A note from Lindsay in Uganda . . . .

Wow. I’m not sure how to say all the things I am thinking. I’m overwhelmed, I’m tired, but I am so grateful to be here. The African church experience was better than I expected (and I expected greatness) – these people worship God with full abandon. I have great respect for Pastor Jackson and his staff – they truly are changing Uganda from the inside out. We’ve been at the orphanage for three days now and I’m just starting to know the kids names (and maybe have a favorite or two!).

I helped the medical team for two days – organized, and got a “flow” going in the medial building. And yesterday I shoveled concrete like a pro with the construction team. In all of this, by far, the best part is the kids. All they need is love and they soak it up like little sponges. They hug you, touch you, hold your hand, and just want to be near you at all times. And I can’t get enough of it. Who knows what these kids have seen – I’m sure all of them have been through many terrible tragedies. It is so encouraging to see them in a place where they are learning about Jesus and where they are given love.

I truly believe these kids will grow up and change Uganda. I’m so thankful to be here, to be part of this team, and today we set off for the church in Kampala to set up a clinic. I think today will be the most challenging – but I am ready for the challenge! Love you you all, and see you soon – if I come back, that is. 

Hail to the Chief!

Many of you have been asking me: "Did Chief make it to Alaska? How did he do?"

He made it, and had the time of his life. I connected with Chief up in Fairbanks, before the Alaska teams split up and headed to our prospective places of ministry. Chief had survived his very first plane ride, but was a mite concerned about the small airplane he'd be taking to Tanana the following day.

"I'd rather die in a small plane crash than a big one, anyday," I said, handing Chief my prized "No fear" necklace. I think he knew I was kidding, but Chief quickly put the necklace on.

We met up again with Chief a week later, when my village team flew into camp for the night. Chief stood patiently waiting, a big grin on his face, as we clambered out of the float plane.

Delighted to see him, I hugged Chief and asked how his week had been.

"Great!" he said, with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. "I don't want to leave."

That night, the last night of work camp, the "newbies" were affirmed by their fellow workers. This is a wonderful KHBC tradition where words of life are spoken over the first-timers, ending the week of camp with a sense of unity, love and accomplishment.
I felt like a proud mommy as I listened to folks praise Chief and his hard work with the weed eater. People thanked him for bravely sharing his testimony with the group. Even though I hadn't been a part of that work team, I stood and shared what a step of faith it had been for Chief to even get to camp.

Chief just sat, quiet as a mouse, looking down at the floor. I'm pretty sure he's never experience so much affirmation--in one evening--during his whole life. But he received it, I think, for there was a new confidence and determination to follow God's call on his life when I talked to him a few days later--back in Oregon.

In fact, Chief just called me to let me know he'd getting baptized on Sunday.
So, it's down to the river we go . . .

picture this . . .

he will fill our mouths with laughter . . .

OK, so I've told some sad tales about our time in the village. And I've toned it down, believe me.
But the thing I remember most when I think back to our outreach is laughter. In the midst of seeming hopelessness and despair, fountains of joy bubbled up in that dusty village.
It may have started with the team. From our first day in the village, we laughed together. From awkward giggles to unbridled guffaws. Brian Pine didn't even need to wear fake redneck teeth to keep us all in stitches. I can't even tell you what struck our funny bones. I think we were all just overjoyed to be there.

One night--and I'll admit I was a bit sleep deprived--I laughed until the tears ran down my cheeks and I couldn't breathe. We were all walking "home" from the missionaries house when I got tickled. Greg thought he was going to have to carry me when I doubled up with laughter, but I managed to stagger back to the rec hall, still trying to explain what caused the hysterical laughter.

I later had to wonder if the village folks we passed by suspected we'd been up to the missionary's place for a drink!

We laughed with Brother Bill, the village priest (we found out that's he's acutally a Franciscan friar). We all trooped down to the Catholic church one morning and offered to help him rebuild the stairs to the sanctuary. Brother Bill seemed leery of us at first, but he quickly relaxed and had a few chuckles watching Becca and I trying our best to be more help than hindrance. By the end of the morning, we stood with arms around each other, getting our picture taken together in front of the church.
He thanked us several times, all smiles, and we laughed for joy as we headed back up the hill. This was a connection we'd been praying for.

The children's laughter was the most precious of all. They giggled during the Veggie Tale videos and laughed at Brian's antics. They teased Jerry and Cory mercilessly and may have even laughed at a few of Greg's jokes.

There was such a high level of hilarity during the carnival, that I wondered if we were blowing out our ear drums. We crammed a cake walk, target shoot, ball toss, fish pond game, 7 helpers and 35 wild kids into the already cramped rec hall. We may have all sustained hearing damage, but it was one of the most joyous events I can recall. We had not one discipline problem in the two hour extravaganza and the kids loved the cheesy prizes and the sugary treats.

