The First Year

Job

2010-09-24T03:54:00.000-07:00

I have been reading the book of Job, which is always a difficult book to read. There is no simple take-away moral to that story, and that makes it hard to understand. I usually say it is a book that is not meant to be understood, but in reading this morning I may have found a key to the beginning of understanding what God is doing with this book. At one point, Job says,

[God] is not a mere mortal like me that I might answer him, that we might confront each other in court. If only there were someone to arbitrate between us, to lay a hand on us both, someone to remove God's rod from me, so that his terror would frighten me no more. Then I would speak up without fear of him, but as it now stands with me, I cannot.

To me, this is some of the most obvious foreshadowing of Christ in the Old Testament. Christ is not a mere mortal like Job. Christ may go directly to God and make a case in His court. What was the cross, if not the court where God's mercy and God's wrath collided in one horrifying spectacle? God's mercy for all men, alone, bearing God's wrath for all men. Christ arbitrated a cease-fire between God and us, he removed God's rod from us, and saved us from the terror of God. Now we may pray directly to God Himself, we may speak without fear of him, because His wrath has been satisfied.

The Last Three Weeks

2010-07-27T04:29:00.000-07:00

I write this from an absurdly comfortable room in the Imperial Botanical Hotel in Entebbe, Uganda. The room was acquired entirely by accident at a rate entirely too low for such a finely furnished room. Our team arrived in Entebbe much later than expected and without accommodation reservations. The only place that would take us was the Imperial, and the management hoped to entice all 12 to stay the night by giving a super rate. The other 11 members of the group had a plane to catch, leaving only Jordan and I to enjoy the low rate, modern décor, and complimentary breakfast of the Imperial.

The calm and quiet of the hotel affords me the chance to relate a few brief glimpses of the riotous days that have passed since the last blog:

Jordan and I arrived in South Africa on July 6. We were hosted for the first few days by a pastor and his family whom Jordan had last talked to 12 years ago, when she had previously visited South Africa on a mission trip. They arranged for us to stay in the flat of a friend who was out of town. The flat was beautiful, sitting at the foot of Table Mountain, high enough to offer views of the harbor and the Waterfront. We were both amazed at the generosity and kindness of near strangers—they bought us food to keep at the flat, made us a home-cooked dinner every night, and took us around to show us the sights. But I think it struck me more acutely, having been raised outside the influence of Christians, how generous and hospitable they were. It is hard to explain how different true Christians are from everyone else I know. Minutes after meeting these people, I felt like a family member, sitting on the couch with their near-deaf grandfather, watching a World Cup match and checking my email. It was strange how not strange it felt. My entire life pre-Christianity was marked by a powerful feeling of isolation and separation. As a Christian, I am compelled to accept the doctrine that I am a member of a body larger than myself, that cares for me and, in order to be truly itself, needs me to give and receive love within it. To say anymore, in the words of Chesterton, “would be to communicate the incommunicable, and speak of delicate and sacred things in bald words.”

On July 13, our mission group arrived. Our friend Tina Weir had arranged an awesome group of college age kids to come for a week in South Africa and a week in Uganda. It was the most cohesive and comical group I have ever worked with. Laughter and prayer abounded. We spent a week in Khayelitsha, one of the townships outside Cape Town, playing games and teaching Bible stories to about 250 kids from the area. The kids there were energetic and quick to laugh. I did arts and crafts with a group of boys, the younger of whom endeared themselves by being quiet and compliant, the elder of whom impressed me by taking responsibility for the craft supplies and assisting the young ones. Before leaving Cape Town, we went up Table Mountain and took a ferry to Robben Island. On that prison island, a former Apartheid political prisoner showed us first the cell where he was imprisoned for four years, then the cell where Nelson Mandela (whom he called “Comrade Nelson”) was imprisoned for 26 years. To see how that country is recovering from Apartheid, and also how it is still suffering from that wound, was encouraging and heartbreaking and inspiring.

