Bob Dibble
The trip to Uganda was full of many stories of hope and encouragement. During one of our evangelism trips, Pastor Jeffrey, Trisha and I were with a number of Ugandan folks sharing the word of Christ and handing our mercy bags. A woman approached us and asked if we could come and help her ill daughter. It seemed that the daughter had an operation and was very ill. We followed Pastor Jeffrey to a small hut. We were invited to go into the hut where we found a young girl laying on a mattress, on the ground and in the dark. She appeared to be very ill. We followed Pastor Jeffrey’s lead and gathered close to the girl. Pastor Jeffrey knelt close to the girl , held her hand said a very powerful prayer for the girl’s recovery. She received the prayer with tears and gratefulness. The mom seemed to be very happy that we would stop and pray for the healing of her daughter. We will never know how the daughter responded to the prayer, but I feel that she felt the love and hand of Jesus that day. As a post script, we learned that the woman wasn’t a Christian but reached out to us for help in her time of need…pretty powerful. Bob
Emily Nail
07-2008
It’s been almost three months since my first trip to Africa. Not a day goes by that I don’t look a one of my pictures and remember the faces. Since I was four years old I told my mom that I wanted to go to Africa and help the kids and make things fair. So my trip was honestly a dream come true. On the islands on Lake Victoria that we visited I was able to work with our Doctor and Nurse and help “fill prescriptions” and tried my best to comfort the patients. We even did about 3 minor surgeries, which I helped out with by handing the doctor tools or bandage items. On this trip the Lord revealed something to me far greater than what I could have imagined he would. He taught me that yes there is a need in Africa but that America is in a lot of need as well. Here in America most people have everything they need but to the point to where they do not need a hope, which is Jesus, and in Africa they do not have everything they need so when there is a hope shown, like Jesus, they will do anything for it. I realized that my mission field is not just overseas in a third world country but right here and now in our communities and churches because that’s where it starts. Overall my trip was more than I imagined it would be. If I had chance right now I would pack up my things to go back. Africa will always have a special place in my heart.
“But my life is worth nothing to me unless I use it for finishing the work assigned me by the Lord Jesus- the work of telling others the Good news about the wonderful grace of God” Acts 20:24
Anne Haworth
11-2007
IT WAS DAY eight in Uganda and my team and I were headed to our third stop on Lake Victoria, Kaaza Island. Storms the previous day had ushered in swarms of lake flies, which bore testimony to this place’s nickname, “Island of the Flies.” Anxious for an escape from the winged torpedoes, we all took shelter early in our tents that first night. The following morning, the flies had been replaced by airborne ants, which proved equally annoying. My tent-mate was still sleeping, but I was wide awake. And so, bugs or no bugs, I ventured out.
I took a seat beside a few of the pastors on our team who were perched near the cooking fires. The smoke kept the bugs at bay–but only somewhat. A large crowd of islanders had already gathered along the invisible perimeter that defined our campground. As I scanned the crowd, a pair of young eyes caught my attention, piercing, yet completely devoid of emotion. They belonged to a little girl three or four years of age. I missed my own three-year-old, Addison–was this why I was so drawn to this particular child all these miles from home?
I gestured for the barefoot girl to come to me. It took several motions for her to hesitantly inch my way, and when she finally arrived, I reached out to her cautiously, waiting for her body language to tell me she was okay with my picking her up. She settled into my core, her tiny legs dangling off of my lap, and we sat there for the longest time, her rough, calloused hands grasping my arms tightly, her head leaning back on my shoulder ever so lightly.
Thirty minutes passed, me rocking back and forth with this precious child I didn’t even know. With the help of one of our translators, I tried to begin a dialogue. “What is your name?” I asked the child. There was no response. Again the translator posed my question. Again, no response. This question and no-answer went on for ninety seconds straight before two syllables fell from the sweet young girl’s lips: “Aida.”
I tried a few additional questions, but my efforts were in vain. And so, Aida and I would simply sit.
As the time passed, older kids made their way past us as they headed to school. I looked at the translator and asked if Aida needed to be leaving, too. Aida was in a lower grade, she explained, which I took to mean we were fine staying put a few moments longer. Eventually, I set her down so that she could join the other young children. She hesitated a moment but then began walking in the opposite direction of the school. “She’s a tough one,” the translator whispered to me, “but perhaps she’s just hungry. It’s early morning–everyone’s hungry in the early morning.”
