An Adopted Son...

This Christmas we have been reading a little devotional book called Immanuel: Praying the Names of God through the Christmas Season. It has been wonderful to meditate on various aspects of Jesus' name, birth and life as we prepare to really celebrate Christmas as a family here in Uganda. As we've been reading and praying together as a family, one person in particular has really struck me. I mean, the kind of struck where you just sit and think about it for a long time. The person is Joseph.

I wonder what it would be like to hold the very Son of God in my arms. In fact, Joseph would have been the very first person to hold Jesus period, even before Mary herself! When my three sons were born, I was privileged to be the one to catch each of them as they came out into the world, but I had doctors there helping me. Even if I missed or the baby slipped through my hands (they come out slick!), there was an extra pair of hands there with mine. But Joseph was in it alone! Talk about pressure! How do you catch the Son of God? I had nurses there to show me where to cut the cord, and of course they took care of cleaning the babies properly. Joseph did not have any of these things either, and I don't think that men were typically "in" on births in Israel so he could have had very little idea of exactly what to do. Actually, there were midwives who normally handled these things, but cows in a barn are not very good midwives. I can just picture Mary there telling Joseph what to do, Joseph scared to death, tears and laughter. What an emotional experience that must have been, to catch, cut and clean the very Son of God Himself! The humility of God will forever stun me just as greatly as His sovereignty.

One other thought has struck me within the whole Joseph side of things. He bore the public "shame" of taking into his home what was thought to be an "ill-begotten" baby boy. But then he went further than this, Joseph in all reality adopted the Son of God into his own family, he himself becoming the boy's father. Growing up I never quite thought about this, and it never really hit home until I heard a message by my friend Justin on Joseph. But what really amazes me is this- could Joseph have known that it would be through this very Son that he was adopting that he himself would be adopted by God who would become His very own adopted Father? I don't think Joseph could have grasped this apart from faith, but how amazing are God's ways!

I hope you all have a very blessed Christmas as you celebrate the birth of the one who was born to die for the Glory and unveiling of the Father, the one who has promised, "I will not leave you as orphans (Jn. 14:18)" because He Himself has died that we might be justified from sin and adopted into the family of God. We are orphans no more.

A Ugandan Thanksgiving

I LOVE Thanksgiving! In fact, there are very few holidays that get me as excited as this one. I thoroughly enjoy being with family, hanging around in the kitchen, talking, laughing, and of course expectantly looking forward to the coming feast. I enjoy reflecting with my family on the things the year has held, while also looking ahead to the coming year yet to unfold.

Here in Uganda, it is a bit tough for us to be away from family during this holiday. The weather is hot, Christmas is on the horizon, and there is nothing here to remind us of this distinct mark in the American calendar- no media pounding us with images of turkeys or the coming great shopping deals, no signs hanging in the stores, no music, nothing.

But we do our best to “get into the groove” of the holiday season. We have some fake colored leaves that we scatter on the table, along with a fake pumpkin, and even a funny looking decorative turkey. TURKEY…yum…my favorite. Actually, I can only remember one Thanksgiving when I did not have turkey on Thanksgiving and that was when I was in college and decided to stay at school for the holiday in order to study! I went out with a friend for Giordano’s Pizza hoping they’d be serving a turkey pizza, but to no avail.

So what exactly DO we do here for Thanksgiving? Well, the first thing we have to do is procure some turkeys from the village. Since we were over 30 Westerners (including children) gathering together to celebrate the holiday (yes, we invited our British staff members, after all, weren’t some of the original celebrators of Thanksgiving British?), we needed to find two good sized turkeys, which we found- though I must add that not many villagers raise turkeys so it can be a bit of a hunt. Since I am the only Westerner with a chicken house, we were the privileged ones to house and feed the turkeys, which I promptly named Miles and Standish. Our dog Mountie was so excited about the turkeys that she jumped over the mud wall and under the chicken wire in an attempt to have her own Thanksgiving feast- luckily we heard the turkeys going crazy and out of the cloud of feathers we pulled the dog out of the chicken house.

