on. Can’t wait. I’ve always burned to live a great story – I hope this will be another chapter greater than the one before.
Please pray for:
- My cold to go by tomorrow so I can go in and put together the drama we are supposed to be doing for the ‘crusade’ in Namuwongo every night this week.
- The crusade in general - lots of people to turn to Jesus and be welcomed into the church family.
- The drama to be quality & the team to get better through it.
- Me preaching on Friday!
- Picking up my friend Steph from the airport & her first days here – all to go smoothly.
- My friendships to keep growing.
- Capacity to do everything this week well.
- Joy!
I love and miss you all. Be great to hear from you.
Tim : )
Hello again. Unfortunately a good selection of the things which I was grateful hadn’t happened last week, have happened this week. I’m filling tissues as I type and squeezing green oranges from outside my window into hot water. I had a couple days home alone Thursday/Friday which were also tough in parts. Lonely, and aware of how little I have done for the folks here in contrast with how they have looked after me at great (unadmitted) cost to themselves.
Still, I’m okay. There have been some good times of meeting Jesus and going on adventures, as well. Also I noticed a school sign down the road, proudly bearing the official school motto, ‘No Pain, No Gain.’ Fair enough, but probably not the place I’d send my kids...
21.9.09: DAY TEN (In the back of the Landrover, on the farm, Kiboga)
I just turned down the chance to go back out for a walk with the cows. Sure, my shorts, shoes, socks are still soaking wet, from the downpour that caught us on our last trip. But I wonder about myself; am I wussing out? I feel quite uncomfortable being out here; not physically, but being worried about thirst and needing the loo and all the rest of it; how I’d deal with all that stuff and being a pain to everyone else; not being in control of the situation.
I was talking to Brian about it, and he said: ‘what’s all this about being in control? You’re born again, aren’t you?’
Do I have a problem about control? Always got to be on top of circumstances, or else paralysed with fear? God’s been showing me I’m not in control of my work, and to not let that stop me doing it; to enter into and stick with work I’m not in control of. Which is kind of important – how else can you ever achieve great things?
Of course, Africans are pretty okay with not being in control. They don’t worry too much about forward planning – Emmanuel waited until we were totally stuck in the swamp before he decided to jump out and engage the four wheel drive. But maybe forward planning is a bit of a killer. Maybe if I had taken an umbrella and my mac out on that little walk I wouldn’t have got wet. But I wouldn’t have got to run through the scrub after the shepherd, bounding between tussocks to keep out of the thickening mud, as my glasses fogged and my shirt stuck to my shoulders, knowing there was no way I’d get back to the huts before I was completely soaked. Wonderful. Being exposed to life is so much more fun than controlling it.
24.9.09: DAY FOURTEEN
Last night I took another adventure step – taking the taxi home from Namuwongo at night – changing at the massive jam of the main taxi park: which I’d never been to. It was fantastic. I absolutely love the feel of a big city centre in the evening – thousands of people all trying to get home, rammed together and shaken about; driving over traffic islands; shouting destinations; music blaring from all sides; neon lights everywhere; friendly advice; different languages and dress; mess; street sellers; horns blaring; not knowing where you’re going or how things are done, whether to get off when the taxi you’re on splutters out every few seconds and has to be started again, slipping back down the hill each time… Sitting there, I thought again about white water rafting down Bujagali falls and bungee jumping into the Nile. I could do that. It would be brilliant. I wonder how much they charge?
So I’m encouraged something’s coming loose in me. Africa’s making a man of me again. I pray so. I pray it lasts. I pray for more of the same.
27.9.09: DAY SIXTEEN
Turned up Friday for the all night prayer meeting - mainly as a way to see people – but no power in Namuwongo so it was off. Actually a real gift: got to spend the evening with Jacob, Joel and Emma(nuel) at their epic bachelor pad (Eric, Isaac, Ezekiel and possibly a couple of others also stay there, in what is probably a three bedroom house). Proper christian bachelor pads may be the best thing ever. Can’t wait to get into another one.
We had some interesting chat about Bible stuff, and I held forth on a few topics. Then I got my mind blown off by hearing the guys talk about the things God is doing in Uganda. The CU at Makerere University, for example, has 15,000 members, carrying out a thousand mission trips a term, helping 250,000 people a year be saved by Jesus! That’s almost unbelievable. I’ve seen all the desperately uncool ‘God is good’ slogans on roadside shops and Matatus (public taxis; a driver, conductor and 14 passengers in a Toyota Hiace), but had no idea what was behind it. All the ways of doing mission are so offensive to my western sensibility (even calling public evangelistic events, ‘crusades’), but they are having wonderful results for the country. I might have just stumbled into the middle of a revival.