I trailed Aida to see where she was heading. She walked down a trail past several huts; once I saw the general direction she was going, I ran back to my tent, grabbed a granola bar, and took off behind her once more. I couldn’t fill all of the voids in young Aida’s life, but at least I could fill her tummy. Moments later, I discovered her standing outside of a small hut with several women and children. I didn’t want to create a riot over the feast in my pocket, so I discretely tore off the packaging, cracked off a small piece of the bar, and handed it to Aida. She took a miniscule bite and then handed it to the little boy standing next to her. He followed suit, nibbling off a small taste and passing it along the line. I handed over the rest of the bar, humbled by their care for one another, and rose to walk away.
I went back to my tent to write down my thoughts about Aida. What was I feeling? Pity, for her living conditions? Sadness, because of the realities of life here? A craving to rescue her, to snatch her from the clutches of poverty and take her back to Colorado with me, as if I could make everything all better?
I grabbed my journal and some other supplies, stuffed them into my pack, and took a deep breath as I exited my tent. I squinted at the bright sunlight surrounding me and immediately upon my eyes falling back into focus noted two small children at the edge of the crowd. The little boy gently nudged the little girl forward, away from the crowd. I did a double take and discovered that it was Aida and the little boy she shared her granola bar with. Both had changed into a cleaner set of clothes.
My heart still perplexed by the wide range of emotion I felt because of this little girl, I walked toward Aida, scooped her up, sat down in the wet grass beneath us, and cried.
I pulled myself together and with the help of the translator motioned for all of the kids standing nearby to come closer. They rushed toward me as I passed out pads of paper and pens that had been donated by a friend from home. I had also brought with me pictures drawn by my son’s third-grade class, and now I wanted these children to draw pictures for me to take back. They loved the exercise, and at one point, even Aida had a smile on her face. Priceless.
The day’s events culminated with one of our “mercy walks,” where our team would roam through the village, passing out soap and salt and other necessities. We began in an area I had not yet seen, but after a series of corners turned, I spotted a hut I now knew well: it was Aida’s hut. She and her brother and their mother sat outside, as if waiting for us to arrive.
What a joy it was to greet Aida’s mom and to see that by local standards, at least, this child was well cared for. That reality, as well as the assurance that ultimately Aida rested in the palm of God’s caring hand of provision, was just what my unsettled heart needed to see.
When it was time for us to leave that East African island, Aida and her brother ran toward me to bid a silent farewell. I tried every sort of nonverbal cue I could think of to get them to smile with me for a picture, but my sign language didn’t quite translate. With my forefinger and thumb, I pushed up the sides of my mouth, showing them my best “smile” gesture. In response, they stuck finger-hooks in both sides of their mouths and pulled wide, their eyes gleaming and their bellies jiggling, as if to say, “Like this?” Close enough, I reasoned.
“Thank you, God, for introducing me to Aida,” I spoke aloud as I boarded our team’s primitive boat. “You are good. All the time, God, you are good.”
Jana’s Testimony
8-2007
It’s August and that can only mean one thing for those of us with children - it’s time to begin thinking SCHOOL. I don’t know about any of you, but in my house, we have already begun shopping for new clothes, shoes, school supplies and locker organizers. In fact, Sarah and I while shopping for her locker organizer had a discussion about how Boerne Middle School North, in her opinion, did not pick their paint and locker colors very well – most everything is burnt orange – coming from a family of Aggies, she finds it offensive, and feels the need to cover her locker, so that the orange doesn’t show. We laughed, but having just returned from Africa, I couldn’t help but think back to my experience with the Tree of Life School at Bulabandi. And wanted to take this opportunity to share with you bits and pieces of my journal and my thoughts: Driving down the red dirt lane, the joyful sound of children greets us from the distance. As we get closer, I realize we have come upon our stop for the day, the school at Bulabandi. Just as we have seen at all the public and private schools on our travels in Uganda, the children are dressed very smart in their school uniforms. My Sarah would be happy to know that Bulabandi picked their colors appropriately – maroon and white.
As we have done before at Kakombo and Top Hill, we take time to greet the sea of children, who welcome us with their very good English “How are you?” “I am fine”, and on this morning, even some of the children extend a “Good Morning, Madam”. The children are sooo precious, and just want the chance to greet one of the team members. Surely, the love they extend us is the love of Jesus Christ.
