A living saint, and Oren at School

“Are you saying that the blood of tribalism runs deeper than the waters of Baptism?”

--a question asked by a cardinal visiting Rwanda after the genocide when he saw the extent to which Christians participated in it. The answer that came back to him from the local church leaders was “Yes.”

Identity, Community, and the Gospel of Reconciliation: Christian Resources in the face of Tribalism, was the title of the conference sponsored by the Duke Center for Peace and Reconciliation. This was the milieu we spent the past 5 days in. Yes, just two days after arriving back in Bujumbura we found ourselves attending—NAY, HOSTING --this auspicious gathering.

We spent the week at the one big hotel: Club du Lac Tanganyika, in the company of several distinguished professors from Duke, notably Chris Rice and Father Emmanuel Katongole, who co-led it. Emmanuel is a Ugandan Catholic priest who led the Duke pilgrimage I wrote about in a blog last August. With us were about 90 other participants primarily from the Sudan, Uganda, Kenya, Burundi, Rwanda, and Congo. Most, I would describe as being on the front lines of peace and reconciliation work in the region, and the conference provided an opportunity to share stories, network, and pray and worship together. (There was a lot of talk about the need of trauma healing for the trauma healers.)

The event was quite inspiring and I want to share some highlights, but I will say a bit more about what it meant for Rebecca and I to host it. MCC was the primary sponsor of this gathering and so Rebecca and I were called upon to do a lot the banking, reimbursements, as well as numerous other errands. This proved to be quite a challenging assignment as travel reimbursements were done to individuals when they gave us receipts. Because of the different countries participating all of the refunds had to be in US$. We immediately cringed at the prospect of trying to track down a few thousand dollars in 20s, 10s, 5s and 1s. I can tell you no one uses dollars in denominations less than 100 here in Burundi. We divided the job, though, I went and got cash at the bank, then Zachee and I ran around town looking for forex cash exchangers who might be able to change our 100s into smaller bills. Rebecca, meanwhile, collected receipts and distributed money. Over the 4 days we did pretty well, but it was a challenge. The added complexity of needing to have new bills made the search even more difficult.

My duties also included leaving the conference midday to bring Oren home from school and after lunch together, leave him with Denise, his nanny --but I will come back to that later. Rebecca had the additional job of nursing David every 3 hours. He spent most of the three days listening quietly to the worship and talks from his mosquito-net-covered car seat. (He was quite a celebrity there.)

The days began with very inspiring worship led by an MCC worker from South Africa, two Kenyans, a Rwandan and a Congolese guitarist. We heard a message on the theme of the day. (There were 3: Day 1 was Lament, Day 2 was Learn, Day 3 was Live.) On each day small group workshops would focus on these themes. Each day ended with a closing worship and wrap-up session. There were some powerful speakers with inspired testimonies about their work, as well as bishops and church leaders from many Catholic and Protestant denominations.

On day 1 we wept for our culpability as Christians, for the failure of the church in the past to disrupt destructive identities that set peoples, even in the same churches, murderously against each other.

The quote from the top of the page came from the day of lament. The question by the Cardinal was deeply convicting to all of us who call ourselves Christians.

My own reflections found me revisiting a passage in the Bible (Matthew 10:37) which I found deeply disturbing in the past, but now had to consider with fresh eyes:
“Anyone who does love his father or mother more than me, is not worthy of being mine.” (I think in Luke it actually says “Anyone who does not hate his father and mother…”.)

I had not considered the extent to which we all, in our own tribal ways, inherit the best and worst of our family histories. I have no doubt that my past includes slave owning as well as other brutal behavior. I have inherited the racial hatred of my own past. I see Jesus’ call to abandon our malformed identities when we become his, as an important part of discipleship. For Burundians, one cannot be a Tutsi who is Christian, or a Hutu who is Christian, but must be first and foremost a Christian. A new creation, who must reject in no compromising terms, the loyalties and vendettas of the past, no matter how much they are an intimate part of ones own family identity. Divisive loyalty to clan must be sacrificed if the gospel is to have power to transform the world.

The paradox is that Christianity, more than any other faith seeks to welcome diversity, even as it demands such intense loyalty. We talked about the book of Acts where Peter is invited to eat unkosher food to symbolize the inclusion of gentiles into the faith. Christianity rejects the exclusive standard of The Law, invites people of all cultures and languages to interpret the Bible, yet, in this diversity seeks to maintain an identity as one family committed to love each other. So in a sense, the gospel at its best, I believe, redeems these very same marred identities, even as it undermines them-- loyalty does not mean conformity! Diversity is to be tolerated, even celebrated. No culture is privileged over another.

I won’t go into this much more, but we, as westerners were challenged by our own conception of African peoples as being ‘tribal’, where we do not use that description of western identities. I considered the possibility of the type of tribalism we might see in our own cultural context. Are fundamentalists a tribe? Or maybe Christians and Muslims are our two most significant tribes. I think this becomes true when we see sharing the gospel as a type of team sport, where we compete for quantity. Who has more people? Who is growing faster? Are we competing for souls? If we see this as a some kind of competition, especially vis-à-vis Islam, than I think we do reduce Christianity to just another tribal group. The cautionary tales are written all over sub-Saharan Africa where Christianity was cast abroad, millions were converted, and yet there was no transformation that went below skin deep.

Indeed the blood of tribalism ran deeper than the waters of baptism in the 20th century here in Africa.

Two personal highlights:

1) I was invited to dance as part of the closing ceremony. Rebecca sang "It is Well With My Soul," and I choreographed and performed a dance to it. It was well received and I was honored to be invited to share it. I think it was more than a bit surprising that a development worker in Burundi would have such an extensive professional dance resume. I did feel that God gave me a nice outlet to use my gift in that way, something I had yet to do in Burundi until now.

2) I think I met a real living Saint. I know that we use that word to describe a really good and selfless person, but I am trying to be as Catholic as possible here. I believe this woman should be canonized. I have known many people of God, but I have never met anyone who actually seemed to be animated by something supernatural. She is called Maggy, she is Burundian, a nun, and runs an enormous orphanage/foster care center, (10s of thousands of children) called Maison Shalom in Ruigi Province in Burundi. I had not heard of her before this conference.