The dedication of Christians is there as well as the fruit: Jacob let slip he used to lead the CU, and for that whole year got no more than 2 hours of sleep a night! Now I know in the UK people aren’t anything like as open to hearing the good news about Jesus, but I do wonder why we couldn’t put as much effort into mission as Ugandans clearly do. Weekly overnight prayer meetings & weeks of fasting seem to be a matter of course, where to me they sound virtually impossible. Maybe it’s because we just don’t believe it would do any good. I certainly can’t comprehend doing all that myself. But this is definitely one of the reasons I’m here – to taste some stuff that takes the lid off my walk with God. The guys have promised to expose me to some stuff that’s going on. Can’t wait. I’ve always burned to live a great story – I hope this will be another chapter greater than the one before.
Please pray for:
- My cold to go by tomorrow so I can go in and put together the drama we are supposed to be doing for the ‘crusade’ in Namuwongo every night this week.
- The crusade in general - lots of people to turn to Jesus and be welcomed into the church family.
- The drama to be quality & the team to get better through it.
- Me preaching on Friday!
- Picking up my friend Steph from the airport & her first days here – all to go smoothly.
- My friendships to keep growing.
- Capacity to do everything this week well.
- Joy!
I love and miss you all. Be great to hear from you.
Tim : )
Sunday 20 September 2009
Days 1-9: Landing
I'm surprised how well the first week here has gone. No getting ill. No intense home sickness. No awkwardness with new people. No time of feeling unemployed and useless. Not even really the feeling of generally not being here yet. I wonder if a lot of you guys have been praying quite hard for me for all those things… Thank you. Here are some highlights:
11.9.09: DAY ONE. 1730 (local time)
I can hear several groups of children playing, and the clatter of crockery from the kitchen. I'm sitting in a room with bare white walls, wood frame furniture and a red, red floor. Uganda is lovely. I remembered it as we plunged out of the cloud above Entebbe and saw the lush green hills wrapping the fingers of Lake Victoria. And I'm being very well looked after. Humbling, or at least, it should be.
Uganda is also dangerous. Emmanuel, Brian and Elspeth met me off the plane with the comment, 'You've picked a great time to come. There've been riots in Kampala.'
Initially that just seemed amusing, but as we approached the city, the traffic thinned out and we became increasingly aware of two pillars of black smoke hovering ahead. Gangs of men had been gathering, blocking roads, and setting fire to tyres. According to the news, 7 people died yesterday as police and army put down rioters with tear gas and bullets. Fortunately, the current regime are actually protecting the people…
So we turned off the main road, looking for a way round. But several times, our routes were blocked by more rioters, and young men hanging around advised us to turn back. We eventually found the new house of someone from Emmanuel's church – right before another block with flaming oil barrels in the street. From Charles' safe & extremely grand (in full gaudy African style) house, we noticed several gunshots before the birds began singing again and we felt safe to continue.
Surreal.
18.9.09: DAY SEVEN.
It's raining this morning. I woke at seven to applause on tin roof. Now it's nearly nine, and apart from everything getting a little lighter, not a lot has changed. There's a reverb-y crack of thunder every so often. This is a proper rainy season. On the other hand, I keep packing my mac but I haven't used it.
I haven't actually used my sun cream either. Or my hat. I'm just not hanging about outside for long periods of time – you don't, in normal life. I've been going round in trousers and long sleeved shirts because that's comfortable, presentable, and that's what everyone else is wearing. Plus the key bit of my work is leading drama sessions, all at the end of the day, so I need to hide from the mosquitoes. One of the thousand boxes of faff I have been using is the DEET. Namuwongo, which is where I go for both the church centre and the school, is right next to a slum area (locally known as 'Soweto') built on top of a swamp, so after 7 the air is zipping. I've got a few bites, not great, but there's a balance to these things. No point coming all this way then never doing anything because I'm hiding under my mozzie net. On my last visit, I was terrified to go to the loo during the night; or even touch the net with any limb, lest they bite me through the mesh. Of course, it helps that I have been given a double bed (!); which makes the double net Esther leant me more of a divine gift than a quirk.
I've also got my own bathroom, sitting room and completely empty room in my own apartment out back; and we have actually been given great food every day (which must be seriously costing my hosts), and no sign yet of matooke. I also have a Ugandan name.
13.9.09: DAY THREE.
Today was a brilliant time. Basically I got to hang out with the 'young people' (my sort of age) from church, round someone's house for chapatis and bananas, then to the Pastor's house at Bukasa to roast a goat! Apart from loads of good chats, I got to ride on the back of the pickup, trim skewers with a panga, strip and eat sugar cane. Excellent! Definitely made a difference to connect with contemporaries for once instead of just old people ( :) ).