Soon, a bell is rung by the headmaster, and the children quickly begin to sing and gather into lines with their teachers. As the guests of honor, we are asked to take our seats and be prepared to be entertained by the children’s choir. After months of preparation and rehearsing in what I would consider to be Music class, the teachers lead the children in faith based plays and songs – our team favorite: “I was a Killer and the Lord a Jesus set a me free”. The program is flawless and full of JOY – the hard work of the teachers and children is apparent.
It is not until the program has concluded and the children have gone to class that I am able to survey my surroundings and the school campus. Under a grove of trees, I find the “Lunchroom” – an open campfire and kettle are the cook’s kitchen, and the shaded yard, the children’s lunch table. In this lunchroom, you won’t find the choices we have in our school cafeteria, because only one meal is being prepared – the same meal that will be prepared each day for the children – porridge. It is a hot meal provided for the first time today by Tree of Life Ministries, and we have the privilege of watching the children wait patiently in line with their new plastic mug to be filled by the cook with porridge.
About the time lunch is over, and the younger children leave for home down dirt trails through the bush, the older students return to class. I am stunned by what is before me, by where the older children are returning to for class. I can’t help but recall Jesus’ humble beginnings in a manger. The exterior walls for two of the school’s classrooms are constructed of what appear to be cedar-like posts with barnwood slats. There is no mud, mortar or plaster to fill the gaping holes. The remaining two classrooms and interior walls are the same posts but with a plastic tarp attached the the posts to serve as a wall. It is obvious to me that the school has been built in stages.
First, a framework is built of posts and plastic and as money becomes available the plastic is replaced by the barnwood slats. However, where the plastic walls have not been replaced, winds have torn away the plastic, leaving the classrooms completely exposed to the elements. As you can imagine, teaching in inclement weather becomes difficult and can result in the cancellation of classes. Above, the roof is fashioned from sheets of corrugated tin that are installed as the pastors of Tree of Life Ministries are able to buy the tin out of their own pocket, and below, the floor is dirt.
The four classrooms are back to back, and they are not soundproof, nonetheless, the children are not distracted by the activity in other classes, they are captivated by the teacher. These children want to be at school, they want to learn no matter what the conditions are.
In talking with Lee & Mike, I learn that with $4800, one classroom that is 26 x 20 or 520 square feet can be built of bricks to house the schoolchildren out of the elements and with privacy from the other classes. Amazing – for less than $10 per square foot children can be taught in an environment more conducive for learning, and uninterrupted by the weather.
Given the conditions that the teachers work in, you may think a quality education isn’t possible. But, as an eyewitness, and in the video you just watched, you can see that these teachers persevere. Having answered a call to teach in a private Christian setting, the teachers have agreed to be paid $30 a month compared to their public school counterparts who make $120-150 per month.
There are no computers, textbooks, posters, or workpapers. I watched each teacher with only a chalkboard and a piece of chalk lead students in spelling, reading, science, and math in English, not Luganda. For example, I spent quite a bit of time watching the 2nd grade teacher lead the children through life and earth sciences when she asked them to spell “science”. The entire 2nd grade class responded in unison “S-C-I-E-N-C-E, science”. Pretty impressive considering English is their second language.
As far as the school supplies for children, a small journal and a pencil, not color coded binders, folders, markers, crayons, pens, rulers. But that one pencil they do have is used until only the eraser is left. When handing out pencils to some of the older children, you would have thought I came bearing gold – a pencil is that much of treasure. I’ve told you that the children want to learn, and their eagerness to learn was evident when our team had the privilege of teaching two Bible lessons. For both lessons, the children sat in circles, attentive to what we had to say, waited patiently for their crosses, beads, crayons, and papers to be handed out, then worked very diligently on their projects. This may not seem amazing until I tell you there were over 200 children and only 13 volunteers. And each child for their coloring page, only received 2 crayons, and the ground was their table. In my own church, for 200 children, I would probably have 40 volunteers, and if I told the children, they would receive only 2 crayons, I might get strung up by my toenails. But these precious children, took what was given, and were thankful.
And that is exactly what these children are – thankful. Thankful that you would send our team 10,000 miles to share with them the love of Jesus Christ. Thankful that there are people like you who would want them to have a better education and a better tomorrow.