How can I describe Maggy? She describes herself as crazy, she is hypernanimated--bubbly, laughs infectiously, boundlessly energetic. She wears outrageously colorful Burundian fabrics and headdresses and looks a bit like Carmen Miranda in my opinion. She described an audience at the Vatican where the interviewing Cardinal asked her why she came instead of ‘Sister Maggy’. She said she was Maggie and he looked at her and said, “but you are just an ordinary woman!” (She said he was expecting a Mother Teresa type, in a habit looking beatific.)

Maggy’s story is heartwrenching. As a young woman she was growing up in the heart of ethnic struggles in the 70s and 90s. She flatly rejected her family’s own ethnic prejudices. (They were Tutsi) and when the first conflict broke out she adopted a young Hutu girl (and a Protestant!) to come live with her family. They were outraged. Maggy took in Hutu orphans during the first conflict and Tutsi orphans during the 90s. She found herself to be, ironically, the enemy of everyone. Tutsis, her family, rejected her and Hutus as well. Several times they tried to divide ethnically her growing family of children. She was threatened, fled for her life many times, but never gave up. In the 90s she had hundreds of orphans she was caring for virtually by herself. She was supported by a local bishop.

In the past several years she has received major support from UNDP, UNICEF, and others. There is a great documentary about her, and she has won several major humanitarian awards (Opus Prize) for her work. She laughs it all off though. She says she has no use for NGOs or the UN. She says “all the white people want plans!! They want to know what I will be doing in 5 years, 10 years, 20 years!! I don’t even know what will happen tomorrow, how can I know what will happen in 5 years?" She has a website at http://maisonshalom.net/index.php?option=com_content&task=blogcategory&id=29&Itemid=53 Or for Utube try http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rdv24_r-Okk

As a grantor, it was a challenging question. Everything in her life has taught her that she cannot trust the future, but she has trusted God all her life and HE has not failed her. How do we partner with that, when we are limited by our strategic thinking? I don’t have an answer to that question.

But I felt I was in the presence of Christ when she was at the conference. I wonder if he was loud, and colorfully dressed, and funny, as well as passionately devoted to obeying God’s will wherever it led him.


Life on the homefront continued to move through transitions. By about Thursday we all were sleeping through the night, officially ending our jet lag. Prior to that, our waking and sleeping hours were pretty random, and much of it is a blur.

Oren finally started at the Ecole Autonome Belge. (premiere maternelle or preschool). His teacher is Madame Cecille. It was interesting watching him being brave. The morning before we took him the first day, he was sitting alone in his room looking at the ceiling. I could tell he was struggling with the idea of going. Yet he seemed to be making the decision not to cry. He was very brave the first 3 days and went in, albeit hesitantly, to his classroom. There were quite a few other students and here are some pictures of the grounds and classroom.

After school each day at noon (it is daily from 8am to 12noon), I met him to bring him home. He beamed enormously when he saw me. But when I asked him if he had a good day, he said emphatically: NO! The last two days he did cry when we dropped him off in the class. Mdme Cecille said it was normal and that we should not hang around as that only aggravates the situation. I do know Oren well and I suspected he would stop as soon as he left. He has not seemed to be really warped in any way from the first week. We will see how the second goes. I will say that I have not detected any knowledge of the French language up to this point.

Other good news: our LandCruiser is out of the shop. It is good to have our car back, although we have been blessed by the generosity of our partner Help Channel who lent us one of theirs for the week.

We had several Burundian friends over for dinner tonight along with Zachee and his wife Bridget (I still need to write a story on them) with Timmy. He and Oren played well together. We also had a visit today from Lizzie, Zack and Grace (Simon’s family.) Oren is starting to find some friends around here and that is good. He really misses his cousins Miriam and Gabriel who he got to play with frequently the past 3 months. He also found out that one of the families in our small group has a trampoline in their house! I think Oren will enjoy spending more time over there as well.

David, who I apologize for not writing much about, is doing fabulously. He is getting a reputation as a little sage as he seems to have great capacity to sit quietly for long stretches of time and take in the things around him, oh yes and he usually has a huge smile for anyone who looks him in the eyes.

GOOD MORNING BUJUMBURA!!

Kilimanjaro sticking out of the clouds enroute between Nairobi and Bujumbura.

I was going to title this entry ‘The Second Coming: Baptism by Fire” but I thought it might be a bit too irreverent although apropos.

It is Saturday morning here in Burundi. We got back to Bujumbura yesterday at about 9 am after 3 days of travel. One of the reasons we took that long is that we spent a full day in Nairobi before going on to Burundi. (We wanted to pick up some anti-malarials among other things.—In the US they cost about $12 per pill, but in Nairobi you can get the same medication made by the same company for about 50 cents apiece.—Yes America, you overpay for healthcare.)

But where was I… Oh yes, the journey:

It is easy to romanticize travel, especially long journey’s involving relocation. I think of Out of Africa, where the beautiful young ingénue arrives in Nairobi with about 20 steamer trunks and a dozen hat boxe, and met at the port by an entourage of coolies who transport her and her personal effects on their backs to her new home in the Rift Valley.

My favorite description of post colonial travel though is in Barbara Kinsolver;s The Poisonwood Bible. It is worth reading the book for the description of the ‘unauthorized’ missionary family heading off to Zaire. To avoid paying any baggage fees they wore all of their clothes in layers on their bodies and carried all their kitchen utensils in their pockets. The amount of stuff they carry on their bodies and in their meager baggage allowance is really quite humorous.

I would say that our particular departure was more like the latter. All counted we had 13 pieces of luggage and two children that had to be carried, in tow. The breakdown was as follows:

3 suitcases weighing 50 pounds each with our clothes, books for the baby, etc.
3 50 pound oversized duffle bags containing among other things:
-a pack and play
-a double set jogging stroller (chariot)
-an infant seat and base
2 max size carry on suitcases loaded with electronics and books (about 40 pounds each)
1 carry on for Oren with toys for the plane
1 child carrying backpack stuffed with diapers and snacks –and Oren when necessary.
2 computer bags with 3 computers and cameras inside.
1 baby changing backpack

We also had a front pack for David.

We were taken to Dulles by our parents and between 5 of us, were able to get it all to the check-in agent in one trip.

Our plan was to get all this stuff to Burundi without paying any extra baggage fees. We did so all the way to Nairobi, but Kenya Airways hit us up for $100 for excess size and weight. All in all though, not bad.

The bigger problem was trying to move all this stuff and two kids from taxi to check in and then to gate with all of this in tow. All I can say is that it was extremely hard!! I may have ruined my back for life. We did get help from sympathetic custom agents, check in agents, and cabbies when they saw the absurdity of our situation.

