Hello Hurricane

I’m going to say it. I want to talk round the subject, just list qualifications and all the things that make it okay, fine, normal.

My mum’s got cancer.

This isn’t something that happens to me. This is something that happens to other people.

I used to make a lot of jokes; “people only like Eva Cassidy because she died of cancer. Oh no, you can’t be nasty about her – she died of cancer!” I’m surprised no one ever hit me. I didn’t think that was offensive; in fact, I still don’t. I also think I may be a bit of an idiot. But whatever, I don’t think I’ll make jokes like that anymore. I just don’t feel like it.

Talking of feelings, this is definitely an interesting subject with me. When I was about 17, I made a little chart like this:

(it was about that pretty, too)

I blu-tacked it on my ‘mint julep’ woodchip wall. I don’t know what you put on your wall when you were 17. Okay, I had a couple of surfing posters too (I have never been surfing). I guess what I was doing was trying to understand my feelings.

My sister Katy doesn’t have a problem identifying her feelings. She feels something, she cries (she is amazing). I did a musical in Youth Theatre called Seize the Day. Every rehearsal, we took turns to share what we would do if we could ‘seize the day’. I said, ‘If I could seize the day, I would manage to cry again.’

You know what? Like most of the dreams I never thought would come true... it came true. We went to see It’s a wonderful life at the indie cinema down by the marina, and I did it. When George came back to his family to give himself up to the police, and the whole neighbourhood poured in... it took me 7 years, but I did it.

However, just because I’ve loosened up a bit doesn’t mean I get it. I got mum’s text and went back to my office. I sat down and looked at my work. I decided to get that piece of cake I’d been thinking about all through my meeting. I felt tired. ‘Maybe I’ll go eat this in the prayer room.’ Looking at everyone carrying on, thinking ‘they don’t know.’ Do I tell them? I get into the prayer room. I leave the light off. I sit and pick up my fork. Even more tired. Put down the cake. Drop off the chair, knees, stomach, face, like that monk in that film about Martin Luther. I feel the floor hold me, at each point, every point on my body. ‘This is how I hold you, Tim. This is how I’m holding Mum.’ The floor stretches away down here, rivulets in the green carpet. ‘But when you stand up, you’ll see its not really so far.’

In a way, I’m still on the floor there. I’m still wandering round thinking, ‘they don’t know’. I’m still eating my Victoria sponge, listening to Jon Foreman sing, ‘Hello Hurricane, you’re not enough, you can’t silence my love.’ I don’t know what I feel, but I feel something.

[a few qualifications:
- It’s the slow-growing kind
- It’s as small as they could catch it
- It’s not come into contact with main body cells, so shouldn’t transmit round the body
- They’re cutting it off in the next few weeks, and the operation has an 80% chance of success (not sure if that’s encouraging or not)
- Mum seems to be more at peace than she’s been for a couple of years. Jesus is doing something wonderful here.]

A story we need to hear

The snow was powdered fresh this morning when I crunched off for milk. I thanked God for mornings. There's a chance I won't mire today in the same mistakes.

Kind people keep asking me if I'm struggling with culture shock. I'm not. I'm struggling with culture. Like a rerun, I lay in bed last night clicking through photos of more than one girl, arriving at the usual resolution I don't want any of them but unable to want anything else either. You know the reason I didn't whine on about this from Uganda? Because it wasn't an issue. I fancied African women alright, but I never obsessed about them. I thank God for that - what a relief - but I curse the aggregate of media, fashion and arts that does this to us. Ben Okri says cultures are shaped by the stories they tell themselves. Can you think of a single happy ending that doesn't hang on a couple getting together?

And how did I manage to lose 2 hours getting a photo on this blog page, when Blogger's simple setter-upper promises you can do it in 5 minutes? I was talking to Ed about a little firework of a book called 'the Screwtape Letters' and trying to explain how it was still spot on even though it was written 70 years ago about specific situations in daily life... and I realised all the main things in life are exactly the same- it's just now we spend hardly any time thinking about or doing them because we're so occupied with our 'labour-saving devices'. I read somewhere (I think in Michael Crichton's time travel book, 'Timeline') that the amount of time the average household spends on housework hasn't changed since 1900 - when they did their laundry with a washboard and a mangle. We've just invented more things to fix, bought more things to clean. Scary. If life is made up of time, and we're wasting it; we're killing ourselves.

After battling riots, robbery and white water rafting, it feels a bit ridiculous taking up the pen against my laptop and facebook; but if I'm right, these things can be just as deadly. I believe comfort kills just as surely as poverty, so fighting it will make just as great a story. And a story we need to hear.

Days 89-90: Endnotes

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!

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

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

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

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