Now  that I’m here at the orphanage, and even as I prepared to come, I have reflected as to exactly how it came to pass that somehow,  someway, I ended up in Uganda at the orphanage managed by the Uganda Orphan’s Fund.  Just as the river Nile, which has its source close to here,  -is made up of a series of tributaries along the way, I guess the ultimate decision to come here was fed by tributaries of my life which ultimately sent me to this remarkable place.  I believe my Higher Power led me to take this trip as I can now tell you it has been one of the most profound experiences of my life.

I held no illusions that I would in any way be able to make any major contributions while I was here even if I were to stay for a longer period than the three weeks as scheduled.  Rather I am the one who has received many blessings by coming to this place.  If you are a friend or in any way support the Uganda Orphan’s Fund, I can tell you that you should be so well pleased with what is transpiring at this place so far away from America.

Everything is about the children themselves as it should be, and what I have seen is clearly God’s work by all involved.  These are happy children, seemingly better adjusted in many ways, than our own young people in the USA.  The orphanage reverberates with laughter, singing and the sounds of children at play.  Make no mistake, there is a great deal of structure in their lives and they have long days that start with morning worship at 5:30 and continues until evening worship  is completed somewhere around 8:00.  Children have regularly schedules chores and evening homework.  I know many of you know these details better than I could describe to you but I would be remiss to not  comment on the level of happiness that permeates their attitude about life and their situation.  That observation along with the praise they offer to God for their existence are two of my most poignant memories of these beautiful kids.

All of this is occurring amidst an unbelievable level of general poverty in and around this area.  I am not particularly well traveled and I do not have expertise in many of the social ills and issues of the world but it doesn’t take any of that to realize that this level of poverty has no margin for the unexpected and nothing can be taken for granted.  With that circumstance, the fact that these children are happy, content, moral and well grounded ethically is a testament to faith and love.

We still have one more week and God willing, we will despite our at first, lofty expectations, accomplish a few more tasks aimed at modestly helping either with the operation of the orphanage farm, or at the orphanage itself.  I have learned that it is best to be open to life as it unfolds each day here and then help in whatever way possible because with this number of children and with all staff having absolutely more work than can ever be accomplished,  -you just take it a day at a time and do what you can.

One short story about myself in this regard brings this point home.  One day I was in a rush to find sort through some otherwise intended firewood  to find “lumber” that would suffice for a fruit stand that we wanted to build in support of the soon to be,  God willing, fertile results of the farm.  Anyway, I was greeted by one of the cooks who was standing just outside his “home/apartment” as I hurriedly walked by.  He asked me how I was and offered the customary handshake.  He said I looked as though I had a worried mind and  then invited me to see the inside of his home.  –Just as you or I would invite a visitor into our homes.  The thing is, his “home” was maybe 8 feet by 10 feet.  It contained NO furniture except for two beds.  He shared the area with another of the cooks.  It was spotless and he had pride that he literally had a roof over his head and an actual bed to sleep in.  There were no cooking facilities, and of course no water, restroom, etc.  Just four walls and a little radio that he was honored to own.  That he would offer to have this stranger (me) the comfort of his home was lesson enough.  But I’m sure he knew that he somehow needed to reach out to this foreigner who obviously was making way too much out of the routine challenges of a day in Uganda.  Again, I was the one blessed by my experience here at the orphanage.

It would certainly not be normal to not be thinking of the joyful return to my family and friends a week out from now.  In fact Thanksgiving is not far off.  I know that God willing, as I sit down at a Thanksgiving dinner with family I will definitely be thinking of this country and the orphanage.  I will love both now forever more.  This trip has had that kind of effect on me.  And while one of the lessons as mentioned above, is to truly just live a day at a time,  I can’t help but be very emotional thinking about saying good-bye to those kids and the staff.  I’d like to be a tough guy and not show the emotion that already has started to work on my mind thinking about that good-bye.   I expect instead there will be “leaking eyes” as I’m overcome by the love, respect and admiration I have for these amazing kids and staff.

May God bless these kids and  everyone who is working with such passion to  literally  keep them alive, and afford them the opportunity to grow up and glorify their Creator by the way they will choose to live their lives.

Howard Lemm

This post is from Dustin & Lindsey Diefenderfer, a couple from Bozeman,MT who will spend three months at Kasozi Village from May20th-August 17th 2011…

Well, we have been in central Uganda living at Kasozi Village nearly one month now. I must be honest and say that the newness of this adventure is beginning to settle and I now find myself in a daily battle against my emotions.

Some days I look around and see these orphaned kids worship and I am so moved that I tremble. The weight of their worship is sometimes overwhelming. The gospel is so real to these children. Jesus has really deleted the trauma of their pasts. Here in Kasozi Village the gospel is life and death. It is a non-negotiable. They need it to live.