We set the execution for dawn on Thanksgiving Day- well, actually it was around 8am (after we spent time as a family giving thanks to God for His work in our family over this year- Noah was also thankful for the turkeys God gave us to kill and eat). My boys were as excited as I was (see the picture above), and with the help of our friend Kibeti (and my panga/machete), I got ready to let loose the two fell swoops. The first mighty swing was just a tad bit not mighty enough, because the head came mostly off (I apologize for the details, but this IS Uganda : ). I went executioner style with the second one and it was enough for a clean strike. I promise, both turkeys didn’t feel a thing! We then poured boiling hot water over the turkeys to make plucking them much easier. After a few hours of cleaning and gutting, the turkeys were prepared and in the oven.

What’s so funny to me is that my sisters and I have such DIFFERENT stories about Thanksgiving turkeys. My sister Angie went to the local grocer and bought her nice big turkey. I, of course, had to find and kill my own. And my sister Cara (a vegetarian) lives on a farm where she has a “pet” turkey named Phil who she would NEVER allow to be killed or to be eaten. How VASTLY different experiences!

Anyway, the rest of my story isn’t as exciting. I spent the morning painting my boys’ tree house, followed by an afternoon of “rest” and the holding of the elbow of my wife while she did what she does like no other- COOK. In the late afternoon (after the passing of the mid-day heat) we had an American football gave which was an absolute BLAST (Elisha made his football debut with one catch for a ten yard gain), and then we gathered and feasted on Miles and Standish- who were both a bit tough by the way. But I guess you could call these official “organic” turkeys. The food was wonderful, the people were wonderful, the kids running all around and playing were wonderful, and of course, back at the homestead “Charlie Brown Thanksgiving” and the “Mayflower Voyage” were also wonderful. I hope you all had just as wonderful of a Thanksgiving!

The Heart of an Orphan- Part 1

When Laura Beth and I first came to New Hope Uganda in 2002, we were a part of the first class of the New Hope Institute of Childcare and Family. Needless to say, the course rocked our worlds (or we wouldn't be working with it as passionately as we are!). One of the most powerful teachings came to us from one of the sons of New Hope named Paul Kusuubira. Paul walked us through his own story growing up as an orphan. He then opened up for us what he called the "orphan heart". It was a teaching that was both eye-opening and heart-rending. Eye-opening because suddenly I realized why the kids I was trying to work with at New Hope met me with such resistance, why they did the things that they did and why they responded like they responded to different situations. I also realized that the kids that I had worked with for four years in Cabrini Green (government housing projects in Chicago) were fatherless (orphans), which was KEY for me looking back and trying to understand the hearts of the kids I had wrestled with for those years.

Paul's teaching was heart-rending because I realized that the heart of an orphan is simply the human heart, the sinful human heart, drawn out in specific ways because of the circumstances of becoming orphaned, and in that my own heart was also revealed. The Gospel became so much bigger to me as a result, something I hope to draw out in the following posts.

But let me begin by simply putting Paul's story here so you can understand a bit better the characteristics of the "orphan heart" that I will post next. Here's Paul's story:

Paul Kusuubira lost his parents during Uganda’s civil war in the 1980’s that shook the country shortly after Idi Amin’s regime collapsed. The bloody war centered 35 miles north of the capital city Kampala in an area that became known as the Luwero killing fields. Paul’s family fled from their home and spent three years hiding in “the bush” . They were constantly running from the warring soldiers, barely able to survive. The family ate whatever food they could gather from the “bush”, mostly wild yams and papaya. They drank any color of water they could find. They slept on leaves under the stars. During the rainy season they huddled together under trees. On occasions when they heard bullets coming from one direction they could walk all day in the opposite direction only to be met by more gunfire. Exhausted and too tired to walk any further, the family would simply lay down on the ground to sleep, prepared to die there if need be.