We were the archetype missionary family and most people could tell we were going somewhere for a long time.


The baggage situation would have been bad enough but the journey had other complications most worrying being Oren’s health. Oren had had a stomach virus the previous week and had vomited several times in the night the week prior… Now I know every parent has a throw-up story, and probably the worthiness of repeating it has to do with the inconvenience and challenge of the situation. An overnight intercontinental flight is a great opening for such a story. The fact that there was turbulence for most of it which confined us to our seats for much of the time can only augment the climax.

I was sitting next to Oren, with Rebecca and David across the aisle. Oren complained of feeling sick, but I was not thinking he was about to vomit. During a brief respite of smooth air I picked him up to take him to the bathroom in the back of the plane. On the way there he suddenly barfed copiously on my shirt and his. When I got to the bathroom and locked us in, I was then stuck with trying to figure out what to do. I did not really have a change of shirt available to me. I cleaned us up as best I could and we returned to our seat where we stayed looking and smelling pretty bad for the next several hours. (He did vomit several more times after that, but I was able to catch most of that in something before it made too big of a mess.

In the airport in Zurich Oren continued to feel bad. We switched to Swiss Air (a marked improvement over United!) and as soon as we got into the plane Oren fell into a deep sleep. It was then that Rebecca and I noticed that he had a severe rash on his neck. (He had this once before from an allergic reaction to passion fruit juice, but he had not had any of that on the trip.) We were worried, and the head steward came by to check on us just before we took off. His exact words were:

“You are the parents, you need to let us know if you think it is OK for the plane to take off, or if we should wait.” ---Wow, I was relieved they were so considerate, but having the responsibility of holding up an A300 full of passengers bound for Nairobi was not a position we wanted to be in.

Oren seemed to be sleeping soundly and was not having trouble breathing so we told them they could leave. We laid hands on him and prayed for him as we took off. Fortunately he improved markedly on the flight and did well all the way to Nairobi.

We arrived in Nairobi in the late evening and planned to stay at the Mennonite Guest House there for an entire day before hopping over to Bujumbura. The place was truly idyllic. Nairobi has perfect weather and they had beautiful grounds with a large garden and children’s play equipment. Oren really liked the lion swing! We also visited with the MCC Country Reps for Kenya, Ron and Martha Ratzlaff while we were there. If you want to stay in a really nice quiet place on a visit to Nairobi, I can recommend it highly. The only unpleasant aspect of our stay there was Oren falling into the jungle gym and nearly breaking his nose (quite bloody). Fortunately it only needed some first aid and no ER visit.

We had to leave for the airport at about 4:45 in the morning, though and the last leg (an hour and a half) was as hard as any of the longer legs. Handling our copious amount of baggage, Kenya security, and finally Oren having a complete meltdown at the gate made for a very challenging morning...

I diverge here to observe something about traveling by plane. It is my experience that despite globalization and the maturity of the information age, there does not seem to be a single central database for any airline, much less between them. What I mean is, No matter how often you call to talk to a friendly travel agent or even directly to the airline, no matter how specifically you plan, confirm, reconfirm, print documentation, reservation and confirmation #s etc, there just seems to be a total disconnect between all of that advance planning and what happens at the check-in counter. I honestly do not know what happens with all the stuff that seems to be meticulously noted by reservation agents, but it goes into some kind of information black hole, I am guessing, and virtually irretrievable. I will say that we reconfirmed our Swiss Air flight4 times, and each time we were told our ticket was cancelled and had to be reinstated. In Kenya we were told they had no record of David Henry eventhough we held a ticket in hand! The good news is, it usually all works out after a couple hours.

…We did get to Bujumbura by 8:40 am though and were met by Zachee and Bridget (newly married). It was great to see them.

Sadly they were not driving our landcruiser as it had recently been in an accident and is out of commission. (We were blessed to find that one of our partners had an extra landcruiser they could loan us, so we are able to get around for the time being. Hopefully the parts for our car will come in soon.) That story will have to be told at a later date.

Despite being utterly exhausted, we knew that there would be a lot of people to greet when we got back. Sure enough, all of our house staff were there: Marcelline, Denise, Pacifique, and Gaspar. They all wanted to see the baby. Isaac our housesitter was there and he had bought food for us and made sure we had a good supply of cooking gas, etc.
(He had tried his best to get the hot water heater fix and had had about 6 visits with technicians over the past month. They even replaced it a few weeks ago. Sadly, as of this writing we have not enjoyed a shower with hot water yet. Looks like I will have to call the landlord again.)

Oren was ecstatic to see his au pair Denise. He really loved her and immediately dragged her into his room to play trains.

Other friends, Simon and Lizzie dropped by with food as well, and we really did feel welcomed and cared for when we got here.

At about noon I crashed until almost 5 pm. We then bid our staff a good weekend, distributed Christmas gifts to them, then began the task of unpacking.

I have to say, despite a difficult journey, it was good to be back here. Our house here does feel like home and I am looking forward to settling back into a routine. I even enjoyed having rice and beans once again for lunch! We have a busy week ahead though, there is a huge peace conference that we are part of, as well as Oren starting school (in French) on Monday. We really need prayers that this will all work out well.

I hope this all does not sound too grim, here is a spot of hope--I just went to the store today and discovered that since we were gone they have added two new items to their inventory-- honey nut cherios (for only $11 per box) and diet coke in cans! Move over Rwanda, Burundi is coming back.

Shout out to all you PUMCers reading this, we really miss you and hope to see a mission trip coming our way sometime, keep in touch!

Last Night in America--Counting the Cost:

Picture of Charter Hall where we spent New Years

The next entry you read on this blog, will be from Bujumbura. It is a surreal thought for me. I knew this day would arrive, in fact I had said earlier how anxious I was to get back, but now I feel like I am looking over the edge of a cliff I am about to hang glide off of. We have been packing and sorting like mad, hence the late blog. The biggest issue right now is whether to bring a two-kid jogging stroller and try to pass it through security and gatecheck it. It is the size of a small tank even folded. We will let you know how that goes!

This week has been crammed with quite a bit of activity. Many people have been trying to see us once more so I have had the family of both my brothers’ here in town the past week. Jonathan and his wife and son live in Cleveland, and my brother Mark and clan hail from North Carolina. We had some post Christmas time together, but at this point it is starting to feel a bit muddled. Oren enjoyed his cousin's though. Here are Fletcher and him making gingerbread houses.