After South Africa, we flew to Uganda and headed straight out to Jinja, which is the home of Canaan Children’s Home. The home was begun by an amazing man, Pastor Isaac, who was shot and left for dead in a mass grave during the reign of Idi Amin. During that time, Amin had become a Muslim and was massacring Christians, as he had previously murdered Asians, political rivals, and different tribes of Ugandans. Pastor Isaac climbed out of that mass grave, filled with the bodies of friends and fellow pastors, after hearing God tell him that he had rescued Isaac to be a father to the fatherless (which were plentiful after Amin brutally killed so many of his countrymen.) Space here is too limited to tell Isaac’s whole story, but that is only the beginning of an amazingly powerful story. At Canaan we played with the orphans and taught a couple of classes in their schools. On Saturday, we went to a feeding program run by Katie Davis, who is a 21-year old Nashville native who has become the mother of 14 orphaned girls in Jinja. Every Saturday, she and her ministry feed about 400 to 500 children from the surrounding villages. There we played with the kids and thoroughly exhausted ourselves after 8 hours of dancing, singing, carrying, chasing, and chatting. One of the days in Jinja we spent at Amani Baby Cottage, which is an orphanage where many Americans adopt children. The babies were precious, and not in the modern usage which merely means “cute,” but in the sense that each of them was so valuable, so full of potential.

From Jinja, we drove 10 hours to Murchison Falls, where we went on a game drive and saw, among many other things, two lionesses on the prowl. Then we drove another 6 hours to Entebbe, which is where this blog began, and where it ends.

One other thing: I just finished the book “Europe and the Faith,” (1920)by the historian Hilaire Belloc. I don’t really recommend it to the average reader, but if you are a student of history or curious about the way the Roman Empire and the Catholic Church influenced civilization, his is a compelling point of view.

There were quite a few connections between my mission trip and my reading, which further confirms my suspicion that God talks to me directly through my reading list. For one, Belloc discusses the Mohammedan invasion of Europe during the Dark Ages and the subsequent religious wars. Reading this and listening to Pastor Isaac’s description of Muslim persecution of Christians in Uganda, made me begin to see the current religious conflict in a new light, the light of centuries and centuries of history. Belloc also discusses the consequences, both advantageous and detrimental, of the Reformation. As division among believers is something that has long grieved me, I found it very interesting reading, even if it didn’t offer any workable solution to the problem.

Belloc, by the way, was Chesterton’s best friend and greatly influenced Chesterton’s opinions on politics, history, and sociology. I especially enjoyed, then, as I am also currently reading a biography of Chesterton, and the biographer mentions several of the ideas in “Europe and the Faith” and points out when and where they appear in Chesterton’s work.

One last thing: Does anyone know of a good book on either the Crusades or the Civil War? I’m out of books and itching to know more about those two subjects.

No Electricity

2010-07-05T10:34:00.000-07:00

We were not in Uganda long before the electricity when out, and our waiter Richard told us, “You’re not in Rwanda anymore!” Whereas Rwanda is making leaps and bounds in the world of communication and technology, Uganda is apparently dragging her feet. And yet, surprisingly, in five days, we’ve barely noticed the lack of electricity.

We’ve been staying in a small cottage, cloistered by the eucalyptus forest, the still waters of Lake Bunyonyi, and the faded purples and blues of mountains falling on the horizon. “Bunyonyi” means “place of little birds,” and the name is well-proven by the 40+ species of rare and exotic birds flitting from tree to tree, waking us each morning with their varied songs. There is no electricity on this island, and there is no running water. Each morning, a staff member boils a big pot of water over an open fire and delivers it to our cottage so that we can have the luxury of a hot bath (our first truly warm showers since we’ve been to Arica). We spend the afternoon reading, writing, and canoeing around the island. In the afternoon, a dug-out canoe from a neighboring island ferries school children to their homes. As this “canoe bus” crosses the lake, the students beat against the boat and sing, their song echoing like a Sunday service. Each evening, we go sit on the hill and spot new birds as the staff cooks the most delicious and extravagant meals we’ve had in Africa—over a campfire. This amazes me. We had a power outage in the brief summer in which I served as a waitress at the Fourth of May on St. Simons, and what did we do? We closed business for the day. Nobody knew what to do without electricity—the idea of preparing a meal was unthinkable; on the way out the door, someone told me to be careful driving home. Now having homemade corn chips, pizzas, and stir-fried vegetables brought to our dinner table at Bushara Island Camp makes that memory laughable. In some ways, American life is much more advanced than Ugandan life; and in many ways, it is not.

Tomorrow we leave for Cape Town, South Africa. I think we’ll have more time to update our blog while there.

6 Months

2010-07-05T10:30:00.000-07:00

Today Matt and I celebrated our six-month anniversary. We started the day with a fight.

It was a dumb, “lover’s spat,” the cause of which neither of us can remember, and it ended when Matt very seriously pronounced that he was angry with me and then burst out laughing. I proceeded to hit him in the head with an empty water bottle, and a chase ensued through the eucalyptus forest. That ended with more loud, shoulder-shaking laughter. (A side note to our parents: your grown, married children are still very much children).

