Year-End Video

Here's a short (less than seven minutes) video we made about our work in Malawi this past year. It's linked to YouTube, so please be aware of what's in the sidebar if you're with kids. Thanks for watching.  

Please send financial gifts to Westworth Church of Christ, 5728 White Settlement Road, Fort Worth, Texas 76114, c/o Malawi Mission Work, or you can give with a click at http://www.westworthcoc.org/malawi-mission/ Thank you, and God bless.

Meeting Snoden's Family

We have just a few weeks left until we start our three month long furlough. I won’t go into all the details of what’s involved in planning a trip like this, but I will say it’s a bit overwhelming and requires all of our attention. That’s why, when we were invited to speak to a village outside of town this week, we thought the timing couldn’t be worse. The people there are listed as one of the 7,080 unreached people groups in the world by the Joshua Project. (That part about considering this bad timing is a confession. Clearly, this wasn’t an opportunity we were going to miss, and God’s timing is perfect, so we trust Him to work out the unfinished details of our furlough—even though we’ve lost a little sleep over the whole thing.) 

Snoden is originally from a village near Lake Malawi that is traditionally non-Christian. He has shared what he’s learned with his family, but he and some others have asked us to come and teach them more. Snoden said they’d heard the name of Jesus but didn’t really know who He was. John shared the Gospel with them yesterday, and there were questions. Just like in Acts 8, someone pointed out that their village is near the lake and asked why they couldn’t be baptized. The fact that it’s a ten kilometer walk to the water didn’t seem to be a deterrent, so they agreed to meet us there next week, when we can come back and spend another day with them. In the meantime, they’re going to their neighbors’ houses to share the Good News and to invite everyone who will come to hear about Jesus. 

Much like small town U.S.A. has a Christian church on every corner, this part of the world has a different kind of worship center every few miles. Despite that fact, one lady at the study said she knew what John was saying was true, even though they’ve all been taught other things. It seems Christianity may have brushed by this area, but it hasn’t settled in for some reason. Some say it’s because there is no water or electricity, and other religions don’t mind that like we do. I would like to say I’m not included in that camp, but truth be told, I like a hot shower and lights at night. However, if that’s what’s keeping these people from Jesus, I guess it’s time to do some camping.  

So, we plan to go back one more time before furlough and trust that God’s going to help us get our affairs in order before our departure date. We’re committed to the widows and orphans in the village closer to our home that we’re feeding and teaching on a daily basis. Now we’re also faced with a village an hour and a half away of unreached people for the Gospel. Both villages are connected through familial relationships, which means because we’re trusted by one, we’re also welcome in the other. It’s not something we could have orchestrated and certainly wouldn’t have concocted on our own. In fact, it seems like an impossible task to be involved with both. However, we know that if God is calling us to this work, He’ll equip us through His church. 

We ask you to consider giving a one time gift or to become a monthly financial partner. Our current needs include money to buy land and develop classrooms to teach Bible, English, literacy, and health—classes we already teach outside but need shelter for during the rainy season. We also need a larger, more reliable four-wheel drive vehicle to make the long trips on the rough terrain to get to both villages and anywhere else we go outside of town. We’ve already broken down twice and take that at a warning to begin the search.

Yes, I take pictures of everything. 😁

Thank you for taking the time to read and respond to our reports, thank you for praying for us and for the people of Malawi, and thank you for listening to God’s call in how you might join us in this effort to take care of widows and orphans and to reach the unreached with the Gospel. And, thanks to those of you who are already invested in this with us!

Please send financial gifts to Westworth Church of Christ, 5728 White Settlement Road, Fort Worth, Texas 76114, c/o Malawi Mission Work, or you can give with a click at http://www.westworthcoc.org/malawi-mission/ Thank you, and God bless.

Jessie

This is Jessie and her baby Priscilla. Priscilla was a twin, but her sister died a couple of months ago from diarrhea. After Jessie told me that and we both paused—her to miss her baby and me to digest the matter-of-fact nature of a heart-wrenching story we often hear in this place—Jessie asked me to come with her to look at something. When we got to the other side of the house, she removed her head scarf to reveal what appeared to be mumps. Her neck was so swollen that the line from her ears to her shoulders was practically straight. When I asked her how long she had been like that, she said five years. Then I knew it wasn’t mumps. I asked her if she had been to any doctors. She had gone to the free hospital, but they said it was probably cancer and there was nothing they could do. They didn't run any tests. Then I understood why she didn’t take the baby to the hospital when she got sick. She didn’t expect them to do anything for her. 

I asked if I could take some photos to share with doctors I know. She said yes, and I told her I wanted at least one with her scarf on and Priscilla on her back that I could share with everyone else. She was happy to pose for me. 

The group that meets in the village has been taking a collection every Sunday for church expenses, one of which is medical care for the villagers. This week, we’ll be sending Jessie to a clinic where she can have a biopsy to find out why her glands are so swollen. She has three other children and is understandably concerned about their welfare, should something happen to her. We hope to receive good news from her biopsy but are very aware of the possibility that it may not be. Please pray with us that her condition will be treatable and that we will be able get her the help she needs.  

We meet people in dire need on a daily basis. Some are more open to our sharing their stories than others, but the number of people who don't have their basic needs met is staggering. One of our hopes is to open a small clinic where we can help meet the needs of the people in the village. Many times a basic health education is all that's needed, but other times it requires medical attention that, by our standards is cheap, but adds up person by person. Rather than settle for what we can do, we are asking God to do more than we can ask or imagine, and we know that will require resources. If you would like to contribute, any amount will help. We will be coming to the States soon, and we are looking for additional financial partners in this work. 

Please send financial gifts to Westworth Church of Christ, 5728 White Settlement Road, Fort Worth, Texas 76114, c/o Malawi Mission Work, or you can give with a click at http://www.westworthcoc.org/malawi-mission/ Thank you, and God bless.