New Years we observed a tradition that has been going on since Rebecca and I were married, which is to join her brother Paul and his family, as well as other friends of theirs at a retreat center on an estuary of the Chesapeake Bay called Charter Hall. In the summer there is great canoeing. In the winter, though, it is beautiful but quite cold outside. We mainly visit a lot indoors, do puzzles and play games (this year’s big hit was ‘Carcisonne’-get it if you like board games.) I also got some knitting needles and yarn as a gag gift and got lessons in knitting while I was there. (Ilearned how to cast on and do a basic stitch) After several hours of work I had to come to terms with the fact that my scarf had not gotten that long. I would say it ended up looking more like a pot holder for a Barbie doll. I will try again, I hope. We had a good time together, although I probably gained a pound in two days of eating there. (two words: chocolate fondue)

Church has been interesting as well our last two Sundays in the US. Last Sunday Rebecca preached at Long Green Church of the Brethren. The passage was from Matthew 2:13-23, Herod killing the innocents in an attempt to kill Jesus. One of the observations she made which is sadly true is that while it is tempting to imagine that kind of barbarism as belonging to the distant past, the truth is it is worse now. Powerful men, mired in fear are no strangers to the kind of atrocity committed by Herod. Just two weeks ago the Tutsi General Laurent Nkunda slaughtered a village of men and young boys in an Eastern Congo village he feared would oppose him in the future.

It also reminds me of a shocking story I heard on NPR. For anyone who thought that slavery was primarily a pre 20th century phenomenon, you might be surprised to know that there are more slaves today (primarily sexual, but also forced labor) than there ever were in the height of the 19th century slave trade.

All this to say, that there is nothing that convinces me that things are getting better as we become more ‘modern’. We are truly more in need of a redeemer than ever. I don’t know what difference the work that Rebecca and I do will make in all of this, but I hope we are able to be able to share a vision of God’s love and justice with those who have been victims of human evil!

This Sunday, David Henry was dedicated at North Baltimore Mennonite Church. With so much to do, it was good to have an opportunity to do this before we left. It was a nice service with an original song composed by our friend Paul Schlitz who set a poem by Christina Rosetti to music. It was entitled, What Are Heavy:

What are heavy? sea-sand and sorrow:
What are brief? today and tomorrow:
What are frail? spring blossoms and youth:
What are deep? the ocean and truth.

A small group of us sung it. I was part of that group, but the song still sounded beautiful!

The other thing I have been doing this week is putting all of my old choreography videos onto DVD. Since I will be away for 5 years, I feel my video archive will not do too well in storage. Since I have to do all the recordings in real time, it has been interesting to look back on all the works I have done. It is a bit odd at this point, like watching someone else, especially the younger days. Oren came in and watched on a few and I told him it was me. He was not convinced, although in one solo called The Man Who Never Loses His Balance, he actually began to cry when I told him it was about a very lonely person. This piece was based on a poem as well which I am including. The picture from my dance days is not of that piece.

The Man Who Never Loses Balance

He walks the high wire in his sleep.
The tent is blue, it is perpetual
afternoon. He is walking between
the open legs of his mother
and the grave. Always. The audience
is fathers whose kites are lost, children
who want to be terrified into joy.
He is so high above them, so capable
(with a single, calculated move)
of making them care for him
that he's sick of the risks
he never really takes.
Every performance, deep down,
he tries one real plunge
off to the side, where the net ends.
The tent is blue. Outside is a world
that is blue. Inside him
a blueness that could crack
like china if he ever hit bottom

--Stephen Dunn

When I was younger I was pretty sure I understood this poem, now I am not so sure. (The dance, by the way was actually choreographd by Tymberly Canale)

I have written to Burundi to let our friends know we are returning and they are excited to have us back. I am so grateful that we have a community to return to there. Please stay in touch with us and keep us in prayer. If you have skype, keep in on when you are online. We are not online very regularly, but we would love to be able to keep in touch.

My last thought is on ‘counting the cost’. We had a time of prayer with our parents altogether this evening. We read the passage in Luke 15 about counting the cost of being a disciple. Rebecca and I have certainly done that. One cost that is hard to measure though, is the cost exacted on those left behind. I felt a great sense of sadness about the loss of time our parents will have with our children. For both the grandparents and the children. We had an opportunity to acknowledge our grief for the time that will be lost. What is interesting about it was that while our parents were sad, they all had spent many years with their families overseas away from their families as well. I don’t know if this is foreshadowing events in my own future as well, but it would not surprise me. I am wondering how much what we are doing now, will influence the life choices of David and Oren

We will leave from Dulles on Tuesday evening and fly to Zurich and then Nairobi where we will spend two nights. We will arrive in Bujumbura on the 9th.

It is hard to believe the weather will be in the 90s there!

Christmas Letter

It is true what they say about 3 year olds. You can them a great toy, but the thing that holds their interest is the box it came in.

Merry Christmas!! We have been in Christmas mode with vigor the past 3 days. Christmas Eve was spent with Rebecca’s family and the past 2 days with Paul’s. It has definitely felt a bit excessive, at least as far as the food, but that is tempered by the awareness that in 10 days we will get back on a plane to Burundi and not have any of the holiday goodies readily available to us. I think I will be happy to be back on rice and beans for about 2 days before I start missing cookies and breakfast cereal.


It is also sobering to remember that we will not be back for Christmas in the USA for five years! That will be disappointing. Rebecca and I are already wondering what types of Christmas decorations we might take back with us now for Burundi next year. (Rebecca did notice and old artificial tree in storage in our shed in Bujumbura.) So all we need are some lights and ornaments.


It is late, and difficult to find time to write this week with family visiting from out of town, and many wanting to see us in our last 2 weeks. So I am going to take a shortcut here and post our Christmas letter for anyone who is interested. For those of you who follow the blog, there is nothing new, but it does sum up our situation to date.

Rebecca was the author of the letter, fyi.


Dear Family and Friends,

The past six months have offered big challenges for us as we left interesting, comfortable jobs in New York, sold our home, and moved to Burundi (Central Africa) in July. We are now working for a Christian organization called Mennonite Central Committee. Here’s what the organization says about itself: MCC seeks to demonstrate God's love by working among people suffering from poverty, conflict, oppression and natural disaster. MCC serves as a channel for interchange by building mutually transformative relationships. MCC strives for peace, justice and the dignity of all people by sharing our experiences, resources and faith in Jesus Christ.