Witnessing this is hard for me. It makes me think of my American life and makes me ask myself some hard questions. In my perfect American world I don’t have to draw on God. Home in America we have money, we have food, we have talents, we have health care, we have clean water, we have relationships. We have so much excess that we don’t ever have to call on God. It makes me start to ask questions like, where should we raise our kids? How should we raise our kids? Should we raise them in the American culture where moral standards are eroding away daily? In a culture where it is estimated that 70% of young men are struggling with online pornography? In a culture where technology and media have eliminated attention spans in teenagers? Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not anti U.S. It is just seeing people rely 100% on God makes me think about some things in a new light. By the way Lindsey and I don’t even have kids yet and I am not saying that raising kids in Uganda is any better either. Everyday we hear one terrible story after another about what it is like growing up here in Uganda. Teenagers raising babies, men with no jobs, families with not enough food, children with no money for school, parents being murdered, and girls that are sexually abused.

But what I do see here at Kasozi Village is something remarkable. Children wake up at 5:30 am and before they say one word to anyone they step into the church and reserve the first word of the day for God. After prayers they bathe, using only a bucket of water and a pail. They then eat a small breakfast of porridge and milk. The milk comes straight from the dairy cows that children also milk everyday around 6 am. Then the children in secondary school hop on their bicycles for their 30 minute ride into school. School starts at 8 am for everyone and it is intense until 4pm with one morning break and one break for lunch. After 4pm the children entertain themselves with no technology. Many of the small children make unbelievable toy cars out of rubble and race them around the compound. The primary school boys usually play football and the girls play dodgeball. The secondary school students don’t usually get back from school until around 5-6pm and then it is time to bathe again before supper and then evening prayer which starts at 7pm. Somewhere in there they also fit in lots of chores. Children sweep the compound, mow the lawn using only machetes, mop the floors using only rags, clean the outhouses and cook. Oh yah, they also have to fetch water several times a day out of a borehole.

The discipline, structure, work ethic, and focus on God here at Kasozi Village is something to admire and makes me wonder how I will react when I return home in late August to the fast-paced, technology-driven American way of life.

The self-sufficiency projects continue to go well. The fishpond is coming along nicely, and 200 baby chickens arrive next week to fill the chicken coop. Yes, we are indeed running into the standard roadbumps that doing business in Africa is famous for. Obstacles such as corruption, timeliness, theft, and lack of commitment plague us everyday but we are fighting through them and progressing along. This week I have been focused on fencing the perimeter of the farm to reduce theft and trespassing. It has been good hard physical labor but it has been fun because I get to work with Waiwsa. Waiwsa is an amazing young man and is extremely hard working. It is so fun to spend the day with him talking about the differences between Uganda and America.

Lindsey is so extraordinarily busy with the nursing clinic. There is a constant line at the door of children that need assistance. Most commonly you can find her treating malaria, the flu, common colds and caring for scrapes and cuts. Every now and then we see something really crazy like blisters as big as quarters, cuts that go down to the bone, or something like the infection that Ronald has that we continue to fight every day. We could really use some professional nurses/doctors over here but for now we are making due with what we have. In addition to all the patients Lindsey sees during the week she is also teaching Stella & Sissy nursing skills on the weekends.

Well I better run. Someone is knocking on the door. They could have Malaria or maybe they just want to play a game of cards. You never know around here.

          When my children were young, I remember reading them a story from the classic Pooh tales. Perhaps you’ll recall the scene on a snowy day where Piglet finds Pooh staring at some footprints. Pooh surmises they might belong to a heffalump, or even a woozle, and challenges Piglet to join his investigation. Piglet is reticent, but agrees if Pooh stays with him. After a bit, they notice the footprints have doubled in number: possibly two heffalumps or, maybe a pack of woozles. Pooh sings a little tune to overcome his nerves “How cold my nose, tiddly pom….” and they press on. Eventually they see four sets of footprints. Now Piglet is alarmed, and the two sit down to have a think. Happily they realize that they’re walking a circle and following their own footprints.
          I laughed to the point of tears over it, but my little daughter sat motionless on my lap as I read. Her thin body was tight with dread, wondering what kind of creatures would overtake Pooh and poor little Piglet. Her fear was real.
          Another time we took our kids to an IMAX theatre. My son was only three then and climbed into my lap. The giant screen and surround sound made him feel that he was actually soaring off cliffs, falling down waterfalls, and following a stampede. I felt his stomach muscles tighten as he leaned back into my chest, bracing his hands on the arms of the seat. His adrenaline pumped hard and his fear, just as real.

         “Mommy, are we flying?”

