Wedding Video

Here is the video from our 'wedding' described below:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aOlGskzYQJ4

some thoughts

That poor kid is still in the middle of the side-walk

Legs criss-crossed

Head resting on the cement

Hands cupped in front of his head

We’re Christians. I am a Christian, a thoughtful Christian and so this matters to me.  And it matters beyond the pity that everyone feels.  There is something more significant to consider than the social or political circumstances.  It is not just a humanitarian concern.  It is spiritual, and it is personal. 
 It is always so personal. 

And this kid in the middle of the sidewalk is a mirror.  And when I look at this kid I see myself, who I truly am. 

Looking at myself in this child is embarrassing.  So as I pass him, I make my mind avoid the tough questions.  I think about the shoes I’m wearing, or what I’m going to eat for lunch-anything that will keep me from really thinking about this child as a life, human, person, African, boy, kid next door, classmate, friend, family, he's my family.  That fatal mistake. I’ve gone and thought too much about him.  A mirror that always exposes who I really am.

 

I am ashamed that I will go back to Mountain View, California, United States, America and that I will at times feel sorry for myself.  I will worry.  I will try and get free food out of people.  I will fail to be generous.  I will lie to God and consider myself among the poor.  It was always so very cool to sneak the free pizza, to take the extra bread, the box of wheaties.  We were proud of that.  Children fall asleep on the sidewalk at the chance not to need what was our pride.  So maybe we weren’t as cool as we thought.

All the kids at the orphanage pray at night and they share testimonies.  Last night the only testimony that was shared was from Becca who said, “I thank God that I am alive because some have died, but for me, I am alive.”  After the testimonies, the kids walk around praying out loud to God.  This night, I too tried, I really tried to pray.

And what I thought scared the salvation right out of me. 

I said, “thank you God, for not making me like one of these children.” I stopped to think about what I was saying because I knew it sounded terrible.  But it was my honest prayer. I could not run from it.

“Thank you God that I am not like these children.  Thank you that I will get to leave this place.  Thank you that I get to have nice things and cups of coffee and the freedom to leave places.”

My prayer just kept sounding worse and worse.

And I heard the Pharisee praying in Luke 18, “God, I thank you that I am not like other people.”

Do you know what Jesus said about the Pharisee?  "He was not justified before God."

So that kid in the street, I still don’t know what to do about him, or for him, or to him, or alongside him, or with him.

How can I leave here justified before God?

After we were done praying, we had our large-group devotional, and on this night, it was a question/answer time with ‘Pastor Caleb’. 

Carlos asked, “If God is powerful, why is there suffering?”

I said something about free will. Carlos listened and when I was finished he half-smiled, and nodded.

Arnold asked me, “If Jesus was the Son of God, why when he came to the earth was he poor?” 

I told him that it’s really hard for rich people to get into heaven.  I told him that Jesus now knows what it’s like to be in poverty.  I told him that God has a special place for the poor.  Blessed are the poor.

Arnold told me that his mom and dad both got in traffic accidents.  That he watched his grandmother die failing to provide for him.  That, no offense to Jesus, he disagrees. 

For all of Africa’s corruption, it is so very honest.  You would love its honesty.  You would fall in love with its honesty.

Take dirt as an example.

At the end of a day in Uganda you are dirty.  Not dirty as in you spilled on your clothes, or that you don’t smell good or even that you are sweaty.  I mean dirty as in, there is dirt on your body.  Even if all you’ve done is sit inside, at the end of the day you will see on your feet the lines where your sandals didn’t protect your skin from the dusty dusty dirt.  Most people see this as a bad thing, but I think it’s sort of beautiful.

That's the the way life should be.  We live on a planet that is made of dirt.  We get our life out of the dirt.  God used dust to form us.  Shouldn’t your body have dirt on it at the end of a day? 

Or what about Meat?

I was given two pieces of meat the other night with my rice.  This is an honor.  I’m honored. But the problem for me is that I can see this meat.  I can see the tendons and veins and the fat. It is a disgusting piece of meat. I can see that this meat used to be part of a real joint that held up a real cow at one point.  To me, this is not meat.  This is the part you throw to the dog.  I picture in my head a steak from Applebees.  Clean, perfectly parallel streaks of flesh.  No joint, no tendon, no image of a cow. 

But this fatty chunk of tendons on my plate is a privilege, and it was purchased at a price. To chew on the tendons, to choke down the fat this is honest.  Then to try and hide my embarrassment as I admit that I cannot eat my meat, this is shameful. 

Or what about Parenting?

I peek out my window and I see a mom whack her child across the arm for tipping over her container of well-earned water.  The child lets out what I think will be a long and loud scream.  But the scream is short, the pain brief.  I think about American children.  How I sort of might wish a little bit in my weaker less Christian moments that they could spend an afternoon with this mom.  And would that be so bad?  Would a bit of physical moral reinforcement be so bad?  Of course I’m wrong about this.  I can’t argue this from any moral standpoint, and I’m not advocating any sort of child abuse (I actually just wrote a child protection policy).  But isn’t there something a little more honest going on here? Aren’t parents more intimidating physically for a reason? Is this mom’s reaction so heinous?  Maybe it’s not better, but a bit more honest right?   Maybe that’s why honesty is not always the best policy. 