As a couple, we’re sharing the position of MCC Representatives for Rwanda and Burundi. We oversee the program and take care of a small group of North American volunteers. Much of our work involves our support of local Burundian and Rwandan Christian organizations, doing work on the ground. They are involved in active peace-building and reconciliation work: this part of the world has seen a lot of bloodshed, between the ’94 genocide in Rwanda and 14 years of civil war in Burundi (just ended, we pray!). Our partner organizations are helping divided communities live together, find healing for trauma, and assist people who were once enemies to work together on income-generating projects. We also support a reforestation project and a school for marginalized Batwa (pygmy) children. We’re including details about a Christian organization in Rwanda, Friends Peace House, and their efforts to reconcile released prisoners with survivors of genocide.

On a day to day basis, we meet with partners, help them through the process of writing grants, follow up on their projects, give them funds to carry out their work (in Burundi, that means handling big wads of banknotes) and just talk with them. The greatest joy in this work has involved getting to know people like Onesphore, Delphine, Cassien and Cecile – people who have gone through great tragedy, but have a passionate love for Jesus Christ and a real desire to serve their own people. Running a household in Burundi is a lot more work, so that takes time. We also are studying French (Rebecca) and Kirundi (Paul). We thought Oren might learn some French from his part-time nanny, Denise, but he definitely has a long way to go. He’ll start French-language preschool in January, and sooner or later, we’re sure he’ll be able to understand what’s going on. For a lot more details on the people we’ve met and our impressions, visit our blogsite: pamosley.blogspot.com

One joyful fact has left us feeling a bit like yo-yo’s. We moved to Burundi when Rebecca was 6 months pregnant. Because of the need for a repeat c-section, the recovery afterwards and the very poor state of health care in Burundi, we decided to return to the USA for our second son’s birth. Paul stayed in Burundi a month longer than Rebecca and Oren, doing a ton of travel and scrambling to leave our work in a sustainable place. On October 29, a day after Paul returned to Baltimore, David Henry was delivered according to plan. Imagine exhaustion, jet lag, culture shock, oh, and here’s your new baby! It was a lot to get used to all at once. But David has been such a calm child and a joy to us all. We’re even getting some sleep at night these days. And we are thankful for this unique opportunity for Oren to live in the same town with his grandparents and cousins. We’re all forming important memories that will need to carry us through at least two years of separation.

As we hear daily news from Eastern Congo, just across the border from Burundi, I am thankful once more for who our God is. Jesus chose to be born to an impoverished family in a country under foreign military occupation. As a child, he fled from a massacre in Bethlehem and became a refugee in Egypt. He never used the power of wealth or weapons but paid the ultimate price to demonstrate the power of love and forgiveness. Our God in Jesus thought it was worthwhile to stand with those who suffer, rather than those who cause suffering. And on the cross, he showed us the costly way to live an abundant life, in spite of suffering: to love our enemies as much as our neighbors. He is the kind of God people in our region really need. This is the hard-edged, risky hope of Christmas for us this year.

Workation in Winnipeg

Self portrait en route to Winnipeg, Manitoba.

I used to think that cold weather was a bit like debt--after a certain point, beyond which you cannot pay, what difference does it make whether you are down $50,000 or a million? So as Rebecca and I prepared to go to Winnipeg last week and I looked at the weather forecast the night before we left and it said 25 below zero, I thought, 'well how cold can that feel compared to say 5 or 10 below?' I now have my answer.


It is interesting to see how hard it is to get work done when you are living at home and not going into an office. Or in this case, in the homes of our parents. No one is stopping us, but there is still a great deal of distraction and sort of a sense that we are on leave. Deadlines do continue to come and we were feeling like we needed some time to catch up. The Canadian headquarters of our binational office resides in Winnipeg, Manitoba. Several of our projects in Burundi are under the auspices of several MCC Canada dedicated funds. Since reporting for at least one of them is quite complicated our organization thought it would be a good idea for us to pay them a visit, get some training, and try to catch up on some of our work. We were, in fact, reasonably productive and considered our 4 days away from Baltimore to be a workation of sorts.

We decided to take David but leave Oren with Grandma Jean. Taking him would have been complicated from a childcare perspective, and he would have had to miss his last day in preschool here in the US. They were having a Christmas program as well as goodbye party for Oren. Rebecca and I were sorry to miss that, but Grandma took some photos. Oren was a star (as in twinkle, twinkle) in his program (he had a choice of being a star, a king, or an angel, I believe.) He apparently did quite well. After the program his class gave him a goodbye card and a nice book for a present to remember them. (They knew him well and you can see that the book features some nice pictures of a diesel engine.)

Meanwhile Rebecca and I got up at 5am and drove to the airport this past Monday. We were on time, but our flight left 45 minutes late which meant we missed our connection in Minneapolis. Consequently, our travel day was 7 hours longer than planned and we got to Winnipeg 13 hours after we left Baltimore. (Here is a picture of us in transit. Notice David in the front pack.) David was easy to travel with, and I suppose we can see this as a good test for our trip back to Burundi. (We will be sharing a seat with him for 20 hours at least). We were met at the airport in Winnipeg by Betty who works in the Winnipeg office. I was sorry she had to pick us up so late after hours, and she took us to dinner too--Appleby's (a real Canadian experience). We found out she worked for MCC in Bangladesh, and since Rebecca and I both spent our childhood there, we had a lot to talk about.

The weather: The temp. was about -25 but with the windchill it was -50. We covered every square inch of us to exit the airport and traverse the 10 feet to the awaiting car. I thought my lungs were going to crystallize even for the 30 seconds we were outdoors! Winnipegians plug their cars into an outlet when they are not driving to keep the battery from freezing when it is this cold. All I can say is that I will take the 85-90 degree Burundian days anytime.

Fortunately our hotel was very nice and cozy. Here is a picture of David sitting on the bed. He looks quite content.

For the next two days we had meetings from morning until night. We talked with the program officers for
Generations at Risk--that supports our programs dealing with AIDS education
Global Family--that supports our education programs
Canadian Food Grains Bank--which supports our food security program
Water and Agriculture--which supports one of our water projects
as well as several other individuals who helped us understand better how to write good proposals and properly use our database. (and I thought mission work was going to be a lot more..well... spiritual, honestly)

We also had absolutely no time for sightseeing or anything touristy while we there. I did try to take a picture of a street scene to capture the look of the cold weather. This is a view from our hotel window. Not too interesting, but it is the most we saw the whole time we were there. We did eat some good Indian and Thai food for dinner on Tuesday and Wednesday.

