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Honoring Dr. Jonah Kule: Easter Saturday and Aching Liminality

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Ten years ago, our dear friend and colleague died in an Ebola epidemic that struck our area as we worked together.  We did not.  So today Scott was invited to address the Federation of Ugandan Medical Student Associations at their annual general assembly at Makerere University, to give a memorial lecture challenging students to follow Dr. Jonah’s footsteps of service and sacrifice.  
pre-lecture, with Biira (center) and Masika (right), Jonah's two oldest daughters

His two oldest daughters, who were 12 and 15 at the time of his death, attended with us, along with two of our “kids” John Balitebiya who grew up as our next-door neighbor, and Dr. Katuramu Tadeo whom we embraced when he was Luke’s classmate at Christ School.  We had an absolutely lovely dinner with the handful of our young people from Bundi who are still in Kampala area in school the night before, a real vision of the Kingdom of Jesus coming to earth as these former orphans grow into their roles as doctor, nurse, business administrator, accountant, banker, lawyer, development director.


Dinner celebrating some of our favorite 20-somethings

John and Dr. Katuramu joined Jonah's daughters and us for the lecture

The leadership of the medical student association intentionally wanted to bring a message of outreach and integrity to their fellow students.  And we were grateful for the opportunity to address about 150 student leaders from multiple schools across the country.
soon-to-be doctor student leader Meddy thanking Scott for coming with a certificate of appreciation

Scott taught a bit about the biology of Ebola and the reality of an epidemic response, detailing the way the epidemic unfolded, the investigation, the published results.


But the bulk of the talk was about remembering Dr. Jonah, about his character, about his story, about his faith.  Scott talked about how we as doctors handle such a tragedy, and how we interpret God's work through a lens of faith.  He ended with Micah 6:8:  do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God, a life guide for all these future doctors.


Though we’re all smiling in this pre-lecture photo, the memories of the day were poignant, and some quiet tears were shed on our supportive front row.  Afterwards we sat with the four from Bundibugyo having tea and continuing to remember their father and mentor with more stories, stories they barely remembered as children but appreciate now as young adults.


And as we said goodbye, Scott read aloud today's devotion's last paragraph: “On the way from death to life, there is Saturday. Sabbath day. Rest. How do you rest when your world falls apart? You rest in the restlessness. I know that's demanding; more demanding than we'd like. But that's the nature of living along the aching liminality of Holy Saturday.Our transition from death to life, through the breath-taking disorientation of Holy Saturday, into the shocking gasp of hope on Resurrection Sunday.”

So appropriate that this lecture and this visit occurred today, on the achingly liminal Saturday that represents all of history between Jesus and Heaven.  Our worlds fell apart ten years ago, yet we live in the shocking hope that tomorrow’s resurrection will redeem us all.


All Things New: Celebrating Resurrection

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A dear friend wrote a book about cross-cultural inner-city ministry to the urban poor, called A Thousand Resurrections.  I highly recommend the book, and I also love the title. Today we celebrate THE resurrection, but we also remind ourselves that that event set in motion a thousand, a billion more.  One of the last recorded words of Jesus was this phrase: Behold, I am making all things new.  



Today we worshiped with a multicultural crowd in a garden, a foreshadowing of Heaven.  And I thought about the fulcrum of history, and whether there was any evidence of all things becoming new around us, and I think there is.  Sure, we have a long way to go in seeing the Kingdom operating on earth the way it does in the dimension of God's dwelling.  We are people living in broken systems, sharp edges, and resurgent grief.  Still, consider this. In most of the world, slavery is illegal even if it is not completely exterminated.  Child deaths per year in the world have fallen by half in the time I've been a pediatrician, as infant and maternal survival become more the norm.  Girls can go to school and women can vote in the majority of societies.  A smaller percentage of the world is hungry.  Think of the explosions of art (including music!), creative inventions, scientific insight, even in our own lifetimes.  Think of the inexorable growth of the church on this continent and many others.