Gule Wamkulu

We were greeted by this unwelcoming character as we entered the village to teach class this week.

On the way, we had a couple of uncomfortably close calls with children darting from alleyways to escape the advances of these masked men. Judging by the crowd, we first thought there was a harmless performance going on, but then it began to look a bit dangerous. Some of the troublemakers were carrying pipes and throwing rocks. It seemed the entire village had been thrown into complete mayhem.

We drove on past the armed hoodlums only to find our path blocked by one with no weapons. Because Snoden was with us and we were curious, we rolled down the window to talk to him. All he said was, "Give me money" in English, no less. We did not give him money and he didn't answer any of our questions, but we noticed a large group of villagers watching us talk to him. Some look terrified and others were yelling and cheering. (I wish I could give you more commentary on what the onlookers were thinking. Snoden thinks some of them thought we were brave--not so much regarding physical harm as spiritual--while others were just more excited to see white people than those guys.)

After discussing our experience with others and reading various articles about the origin of this strange encounter, I can offer you this modest explanation of the facts that agree in each account. (Everyone seems to have something different to say about what it all means.) I hope it helps you understand a bit more of the culture we're learning about every day.

Gule Wamkulu is a type of dance that is believed to date back to the Chewa Empire of the 17th century. It literally means Big Dance and was traditionally performed by the Nyau, a secret society of the Chewa people, at among other things, funerals and initiation rituals. It involves fast, intricate footwork and flinging dust into the air to the beat of drums. Young men are appointed by village chiefs to spend several nights in the cemetery then emerge dressed in masks and costumes made of various materials including feathers and animal skins. Each costume represents a spirit, and the dance is thought to be a communication with the villagers' dead ancestors and even the unborn.

Some spirits are harmless but others invoke fear, and many people, especially children, run and hide when they see them. Even if someone recognizes one of the "spirits" as her husband or brother, it is considered taboo to mention it, the punishment of which may be a beating or worse. While the men are in character they are thought to be spirits themselves, appointed by their god Chiuta to communicate with the dead.

Beliefs and traditions surrounding Gule Wamkulu has changed over time with an increase in foreign settlers and missionaries bringing new teachings and ideas. However, there is still a strong presence here, especially after the July harvest, at which time the dances are said to ensure fruitful harvests in the future. For many, the original purpose to communicate with the dead is a serious event, but for others it's just an amusing tradition to be celebrated in honor of southern Africa's heritage.

It seems that we came upon the costumed men before or after their dance and witnessed them chasing and scaring the villagers. When we reached our study group, many of our students were absent. Maybe they were hiding in their homes as many people do when they see the "spirits" approaching.

As thrilling as it is to experience African culture on this level, we hope to educate those entrusted to us that Gule Wamkulu is tradition, not truth. I asked John what he thought people would think of such a bizarre and scary site as we saw today. He said probably the same thing a Malawian would think if he visited an American neighborhood around the end of October.

Malawi's Future

I asked a group of teenage boys in the village what they want to do when they graduate high school. At least two of them are proficient in English, and I have been studying Chichewa enough to help with the occasional word or phrase, so we didn’t need a translator. Though they understood the words, they were a bit surprised and not sure how to answer my question. So, I rephrased it, “What do you want your job to be after school?” 

“Oh!” one of the boys said. “I want to be a soldier.” I asked if that was because he really wanted to be in the military or if he didn’t think he could do anything else to make a living. He looked confused, so I asked the question to the group in a third way. “If you didn’t have to worry about money at all, what would you want to do every day?” In that case, he said, he would like to be a chef. Now we were getting somewhere. 

“Okay, so you like to cook?” 

“Yes, I love to cook.”

“What do you make?”

“I know how to make nsima^* and lice,” he offered proudly.

“No,” said another boy in the group, “It’s r-r-rice, not l-l-lice. Remember what we learned in English class?” (In Chichewa, the letters L and R make exactly the same sound, so they consider them interchangeable. I have been repeatedly practicing the two unrelated sounds with them in English class.)

“So you can make nsima and rice. Do you know how to cook anything else?”

He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. Then it hit me that I learned to cook from my mom, by watching cooking shows on television, and by reading books, three resources many of these kids don’t have access to. Now, the availability of culinary videos online is comprehensive enough to rival the curriculum of any cooking school—to anyone who has a computer and internet, that is. Shortly after college, I began to develop a love for cooking and spent hours trying new recipes with exotic ingredients that may or may not make it to my table. If I ended up throwing out an entire dish, it didn’t mean I wouldn’t eat, it just meant I would go to the store and try again. These kids are lucky to get enough food to sustain them each day and certainly don’t have the luxury of wasting a morsel of it. I felt a little ashamed of my question and quickly added, “Do you want to learn to cook other things, because I could teach you?” His smile told me yes. Then I asked what he would think about opening a small restaurant where he could cook for other people. That smile was even bigger. 

Another boy said he wanted to be a driver and a third said a mechanic. I asked why they felt they couldn’t do these jobs after graduation. They told me they’re not learning these skills and there’s nobody to teach them. I asked what they are learning in school and they listed the typical courses you would expect a high schooler here to take like geometry, chemistry, English, Chichewa, and history. I asked if I could see their books. “Oh, we don’t have books.” 

“What do you mean you don’t have books? You don’t have text books? How do you learn?”

“The teacher writes everything on the board and we copy it onto paper.” 

“Well, does she help you if you need it?”

“She can’t really. There are too many students in one class.”

“How many?”

“At least one hundred.”

“Is there a library at your school?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t have many books and we’re not allowed to take them home. They’re afraid we’ll lose them.”