After all was said and done, we decided to spend the afternoon by paddling a canoe around the island (Note: Matt paddling; me just sitting there like Princess TigerLily—the good life). For the past few days, we’ve been hiding away on the small island of Bushara on Lake Bunyonyi, Uganda. We’ve been taking a canoe out each day to circle the island, and today, to celebrate 6 months, Matt made that excursion extra special by surprising me with a bottle of wine and two sonnets he’d written for me. These sonnets came with the explicit instruction that they must be read aloud with a deep, southern accent, so do likewise as you read:

For Jordan: Country Sonnet I

When I was young, I looked at all the girls.
I hoped to God I’d find one who was cute.
(It understates the case to say they weren’t—
I’m trying my best not to be a brute.)

So I swore off marriage forever and for good;
I told myself, “I’ll marry no baboon!”
(those girls I’d met were uglier than sin
like bug-eyed creatures from the blue lagoon.)

But then I met you, and I changed my tune.
Right then and there I changed the song I sang.
Before I even knew your middle name,
I’d bought the champagne and the wedding rang.

Ol’ God Almighty made you might fine,
And for reasons yet unknown, he made you mine.

For Jordan: Country Sonnet II

Ol’ God Almighty made some awesome stuff.
For instance, sex. You can’t beat it with a bat.
But childbearing can be pretty rough:
I can’t see why he made it work like that.

And likewise, getting’ married wasn’t hard—
the ceremony was incomparably sweet.
But being married to me has, thus far—
let’s just say, it hasn’t always been a treat.

God makes some things a blessing and a curse.
And Baby, I am sorry for your luck,
but you married me four better or for worse,
and unless I screw up BIG TIME, you’re stuck.

You are the goodest good I’ve ever had,
and losing you would be the baddest bad.

I’m really lucky to have married such a funny, generous, creative, and long-suffering man.

Update

2010-06-17T03:10:00.000-07:00

On Monday, we also went to Gahima, but not for classes. We and all the students began construction on a Habitat for Humanity house. The family of five has been living in a lean-to shack made of tarpaulin and sheet metal. I think you could fit their entire house into the back of a pickup truck. They have been living there since the end of the genocide in 1994. So, we built a house Rwanda-style—using logs and branches and mud. I asked someone where the logs came from and they made a vague gesture all around them. I realized that we were surrounded by trees that made perfect pillars. We used banana bark (which is actually more like leaves, but grows on the trunk of the tree) to tie sticks across from log to log. While we did this, the owner of the house was digging a huge hole in his front yard, while some students fetched water and poured it into the hole, making mud. Then, they all stomped around in the hole to mix the mud to the right consistency. When the mud was ready, we formed an assembly line to pass big, rolled-up mud balls inside the house. They used the mud to fill the spaces between sticks and logs. The wood holds the mud in place while it dries, a process which takes about a month. In just a few hours, we had half completed the house. The father of the family was so proud of his new abode that he ran off everyone with a stick in order to gather his family in front and have Jordy take a picture.

Tuesday, we went to Gahima Agape Secondary School and taught two English classes. I sat out of the teaching this time to observe and take some photos. The first class we organized two debates to give the students practice speaking and listening to complex ideas. In the second class, we taught subordinate clauses. Even I learned something in this class, which means the students at Gahima Agape Secondary School know more English grammar than a Belmont graduate.

Speaking of Belmont, I’ve met so many amazing people here who want to come study in America. Richard, for instance, is working at the diocese as the manager of the guesthouse. He speaks English fluently, sings in the choir (quite well I might add), dances in the traditional Rwanda style, and plays the keyboard. The church recently acquired a guitar, and despite the fact that it is missing two strings, Jordan has been teaching Richard a few chords in the last couple of days. I am dreaming (for now it is only a dream) of creating a scholarship fund that would enable people like Richard to come study music at Belmont. He could learn music theory and worship leadership, teach Kinyarwanda in the language learning lab, and share his experience of growing up during the genocide and reconstruction in Rwanda. Belmont, Rwanda, and Richard would all benefit from the arrangement, if only we could find the money to make it work.

3 more days in Kibungo. Then 9 in Kigali. Then Jordy and I have to figure out how to get to Kampala. More soon…

New Photos

2010-06-11T08:42:00.000-07:00

I posted a few new photos on our Flickr. Sorry so few, they take forever to upload.