Through these years God miraculously protected Paul and his family. They all survived the war. It was with great joy that the family was finally able to return to their small home in late 1986. Shockingly, shortly after returning, Paul’s father fell sick and died. As the family was still grieving the loss of the father, the pain still fresh in their hearts, Paul's mother fell sick and died as a result of tuberculosis. The family was in shambles, and as the community gathered around the grave, Paul could only weep and weep. The war had taken his father and mother, leaving Paul, his three brothers, and one sister, all alone to struggle for survival.

As they buried their mother, the realization of what they had become, orphans, quickly set in. Men and women from the community roamed freely through their house, helping themselves to whatever they desired. Cooking pots, plates and clothing disappeared. The children were helpless to do anything. Where could they turn? Who would care for them now? They were rejected by their community, including those they thought were friends of their family. No one wanted the responsibility of caring for more orphans. The title “orphan” became a label that led only to mistreatment and abuse. Food, clothing, and warm blankets, items that their parents had always secured for them, were now hard to come by. Paul gave up all hope for living. He would rather die than live in such despair. He was ten years old.

Immediately after Paul was orphaned, a sense of abandonment overwhelmed him. He felt abandoned by both of his parents, abandoned by those he had always counted on, loved and trusted. He felt helpless and scared. A deep loneliness came into his heart. He felt like he did not belong to anyone anymore, including his brothers and sister. He simply existed as an outcast, a nobody. Rejection by friends and the community left him feeling betrayed. Hopelessness marked his sense of the present and the future. He felt worthless. He had lost his identity, no longer bearing his father’s name but taking on the name mulekwa, which means orphan. The joy that he had known as a boy was turned into extreme sadness, a feeling that went as deep as the pain in his heart from losing his parents.

Paul’s struggles continued to grow as mistrust guided his dealings with people. He felt he could count on no one and that he would only be abandoned, betrayed, or let down by all people. Even when people would approach him to help, he found himself hiding his true self from them out of fear. He would only open up what he thought would help him to get something from people, keeping all relationships on a superficial level. Manipulation and deceit were the keys to getting what he wanted from people. Fear became the defining mark of his life- fear of man, fear of rejection, fear of failure, and fear of death. All of these things led to a deep sense of independence where he would only do things “his way”, refusing to be accountable to anyone and pushing away any who might get in the way of his accomplishing what he wanted.

The survival mentality that was birthed in him led to a deep seated greed, always wanting more and more, never content with what he had. He developed a poverty mindset that told him that he never had enough, even when living in plenty. He would eat each meal as if it was the last he might have for a long time, even when he was promised many meals to follow. He was always striving, striving for acceptance, striving for approval, striving for success, striving for love.

For many orphans in Uganda this striving leads to the practice of witchcraft to try to manipulate the spirits in order to secure success in various areas. Because death for a Ugandan is never by “chance”, but is always caused by someone, feelings of anger and revenge begin to rule the heart as they seek to find out who killed their parents in order to pay them back. This is often done through the local witchdoctors. Escape becomes the main “coping” mechanism for dealing with the pain and struggles, escape through sexual relationships, drugs, alcohol and even sports.

An Institute of Ethnic Reconciliation

(George Opuche- my Ugandan partner- and myself at a baptism for Kasana Community Church)

The New Hope Institute of Childcare and Family would not typically be thought of as a place where ethnic reconciliation would be on the forefront of happenings. After all, isn’t it a training for people wanting to work with orphans or in the area of family? Yes, it is an Institute for training and equipping people to work in ministry to children and family, but in actuality the training encompasses worldview-confronting, life-changing issues, none bigger than the racial issues that divide nations and tribes and that our unique context presents to us in an “in your face” manner.