Stacy Kelly
04-02-07
It has been almost a year since going to Africa! The memories are as fresh as if we were there yesterday. We have been able to continue our missionary efforts from the USA that we started a year ago. Check out the pictures page. They tell a story of children who need so much, yet require so little. It reminds me of Us (we think we need so much) and our Heavenly Father (who asks us so little - Just to believe in Him). Poverty in the USA is like being well off in Africa. The homes do not have closets. They don\’t need them. They don\’t have clothes. A mat to sleep on and a plastic bowl to hopefully have a meal for the day from are luxuries. Yet they find extreme joy in knowing God! I am inspired. I can hardly wait to go back in Summer of 2007. I took Kyle, my then 14 year old son, in 2006 and the impact on him was indescribable. He has become bold in his faith - and compassionate in telling others about Christ. Kyle & I went to Africa thinking we were going to do so much for the people there. But, we both agree, they did so much for us. The power of God is alive and well in the U.S. and Africa! My prayer for each of you reading this is that you will go with Kyle & I some day soon to meet the people of Uganda, minister with us to the lost, or help us provide necessary items for those we can. Personal delivery far out weighs sending anything by mail!
Alyse Bowers
02-21-2007
Today we were able to stay in Kakombo all day and it was amazing! We split the kids up into their classes and did a short bible study through the translators and did a craft to go along with the lesson. We sang Jesus Loves Me along with the tape and taught the hand movements to the children and they loved it! That afternoon we were playing outside with the children, just running around and being crazy and it began to rain really hard. Some children ran back and stood under the overhang along the side of the school but we continued to run around with most of the children. Although it was hard to come up with games and activities without being able to speak through the language barrier it was probably the most fun I’ve ever had! We would take off running and screaming to the other side of the field and the mass of beautiful, wet children would run with us. Kendall began making faces at them and they thought it was hilarious. We would say sad, scared, excited, mad, or whatever and make the face and the children imitated everything we did. After Kendall did a few faces she would say very (and they would repeat)… very… very… very… happy! And everyone would start jumping up and down screaming. It was amazing! These precious children know very little English but they know who Jesus is, and they began jumping up and down in a huge mob chanting Jesus. It was one of the most amazing things I have ever experienced and touched our hearts in a way nothing but the love and joy of Christ can!
Dana Bratlof
01-23-2007
You know when I first heard about Uganda and saw all the pictures of all the kids, I knew that I had to go and see for myself. I asked my oldest son to go with me last summer. As we applied for our passports and went to San Antonio Metro Health to get all our shots, I found out that the yellow fever shot is formed in an egg base. I am deathly allergic to eggs.I was told to consult with an expert in immunizations to see if there was any way to get the shot without it killing me. It was determined that there was no way for me to live through it. I was amazed. We started looking at waivers and boycotts against the government (just kidding on the last one even though the thought crossed my mind more than once). I was given a passion for Uganda but could not go and help. Then as I was helping the group get ready to go and sending my son off without me, I saw that you do not have to go to help. I made a commitment to help financially by sponsoring children. I help in other ways that are needed just as much as we need those who go. So I write today to encourage you. It takes all of us to make a body. It takes all of us to make a team. We need help from the whole body to sponsor these kids. We need those who can go and those who can stay.
I praise God for the mission team and for the opportunity to serve in such an awesome way.
Dana Brattlof
Greg Lewis
01-19-2007
My first trip to Uganda, Africa.
We drove from the capital city Kampala for three hours. We then turned of the paved road and continued for another two hours on a red dusty trail. The next thirty minutes we traveled in our mini van with about 15 people jammed in down a small narrow trail made by pedestrians not cars. All along the way of this trail there were banana leaves and tree branches slamming against our trail blazing van. We came to a clearing, removed ourselves like sardines from a can and were told to go in pairs down different trails and to be back in two hours as time and daylight were slipping away fast.
I was paired up with a girl from Houston area we had met at the little hotel we were staying at. The first hut we came to was made of mud, sticks and a thatched roof. Out front was the man of the hut, working with some sticks. His wife was next to him spreading her maze or corn (I don’t really know I’m a city boy) on the ground to dry in the sun. I guess this was going to be there meal that day. Behind the hut there were several children playing, just like kids here in America only they had tattered clothes and no shoes on.