Characer Sketches

2010-06-10T04:38:00.000-07:00

Sister Pascal
Sister Pascal is the Catholic nun that runs the Home of Joy Orphanage in Kibungo, Rwanda. Sister Pascal is a short, dark-skinned woman with close-cropped black hair. She wears the white and royal habit of the Sisters of Charity, a religious order made famous by Mother Theresa. Sister Pascal speaks English fluently, though with a strong accent. I thought the accent was Indian, and asked her where she learned English. She laughed at me and said, “I learned it myself, in Kenya. Kenya is an English-speaking country.”

The sister is named for a Spanish saint, whom she prays to regularly for her sanctification. When asked why she chose to be named for this saint, she says, “Pascal was a man of many virtues which I admire. I hope to be as charitable and kind as he. He was also very humble, something I am not. But I pray to God every day and by His grace I can become more humble.”

Sister Pascal only came to Kibungo two weeks ago. Before this, she was in Kigali at an orphanage there. She is unsure of protocol when foreigners arrive unannounced asking to visit with the children, so she is understandably hesitant to let us see them. We are firm in our request, and she eventually allows us to visit with the few children who aren’t in class at the time. As soon as we step through the gate, little boys come barreling straight for me. They attach themselves to my legs and arms, apparently trying to climb up my body. Later, when Jordan and I are getting ready for bed, Jordan observes that an orphan raised by the Sisters of Charity probably sees men rarely, if at all. I remember Sister Pascal standing off to one side, calling to the boys—gently admonishing the rowdy ones, encouraging the shy ones, comforting the sick and scared ones. And inside the nursery, she holds one of the infants, who are too frail to be handled by the rough hands of American daytrippers. She holds the child like one of her own. And, indeed, it is one of her own.

Ernest Mahoro
Here in Rwanda, everyone has two names: one Rwandan name, and one Christian name. It is one of the many kindnesses we have been shown by the Rwandan people, for the Rwandan names are very hard to pronounce. So, Mahoro is Ernest’s real name, but Ernest is his Christian name. Ernest is a tall, skinny man who wears his tinted glasses and a smile. His voice is deep and husky and he often grunts to signal agreement or surprise. He speaks English well, though with an African accent.

Yesterday, Ernest drove us around the Ngoma province, introducing us to the priests in each of the parishes. Just recently, Redeemer purchased cows for each of these pastors, so that they could attend to their flock without worrying about generating income. So, we were also introduced to the cows our tithes bought for each pastor and his family. Each of the priests is grinning from ear to ear as he welcomes us into his home with arms spread wide as if imitating Christ on the cross. Every time, Ernest fades into the background, his smile fading but never quite disappearing, until he is needed for a tough bit of interpretation. His low, husky voice lends credibility to every word he interprets, and he is clearly respected both by visitor and host.

Ernest has worn the same clothes since we arrived. A pair of worn slacks and a striped dress shirt, except for one day when he wore a shiny gold dress shirt made of silk or something like it. It is obvious that Americans who have moved on to more modern fashions have donated these clothes. Naomi tells me that every time Ernest is given a shirt, he gives another one away. This way, he never has more than he needs, and he is always giving to someone who has more need than him.

Ernest is moving to the United States in a few days. He is going to study Theology at Trinity in Pittsburgh. He will be away from his wife and children for two years without a break. Redeemer bought a small laptop for his wife, so that they could use Skype to video chat each other. I have a hard time being away from Jordan for a full work day, so it is difficult to imagine being away from your wife and your children for two full years.