Can you (as a Westerner) imagine sitting in a room with three or four other Westerners (perhaps coming from the UK, Canada, or from east and west-coast America? Perhaps across the room sits a Congolese and beside him sits a Kenyan couple. To their right and left are twelve Ugandans, but seven of these come from different tribes within Uganda, some tribes extremely different from the others in terms of cultural beliefs and practices. And to top it off, just to your left sits and man or woman from India! Talk about a cultural melting pot!

One of the most exciting times in the course is right at the beginning when we begin exploring the different worldviews of the cultures represented. The Westerners are typically very shocked at how vastly different their own culture’s beliefs and values differ from one another. The shock becomes even greater as they uncover the vast differences in beliefs and values from one African country to the next, and then from tribe to tribe within the same country! You find Westerners saying of Africans, “You all really believe that?!?" And then the Africans say of the Westerners, “You are really believe that?!?" And all stand with gaping mouths at the vast difference of belief systems in an Indian context! And what is also quite shocking is to look at how each of the Christian cultures have been greatly influenced by the “secular” cultures they are a part of. Wow! The question then becomes, “So, who’s right?” Which “Christian” culture has it right? The obvious answer is no one, and it gets to be our joy together to work towards building a Biblical worldview that transcends culture, confronts “fallen” culture, and unites together in “redeemed” cultures that together unveil the beauty of the Kingdom of God. That’s what our little 20 week course is all about! And you thought it was just a course on “how to” work with orphans : )

Now to the point of this article- after we have explored the above, which is always a very humbling process, we then take a look at how we as cultures view each other. Talk about opening a can! It is here that the roots of “racism” or “ethnocentrism” really come out. Americans and British folk view each other vastly different then one might expect, and Ugandans from various tribes still carry much pain and anger towards others because of past atrocities committed against one another. But when one begins talking about Westerners views of Africa, and then Africans view of the West, oh my! Though of course, the true pain comes out when Africans talk about what they have been told about the West and Westerners in general. Without taking the time to explore this here, let me sum up what typically is presented as being passed on by media, family, and parents, by saying that at the core of many Ugandans is the belief that ultimately all problems in Uganda are a result of the West.

The first time we “uncovered” this fact in the Institute, as I stood and read on the board all that the Ugandans had written there about what they have been told or believed about the West, I wanted to run and hide in a hole somewhere! Though not all of what was stated was true, there were yet many that were true! I found myself standing before the group and simply repenting for the things that the West HAS done here in Uganda. Tears flowed from a few and it was obvious that these issues were very deep for many and that healing was coming. I should also note that when we asked the Ugandans what they thought of all that was written on the board, one young man spoke up, "We can't blame the West for all of our problems! We need to own our own failures and mistakes!" Amazing.

After that class time ended, one of our students asked to talk with my wife and I privately. She confessed to us that she had heard this and that and that she had vowed never to step foot in our home and never to eat in our presence! We were shocked. We were shocked because we had always thought of this woman as a friend. We enjoyed being around her and always had warm greetings from her, or so we thought. We forgave her and after time praying together she promised that she would begin to be a regular visitor to our home. And you know what- she has been, and to this day she is one of our closest friends and a dear “daughter” to our family.

One final note- I have been privileged to serve together with two other men who also reveal to me the amazing beauty of ethnic reconciliation that is found in the Gospel alone. George Opuche is my Ugandan partner. He comes from eastern Uganda from the Soroti area. Interestingly, when New Hope began as a ministry, it was in response to the orphans left as a result of the current president’s bush war with the former president, Obote in the 80’s. Many of the soldiers that fought for Obote were from the Soroti area. How beautiful to have not only George, but others from Soroti whose people were a part of the killing that took place in this area, now here as agents of healing and ministry to the children of this area (now orphans as a result of AIDS). My Indian partner also represents reconciliation, as typically Indians are not “liked” here in Uganda. Many of the store and business owners in this country are Indian, and for the most part they are not thought of well here. My partner is actually the first Indian Christian most Ugandans have ever met! They are amazed that he is here NOT to make money, but to serve Uganda and the children and families here at New Hope.