          There is an old saying that if a child has a nightmare about a roaring lion, there’s no use telling him it was just a dream. To a child it’s real. Perception is reality. Children feel and experience things deeply.
          Brent Curtis talked about this in The Sacred Romance. To paraphrase, he said that pain comes to us like an arrow in the heart and some of the most defining ones strike when we are young. It feels like an ambush and our response is at a gut level. We may never put words to it. Our deepest convictions are formed from the wounds of these arrows, and the effect is a shift deep in our soul. We make vows to never experience that sort of pain again. And this plays right into the enemy’s plan for our lives. He wants to kill our hearts, because he knows that all genuine love, all meaningful work, and all true worship come from the heart.
          To lose heart, is to lose everything. Wise words from Brent.
          So how does that translate to an African orphan? While they may not know about heffalumps and woozles, the lion in their world might be real. They’ve no doubt seen some violence in an unstable culture. But worse are the deeply pernicious arrows of losing both parents.
          We can close the book, or leave the movie theatre with our children, but the drama of feeling alone, scared and hungry was unending and far from imaginary for many of these children. That is, before they came to our village.
          Last summer, in Kasozi Village, I held several of those kids on my lap as we read a story about crocodiles.  Several other kids stood around me, huddling close to catch every word. We read the book twice, and then played I-Spy on each page. After that we counted everything that could be counted—especially crocodile teeth. We must have pored over every page five or six times, and afterwards, they wanted to read it out loud to me in unison. They pressed on it seems, so reading time wouldn’t end.
I didn’t feel any fear in their bodies. I didn’t hear any terror in their voices. I didn’t see any fright on their faces. Rather, I experienced them drinking up every drop of mother-like attention from me, even if it had to be shared by seven other kids. I realized that physical touch and closeness was a soothing balm on all the real fears they have lived with for years. And page by page, we will try to love these kids back to life.

Do you think simple things like this matter?

2HMAK4B6SKZA

A final thought on thrash. One Sunday, I heard a story about Enterprise Alabama, a small community near the Florida panhandle. The town center is known for its rather odd historic monument: a fountain that features a statue of a beautiful woman in a flowing gown, holding a giant version of a Boll Weevil. What’s strange is the fact that this insect is an agricultural pest, and the female figure holds it high over her head in tribute fashion. An inscription says, “In profound appreciation of the Boll Weevil and what it has done as the herald of prosperity.”

Initially, I thought of high school boys late at night, with pranks on their minds. Wikipedia confirmed my suspicions. Vandalism has been a constant issue throughout the years. I had to read on.

The story behind it all was far more interesting. The boll weevil made its way to Alabama from Mexico in 1915. In those days, farming was the economy, and cotton was its cash cow. By 1918, farmers were losing entire crops to the beetle. A man named H. M. Sessions saw the insect plague as an opportunity to convert the area’s produce to peanut farming. He convinced another farmer to back his venture. Their first crop covered all their debt, and others farmers swiftly followed suit. Later on cotton was planted again but a shift had occurred: Farmers diversified their crops, and that change brought prosperity to their county. Bon Fleming, a local business owner, had the idea to build the monument. He recognized how something disastrous can actually serve as a catalyst for change.

The question to ask … Was it odd, or was it God? Could this be a story of God Thrash?

Of course God thrash is epic all over the Bible. As spectators reading long after the fact, we can see how God brought good from disaster–the cross and resurrection being the most extraordinary thrash moves of God.

The problem comes when you are caught in the middle of a catastrophe, and left wondering how Something-This-Bad could possibly fit with the purposes of God, or any good thing for that matter. I don’t have grandiose answers for that, but I have learned a few things.

John Eldredge said that life is a series of small stories. We tend to get stuck in the small stories, bumping our heads on the low ceilings. But if God is telling a larger story about a greater reality, things begin to look different.

For example, in Africa the growing orphan situation is nothing short of catastrophic. AIDS and war, like boll weevils, have decimated the landscape. My friend Rob said that tribal hatred is actually the worst problem, even greater than AIDS. How can generational bitterness, centuries old, ever change?

Yet in our village, orphans from three different tribes are growing up as buddies and BFFs, and this has started a shift that could transform an ageless problem. With a whole generation of parents gone, children are not being taught to hate each other. Something new is happening.

As Tolstoy said, “True life is lived when tiny changes occur.” If a tiny bug can bring prosperous changes to a farming community, just think of the possibilities with a God who uses thrash for good.

2HMAK4B6SKZA

The Thrash Effect – Part II 

     According to Ashton Kutcher, thrash is disruptive in nature.

     In the early days of Uganda Orphans Fund, you could say I felt thrashed, but not in the best sense of that word. My husband had made a giant leap. We were in the midst of raising teenagers, and I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the prospect of him spending weeks, maybe months in Africa.