I wondered out loud what these teachers get paid to teach classes with hundreds of students who have no books. One boy said they get paid MK25,000 per month, which is about thirty-five dollars. (I made sure to write that number out with words, so you wouldn’t think I left off a zero.) “How do you know that?” I asked. “They tell us,” he said. 

“What do you think about our opening a school here? We could teach you all the regular subjects but also how to do the job you want to do when you graduate. We could even start small businesses so you could work those jobs.” The nodding and smiling was unanimous. We told them they would have to pray. Pray for land, teachers, books, money, and everything else that a proper school needs. I believe they will. I don’t think they’ll be able to help it. 

As I’ve said before, education is a desperate need in Malawi. Good schools are few and far between and usually not for those without abundant resources. We have no interest in giving perpetual handouts to anyone but those who possibly will never have the ability or aptitude to provide for themselves. Those people we are called to support indefinitely, and we have already started to make a number of them a regular part of how we spend our tithe. These kids, however, are one good education away from not only making a living for themselves but also helping to bring up the next generation. They’re not lazy or stupid. Instead they’re bright and hardworking. We’ve seen it with our own eyes. They study the lessons we give each week and they’ve been making bricks by hand from the very land we’re meeting on for class. They plan to build a house and an outhouse for one of the families in the village. If they can do that, surely we can put together a plan for a school that will serve this largely forgotten generation. I mean, it’s not rocket science, right? Unless of course one of them wants to be a rocket scientist. In that case, we would like to be their first step in getting there. 

Please consider how you can be a part of this. We need prayer, money, and people. We also need books, and lots of them. We plan to be in the States at the end of the year. If you have books, including text books, in good condition that you are willing to donate, please let us know. If you wish to make a tax deductible donation in any amount, please send it to: Westworth Church of Christ, 5728 White Settlement Road, Ft. Worth, Texas 76114, ℅ Malawi Mission Work, or you can give with a click at http://www.westworthcoc.org/malawi-mission/ Thank you, and God bless you.

^*Nsima is ground maize cooked into a hot porridge. It’s a staple eaten daily by most Malawians.

Today in the Village

Today in the village we taught class to a group of about sixty people from one month to sixty years old. Some of them want to learn the Bible, some English, and others to read in their own language. It’s a tricky dynamic but seems to be working. We’re not giving anything but education and that seems to be enough for them. Others have come and gone when they realized we weren’t there to give them money or food, which is one reason we’re careful about what we bring to the meetings. I know they’re learning because John quizzes them on Bible facts that he covers, and I test them in English vocabulary. They are studying. 

The men sit in chairs and the women and children sit on reed mats. They always try to tie a tarp to the trees above us for shade, but today it was ripped off by the wind. The blowing sand was almost unbearable, but nobody got up to leave, so we sat through it, too. John taught from the book of James, introducing the concept that the Bible is like a mirror for us to see how we’re doing and fix things out of place. I taught them that a Q in English always has a U with it and what a pronoun is, though they don’t have a word for pronoun. That’s what they learned. Our family learned a lot more.

There was a new lady who came over from a neighboring village. She’s been curious about what we’re teaching but afraid that she’ll be beaten for showing up. She’s part of an animistic religion that punishes anyone who pursues any other faith. She worries she’ll be cursed for joining us today. Next to her was a woman holding two newborns. She came because someone from the regular group invited her. The twins she was holding have three siblings, and their father was killed in a bar fight the day after they were born. She came because she was invited but didn’t expect much from us or our God. The group agrees they want to help her and her children. I just held one of her babies and said I’m sorry, one of the few phrases I know in Chichewa. She seemed to appreciate that and put her hand on me, which told me she understood. I was proud of our group.

Another man who has been coming to the studies told us today that he cannot hear much of what is being said but wants to learn. He showed us a wound on his leg that is unlike anything I’ve ever seen, except in pictures. The majority of his ankle and part of his foot seem to have been eaten away by an infection, which was not covered by any bandage. He simply lifted his pant leg to show it to us. After coming to our classes for several weeks, he says he feels like we’re safe enough to ask for help. He’s HIV positive and has had the open wound for eighteen years since his mother accidentally dropped a hoe on his leg while working in the field. Because of his HIV it has never healed and no medical care facility that he can afford can do anything about it. I sent a photo of his wound to a friend who works in the medical field here to see where we can take him for some help. We’ll see if anything can be done to improve his hearing after we get the more urgent need of his foot addressed.

Our family has never been so entrenched in such need as we encounter each week in this village. These people have the same capacities we do but hardly any resources. The kids that our boys have befriended will soon be going back to school, some too far away to keep coming to our classes. They say they are required to go but aren’t learning much. They tell us, for example, that they would like to stay in our English classes because theirs has 300 kids to one teacher and is taught by someone who doesn’t really speak English at all. They say that only the families with money get a decent education. They have no idea what they’ll do when they graduate and don’t expect to have any specific skill or fluency in English. Where does that leave them? It doesn’t seem right. Surely these kids could be the doctors who heal and the teachers who educate their own people in the future. 

We told them we’d like to open a school for them and raise money to pay for their books and more teachers. We told them we would like to have a clinic that would assist them in finding the help they need if we can’t give it. One man pointed out, “You already have a school and clinic. It’s here.” We didn’t realize they saw the situation that way. I guess that means we just have some expanding to do so we can educate and serve more people. I hope you’ll consider how you can help us through prayer, financial support, or even your presence, because this is a much larger endeavor than we can pull off on our own. We’ll keep reporting. You let us know what you can do. Thank you! 

Visiting the Jewells in Malawi (Guest Post)

Hi, my name is Carys Blume and the Jewells asked if I could write a blog post about the time that I spent with them observing their ministry. I want to apologize in advance because I'm not a very good writer and I might not do the Jewells and the awesome work that they are doing justice. 