The Angels of Addis Ababa

2010-06-08T07:20:00.001-07:00

The third flight of our 5 flight journey to Kigali, Rwanda, though already long, was made even longer for me by the combination of air sickness and a migraine. I started getting the first signs of a headache when we were checking in and started getting blind spots in my left eye, which is commonly a side effect of a migraine. Stepping into the line for Ethiopian Airlines was itself like stepping across a border into another country where suddenly the rules of the “British queue” no longer applied, though we were still at Heathrow International Airport in London. Check-in, however, was routine until the attendant realized that though we had a flight into Rwanda, we didn’t have a flight out of Rwanda. Since we are planning to take a bus from Rwanda to Uganda in order to catch our next flight from Uganda to Cape Town, we had no proof that we would leave Rwanda. Apparently you are not allowed to board a flight into Rwanda unless you have proof that you will eventually leave. Entry in our case would require a visa, which we did not have. I did, however, have print-out proof of our flights from Uganda to Cape Town, Cape Town back to Uganda, and then Uganda to Rome. Still, this was no visa, as we were told. I kept pointing to the dates of our flights, trying to convince our lady that this in fact was a logical proof that we would leave Rwanda. This went on until she passed us on to someone with more authority—the shift manager, we presume. Our ability to even board of flight all depended on this man, who after reviewing the materials and giving some serious eyebrow squints decided that we were legit to fly. This was the first little hiccup in the long journey, but it was nothing compared to the 9 hours we would spend on our flight from London to Addis Ababa. When we had boarded the plane, I began my normal routine of acclimating to the new environment which essentially means flipping through the contents of the seat back pocket. First, I flipped through the Skymall magazine, circling novelty items that I would buy “if I were rich,” then I flipped to the back of the airline flight magazine to evaluate what films would be playing. Next, I scanned the disaster-escape card to make sure I was up to speed on what to do in case of an emergency evacuation of the “metal box being shot across continents and oceans,” which is how Matt has described each aircraft as we have been boarding it. (This is less than calming.) And finally, I flipped past the little white barf bag and thought, “I wonder how much money airlines waste on these things. If they would cut out the barf bags they could give us more snacks!” What I wasn’t realizing was that though I had never before seen the purpose of these bags, on this trip, I would use not only my seat back pocket’s allotment of one, but four more. I remember very little from the flight besides the discomfort of being sick, but Matt tells me that eventually the stewardess refused to pick up any more bags.. As we were landing, I vaguely heard Matt and the stewardess discussing a paramedic. I had now been in this state for 8 hours, and though we had flown through the entire night, after having two 10-hour layovers in other countries, Matt didn’t go to sleep once. (I don’t think he had a free minute between all the passing of little white bags . . .) However, this post isn’t meant to delineate the details of my airsickness; what I really want to talk about is the kindness shown to us once we landed in Addis Ababa.

There was a tan man in a neon green vest that met us as soon as we got off the plane who promised to take us to a medic. I usually pay attention to and remember every little detail, but besides being nauseated, my migraine hurt so badly that I could barely open my eyes. Thus, Matt just nudged me in the direction that I was to walk and kept me from falling down as we followed this man on and off of busses, and in and out of doorways. During our 3 hour layover, I actually saw very little. If you have ever had a migraine, you know exactly what I mean when I say that it felt like my head was a tin can full of steel bowling bowls, and even the gentlest nudge made them roll around and clang even more. The Ethiopian man in the neon green vest kept patting my should and saying, “It’s okay, Miss. Here is okay if you need, “ as he gestured toward a gutter or bush. He knew exactly what I was thinking and feeling, although fortunately, we made it to the clinic before things got messy. When we finally arrived at the clinic, the man in green told us that that since we had been bussed to a doctor, we had actually bypassed immigration and passport control, and has thus entered Ethiopia illegally. Matt pointed out that we were illegal immigrants, which is the only thing I smiled at throughout the duration of all this. To remedy our illegal status, our man in neon green told us that he would take our passports to passport control, have them stamped, and then we would pick them up at the airport before boarding our next flight. This sounded like a bad idea. As a child, I never had a special stuffed animal or a security blanket, but I imagine a small child feels about her “blankie” what I feel about my passport when travelling in foreign lands: do not let it out of your sight. Since being robbed on the Italian coast in 2004, this is a rule I adhere to strictly. Still, with my condition, there was nothing to be done, so surrender the passports we did. Not long after, the nurse arrived with two very long needles and told met hat since I was not able to keep anything down, I couldn’t take pills and she would have to give me two injections to east my nausea and my headache. As with many African speakers of English, our nurse pronounced each syllable and letter with such emphasis, that the word, “IN-JEC-TION” sounded especially terrifying. I already hate needles. I get a flu shot every year and almost faint; I even had Matt hold my hand and distract me while I was getting my vaccinations for this trip. The word “IN-JEC-TION” was enough to get me to open my eyes all the way, and from what I remember, this nurse was holding two of the longest needles I have ever seen, one for each cheek. I felt sort of like a rabid dog being put down. After what he had been through in taking care of me, for all I know, Matt may have felt the same. Although I couldn’t sit comfortably for the next 24 hours, the shot pretty immediately put me to sleep and eased my pain. I woke up half an hour later with a long list of anxieties (some more reasonable than others): Where were our passports? What if I was allergic to the injections? What if those needles weren’t clean? What if this doctor visit cost us our life savings? What if we never made it to Rwanda? Why had we even come to Africa? What if I never got well? And on . . . and on. Soon after, our man in neon green reappeared, patted my back, tested my forehead for fever, asked how we were doing, called for a bus, took us back to the airport, escorted us through security, recovered our passports, bought us water, and walked us all the way to our gate in time to make our connecting flight.