What a blessed privilege it is to serve here in the beauty of such a multi-ethnic community that truly is a picture of the throne room of God where men and women from every tongue, tribe, language, and nation will worship together forever and ever! Glory to the Lamb that was slain who has brought about (and is bringing about) such great and beautiful reconciliation of the nations and cultures of this fallen and broken world!

Emergency Surgery at a Bush Hospital!

This story took place in the lives of two of our Institute students, both from the Chicago area. It's a GREAT story and gives good insight into not only the workings of a village hospital, but also God's sovereign purposes in his orchestrating of events and lives. This story is (of course) part of a much bigger story of God's work in the lives of these two. Enjoy.

A few days ago, we woke up with some excitement to celebrate our very first Uganda Independence Day. The date was 10/09/08 a day that stands out for another significant reason. However, neither of these reasons are the reason why this day will forever be engrained in my heart as a day that I will remember.
The day started out with some celebrations. I played in a football match and we had the special treat of being able to watch baby Hope (one of the orphaned babies). However, in the afternoon Tiziana began to experience some sharp stomach pains, which she suspected to be due to constipation, a longstanding problem. Yet even after a bowel movement, the pain continued. This caused her major concern, especially due to the abnormality of her pains, which seemed to be ongoing but spike into sharp almost unbearable pains. Later in the evening, her stomach began to swell in the abdomen and we decided we needed to have New Hope’s nurse evaluate Tiziana. After the visit we had planned to try to wait out the night and go to the clinic in the morning for some testing, but when we arrived home, her stomach would not allow the wait and we immediately picked up the nurse and rushed to the hospital. On the way, her pains increased to the point of screams and cries. It was as if the pain was thwarting her body and could only be alleviated by her screams for a moment. Our cries to Jesus began to match the intensity of hers as we called upon Him name.
When we arrived at Kiwoko Hospital, it was 11:15pm just after the outpatient care had closed. Unfortunately, there was no real system for emergency care so we ended up being put in the female ward of the hospital and the nurses seemed to be unprepared to handle the urgency of the situation. As Tiziana lay on the hospital, vomiting from the intensity of the pains, the doctor was not in sight and I continued to helplessly watch the minutes pass praying with faith that Jesus was with us but struggling to see Him. After nearly an hour, I went and found the doctor busy with another patient in serious condition, and explained the urgency of the situation to him and that we had been waiting already over and hour. Thankfully, he arrived in about 15 minutes and began to take assessment of her condition. Before he could even talk to Tiziana, he began an IV and injected pain medicine to calm her down. After some assessment and evaluation he realized that he needed to consult the surgeon who is one of the senior staff and by now it was about 2am. The surgeon came in and took her to have and X-ray and CAT scan done to see what they could find. In the meantime, they sent me back to retrieve the X-ray results of the barium enema that we had done in August. So I brought them back to the doctor who had just finished his tests. He found so much gas inside her large intestine and some other abnormalities. However, when he saw the barium enema X-rays he saw another piece in the puzzle, which was a genetically elongated large intestine. She had a significant extra length large intestine which he suspected could be twisted, but he still considered that a big enema flush would work even if it was slightly twisted. So the doctors went back home and the nurses began to carry out the enema. In about a half hour the enema began and the second flush of the enema brought an unwelcome sign of internal trauma. Blood began to pour out of her bowel and my heart sank as the bridge of hope we received from the doctors (regarding the enema) gave way and we sensed the desperation of that moment.
When the nurses saw the blood coming from her bowel, one of them left to go and find the doctor, while the other stayed behind. My mind was racing and I found myself crying out to Jesus, “Lord, we desperately need you right now. Please come and show us that you are with us.” Not knowing what to do, I was moving back and forth from my wife, to the nurse to ask the whereabouts of the doctor, to the door awaiting his coming. The minutes dragged by and I felt as if I might see my wife bleed to death before my eyes. The nurse arrived back and I was awaiting the doctor behind her when she told me that the doctor did not answer to her knocks. My frustration arose higher as I exclaimed, “What do you mean he doesn’t answer? Go back and knock louder! Take me with you and I will make sure he comes out because this is an emergency!” The nurse refused to allow me to go with her, but left again to find him. Tiziana continued to lose blood and I again felt so helpless. However, I noticed the peace that she had. She was not panicking, but had certain calmness about her countenance. This gave me some comfort, but I paced and checked my watch noting that 45 minutes had gone since she started loosing blood and it was nearing 4am. Then the nurse returned and again was without the doctor. By now I was sensing the frustration and anger swelling up within me. It was difficult because I wanted to communicate the absolute urgency of the situation to them but not lose control and make the situation worse. Finally, I decided that I was going to go back to New Hope and pick up Keith McFarland to rush her to Kampala (capital 2 hours away), giving the nurses and ultimatum that I would take my wife out of there to get help if they could not help her. On the way back, I was continuing to pray asking the Lord to bring his peace to us in this trouble.