I spent six weeks with them getting to see their ministry grow firsthand. They, as you probably already know, are working on starting a lot of amazing things in this little village about an hour away from their house. Their plans are to start a school, open some sort of medical center, and many other things with the objective of offering these people a better lifestyle and more opportunities than they would normally ever have. They do everything they do out of pure love, and it's amazing to see God work through them with such a strong purpose.

I remember there was one day that I went to the village with Mr. John and Andy right after I had decided to come back from another organization because I didn't feel like that was where God wanted me to be. I selfishly really was looking for a clear signal from God that I had made the right choice. By the time we got there, there were so many kids there already waiting for Mr. John's message. Throughout his speaking, I was getting this overwhelming feeling of peace about my decision and joy about being where I was. But, there was a moment at the very end that completely made my day and made me truly see how much they need God but how present He already was in that place. Mr. John was explaining to the kids who the head of the church was. He was explaining that even though he was giving the messages, it wasn't him, and he asked who they thought it was. There was dead silence for about a minute, and then one little kid yelled out, “Jesus Christ!,” and Mr. John and I looked at each other just like, “That was really cool.” 

There is no way to spend time with the Jewells and not immediately see how they are being used by God immensely. Some of my favorite times in Malawi were getting to see them teach. Miss Samantha is such a good teacher, and it was really amazing to get to see her be silly with the kids but still be able to command respect and obedience. She is real with them and, honestly, by what I could see, Malawi needs people that don't back down from conflict. That is who she is. She is one of God's warriors for sure. It was also amazing to see God's words flow through Mr. John with such honesty and all-up-in-your-face-ness (what I like to call it) because that's what God needs, people to speak His message all up in your face with no fear, no holding back, no shyness. It's amazing to see the respect and love they get by just talking about God the way they do.

It's also been amazing to see their boys grow in ways that many other kids don’t. They see things firsthand, at such a young age, that many people don't see in their whole lifetime. They have truly started to embrace the culture and be okay with having less. It's especially cool to see Jonah play guitar and sing for the people and truly start to be a part of that community. It's just awesome. It's cool to see that they are kids that can adapt and make friends and grow in a place that can sometimes not be that fun for kids. They are special kids.

With what they do, there is no way the devil isn't going to try to mess with them. It seemed like every day there was a new obstacle for them to overcome or just learn how to deal with. But I saw them each and every day deal with it head on, not letting the devil get any high ground. Although they might get discouraged at times, they always find what they need in God,s  and I never once saw them give satan the victory. They are strong. Malawi needs strong people. Malawi needs the Jewells.

Turtle Flipping

This month marked the fifth anniversary of my mother’s death. Though she wasn’t a Christian during my upbringing, she did accept Jesus about a year before she was diagnosed with Alzheimers. As I ponder my childhood, I realize she inadvertently taught me Christian principles throughout my life. One in particular has been weighing heavily on me. 

My Mom and I with Banjo,
the Dog She Gave to John and Me

When we first got cable television at our house, I watched a lot of National Geographic. I loved the animal documentaries. Mom seldom sat down to watch a show, but she would walk through the living room and comment. One time, during a documentary in which a land tortoise had been flipped upside down and left for dead in the hot desert sand, my mom, who was very practical, threw out, “Why doesn’t the camera man just turn him over?” I never watched National Geographic the same way after that. The lesson was immediately apparent and, though I love photography and writing, it destroyed my chances of becoming a journalist. I would ruin too many stories by flipping over turtles. 

When John and I visited Malawi last May, we saw so much need that we couldn’t ignore it. I could almost hear my mom say, “Why don’t you just go and see if you can make a difference?” Or, maybe that was Jesus’ voice I heard. Either way, we’re here now and have already been involved in several real-life documentaries. This week we're helping a mother in the village get hernia surgery on her infant. The cost is about twenty-five dollars, but for someone who can’t pay for a bus to get to the hospital, it might as well be twenty-five thousand. We're also starting a phonics program in the same village for kids and adults who want to learn English and to read in their own language (Chichewa). Many just want to be able to read the Bibles we've given them and have been studying from. Another woman just had eye surgery to remove a cyst that was causing her pain. There are other stories, but I won’t go into all of them now. Instead I have and will continue to post them here. 

I used to assume that, like in the United States, there were programs in every country to take care of the population’s indigent. Not so. If someone here is sick and cannot afford proper medical care, she dies. Sure, there are free clinics and hospitals, but not every issue can be addressed there. Also, if someone is hungry and can’t afford food, he starves. Yes, there are missionaries and non-governmental organizations (NGOs) addressing these issues, but there is not enough help. I don’t know the statistics and I’m not aware of every effort to improve the quality of life in Malawi, but I don’t need to know all of that to know there's still a great need. I have personally met people who are sick and cannot afford transportation to get to the free clinic, and I have met people who are hungry and have no food. I've heard the stories first hand about friends and family members who have died of starvation and disease. We're confident this is where we need to be. Giving a handout helps immediately, but we're also looking at longer-term goals. We want to be a part of lasting changes in the way of education and training that will help people who have never been given opportunities to improve their lives.

I’m going to continue to post photographs and write stories about our experiences in Malawi, but our primary goal is to flip over as many turtles as we can. I can talk about all of our hopes and dreams for this ministry, but I would like to take a page out of my mother’s book and be more practical than that. If you make a donation to this mission, we will use it to pay for someone to eat or go to the hospital. It’s that simple. Thanks to those of you who sent money this month to allow us to take care of the people I listed above. Here is a photo of Enellese and baby Wonderful, the one in need of hernia surgery. Thanks to your generosity, he'll get it soon.

Enellese and Baby Wonderful (She wanted me to tell you
"Zikomo Kwambiri,"
which means thank you very much.)