I vaguely remember asking Matt during this time what the national religion of Ethiopia was. He said he had thought they were predominately a Christian nation. Now in Rwanda, and having felt better for a few days, I think that I was shown what I would call true Christian kindness in Ethiopia. A lot of things could have gone wrong in Ethiopia, but they did not. The man in green whose name we do not know hardy left our side; he seemed to make it his job to take care of us who were strangers to him. On our first night in Rwanda, I was sitting next to Emmanuel, who is a pastor at the church here. Emmanuel was born to refugee parents who fled to Uganda during the Rwandan wars in 1959 and finally returned to his homeland after the genocide. When his family, having lived outside their country for 35 years, finally returned to their homeland, they had to bury 85 of their family members. This is the story of many that we are meeting here. Emmanuel now has a wife and five children, and he said that when he sits around the dinner table and looks at his son and his daughters, he thinks, “My family is coming back. God is giving back my family.” Earlier that morning, in his sermon, Emmanuel mentioned a Rwandan proverb that says, “If you break your straw in your own country, they give you another one; but if you break your straw in a foreign land, they kill you.” That has been a very real experience for Emmanuel and for many other Rwandans over the past decade. Then, after speaking of his own family, Emmanuel said that we have another family—the family of God—and that although we are very different and have different lives, the importance of building friendships was so that there would be no more strangers among us—in fact, so that we would help each other the way Christ helps us. I think our experience in Ethiopia made both Matt and me feel like we aren’t kind enough. Greeting someone with a smile is easy, but when do I ever make it my job to look after the concerns of someone else who is in dire need of help? That is what was done for us in Ethiopia—and at no cost to ourselves. I hope we can leave Africa having shown half the kindness that was shown to us on our way here.

Itinerary

2010-06-03T04:35:00.000-07:00

Here's out itinerary as best we know it, for those of you who have been asking:

June 3: Leave Nashville
June 4: Spend the day in London
June 5: Arrive in Kigali, Rwanda
June 29: Leave Kigali for Uganda (we don't yet know how we're getting to Entebbe)
July 7: Fly from Entebbe to Cape Town, South Africa
July 13: Other missionaries from Nashville arrive
July 21: Fly from Cape Town to Entebbe
July 27: Other missionaries leave
July 28: Fly to Rome
Then: Take a boat to Croatia
Then: Take a train/bus through Croatia and Slovenia
Then: Stay in Italy again, this time in the Dolomites
Then: Take a train to Marseille, France
Then: Take a train to Paris
Then: Take a train to London
August 29: Fly to Charleston, SC
September 11: Drive to St Simons Island, GA
September 25: Drive to Nashville (for one last visit!)
October 6: Drive to Los Angeles

Our first flight leaves in 3 hours! Pray for us!!!

Support Letter

2010-06-01T07:34:00.000-07:00

On January 2, Matt and I rang in 2010 with the melodious sound of wedding bells on St. Simons Island, Georgia. It was a day filled with love. So many people helped throw showers and pull off the details of the wedding, and I was humbled and blessed by everyone who shared in the celebration that came together that day. As you all know, I love to travel to new places, and I love to meet new friends, and my biggest regret in my day to day life is that not all of the people I love can live in the same place at the same time. Our wedding was special because there were so many people from different places celebrating with us. One of my oldest friends from childhood even travelled all the way from London to be there. For me to have so many of the people I love together in one room was the perfect way for Matt and me to start our first year together.

Ahh . . .wedding bells . . . the call to adventure. As many of you know, Jordan has been teaching middle school literature for the past few years at Brentwood Academy. One of the (ahem—many) lessons she has taught me is that in the story of any hero, (be that Moses, Luke Skywalker, or Harry Potter), there is a “call to adventure,” a moment in which an unlikely candidate becomes aware that there is a great adventure ahead of him; it is a call that, though he may not yet feel totally equipped to meet, he must answer. Perhaps our first call to that adventure was when Jordan, though uninvited, “crashed” my best friend’s birthday party, calling attention to herself with her loud, uninhibited laugh . . . and simultaneously dashing to pieces my resolve to never date or marry. Alas for the plans of men . . .