    I looked up the word “thrash” and found six definitions. One said thrash means to toss or move about in an uncontrolled or restless way. You could say that fit. Duncan moved quickly once called to Africa, but I needed time to process. What would this change look like? How would our family be affected? Things felt nebulous, and I needed a clear sense of direction. With a passport in his back pocket, and a Yellow Fever vaccination in his bloodstream, Duncan was ready for a wild-eyed adventure in Africa. I wanted a map, an itinerary, and a satellite phone. Inevitably, it brought our differences to the forefront and that was the disruptive part. You couldn’t meet two people more vastly opposite.

    When God calls someone to work in a far-off land, you’d think He’d give the same call to the spouse. In our case, that did not happen. While I feel a deep compassion for orphans in Africa, I am not wired for travel and adventure of that kind. I need quiet spaces. I hang out with cats and tomato plants. And, God was urging me to write. Two people, called to be “one” in marriage, on two completely different roads. How would that work?

     I don’t know how long you’ve been around God, but in my experience, He tends to shake everything that can be shaken, so that what remains is unshakable. I like certainty and stable ground. Left to myself, I tend to live within the realm of self-sufficiency. In some ways, I can live the good-Christian-life without God, and this is a bad thing because it’s just being religious.

     Ultimately, my need for order, predictability and risk management is antithetical to the life of faith. Faith is going out, not knowing where you’re going, knowing only Who you’re following. Faith is not relying on your own understanding and natural strengths. Faith itself is disruptive. But, God is good all the time and part of His wisdom is to allow wrecking changes. He takes us to the place where we have a choice to play it safe, or grow into a new level of faith, relationship, and fruitfulness.

     Interestingly, a sixth definition of thrash has to do with the movement of sailing a boat against the tide. In real life, I have had this experience in Puget Sound, at night no less. I felt the opposing forces and wondered what would be stronger in the end–the wind or the tide? In our life, would the tide of sweeping change and different callings capsize our life? Or would the winds of the Holy Spirit overpower the tide and take us in a new direction, bringing new levels of faith, and greater intimacy in marriage? It wouldn’t be easy—thrash never is—but we aren’t shipwrecked today.

Is God shaking your world so that what remains will be unshakable?  Does this kind of thrash mix with your idea of a loving God?

I was traveling home from Cleveland and noticed an article on Aston Kutcher in the in-flight magazine. Though this popular movie star has the dubious distinction of being the most followed man on Twitter, the interview wasn’t the usual fare of celebrity worship.

In the article, Kutcher stated that the social Web is “the most extraordinarily valuable communications device ever invented in the history of man.” A huge claim, but true. And that is one reason we started this blog. We hope to engage you in a conversation about what ordinary people can do for orphans and widows on a continent halfway around the world–because God is in the mix.

Kutcher also went on to say that whether he’s on the Web, or acting, or even being a husband, his aim is to generate what he calls “thrash.” It has to do with creating movement in a disruptive kind of way. He describes the wake made by a boat saying it’s moving toward something, some kind of goal. It’s not thrash for the sake of thrash. “Occasionally, you have to be forced outside your comfort zone, right? You just gotta have thrash,” he says. Of course his show, Punk’d, is an example of thrash, but came with mixed reviews when his elaborate pranks almost brought Justin Timberlake to tears. But Kutcher maintains, “If everyone is happy, you’re not doing anything.” I finished the article, but the thrash idea stayed with me a long time.

Creating movement in a disruptive kind of way.

A few nights later, we watched our son play varsity basketball. It was senior night, and our team hoped to have a win after a losing season. One senior played his best game but fouled out in the fourth quarter. We had seen a lot of bad ref calls, and this kid was clearly frustrated as he headed to the bench, tears streaming down his face.

Then, the coach of the other team made an unexpected move. His entire team flowed like a stream of blue uniforms as one by one, each player came over to our bench to shake this kid’s hand. It was a creative move and it disrupted our fierce competitive mindset. In the end, our team won, but the thrash effect of that coach’s decision took my breath away.

I thought about the how the thrash effect could describe the life of Jesus 2000 some years ago…and also now, as God reaches out to a broken world. God’s ways are creative. They produce movement and are also disruptive. He does not color inside our lines. And if His Spirit is in us and we are in sync with what He’s doing–our lives should have a measure of thrash too.

And frankly, that just what happened eight years ago to my husband, Duncan Hill. He heard Heidi Baker speak on poorest of poor in Africa and was wrecked for anything else. After being a stockbroker for sixteen years and a business owner for five, he was ready to leave it all behind. He went to Uganda with only one contact and created a wake, moving toward a goal and disrupted the status quo of our comfortable Christianity. Now almost a decade later, over a thousand orphans have been rescued.

What about you. Has the thrash effect ever impacted your life? Does following God in essence pull you out of your comfort zone and take you on a thrash adventure? You gotta have thrash…