Please send donations to: Westworth Church of Christ, 5728 White Settlement Road, Ft. Worth, Texas 76114, ℅ Malawi Mission Work, or you can give with a click at http://www.westworthcoc.org/malawi-mission/

My Kindergarten Education in Malawi

I didn't expect to teach kindergarten in Malawi, but when it became apparent that God himself might be recruiting me for the position, I didn't want to say no. 

Shortly after we arrived, Ben's teacher announced that she would be moving out of the country. I texted the secretary to say I could fill in if they didn’t find a replacement. She promptly replied that the position was filled, which was a relief since I was looking forward to a break from teaching. (I've been homeschooling the boys since Jonah was old enough to go to school.)

Later that day, John needed to use my phone and, glancing at a new message, asked why I hadn’t told him I was going to be teaching kindergarten. I thought he was confused until I looked at the message history. It said the third grade position had been filled. Then came the question, "Would you be willing to teach kindergarten?" followed by the large blue thumbs up that I had never used in a text much less to negotiate employment. I called the kids in to find out who had been playing with my phone, but they reminded me that I have a password to keep that from happening.

I drove to the school to explain that there had been a misunderstanding. I was too late. Other teachers greeted me with congratulations. As bad as I felt about doing it, I had to set the record straight, which I did. Later, the headmaster called to ask me to reconsider. I thought about the five and six year olds who were in the same boat as Ben had been without a teacher, and I agreed to fill in through the end of the year. (I should mention that there is one other kindergarten teacher who did a fine job including both classes in her lessons as well as a teacher's assistant who also filled in the gaps during the interim, but the kids and their parents rightfully expected a dedicated teacher of their own.)

Here I am with the little cherubs from kindergarten. 

They certainly were a blessing after all, and I learned some very interesting things while I worked with them and their families. For instance, the Malawian parents who can afford a school other than a public one don’t always teach their children Chichewa, the traditional language. Some only want them to learn English. The kids giggled every time I shared the new Chichewa words I was learning and couldn't fully understand why I was studying it. Also, there are many families who practice other religions that send their kids to school here, because they recognize it as one of the best educations in the city. However, I learned through conversations with parents that some kids are required to go to one hour of religious school for each hour they participate here to counteract the Christian teaching they received. The parents are aware this is a Christian school but not all parents want their children to be Christian. It’s a delicate balance but one I’m confident tips in our favor, as we have Jesus on our side. 

Now that we have a year of school under our belts, we plan to go back to homeschool and get more involved in the ministry that seems to be developing in one of the villages outside of town. This in no way means we’re not planning to prioritize our kids’ educations. In fact, we hope to make our work a major part of it. The opportunities for our boys to experience life and friendship with people that live a completely foreign lifestyle to anything they have ever known is a godsend. Also, we have made lifelong friends during our time at the school and look forward to investing in those relationships over the coming months and years. Possibly the most important piece of information we have learned in our first eight months in Africa is the great need for more educational opportunities, not just for privileged kids, but also for all Malawian children. We've seen a huge contrast in the quality of education in the city for families who have money and in the villages where they don't. We hope to be a part of the remedy to that problem.

Thank you for your support and encouragement during our first eight months in Malawi. We believe God has big plans for the end of our first year and for our second year and beyond. We have been blessed with faithful financial supporters who have made this possible, and we expect to be growing and developing to the point that we will need a bigger team to move into the future. Please consider how you might be a part of this mission. Every contribution helps. 

Please send donations to: Westworth Church of Christ, 5728 White Settlement Road, Ft. Worth, Texas 76114, ℅ Malawi Mission Work, or you can give with a click at http://www.westworthcoc.org/malawi-mission/

Riana

We have been visiting three different villages lately to see how we might fit in. This is a picture of the children in one of those villages. They run along side our truck each time we slowly drive down their treacherous dirt roads to get to the house where everyone meets up for Bible study. Sunday, John baptized four people in a pink bathtub we bought and transported on top of the truck. (There is no other available water source but to fill the tub from a hand dug well.)

I sat on a reed mat next to a little girl who had her feet stretched out near me. (She is the one to the far right in the photo, wearing the yellow skirt known as a chitenji. Her name is Riana.) I looked down to see a nasty boil near her ankle. After the study I asked if I could look at it. The mother was happy to let me, and Riana was shy but compliant. The mother showed us more spots on her back. She said they started about a week ago. I asked if I could take photos to show to a medical professional. She had no problem with that and seemed grateful.

Our friend at Blessings Hospital, one of the other places we have been regularly visiting, was kind enough to look at the photos and tell us that Riana certainly needed immediate attention. We sent money and instructions for Riana's mother to take her on a bus to the hospital, which offered to treat her on our word that we would cover the cost. Our friend assured us it would be nominal by our American standard.

We later got word that, not only did Riana have a serious skin infection, but she also tested positive for malaria. She is now being treated for both. All we can say is, "Thank you, God, for allowing us to notice the little wound on her foot."

According to UNICEF, malaria kills a child every 30 seconds. Thankfully, Riana won't be one of those. Praise Him for four new souls added to His church and for saving Riana from a life-threatening illness. It was a good Sunday.

Snoden

We met Snoden in May of last year when we came to visit Malawi. He was the gardener for Wellspring Ministries. John said at the time that he felt good about him and wanted to keep him on staff. They’ve been studying the Bible each week since shortly after we arrived, and I have been working with Snoden in the yard to plant an heirloom garden. Both endeavors have gone well and now Snoden is not only an employee but also a friend and brother. 

Recently, while they were reading Scripture, Snoden asked John about baptism. He felt like the sprinkling he received when he was a baby was not what he was reading in the Bible. John gave him some more Scriptures on the subject to read at home, and he came back with the conviction that he needed to make a decision to follow Jesus and to be baptized on his own volition. We met him at the swimming pool where the boys go to school. His wife and son accompanied him.