I told them that I had come from America and that I wanted to tell them about my living God. They said yes we want to talk to you but first there is a man inside the hut that is dieing and could I go inside to help him. Panic and a chill ran down my back. If I go inside I might get what he has. Did he have Ebola, Aids, Yellow Fever or some other contagious disease? Then I felt the Lord fill me with peace. God did not send me half the way around the world to not go in there. So I stepped through the small short opening into the dimly lit hut. It was very hot and stifling inside. I looked across the hut and could see an old man lying on a tattered mat. He also had a mat over him, although there was not much left of the old beat up rag he used as a blanket.
Our eyes met and I could see a very frightened man. For two reasons, 1- a white man just appeared in his hut and 2 he knew he was dying.
I knelt down and asked him, through my translator, if I could talk to him about my living God. I said living God because people in this part of the jungle either believed in the dead man Buda or they were killing animals to keep the evil spirits away. He said yes and also asked me to examine him as if I was some kind of doctor. Again God gave me this cool strength, peace and courage. So I began to examine this scared dying man.
I reached out and put my hand on his arm. At that moment I don’t know how to describe to you this feeling that passed through me to him. Except did you see the movie The Green Mile?
When I held his arm this power went out through me into this man. I later learned that in the jungle death happens everyday. You are allowed to be with your family as you die. But nobody will touch you because they might get what you have and there is no medical help anywhere. So you just lie in the corner and die. This power that passed through me to him was the love of God. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was this and is the Holy Spirit living inside me. I want to learn and experience more of that. Anyway, I began to examine him by gently touching him as a father would his sick child. My mom had just died six months before this. She died from drinking herself to death. She died of liver failure. Hospice came to her house so we were there with her as she slowly died. So I recognized the symptoms. This man was dying of liver failure. His stomach was distended. His organs were swelled. His eyes were yellow and the bottom of his feet was starting to marbleize which were signs of eminent death.
As I examined him I began to tell him the story of Jesus. Just as I would to a 6 year old. I told him how God sent down his only Son; they nailed Him on a cross where he died. They put him in a tomb and rolled a big stone in front of it. After three days an Angel rolled away the stone and Jesus rose from the dead. He died for all our sins. Our sins in the past and future. He appeared to many people and then was taken up to heaven. I told him that all he had to do was to realize that Jesus was the only way to heaven. That all of us had sinned and were not good enough to get into heaven any other way than to let Jesus’ death and resurrection wash away all his sins and then he would spend eternity in heaven not hell. Well about this time in America we would have to start the debate with who we were talking with. But he just looked at me and said yes. Yes he wanted to go to heaven. Yes he wanted to accept Jesus in his heart.
After making sure he understood everything he was accepting I started to get up to leave. When I began to step out of the hut I looked back at the man on the mat. Remember when I walked in I saw a frightened man? I now looked into the eyes of a smiling happy child of God. He was full of hope and joy. When I told the girl from Houston outside what had just happened in there, she said you aren’t going to believe what happened out here. All the rest of the family members including the kids accepted the Lord!
The same thing happened hut after hut as we traveled down the trail. After a few huts I felt like someone was following me. When I turned to look, I couldn’t believe my eyes. There must have been 40-50 people following us. It was like when Jesus was calling his disciples to drop their nets and follow him. They just stopped whatever they were doing and followed us. Not us but they were hungry for more. We would read scripture from The Bible at every hut. That is the power of the Holy Spirit. They wanted more.
Now I am preparing to make my 5th trip back to the jungles of Uganda. I have tried many, many things for fulfillment over the years. But nothing compares to the fulfillment of being used by God to do his will.
Here I am Lord send me!
Greg Lewis
Gail Blanscet
06-21-05
There was much to see, hear, smell and feel (emotionally) on the drive. Huts and shops with people busy with their lives, narrow dirt roads with people walking or riding bycicles, as well as the ditch on the side of the road that acts as the sewer system. We passed many children (and goats). We waved out the bus windows and smiled and they did the same. Precious, sweet, welcoming faces! As we drew near to the village the faces were even more excited and happy to see a bus load of “Mzungu” (white people).
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When we reached the village we were greeted by 100s of people singing, clapping, dancing, and shouting with excitement. Excitement like I have never seen! When we got off the bus they embraced us and shook our hands saying “Hallo - you are welcome.” Lots and lots of hugs - true heartfelt “I love you” hugs. (This indescribable greeting is perhaps similar to the greeting we might receive when we arrive in Heaven!!!)
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We met in their newly finished church and they sang for us, prayed for us, sang some more, prayed some more. The entire congregation sang the Uganda national anthem, then asked us to sing ours.
I’m not sure there was a dry eye in our group!