The time spent, though was very valuable and David was a huge hit and enjoyed being carried around the office by most everyone. He seems to like the attention.

We returned to Baltimore on Thursday (leaving again at 4:30 am this time). The flight back was much quicker as we had no bad weather or missed connections.

We were going to try to go to Poughkeepsie the following day, but all 4 of us have come down with a horrible cold that is making us miserable, we did not think we could make one more long trip without a rest. That is too bad for us since I fear this was our last chance to get up there before we go back to Burundi on January 6th. The reality of returning for several years is really beginning to dawn on us and we are trying to think of everything we will need to get before we go. Things we need include prescription and over the counter drugs, as well as spare camera batteries, jumper cables, etc. I might even take a hammer.... Then of course there is everything one needs for a newborn--stroller, carseat, pack and play, etc. AND we still only have a 2 bag per person limit.

Being sick has given me a lot of time to read the news on the internet. I have to say that I am very concerned about the situation in Congo which sounds like it might turn into another regional war. General Nkunda is really digging in in Eastern Congo and seems to have his eye on overthrowing the government of Congo. Please pray for peace. This would have a grave affect on us in Burundi as it is just across the border, and the whole situation continues to be a nightmare for the people living in or fleeing from Congo.

On a lighter note, I also read on a friend's blog (Isaac who is staying at our house in Burundi) that Starbucks is now serving Burundian coffee! This is great news for Burundi as they desperately need to have some good export products. Please buy Burundian coffee when you are at Starbucks and say a prayer for us when you drink it. Here is a description from the Starbucks website:

Burundi Kayanza
Juicy with herbal blackberry notes and tea-like flavors, this is a coffee unlike any African single-origin offering we’ve ever tasted. The microclimate of Burundi’s rugged Kayanza Ridge is an ideal setting for farmers to grow this amazing coffee. Each farmer tends a small patch of just 50 to 250 coffee trees, making this a truly rare and special bean.

Key term: Intense

Geography is a flavor You can tell a lot about a coffee if you know where it’s from. Coffees from Africa are remarkable for their floral aromas and citrusy tastes.

Isaac, our faithful housesitter has also been giving us regular but increasingly alarming reports about breakdowns of appliances, water heaters, housestaff, and now a severe cooking gas and deisel fuel shortage. In short, I am anxious to get back, but really quite apprehensive about what we will find.

This week we are trying to send out Christmas letters and gifts. Rebecca will be preaching next Sunday so she is trying to prepare a sermon. I believe she will be using part of Jeremiah 31 and sharing on the Herod's slaughter of the innocents. Some things really have tragically not changed in the past 2000 years.

When did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked?

I have been back in the US for over a month now and still have about 3 and a half weeks to go. It does feel like a kind of limbo. Not that I do not enjoy it here, embraced by the incredible love and hospitality shown to us by everyone! But I find myself reading news reports (obsessively) about Congo and Rwanda and Burundi. I do feel disconnected from here in an odd way--like this is not my home. It is hard to believe that one can experience a kind of cultural trauma after being in a place for even a short time. The contrasts are particularly poignant in returning to this land of abundance during the holiday season. I know that the economic times are bad right now, but the desperation here does not offend (yet) in the way it does on the streets of Bujumbura. Is there poverty, desperation, disease, squallor, here? Absolutely. --but it is hidden better, legislated off of our sidewalks and neighborhoods, and presented as an only-mildly-offensive bell-ringing Santa who stands at the exits of our supermarkets. I wonder if the latest cycle of economic bad news will swell the walls to the point of bursting? Will that poverty spill out onto the streets of suburbia? Would that soften our hearts? or harden us more?

I spent this past week in Cleveland Ohio. Oren and I took a road trip there to bring Oren's cousin Fletcher back to his parents--my brother Jonathan and his wife Emma. I spent several days with them. Jonathan is finishing an MD/PhD program at Case Western and he is in the process of interviewing for a place to do his residency. Emma finished her PhD and does research in the field of sleep deprivation (I think). They will need to leave Cleveland, most likely, and the prospect is daunting. Their neighborhood is the poster-child of the national housing crisis. At a glance it is a lovely block of charming, older housing stock, in quite good condition. On closer inspection there are for sale signs everywhere, but then, when you look in the windows of most of the other houses, the rooms are empty. Jonathan told me that almost all of the houses on the block are for sale of foreclosed. The for sale signs for most are long gone. Houses have lost more than half their value, and in fact can't be sold at all because of the state of the neighborhood. When they leave, they will only take a huge loss if they are lucky. At worst, they may not be able to sell it at all.

He has told me the biggest problem right now is theft! Apparently there have been numerous break-ins into the abandon houses to steal all the copper plumbing! A house without plumbing, in an already blighted neighborhood is not a real selling point even at a bargain price. Jonathan has told me that the few remaining neighbors, including them, usually park one of their cars in the drive of an abandoned house next door. It has the benefit of providing additional off road parking, AND gives the illusion that there are more people in the neighborhood than there actually are.

Our visit was, despite all of this, quite cheery. Oren and Fletcher had a great time playing together. (Fletcher has a nice train set.) They also visited the indoor exhibits at the Zoo, the Botanical Garden, and the Museum of Natural History. It was bitter cold and snowy for much of the time we were there so Fletcher and Oren did a lot of running around in all of these places. Fortunately there were not many visitors on Tues, Wed and Thurs. morning, so they did not wreck too much havoc. On our last evening, we ate at Skyline Chili (famous for Cincinnati chili) before heading our on Friday. The trip back was uneventful except that Oren did not sleep for the first 7 hours 10 minutes of the 7 and a half hour drive, and wanted a constant stream of snacks and stories. He fell fast asleep as we turned onto the Baltimore beltway.

It was good to be back with Rebecca and David again. They did well, even in our absence. David had his doctor visit and had to get his first of a series of many shots. Rebecca described his reaction as pretty awful. Like he had not known that pain existed until that moment. But he is happy as a clam now and even smiles now when he is happy. It is amazing how soon personality begins to emerge.


We have been communicating quite a bit with partners and friends in Burundi, some strategic plans and progress reports are due. Our Congolese partners have been writing us about the desperate situation there and have been asking for emergency food aid for refugees. If you have been keeping up with the news, you know that the situation seems to be grim and not getting better any time soon.