My name is Semaganda Semakula.
17.9.09: DAY SIX.
Woah. This stuff is getting intense. FOUR groups to train now? It didn't help that I was fasting when it all blew up, yesterday afternoon. Or that I was trying to prise my way through their Ugandan English and trains of thought. Left alone again in the chipboard office, as thunder turned to rain outside, I remembered the picture you gave me this morning. 'Jump, Tim, Jump.'
"Command me what you will, and grant what you command." St Augustine.
19.9.09: DAY EIGHT.
This one's by candlelight. Another power cut just as it gets dark. My torch lasted one shower, African style (i.e. quick). It's funny, I feel quite light today. And that after an afternoon of wandering round shops. Normally that has the opposite effect. It could be not having the pressure of work to be done; it could be the coffee I had in the western style mall (best described as a 'coffee float'. Yes); the nostalgia of seeing favourite South African products from last year in Shoprite; or seeing the countryside in the late afternoon light. It's been nice.
17.9.09: DAY SIX.
The Holy Spirit just helped me pray passionately and genuinely and powerfully for the UK. It was definitely Him. I can't pray like that.
20.9.09: DAY NINE.
After the riots last week, the church have been doing a week of daily prayer and fasting for the nation (I've managed to fast from about 3 meals total). Now the learning point is this: I'm fully aware that the UK is just as messed up as Uganda, but it has never occurred to me to just pray for it. Not just to pray about little specifics only, and think I can't pray for what's right because most people I'm praying for would agree. The Bible is full of people who repented and pleaded with the Father on behalf of their nation, and He answered them. Now I don't just have to feel bad; I have something I can do.
Much love to you all. I look forward to your news, questions, and thoughts!
Tim
Tuesday 8 September 2009
Day 0: Prologue
A year has gone by. My internship in Norwich is complete. I’m writing this from Southampton. And I’m leaving the country on Thursday night. What’s going on?
The Father indicated clearly that He was letting me choose what to do after FP. I found this... well; I once spent 20 minutes in Tesco’s trying to choose a sandwich. But I’ve managed to stop being so negative, and realise how great this is: He wants me to do what I want to do. Back in March the opportunity came up to go to Uganda. I found out some more, and even met the guy I’d be staying with. But strangely, I just got increasingly nervous about the whole thing. I got to worrying I’d be friendless, uncomfortable, and redundant in an alien culture – that it would be 3 months of misery. Jesus challenged me about this: ‘Are you going to drop this just because it’s hard? And don’t you think I’m going to love you in some great ways that make it totally worthwhile?’
So I’m going. I’m still a bit nervous, of all the practical and cultural difficulties I already know to expect, and also, because I have no idea what I’m going to end up doing when I get there. “Come and work it out when you get here. You can’t really arrange anything before,” Emmanuel told me. That’s the Ugandan way. All I know if, I’ll be living in a Ugandan household in Kampala (the capital), and helping out some churches in some way (pretty similar to FP, really!) And I’ll probably be back in the UK for Christmas, returning to Norwich in the New Year. To be honest, I’m not really thinking about that stuff much at the moment! But in my head and my will I am really looking forward to whatever amazing things Jesus does with me. He is the one who gives me joy, and this seems the best way to know Him better. I’d be a fool to turn this down.
The Father indicated clearly that He was letting me choose what to do after FP. I found this... well; I once spent 20 minutes in Tesco’s trying to choose a sandwich. But I’ve managed to stop being so negative, and realise how great this is: He wants me to do what I want to do. Back in March the opportunity came up to go to Uganda. I found out some more, and even met the guy I’d be staying with. But strangely, I just got increasingly nervous about the whole thing. I got to worrying I’d be friendless, uncomfortable, and redundant in an alien culture – that it would be 3 months of misery. Jesus challenged me about this: ‘Are you going to drop this just because it’s hard? And don’t you think I’m going to love you in some great ways that make it totally worthwhile?’
So I’m going. I’m still a bit nervous, of all the practical and cultural difficulties I already know to expect, and also, because I have no idea what I’m going to end up doing when I get there. “Come and work it out when you get here. You can’t really arrange anything before,” Emmanuel told me. That’s the Ugandan way. All I know if, I’ll be living in a Ugandan household in Kampala (the capital), and helping out some churches in some way (pretty similar to FP, really!) And I’ll probably be back in the UK for Christmas, returning to Norwich in the New Year. To be honest, I’m not really thinking about that stuff much at the moment! But in my head and my will I am really looking forward to whatever amazing things Jesus does with me. He is the one who gives me joy, and this seems the best way to know Him better. I’d be a fool to turn this down.
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