Snoden with Susan and Arthur

Since Snoden’s baptism, Susan has been sharing the Gospel with their neighbors. She was baptized when she was a young girl but has a newfound passion since Snoden obeyed the Gospel. They go to church in their neighborhood but are learning new truths about God through Scripture reading and are eager to teach what they’re discovering. They’ve even asked us to come talk to some of their neighbors who want to know more. We’ve only just started Chichewa lessons, so Snoden will have to translate, but he doesn’t think that will be a problem. We asked if their church leaders would be threatened by our being there, but he assures us they will not and may even join the discussion.

We have been praying about what specific ministry we should be involved in here. In the meantime we always seem to default to personal Bible study and discipleship. So, maybe it’s not going to be about what we do in Malawi but about what Malawians are going to do in Malawi after they’ve been introduced to the Gospel. We’re very excited to see how God will use Snoden and Susan in the coming months. Thank you for your prayers and support. We hope to have news of our visit to their town very soon.

The Giant who Brought Down the Stone (Part II)

Though John was facing possible kidney failure and his health was my priority, it was, unfortunately, not my only concern. We had only lived in Malawi for four months, and I had relied on John to lend more than fifty percent to every decision outside of what to make for dinner. Suddenly I was fully responsible for planning an emergency evacuation and all the details involved in long-distance maintenance of the home front until we returned. If I agreed to the Medevac flight the church had so graciously scheduled, I would have to pick up the kids immediately and tell them we were leaving the country within hours. Alternatively, I could tell them we were leaving the country without them in a few hours. Neither sounded like a good idea, which is why I jumped on the opportunity to buy more time.

Dr. Smith offered to insert a catheter directly through John’s side into his kidney. He said it would offer instant relief from pain and pressure, bringing him back to coherency so he could be a part of these major decisions. He suggested that we look into commercial flights to get to South Africa as soon after the procedure as possible to have the stone removed in a place with all the necessary technology for surgery and aftercare. It was Monday and he needed one full day to order the necessary equipment to be driven up from a nearby Malawian city. I agreed, and we planned the procedure for the following morning. John stayed on Demerol and IV fluids for one more night, waking only to walk to the bathroom or ask for more pain medicine. I didn’t feel safe leaving him at the hospital alone, so I was very thankful to have good friends offer to sit with him when I couldn’t be there. 

Tuesday morning came and I was at the hospital immediately after dropping the kids off at school. Dr. Smith was there, and so was the equipment he ordered. We were just waiting for his assistant. I sat with John and talked to him as he was in and out of consciousness. One hour later the doctor popped his head in to remind me that it’s very Malawian to be late, a fact I know but was not aware applied to doctors scheduled for surgery. Another hour passed before the assistant showed up, saying he was in a hurry. Within minutes they had John’s railless bed careening down the hallway towards their brand new operating rooms—an addition that brings the hospital into the twenty-first century, rivaling any modern heath care facility in a first world country. I wasn’t sure how I felt about christening an operating room with a potentially serious procedure, but the doctor I trusted assured me he had it under control and that the room was sterile. 

Dr. Smith told me it would only be a matter of minutes. As an aside, I must mention that I have learned to accept miscommunication with Africans as my fault. I realize I am not yet familiar with the nuances of their culture and assume the bulk of responsibility when any bit of information is misconstrued. However, when an American--anywhere--says to another American, “It will just be a few minutes,” by all estimations, I don't expect that to mean more than about forty-five minutes at most. So, you can imagine my concern and borderline panic when two and a half hours had passed and I had not heard anything from anyone about how John was doing. I even approached one of the nurses on duty who dismissed my concern by telling me she didn’t know what was going on either but was pretty sure I would hear if something was wrong. I realized that hours had passed since I had a friend pick the kids up from school and drop them off at our house. Not wanting to leave them alone any longer, I called another friend to see if she could take them to her house. She said she could but reminded me that her kids had to study for exams and that they could not play. Exams! Oh no. I had forgotten that it was midterm week. I didn’t know how in the world our kids could pass exams after coming into the school year so late and now facing this upset. I promised her they would study and called to fill them in on the plan. 

Dr. Smith emerged into the hallway with the pleasant smile he wears for all occasions and explained that the assistant had left halfway through the procedure to pick up his kids from school. I can’t be sure but I think I laughed out loud. It wasn’t a ha-ha-funny sort of laugh but a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me laugh. He said the catheter and the guide wire he received didn’t match, so he had to “rig” it. He assured me it had done the trick and wasn’t going anywhere but said it took a lot more doing than he had anticipated. He couldn’t leave to tell me that because he was the only one in the room with John. As soon as I processed that my husband was fine, I called my friend to cancel the pickup and went to get the kids myself, hoping to get back before John woke up. 

When I showed up to the house, the boys were standing at the gate with their back packs. They were not happy to see me. I had forgotten to notify them of the change of plans. I thought they were upset because they weren’t going to get to play with their friends. After my rant and lecture about putting first things first and how it can’t always be play time, Jonah and Andy informed me that their concern was over midterm exams and not play time. They were actually looking forward to getting some attention from their friends’ parents. I’ve been too busy on the phone and Internet to be available for them. They were afraid they were going to fail. At that moment I realized I was being a horrible mother. Then John called and inadvertently reminded me I was also being a horrible wife. “Where are you? I need you. I just woke up and you’re not here.” Finally, Ben chimed in from the back seat to round out my guilty mood, “Mom, I’m really hungry. Can we please get something to eat?” Jonah and Andy are going to fail because of me, John is alone after surgery in a bed without rails, and Ben is starving. Now would be a good time for the world’s largest pothole to open up in front of me and swallow up this car. I pulled up to a stoplight with a beggar and handed him some pocket change, wishing I could hand him my place behind the wheel instead. I couldn’t hold back the tears, and the car grew silent. 