He was wearing oversized glasses, had a big ole scruffy beard, and took every opportunity to make an unexpected pun. All who know me know that I love words; a well-placed pun will swing wide the doors of my heart, and so it was on this occasion. Simply put, the boy was irresistible! But this is all background information. That was 2008 . . . fast forward through our first date, time apart for various mission trips, four proposals (yes—four!), and finally a short engagement, and here we are: married in 2010, and off to a new adventure. This year has been busy for us. After getting married, we immediately went back to school; I finished the year teaching, and Matt completed his undergraduate degree in liberal studies at Belmont University—magna cum laude! With both school years coming to an end, we decided that this was the perfect time to pursue mission work, something we’ve been really excited about doing together. And so we are—by joining two different mission teams in three different countries on one big continent this summer.

We have been members at Church of the Redeemer in Nashville for the past two years. This church is a mission church planted by the Anglican Church in Rwanda. Redeemer's website says this about our church: "Our Pastor is a missionary priest, our congregation is a mission, and our members are received into the Anglican Province of Rwanda and are sent forth as indigenous missionaries to their family, friends, neighbors, fellow students, and co-workers." Our church is a testimony to the exciting reality that the church in Africa is thriving. For the past century, churches in the U.S. have been sending missionaries to Africa; our church here testifies to the fact that God has been faithful to bless the work of the body of Christ in Africa. As a church plant, Redeemer is in a unique relationship with the Anglican Church in Rwanda, making this mission trip somewhat different than you might expect. We will join a team of four other church members who will teach English and work with orphans in Kibungo; however, our primary purpose there isn't to help helpless people. Rwandans aren't helpless. The church in Rwanda is thriving, and the country is recovering remarkably well from an unfathomable genocide. Our primary purpose in traveling to Rwanda is meeting and befriending the congregants at our Mother Church.

For a lot of reasons, we think this is important, but I will name the one that has impressed us the most. We recently watched Hotel Rwanda, and in that film, when the oppression becomes unbearable and the people are sure they will be killed, their last resort is to call their friends abroad and ask them to help. This saves them at least once. There are times in the movie when a family who has friends in Europe or America is able to escape on a visa because someone with a voice fights for their freedom. Being American carries weight in this world. We have amazing access to and influence over our politicians, who in turn have amazing influence over the rest of the world. The genocide in Rwanda happened in our lifetimes. In fact, when I was in high school, my dad went to Rwanda with MAP International to help deliver medical supplies to refugee camps. As an adult, it is exciting for me to participate in continued efforts to help the very refugee camps my dad worked with during the genocide. If a tragedy like that were to happen again, Matt and I would want friends in Rwanda to know that they could call us, and we would fight for them. By going to Rwanda and making friends there, we hope to create friendships that God will use for good in the future.

After Rwanda, Jordan and I will find our way to South Africa, where we have been asked to help lead a missionary team of college students from Nashville. In South Africa, our team plans to help build a multipurpose building in Khayelitsha, one of the townships near Cape Town. During apartheid, blacks were not allowed to live in urban areas; yet these were the only places they could find work. Thus, thousands and thousands of people moved into rudimentary shacks surrounding the city. Today, they continue to live in utter poverty on the outskirts of Cape Town. The church began raising funds for this multipurpose building after one of the street children was hit by a car and killed. The building we will construct will, we hope, become a safe place where the innumerable street kids who would otherwise have no place to go can come hang out during the day. There will be games, books, and activities for the kids, as well as Bible teaching, offered at this center. Then, after South Africa, this entire group will travel to Uganda. There, we will work at Canaan Children's Home and the school they have built. This home was founded by a Ugandan pastor as a way of healing the wounds inflicted during the bloody reign of Idi Amin, a dictator who killed over 300,000 Ugandans and orphaned as many children. Today, the school actively works to rescue child soldiers from war-torn Northern Uganda.

That about sums up our time in Africa. Two months in Rwanda, South Africa, and Uganda—busy, we know! We will be building relationships with the African Church, teaching English, and working with refugees and orphans. In all of this, our desire is to let the Gospel of Jesus Christ be made known through our words and our actions. As many of you will remember, I spent a summer during college serving on a mission team with Reverend Al Baker in South Africa. I loved it. Now married, I am particularly excited to be able to revisit that mission site with Matt, as well as visit new places that will become a part of the “Call to Adventure” Story that God is writing into our lives together. While we are away, we will be posting updates and photos on our blog, which you can find at www.jordanandmattelam.blogspot.com. We would love for you to check in on the work being done in Africa and to read how you can specifically support us in prayer. Furthermore, you may want to donate something to help us cover the cost of the trip. We have been so blessed by the generosity of so many of you both during our season of engagement and in supporting the mission trips we’ve been on in the past.