We arrived at the hospital to find the doctor at the edge of the bed as he had seen the blood and contemplated a decision. The momentary relief I had in finding him there crumbled as I saw him look down as he exhaled the internal pressure of the situation shaking his head with deep concern. Then he looked up to find us and told us of the weighty decision we now had before us. He told us that the worst-case scenario was now upon us as her large intestine had literally twisted itself forming a “kink” inside her body. The incredible pain and pressure was a result of this kink which could let nothing in or out including large amount of gas and stool which was lodged insider her. Anyone who has ever had gas pain or indigestion has knows only a fraction of what was happening inside because of a temporary struggle for the gas to move through the system. However, her intestine had begun to expand and could be visibly seen as her stomach swelled. The doctor told us that we would risk her bowel bursting if we try to make it to one of the large hospitals in Kampala recommending that we stay and have the operation immediately under his care at Kiwoko Hospital. Now, Kiwoko is that it is a village hospital near New Hope, which was started by a Christian doctor from Northern Ireland at the same time as New Hope in response to the war in the late ’80. Admittedly, I was concerned about having the surgery mostly because of how little we knew about the abilities of the hospital. Our experience at the beginning with the nursing staff was upsetting, but the surgeon’s presence did much to reassure us.
In lieu of our urgent decision, I asked the doctor if we could pray, thinking that he was going to step out and allow us to pray, but without hesitation the doctor grabbed her hand and began to take us directly before the throne of God as he pleaded for the Lord to give us wisdom and he entrusted himself and her to God. The peace that followed was a peace that can only be described as the peace surpasses or is beyond all understanding (Philippians 4:6-7). With hearts set at ease, we were ready to go for surgery. Tiziana was full of faith and trust in God knowing that she was in the caring arms of her Father. She calmed my own heart, which was struggling with the possibility of losing her. She wiped away my tears and told me not to cry as she pointed me to trust Jesus. She said, “He is with me” and “There is no reason to fear,” words, which I knew, were from God’s Holy Spirit, which dwells in her. The Holy Spirit is the comforter and we knew no greater comfort than that which he brought us (John 14:16). It was as if at that moment, the Lord was answering our questions of his purposes in this and reminding us that this has not caught him off guard, but that He had ordained this to come at this time and with the staff of this hospital. We rested in him and I remember releasing my wife not into the care of the physicians, but into the care of the “Great Physician” trusting that come what may, he was with us.
The surgery was estimated to take about 1-½ hours. The doctor explained that the procedure was to take out the twisted section (turned out to be over 2 ft.) and sew together the two ends of the large intestine. In the waiting room, time trickled by as I continued to check my watch awaiting news. As I waited, my thoughts went back to home as I realized that in all of commotion we were experiencing, back home our parents remained oblivious. Again, I was reminded that He was with us as I sent word back home and I was reassured that they were with us and calling more people to pray. The time passed by and when the surgeon came out I was trying to read his face before his words came and he showed little emotion. Then he assured me with the wonderful words, “Your wife is fine”. My soul was stirred to worship God who had worked his miraculous power to reveal himself in our lives here. Today as I write this, I am still in awe of the power and complexity with which God orchestrated this event.
God brought us to Uganda to this little village hospital to unleash his wisdom to this world, which boasts of its great medical advances. God brought us to a Christian surgeon and missionary from Germany who had performed these surgeries in his training. God brought us to Kampala in August to have a barium enema test done which would be a key factor in the doctor diagnosing the problem. God put it in the heart of our friends to lend us the car for the night “in case” we needed to go to the hospital. God helped me find the keys to the house in the middle of the night when I returned for the barium enema X-rays, and had dropped it on the ground. God brought a nurse from Alaska who worked in post operation surgery on a short-term trip to care for Tiziana in the hospital and watch for infection. God put it on the heart of an anonymous person to pay our bill in full. God brought a wonderful support of people to care for us with food for me and care for her through those days in the hospital. God is intimately involved in our lives we know with deeper conviction that “He is before all things, and in him all things hold together” (Colossians 1:17). Today she is recovering and gaining more and more strength. I can say with all my heart, “Lord, thank you for your wonderful work on our behalf, and not to us, but to Your Name be the glory”.