Or how about water?

In Uganda, you don’t take showers, you take splashes. Because water is fluid, it takes the shape you give it.  It doesn’t come in circular jets out of metal fixtures.  It comes from the earth, from mountains, from rain.  And it doesn’t come clean.  It comes touched by plants and animals and humans. And it doesn’t come warm.  Water lives at the temperature around it. And it doesn’t come to you, you go to it. So I am carrying two jugs full of living water up from the community well and my arms are on fire.  I am breathing hard and sweating and I am dirty.  But isn’t this honest?  Shouldn’t I have to work for my water?  Isn’t un-chlorinated, cool, shapeless, un-tamed water the way it was meant to be?  Shouldn’t my arms burn?

Anyways, that boy in the middle of the sidewalk isn’t going anywhere, and he is more honest than I would like him to be.  And Arnold and Carlos and the water and the dirt, they’re honest too.  If God likes Africa more than other places, I think this is why.  This is why I’ll keep coming back.  And every time I do I’ll see that boy in the middle of the sidewalk and I’ll try to dodge him, but I’ll lose my step just enough that I have to look back and see why I’ve stumbled.

Our last day: A wedding in Uganda

(From 9/6)

To our faithful blog readers:

Last night, Sonja and I were wed.  I doubt that the excitement of our actual wedding day will surpass the excitement of the fifty kids who ran around shouting with joy as Sonja and I took part in our Ugandan wedding. 

Patrick told us yesterday morning that he had a surprise for us, and later that afternoon, William and the orphanage mom came into our room bearing gifts.  I was given a Kanzew to wear which is basically a white robe that you might have wore playing Gabriel in the Sunday School program in 5^th grade.  Sonja was given a Gomes which is a three layered explosion of cloth with pointed shoulders and an extra piece to enlarge the hips and legs.  She was looking good. 

We were ushered down to the orphanage and through the orphanage gates.  When the kids saw our formal Ugandan dress their delight was uncontainable.  Screaming. Running.  Dancing.  Laughing. Hugging.  It was so much fun.  We were seated and some of the kids performed a song and dance.  Mama and William also sang solos for us. 

‘Pastor’ William gave a brief sermon out of Genesis 2.  It was actually quite good considering its impromptu nature.  Then he made us stand wedding style and asked me if I would take Sonja for better or worse, “in all the kinds of sickness, when she vomits towards me and all other things.”  I said of course.  Sonja was asked something similar but less colorful.

Then Patrick (who donned himself the MC of the night) brought out a little white cake with pink decorations that read, “happy birthday.”  He laughed and said his friend was going to throw it out so he just took it.  We cut the cake together, and everyone got a little bite of sweet bread with raisins in it.  Then some kids gave speeches in which Sonja was told to respect me and the following girl made sure to tell me that I had to respect Sonja too.  We were pronounced Mr. and Mrs. Schut (which Patrick spelled so he didn’t say it wrong). 

Then the kids brought us gifts (letters) and then Patrick brought out the gift from him and William.  I have never wanted to capture a moment and keep it forever more than when we saw the painting Patrick had gotten us.  It floored me.  The whole episode was hilarious and beautiful and unexpected, but this painting came out of nowhere.  It is an indescribably unique painting with a woman breastfeeding a baby.  It will hang in the entryway of wherever we end up living, and I will watch with delight the faces of the people who come into our home.  Patrick explained that the orphanage is like a baby and we have been breastfeeding them.

Finally, we went out front where the borrowed speakers were blaring “Celebrate, Jesus, Celebrate” and we danced. 

Celebrate

Jesus

Celebrate

We left those kids this morning.  They are going to be in school this term though.  They are going to study and learn. And we will be back, we promised them.  We told them we’d be back, and I won’t break a promise.  Not to them.  I need them too much.

First Day of School

Caleb found a cockroach in his bed this morning. Under the mosquito net, right there on the sheets. It is not really pertinent but seemed worth sharing.

The younger kids started school today. I don’t have children so I have only had my own first days of school. But today I felt as if I was their parent taking my kids to school. \

In Uganda even if you pay school fees to send your child to school they still must come with supplies to fund the school. In addition to pencils and notebooks they must bring toilet paper, reams of printer paper, brooms, and so on. These supplies are used by the administration and teachers.

So last night we handed out everyone’s school supplies. Again, I have never been a parent but being one of four I remember the night before school to be a bit chaotic, finding out lunch box, deciding exactly how many binders we need, and oh what to wear that first day!

This time with a family of 48 kids last night was nuts. So many rolls of toilet paper, so many notebooks and they all look the same! I wondered how they were ever going to keep it all straight. Their supplies are not colorful and their folders did not have pictures of their favorite cartoon but they were so proud of what they received.

This morning with still some level of chaos the younger kids had on their uniforms (the upper school starts next week) with brooms and toilet paper in hand and were ready to go to school.

Like proud parents we had out the camera and video camera as we walked them to school and met their teachers.

I pray that it is a good term for each of them. I pray that they will study hard, that their teachers will work hard, and that they will each feel confident and able to be their best.