Between the two of us, you have enabled God to teach us and use us in over 15 countries, and for that we are thankful. We are excited now to bring our mission experiences together and to see how God will use us and teach us as a married couple serving overseas for these few months. This is exciting for us, but trips like this are a lot more expensive in two’s! The total cost of the trip for Jordan and myself is about $9,000. That includes airfare, vaccinations, and room/board for our time there. Whether or not you are able to support us financially on this mission project, we are thankful for your support as friends and fellow believers. We are excited about the promise of Colossians 1:6 which says, “All over the world, the gospel is bearing fruit and growing, just as it has been doing among you since the day you heard it and understood God’s grace in all its truth.” We want to be people who expect this promise to be true, and who watch for the work of the gospel to grow and bear fruit all over the world. We ask you to join with us in prayer as we experience God at work in Africa this summer.

Thoughts On Donating

2010-06-01T06:39:00.000-07:00

I just added a PayPal "Donate" button to our blog. I guess for some people this could be a little odd, so I thought I'd offer some of my thoughts on donating.

First of all, I think giving is a liberating act. We live in a society that tells us that selfishness is good. The television daily tells me that I should only give my money to deserving corporations who have earned my dollar with good advertising and product development. This, I think, is bad for human society. Giving your neighbor a cup of sugar not only helps him, but it also helps you. It frees you from the bondage of selfishness and isolation. Giving is good. Jordan and I are very intentional about supporting other missionaries and giving to our church, because we believe it is good for the human soul to give as a first defense against greed.

But that doesn't say anything about why you should donate to our mission trip. And maybe you shouldn't. In fact, if you’ve turned on the news in the last month, you probably know that Nashville recently suffered a devastating flood. A lot of people lost everything. If you are debating whether you should give to our summer mission or to flood relief, please give your money to flood relief. You can give to Community Foundation at CFMT.org and the money will go to those in need. You might also give to our church, Church of the Redeemer, and the money will go directly to members of our congregation who have suffered loss from the flood. Visit them at redeemernashville.blogspot.com for more information about donating to flood victims in our community.

With that in mind, if you are someone who wants to support this international mission project, please read the post titled "Support Letter," so that you can know specifically what you are supporting and also how to pray for us. I have added a PayPal "Donate" button to our blog, to make donating easier. However, if you prefer to donate to this trip through our church, your contribution will be tax-deductible, and you can send that check to our church with a note “For: Matt and Jordan Elam—Africa.” This contribution can be sent to: Church of the Redeemer, 920 Caldwell Lane, Nashville, TN 37204-4016.

We have both been humbled by the generosity of others during our engagement and fundraising for past mission trips. In the end, we're blessed to have you reading our blog, praying for our souls, and sending us words of encouragement, regardless of whether or not you support this project financially.

Away We Go! Animation

2010-05-24T05:56:00.000-07:00

I've been fooling around with the animation abilities of Photoshop, and came up with this little thing. It isn't perfect, but it was a lot of fun to make. I've been thinking I'd make a short cartoon silent film, but this took so long that I don't think I'll have time.

Enjoy.
(Click for larger version.)

Help. Please.

2010-05-20T04:47:00.000-07:00

If you are reading this, you are my only hope. I have been kidnapped by the evil Lord Licorice. I am being held at Gum Drop Mountain under the brutal warlord Gloppy. Please, if you find this, notify Princess Lolly at once. She is living in Nashville, TN, disguised as a workaday school teacher at Brentwood Academy. You will know her when you see her, for her royal lineage is evident. No common woman has ever been so beautiful.

Please tell her NOT to pass through Candy Cane Forest. This is where I was ambushed by the Gingerbread People. That’s right, the Gingerbread People have betrayed us. They appear quite innocent and harmless, but they have sharp Chiclet teeth and I lost several fingers in the struggle. Only Mr. Mint can defeat the Gingerbread People. Summon him at once. Only King Kandy can defeat Lord Licorice. Please tell the Princess to make him aware of the situation. Only I can defeat Gloppy, but I have sustained injuries which can only be healed by the kisses of a Princess.

Please, make haste. The fate of all Candy Land depends on it.