There was a nurse sitting beside John when we arrived. I was surprised to see her there. She told me she couldn’t leave, because he might roll off the bed. I thanked her and we all sat down, the boys opening their school books. John woke up and talked to us. He didn’t remember calling me. He grabbed my hand, and the boys asked questions about their upcoming tests. I gave Ben a cereal bar from my purse. Everyone was content for the moment. I breathed. 

John came home the next day and was soon up to discussing the details of our trip to South Africa. It was miraculous, really, and I was thankful to have his help. The hours I had spent all week on the phone and computer were less than fruitful. Our Internet only worked intermittently, electricity was spotty at best, and cell phone service came and went. Because communication with anyone outside of Lilongwe required a combination of the three, I lived frustrated. Most attempts at getting John the medical care he needed, went something like this: Someone gave me a lead on Facebook for a doctor in South Africa. I dialed the number to hear my cell phone service was not working at the moment. I drafted an email instead to find out that there was no Internet connection to send it. Later, I sent the draft and received a return email requesting a phone call. I called and was disconnected three minutes into the conversation because my prepaid minutes had run out. I decided to switch my focus to researching lodging. I went to a website that had been suggested but the electricity went out as I was looking at the details, so I lost the connection to my router, which kicked me off the site. I gave up for the day and went to take a shower. There was no hot water. I prayed and cried and cried and prayed some more.

How were we going to arrange plane tickets? Who was going to perform John’s surgery? Where would we stay? Who would go to the ATM every day on our behalf to stockpile cash for the rent that was going to be due on our house when we returned? How were our employees going to be paid and our dogs taken care of? Who was going to watch our house and pay the bills, which have to be paid in person? How were the kids going to keep up with their school work? How was I going to stay sane? I took the whole jumbled mess of questions and dropped them on God like so much clean laundry onto a couch.   

It took many hours for John to come out of the haze that is anesthesia, but we were sitting at a coffee shop the following day to discuss the answers to these questions in a neutral environment. I had as many calls and emails out as I could possibly juggle. The most promising lead was a urologist in Johannesburg who had agreed to do the surgery for cash without the safety net of insurance. He wanted to talk to me personally before scheduling the procedure. He called as we sat outside, enjoying the nice weather and planning our evacuation. He explained to me that the situation was much more serious than we had imagined. According to his assessment of the information we sent him, John was going to need a much more complicated battery of surgeries and at least a month in South Africa. His finding was that John only had one working kidney, and that was the one being blocked by the stone. In fact, he said it was an absolute emergency that we get to Johannesburg right away.

The Giant who Brought Down the Stone (Part I)

John was losing at ping pong and seemed fine with it. That should have been my first clue that something was wrong. We were at the weekly campus potluck at the boys’ school. Most of the teachers were there and many of the students. We’d stayed later in weeks past, but John said he wasn’t feeling well, so we rounded up the kids and left. By the time we got into the car, he was throwing up. It was Friday night. 

Shortly after arriving home, John was in bed, shaking and moaning and as cold as ice. It seemed like an infection, and I begged him to get into the car so I could take him to the hospital. He adamantly refused, saying it was kidney stone pain and he would be fine by morning. He just needed some ibuprofen. He took a prescription dose and suffered through the night. It was a long one. By morning, he was up and about, and I insisted on taking him to one of the few private hospitals in town with a good reputation for weekend care. Despite feeling better, he had not been able to keep anything down—including water—since the night before. By the time we arrived, the pain had returned with a vengeance.

The Saturday on-call doctor was a Malawian radiologist. He listened to John’s symptoms then ordered a CT scan. After running a blood test and urinalysis, he determined that John was too dehydrated to withstand the contrast dye needed for a scan of his kidneys. He asked us to wait while he called in the head doctor, who was taking the day off, to confer. Within minutes Dr. Smith, the son of lifelong missionaries to Africa, was greeting us in an American accent. He was very pleasant and didn’t seem to mind at all that it was his weekend. He and the radiologist talked openly in the hallway where John and I sat waiting, and finally decided the first order of business would be an IV to rehydrate him enough for the scan. Nothing could be done without more information. In the meantime, they would start a regiment of pain medicine. Dr Smith turned to me and asked if I wanted to keep him in the hospital overnight or take him home. (John’s vote didn’t really count as he was drifting into a state of semi-consciousness from the intensity of the pain.) I didn’t know anything about IVs and wasn’t sure administering narcotics was a good idea, so I voted to keep him in the hospital. It wasn’t until the next day that I began to understand why that was even an option. It wasn’t until the next day that I learned that the word “nurse” carries a different meaning around here.

The room was old but clean. There were two hospital beds, without rails. The nurse asked if I wanted them both made up so I could sleep in the room with John. I didn’t want to leave the boys at home alone, so I said no. There was one large window with a tear in the screen. A cotton ball plugged the hole in such a way that only the most eager mosquito would find its way in. Malaria is always a concern. There was a fan and a fluorescent light and a water jug in the corner, that I didn’t feel completely comfortable drinking from and wasn’t sure we were supposed to. The bathroom had about a six-inch tall threshold step, which vanished into the all-white tile it was made from. I tripped on that many times over the course of the following few days.

After John was comforted with Demerol and was sleeping—although not peacefully—Dr. Smith came in to check on him and talk to me about his situation. He brought books for John to read should he wake up, and even offered the leftovers from his dinner since the kitchen had closed. He treated John more like a friend than a patient and that helped lessen the blow of facing a life-threatening illness in one of the poorest countries in the world. I learned that he lived on hospital property, which is how he was able to come and go so often. He assured me we simply needed a scan to know how to proceed and that the IV should hydrate him enough to get one in the morning. I left John to sleep by himself, assuming the nurses would care for him overnight.