Later that day, I was sitting on a log near the rec hall, talking to my friend Carmen. She'd come to me for comfort and prayer and was telling me about the abusive home life of her 7 year old grandson. Suddenly, she stopped talking and her eyes widened.
"Do you hear the kids laughing?" she asked me, not sure if she wasn't imagining things.
"Yeah, I hear them, " I assured her. "They've been laughing all week."
"There hasn't been laughter in the village for a long time," she told me, teary-eyed. "This is a good thing."

Laughter is a good thing, indeed!

"Then our mouths were filled with laughter, and our tongues with singing. And they said among the nations: the Lord has done great things for them!
Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy." Psalm 126

pilgrims

We are in Homer now. Greg is out fisihing today, I stayed behind because I'm sick. We had such a great time out on our friend's charter boat yesterday that I don't really mind, It feels good to just rest and be still.
And reflect. . .

Had an interesting conversation with our missionary friend in the village the day we left. I can't recall what exactly we were chatting about, but he made the comment that he and his family didn't feel at home anywhere on this planet. They'd lived in the village for 13 years and still weren't accepted there. The home church that had sent them out and steadily supported them for a decade no longer exists. Their children have moved out and are scattered around the lower 48 . . .

They are ever aware of the fact that we won't truly be home until we reach heaven.

While I totally identify with that sentiment--and I know Greg and the girls do too--I have to say I feel more at home in Alaska (especially on the Yukon) than any other place. There's something about Alaska, and its people, that deeply moves my spirit. There's a beauty here, and a glory, that can't be described or contained. My senses are quickened, I feel more alive and I love more deeply. I sense God's presence and His passion for the Alaskan Native people to rise up and fulfill their divine destiny.

And I pray to be a part of that process.

But as much as I feet at home here, my heart is never satisfied. There's an ache, a longing for the glory of heaven that my beloved Alaska can only dimly reflect. There's a longing to see the precious indigenous people of this Great Land worshiping before His throne.

That's when I'll know I'm finally home . . .

I left my heart on the Yukon . . .

I can’t remember the last time I felt so exhausted. I quit counting the times I dozed off on the plane today. Speaking of planes, we flew into KHBC camp from our village yesterday on a float plane, took a two hour boat ride today to Tanana, then caught a small plane to Fairbanks and just arrived in Anchorage via Alaska Airlines. (It was a very cool flight. The pilot flew us over Mt. McKinley—you could almost make out the climbers near the summit).

Anyway, we didn’t sleep much in the village—and I doubt we’ll catch up until we get home. The combination of the sunny weather, the energy of the kids, and the knowledge that God was at work around us kept my adrenaline pumping. I’ve been able to unwind a bit today as we put the outreach behind us, but every time I awaken from a cat nap, I find myself praying for the children . . .

Chelsea, who is seven, is a beautiful little girl. She listened to the lessons and answered our questions. She was so sweet and well-behaved that I told myself that she might actually live in a home where she was loved and cherished. Protected and encouraged.

That illusion ended abruptly when we overheard her 15 year-old brother calling her every terrible, degrading name he could think of. Slut, whore, idiot—these are the tamer ones—the hateful words crashed down on her as she helplessly wept. A team member confronted her brother, who only repeated his tirade.

Ironically, our lesson that day had been on treating others with kindness. Her brother had watched intently and even memorized the Bible verse.

I ran into Chelsea down by the river yesterday and she invited me to her house. She led me across town, down a dirt path, to a run-down two-story house. She skipped into the mud room and returned with her “mother” in tow. Carla is actually Chelsea’s grandmother, who is also raising her two brothers. I’m not sure where Chelsea’s real mom lives, if she’s even still alive. From the stories I heard last week, grandparents often end up raising their grandkids because their adult children are dead--or off partying.
Anyway, Carla was friendly enough and even told me a bit of her story. She pointed to a bare patch next to her garden and told me that was the site of their original house. When I asked what happened to it, she told me it has burned to the ground—with their 21-year-old son inside. The tragedy took place years ago, but the grief was fresh as she told me of his plans to join the marines and make a good name for himself.

I hugged her, and told her I’d lost my son, too. She looked a little startled when I said I’d pray for her—for comfort and for strength to finish raising up her grandchildren.

She thanked me, and Chelsea and I headed back to the rec hall I’d called home for a week. I told her she was beautiful, smart and a real princess. I gave her a beaded bracelet I’d brought with me and told her to remember I was praying for her whenever she wears it.
I told her I loved her, Jesus loved her, and that we’d be back next year.

Chelsea has the most amazing smile . . .

it's a beautiful day . . .

nothing ever stays the same . . .

We just finished day 2 of our village VBS. This has been a phenomenal trip so far. Completely different from last year, but in many ways better.
In some ways, it reminds us of our second year of ministry in Tyonek, a village out of Anchorage where we worked in the early nineties. The first year we started going in, we did Kid's Clubs every weekend the weather allowed us to fly in. The kids loved us but the adults would cross the road to avoid us. And we got cussed out a lot.
The second year, however, everything had changed. The chief had died of cancer, and for whatever reason, his son and nephew had found the Lord during that dark season. So, went we started going in that summer, we were given the key to the tribal center and treated like old friends. Adults we'd never met would now approach us on the street and ask us to pray for them, that they would quit drinking. We became such good friends with Emil and Virgil--the Chief's son and nephew--that they came to our going away party when we left Alaska and even gave us Tyonek Chief T-shirts, making us unofficial village members.
How cool is that?