If you would like to see more about Kiwoko Hospital you can look at their website:
http://www.fokh.org.uk/kiwoko.htm

Update on Curse, Death and a Stolen Bicycle...

As David and Dennis arrived at Wandera's place in the afternoon on Wednesday, it was obvious that the family was still a wreck. Wandera's father, as well as three of his sisters were still at the home, all asking the same question- "Why?"

The day before Wandera and his sisters gathered around the father to ask him why this thing was happening, not just to Wandera, but the the family as a whole. You see, not only had the baby and his own daughter died, but the same type of death was happening throughout the family. His father, though old, has young children, a few who within the past few years have died a similar death. They wanted to know what the father had done to bring this curse on their family. His father dodged the questions. Wandera's wife had enough of THIS family and had decided to leave Wandera for good, figuring it would be better to be back in her parents' house then to watch her other children die a similar death over the years to come. That is when our guys came and found the family sitting around Wandera's house.

The family greeted David and Dennis very warmly, receiving them as true guests. They sat around and talked for some time before the two began asking specific questions related to the death and the family. After some time, the true question surfaced once again- WHY? And out came all that I wrote above. Wandera admitted that his wife had been involved in witchcraft, and that at first things seemed to get better, but now it had come to this- death.

As David and Dennis spoke the truth of the Gospel to them, that Jesus died to set them free from sin, free from fear of death, and free from slavery to Satan, they all listened very attentively. They spoke of the spiral of witchcraft and the ensnarement it brings, the deception that holds its powerful sway over people and the bondage that results. They spoke of the hope that only comes through Jesus, and many other words of truth. Then they prayed for the family, prayed over the house, and prayed for the Spirit of God to bring them to understand their words. The wife of Wandera was so moved by the men and their "talk" that she decided not to leave, and told them that she would remain with the family now that she felt some hope.

Wandera has yet to turn to follow Jesus, but he is being pursued, he and his family. We were able to raise enough money to buy him a new bicycle so that he doesn't have to walk the almost 4 miles to work each day. He was ecstatic! Please continue to pray for this young man and his family, that the power of the Gospel would transform their lives and set them free from the bondage to sin, death, and Satan that keeps them in a constant state of fear.

Smilebox

Make a Smilebox scrapbook

This was just an experiment from a card LB made for her Mom. Good pics of the fam though! Enjoy.