I also received an email from a good friend and someone I have been honored to come to know in Burundi: Simon Guillebaud. He and his wife Lizzie have been working in Burundi with Great Lakes Outreach for 10 years (their family picture is here). He evangelizes, raises money and works tirelessly for many excellent charities in Burundi. They are part of the church we go to and our Bible study as well. They also have two kids close to the age of Oren and now David. I have great respect for Simon and he seems to be known by most everyone here. He keeps many people up to date with prayer letters, and I was convicted by the last one he sent. I can identify very well with the impulse he felt, to look away from the face of desperation, but knowing that that is not what we are called to do. I am going to post his letter here for you to read. It is not a letter of holiday cheer, but perhaps it may motivate you, as it did me, to see beyond the veneer of good tidings, at the need that surrounds us. This is a season that celebrates, at its best, our spirit of generosity. Don't let the prospect of hard economic times take that away. I can assure you, if you are reading this blog, that you are better off than 'Sam' in this email. This is not a call for funds, but an invitation to examine your hearts this season:


PRAYER LETTER NO.59 11th December 2008
www.greatlakesoutreach.org

Christians have bumper stickers and catch phrases.
Believers have creeds and promises.
Disciples have scars and stories.


Dear Team,
I’m feeling raw. I want to share that rawness with you, so apologies in advance if the jumbled thoughts lack coherence, but please feel the anguish with me:

Today’s my prayer day. There’s a half-built cathedral a hundred yards from my office, so I often go there, take my shoes off, and stomp up and down praying in the cool and quiet. After about an hour, this young lady interrupted me. Now you have to understand, I spend my life out here getting asked for money. It’s relentless and draining to deal with. So I thought to myself, whilst ‘in the Spirit’, as she approached me: “Just go away, leave me alone, can’t you see I’m praying? Don’t you dare ask me for money!”

Her lips were quivering. She was dressed reasonably well, but she looked rough with beads of perspiration on her nose. I could tell she was scared to approach me. But she was also desperate, and desperation triumphed over her fear as she tentatively but boldly broke in on my special time with God.

Now hear me, I’m compassionate. I feel people’s pain. I do care, and I vote with my feet by going and giving, crying and caring. But I still thought: “Oh God, please, can’t she just leave us alone together? I’ve had enough! Of course she’s in need, but there are thousands of people in need. I can’t give to everyone. Surely I can tell her to go away?”

“No, give her a chance, just a few minutes, listen to her story, give her some dignity.”

So I did. Sam told me she was feeling terrible. She’d just gone for an AIDS test, to confirm the almost inevitable. She’d already been kicked out of her family and is 4-months pregnant through a boyfriend who loves her but wants her to have an abortion. She talked of a wound that would never heal, and eventually showed it to me. It was disgusting! She peeled back her trouser leg to reveal an oozing puss-filled mess from above her ankle to below her knee. She could hardly walk. She’d had a motorbike accident the previous week, her back was sore, and she wanted to do an ultrasound to see if the baby was still alive.

Apart from feeling angry that my precious time with God had been interrupted, a number of other thoughts were going through my mind. I was asking God whilst she spoke if He wanted me to intervene. Or should I just pray for her? That’s what I wanted to do, because then I could get back to my prayer time. But then I thought of one of my sermons last summer, which included the true story of a pastor who was too busy for a homeless lady who’d asked him to help her, so he fobbed her off with a promise to pray for her instead. She wrote this poem and gave it to a local Shelter officer:

I was hungry, And you formed a humanities group to discuss my hunger.
I was imprisoned, And you crept off quietly to your chapel and prayed for my release.
I was naked, And in your mind you debated the morality of my appearance.
I was sick, And you knelt and thanked God for your health.
I was homeless, And you preached a sermon on the spiritual shelter of the love of God.
I was lonely, And you left me alone to pray for me.
You seem so holy, so close to God
But I am still very hungry – and lonely – and cold.

Ouch! So, Simon, are you going to practice what you preach?

“She’s my daughter, Simon, in obvious pain, in a worse state than you’ve ever been, and all she’s asking for is $10.”

She carried on pouring out her woes. I carried on thinking as she spoke. She’s messed up. It’s her own fault. She shouldn’t have got herself pregnant. Why didn’t she use a condom at the very least, especially if she has AIDS? That baby’s going to be born into a hell of a life. How irresponsible! She’s reaping what she sowed. I’m sorry, but we’re all responsible for our actions…

“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”

Did you stay chaste until you got married, or are you still a virgin, waiting to get married? If so, well done! I mean it. That’s truly special.

But for most of us, there’s no way we can cast the first stone. I can’t. All it takes is one time, to get pregnant or to catch AIDS…

It could have been me. It could have been you.

But it’s not, thank God.

At least Sam wants to keep the baby, although she’s being pressured to have an abortion. She’s a victim in this – yes, she’s guilty before a holy God, as we all are – but right now she needs love, dignity, acceptance.

I asked if I could pray with her, and shared the love and hope of Jesus. She didn’t need to be told she was a sinner. She did need to know that it wasn’t too late for her to turn. She decided to turn, and repeated a prayer after me. Maybe it was just to please me. I hope not. God knows. That’s between the two of them.

I gave her $10. I wanted to cry, but settled for a sad sigh.

So can we agree to pray about this?

• for Sam, that when she comes back to see me tomorrow, she’ll be able to tell me she’s not got AIDS, she’s embracing a fresh start with Jesus, the baby’s still alive and kicking, and that her story will have a redemptive ending.
• for me, that God would forgive my bad attitude, that my heart will remain soft, and that I’ll be Jesus’ hands and feet out here in Burundi, rather than just talking a good game.
• for you – what should we pray? Be assured that however hard you have been squeezed by the credit crunch, things are not that bad. It’s a question of perspective. You’re still probably near the top of the pile; you’ve just allowed yourself to be deceived into thinking that so many luxuries in your life are needs.

We can’t change the millions of Sams, but we can all do our bit. Will you do your bit, will you care in a way that costs you? As God has made us in his image, have we gone and returned the favour? Maybe there’s some serious repenting we need to do…

But as Christmas approaches, it’s not too late to choose to believe – maybe for the first time – in the radical incarnate message of Jesus, rather than being sucked into the consumerist lie. And not just to believe it’s true, but to act out the truth of that belief. Not out of guilt, but out of gratitude. He did so much for me, I’m thrilled to be his. Sign me up! The Christmas story involves scars, not bumper stickers or slogans.