The first two days we were in this village, we had a stream of adults we'd never met, dropping into the rec center (our home away from home) to visit with us. All of them thanked us for coming and told us how grateful they were that we'd traveled so far to work with their kids. One man, slightly inebriated, told us to take all the kids home with us. He said there was nothing good for them here in the village.
That's been the overiding sentiment of the adults we've met. Get our kids out of here and give them a chance.
Could have something to do with the stabbing that took place the night before we came.
Last year, the kids came everytime the rec doors were opened, but the adults pretty much avoided us like the plague. I befriended a few village women, but overall we were left to our selves. This year, there seems to be a desperation. They know they need help, and they appreciate anyone who comes to their aid.
What they haven't figured out yet is that they need to cry out to Jesus.
I have to go now, will write more as soon as I'm able.
The boy in the picture is Cimeon.

back to the great land

We are off, bright and early tomorrow morning, for our annual Alaskan adventure. We will meet up with our outreach team in Fairbanks, spend the night at a very hospitable church, buy groceries at Fred Meyers on Saturday morning and then head out to our destination on the Yukon River. We'll be in the village for a week, doing Veggie Tales VBS and just loving on the people. Then my bush pilot buddie will pick us up and shuttle us to Kokrine Hills Bible Camp next Friday.

If you've been reading my blog for long, you know that I've written about a certain Native man--Chief--who has been preparing to be part of the work crew that gets the Kokrine Hills facility for three weeks of camp. Chief, who has never been on a plane before, is at this very moment headed toward Fairbanks courtesy of Alaska Airlines! I'm so proud of Chief--he worked hard, stayed the course, and got up the courage to get on the plane!
I can't wait to hear all his stories when we catch up with him at KHBC later this week.
We will have stories of our own to tell, I am sure. I will try to sneak in a blogging session or two from the village. So stay tuned . . .
Please lift us all up in prayer.
For safety, unity, health, wisdom and peace.
And for a fruitful harvest for the kingdom of God.

Oh, and that we catch lots of fish down in Homer!

sunset

I had an interesting dream this week. And I felt like God gave me the interpretation . . .

I was at the Fairbanks airport, trying to round up my team to fly to our target village on the Yukon River. As I was making sure everyone had their boarding passes, I saw Annette T. standing in the ticket line.
This startled me for two reasons. 1) Annette was not part of our outreach team, and 2) Annette died in January.

She looked really good, though. For as long as I'd known Annette, she'd been locked in a deadly battle with cancer. She'd fought so bravely and had beaten the odds for so many years, I think we were all surprised--Annette especially so--when cancer overtook her and Jesus gathered her worn-out body up in His arms this winter.

It was hard to tell Annette's age in my dream, so great was her radiance. I hugged her--she was real and no ghost--and asked the obvious question: How she could be standing next to me, preparing for a mission trip to the bush, when her family had buried her only a few months back?

Annette grinned and started to answer, but we were interrupted by a steady stream of of folks who wanted to join our mission team. I was surprised to see Nate P., a young man who had once expressed interest in missions but had since become involved with more worldly pursuits.
Nate explained that Annette had convinced him to step out in faith and join our team. As he went to purchase his ticket, more travelers trickled in, each with the same explanation: Annette had encouraged them to get involved with missions.

I awoke, puzzled by the dream and annoyed that I'd never gotten an answer from Annette. I wondered if I should email her husband and tell him about the dream. It had comforted me, but I know from experience that grief can be a tricky thing. So I asked the Lord for wisdom, and then turned to my daily devotional (from Streams in the Desert). Insight and inspiration came as I read:

When the sun goes below the horizon he is not set; the heavens glow for a full hour after his departure. And when a great and good man sets, the sky of this world is luminous long after he is out of sight. Such a man cannot die out of this world. When he goes he leaves behind him much of himself. Being dead, he speaks. --Beecher

I immediately emailed Annette's husband, describing my dream and attaching the quote. He replied within minutes, thanking me for the reminder that his wife's life still touches so many.

As a cool postscript to all this, I was hiking with a friend on Saturday and she invited me to go to Bolivia with her next fall as part of a medical mission team.
"I invited Nate P. to join us," she told me. "But so far, he hasn't seemed too interested."
"I wouldn't give up on him just yet," I told her. "God just might get ahold of his heart."

I could almost picture the thumb's-up from Annette!

So, I'm pretty sure that Annette never met Nate, or any of the other mission-trippers in my dream. But I know her life greatly impacted many and her influence lives on.

I'm still enjoying the sunset . . .

ANGELA UPDATE

Good news! According to Roger Huntington, Angela was spotted by a search crew recently, but ran and hid in the woods. So, she is alive but determined not to be found.
Please keep praying for her to surrender her life to Jesus.
Thanks!