The next morning, instead of going to church, I brought the kids to the hospital to find that John had been up at night, throwing up IV fluids. There was no one there to get him water or take him to the bathroom, because the few nurses on duty were sleeping and there is no call button. It was a miracle that he made it over the bathroom step to get to the toilet while on pain meds. I could barely do that completely sober. When he told me that he walked down the hallway, carrying his IV bag to find someone to give him more pain medicine, I thanked God for His grace and knew I had better not count on Him hanging around to do my job any longer. I wasn’t upset with the nurses as much as I was surprised and embarrassed that I had assumed too much. It’s not that they weren’t doing their jobs, but that their jobs are not what I expected. They have been trained to perform certain tasks at certain times and not to truly care for people. We’ve been told that many of them have been thrust into their positions because they desired higher education and the government funding that they needed to pay for that higher education mandated their course of study. I don’t know if I got the facts of that completely straight, but I have been here long enough to see that there’s an apathy that can only be explained by the fact that no matter how hard you try, there are simply not enough resources to make up the difference to save a life. Caring that someone is starving when there is no food to give them or dying of a disease without medicine to administer can make you crazy—if you look at it too closely. Nurses do not cater to a patient’s every whim as they do in the States, which is probably why Dr. Smith had solicited my help in taking care of John at home and why the nurse offered to make up the bed beside him. 

Though John was not yet hydrated enough for a contrast scan, the doctor ordered one without the dye. The situation was looking desperate and we needed answers. I drove him to another clinic in town to have the CT scan done, praying that he could walk in and out without assistance, because none was guaranteed. In the meantime, Dr. Smith called ahead and arranged the test. Two clinicians were waiting inside to open the doors, which are normally closed on Sunday. They were very professional and efficient and we had the reading in no time, thanks to their diligence in handwriting the results instead of waiting on the complete report, which would take hours to generate. On our way back to the clinic, friends from school called and offered to pick the kids up and take them to their house. Others offered to bring us dinner. I accepted on both counts, thankful to not be alone.

The good news from the scan was also the bad news. The stone was large enough to see without dye but too large to remove any other way than surgically. It was lodged in the ureter, the tube that carries urine from the kidney to the bladder. The pain and vomiting was coming from the fact that urine was backing up in the kidney with no way of escape. Something had to be done immediately. The doctor called our insurance company to explain the situation and to schedule a medical evacuation to South Africa. The company said because John has had kidney stones in the past, they would not cover any part of the procedure or the evacuation. I called our sponsoring church in the States to explain and to get counsel. One of our elders called the insurance company and, after getting nowhere, went ahead and ordered the evacuation as if it were covered, because they planned to pay for it and were concerned only with John’s health. Thankfully, Dr. Smith had an epiphany at the same time. “I could put a catheter into his kidney to drain it and buy you some more time. It’s perfectly safe, I just need to order the parts. It will take a day to get them here, but it will get us out of the danger zone.” It was Monday and Dr. Smith was about to save John’s life. 

Christmas in Africa

(Note: This may seem like an oddly-timed post, but I had it written just before John got sick. I will write all about our current situation when it's over. For now, check Facebook for updates.)

The Beautiful--and Only--Christmas Tree in Town
(at the local shopping center)

Christmas could have come and gone and, without a calendar, I don’t think I would have noticed. We planned ahead and brought a few Lego sets and superhero t-shirts, as well as plenty of made-in-China stocking stuffers, but it wasn’t enough to make the holiday. You don’t realize how much of that Christmasy feel comes from marketing and media until you get away from it for a season. The trees and lights and cinnamon smells that overwhelm every outing after Halloween in the U.S. are simply not here. And the abundance of Christmas songs that I know by heart and look forward to each year were only to be heard in my own head as I tried to make our house feel like chilly December with baking and holiday craft projects. 

I sent the boys to the storage closet to fetch the tree we brought from Texas in one of our trunks. They were gone a long time before Andy returned frustrated, holding the entire three-foot fir in one hand, asking where in the world the rest of it could have been lost to in such a short time. I laughed and told him, unfortunately, that was the whole tree. By the time we finished giggling, they had the whole thing decorated and, after plugging the lights into a 220V outlet, had to undo the whole fried mess and do it again. In the end, it looked nice on our coffee table.

My love language is not gifts, and neither is John’s, so we were more than happy to schedule a safari as our official Christmas present to one another instead of exchanging presents. We also justified the expense in two other ways: a proper celebration of Andy’s November birthday and a reason to leave the country for a few nights as required by the rules of our particular visa. Otherwise, we would have to pull the kids out of school and spend the money on travel to a possibly-seedy hotel on the other side of the border, which seemed a waste to us. This was better. So, the gallery of exotic animals I have been posting on social media doubles as our 2017 Christmas pictures. I hope you enjoyed them.

Next year we hope to report stories of lives that have been changed for the better because you sent us here. For now, we need to allow our lives to be changed by this culture and these people so that we can be useful and long term in our ministry. Having experienced our first major holiday in Malawi has given us an increased understanding of the people, and it has shown us that there are certainly things they may already be doing better than us, albeit unintentionally. It was hard to spend Christmas away from family and snow and shopping and such. But sometimes those things can overshadow the fact that Christmas really is about celebrating the birth of Jesus. It doesn't seem to be from pious dedication that Malawi doesn’t relegate Christmas to manmade, sparkly consumer goods, but for lack of resources. However, it was surprisingly refreshing to experience. Through the peace and quiet of December I was reminded that I’m not in Africa to serve myself or my family--or even to serve the Malawians--but to serve Him. My love language happens to be acts of service, so I thought it especially gracious of God to serve me with that lesson at a time when His Son deserves all the gifts. And, isn’t that just like Him?

We hope you had a merry Christmas and we certainly appreciate each and every message of holiday cheer you sent our way.