I said at the start I was feeling raw, so there’s the raw challenge. Your call. I’ll pray for you as you pray for me.

Here’s to Christmas scars, from the stable to the cross, or wherever our journey with him leads us,

Simon Guillebaud
Great Lakes Outreach

The Spiritual life and Phases of 3

My brother Mark holding David Henry.

The most interesting question I was asked this week was this: “What is the state of your spiritual life since you have been in Burundi?” The interlocutor was my brother Mark, who lives with his family in North Carolina but visited us last week in Baltimore for Thanksgiving. I will come back to this later.

The week began with a trip to Hyattesville Maryland where I was invited to preach at a Mennonite Church. I went alone as it was logistically complicated to get Oren and David there and have them sit quietly while Rebecca and I preached. The trip was challenging in an American way (as opposed to Burundian) namely—sleet and rain. It was a long trip to boot, down by Washington DC. The most challenging part was the GPS in the borrowed car. I had mapped out a root that the talking GPS system opposed adamantly right up to the last mile. It constantly insisted that I turn when I wanted to go straight and to continue on when I wanted to turn. (For any pastors reading this, I think the GPS persistently trying to lead me astray would make a great sermon illustration, feel free to use it!)

I did get there eventually, and felt that I had overcome a test. I felt the worst was behind me…until I found out the mother of the MCC Director of International Programs (my boss) was a member of the congregation. Seriously though, it went very well and the Ezekiel sermon I shared (and transcribed on a previous blog) was well received. It has meant a lot to be able to share our experience with different churches.

After the service many people expressed their appreciation, but I was particularly moved by one man who came up afterward and told me I had really hit the nail on the head. He was obviously African. He identified himself as a Congolese tutsi. He quoted back to me the passage in the sermon where I said:

“Development needs to go hand in hand with a transformative ideology. A gospel that offers hope for the future, stands against injustice and offers to individuals and society, healing of malformed, divisive identities. Identities like tutsi, hutu, slave, free, white, black, even Catholic, and Protestant. By malformed identities, I mean identities that uphold the lie (the lie that underlies all other lies): that some people are more valuable than others.”

He completely upheld this proposition: that development must be preceeded by a gospel that heals and transforms individuals, NOT first and foremost material aid. He confessed to me that ethnic prejudice ran so deep in his community that a Hutu would not even be let into a compound or household of a Tutsi--certainly never for a meal. He said they were regarded as worthless and ignorant. I was surprised by his candor and his willingness to share this with me. I wish I could have come to know him better, and maybe I will see him again. He is living in DC now, I believe, but much of his family is still in Congo.

Other people I talked to afterwards shared their own experiences and several were planning trips to Rwanda for various reasons.

Monday through Wednesday Rebecca and I made heroic efforts to try to catch up on work. Many of our partners sent us progress reports this past month and we needed to enter them in a database. Since most are in French we set up a system where I would read and translate them out loud to Rebecca so she could enter them into the database while editing and making the English sound sensible. The system worked fairly well, allowing for feedings for David, taking Oren to nursery school, and numerous other interruptions.

We continued to have visitors throughout the week, wanting to say a last hello and goodbye, and the schedule for this last month is daunting. Cleveland, Poughkeepsie, Winnepeg, back to Baltimore and a stop to the Maryland shore for New Years. We really do want to see everyone, and realize the next leaving is far more significant than the last. The earliest we would be back is 2 and a half years from now, and that would be for a short furlough. I think I feel most sad about Oren and David not being with Grandparents. It has been good to have them giving them so much attention.

Cousins would also be a real loss. I am including pictures of David and Oren here with several of their cousins. Gabriel loves little David and here is lying on top of him. Oren and Fletcher are about the same age and have been having a ball with each other as well at my parents’ house.

Oren is in what I would call a ‘contrarion’ phase of 3. Basically if you say yes, he says no, and vice versa. In order to get him to do something I literally have to tell him he cannot do it, and he does it immediately. (Oren, don’t put on your coat, you may NOT eat your broccoli, etc, etc.) The extreme case came when we had to go to the Travel Clinic to get some vaccinations for Burundi. As it turned out I needed to get a shot, but Oren did not. When I told him he would not have to get one, he threw a screaming tantrum insisting that he wanted a shot too, as I dragged him out the door. I am told this too will pass.

On a doctor visit the following day, Oren was somewhat better and we took him to see the giant statue of Jesus in the Johns Hopkins Hospital original entrance. It was probably most meaningful to me because I remember being a 3 year old in Baltimore when my father was a resident at the hospital. We would come and visit him and I would marvel at the statue, it is huge to a 3 year old (especially the toes!) Oren was duly impressed and said it looked like a giant monster Jesus.

Last night Rebecca and I actually had a ‘date night’—which means going out with only one child, not two at this time. We went out contra-dancing—something we loved to do when we had the chance in Poughkeepsie. It is a type of folk dancing which gave rise to American square dancing. It is challenging, and frequented by delightfully eccentric people. I am taking advantage of our American high speed internet connection to post a brief video. (Sorry folks reading in Burundi!) Rebecca is in the maroon shirt. Oh, by the way, David was with us, and did not care to be left observing in the carseat, so I strapped onto my chest with the Baby Bjorn and he danced along with us. He seemed to like the motion and usually cried when we stopped.

So coming back to the original question: How is your spiritual life? The reason I found this question so interesting, I suppose, is because of the question Mark did not ask me about Burundi, that everyone else does— Is it safe there? But interestingly enough I feel like I could answer both questions the same way. As I look back on our work there, and what we are going to be returning to, I am aware that there is a tremendous temptation to do our work ‘in our own strength’, and put God on the sidelines. There are many secular NGO’s and many dedicated non-Christians who go to work in these countries. For me, the real danger is not physical, but spiritual. I think in the face of overwhelming suffering, it is easy to turn away from, rather than toward God. …to want to dig in with both hands, throw yourself into your job, and not be growing closer to the Lord, but rather spending less and less time in prayer, and seeking his will. That is what I fear could happen. For anyone who thinks that missionaries are super-spiritual, don’t be fooled, walking with the Lord is a daily challenge and it is just as easy in a mission situation, to stray away, into ego, defensiveness, spiritual sloth, and pride as it is here in the land of plenty.

It was good to be asked about this, and to feel a need to be accountable.

Here is the contradance video if you have the bandwidth to watch it.