That inflection point 2000 years ago makes this a celebratory day.

So, celebrate Easter.  Here is one of the songs we played this morning, under the acacias as the tropical boubous sang in the scrub, which praises the transformation wrought upon the cross with my favorite line "and as you speak, a hundred billion failures disappear . . "

And here is a Malcom Guite sonnet for the day (from Sounding the Seasons), which captures this idea of cascading resurrections, night to day, healing and dawn and newness and hope:

XV Easter dawn

He blesses every love that weeps and grieves
And now he blesses hers who stood and wept 
And would not be consoled, or leave her love's 
Last touching place, but watched as low light crept
Up from the east.  A sound behind her stirs
A scatter of bright birdsong through the air.
She turns, but cannot focus through her tears, 
Or recognize the Gardener standing there.
She hardly hears his gentle question, 'Why,
Why are you weeping?', or sees the play of light
That brightens as she chokes out her reply,
'They took my love away, my day is night.'
And then she hears her name, she hears Love say
The Word that turns her night, and ours, to Day.

Dr. Jonah Kule Memorial Lecture --10th anniversary of his death from Ebola

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Below is a transcript of the Dr. Jonah Kule Memorial Lecture, delivered by Scott to the Federation of Uganda Medical Students Association on 31 March 2018 at 10:30am at the Makerere University Main Campus.

(it was a 45 minute lecture so be warned, it's a long read...)

______________________________________________________________________________

Good morning.  Thank you very much for the invitation to deliver the Dr. Jonah Kule Memorial Lecture to the Federation of Ugandan Medical Students Association. 

I would like to acknowledge the presence of Masika Constance, the firstborn daughter of Jonah Kule. She is a graduate of the Uganda Christian University, and was 15 years old when her father died from Ebola.  Her younger sister, Birra Phiona, who is studying Law at Uganda Christian University is also here.

It is fitting that I am delivering a lecture memorializing the life of Dr. Jonah Kule on the weekend of the Celebration of Easter.  Easter is the climax of the Christian calendar in which we remember the resurrection of Jesus Christ.  Easter weekend begins with the observance of Passover.  Christians call this Maundy Thursday.  Jews hold a traditional meal called the Seder during which there is a reading of the Haggadah, a Jewish text which means “the telling”. During the Passover Meal, the story of the Passover is recounted. It is a story of God’s deliverance of the Jewish people from slavery at the hands of the Egyptians.  I am here for a re-telling of the story of our friend, our colleague, Dr. Jonah Kule.  I have two objectives for this re-tellling.  The first is to honor the memory of our friend and colleague who gave his life serving the sick.  The second is to challenge you, a group of future doctors, to consider how you will live and work – and whether the life of Dr. Jonah Kule is one to which you might aspire.
 
Our part in the story began with our arrival in Bundibugyo District in 1993. We came as part of a Team, trying to bring life and redemption to a remote and forgotten district with efforts in health, education, church planting and Bible translation.  When we arrived, there were 49 Districts in Uganda.  In the education sector, the New Vision always published a list of the District Performance for senior secondary O-level results --which is a proxy I think of development – and Bundibugyo was always dead last.  My wife and I are physicians so our piece was in promoting health and healing the sick—preventive and curative health.  As we moved into needy communities with immunization campaigns and health messages we met a young energetic Clinical Officer named Jonah Kule.  Jonah was a Mukonjo, a person of the mountains.  We learned very quickly that this young man had a gift for shepherding communities. He could teach, persuade, correct, encourage, guide—and all the while lead community groups on a path of self-discovery and mobilization towards healthier lives--idn a way that we as outsiders could not…
 
We got to know Jonah and his family very well. He eventually had five daughters—Masika, Biira, Maga, Keren, and Serah—who were in the same age range as our own four children. We shared holiday meals together in each other’s homes. We traveled together. We were professional colleagues working for health in Bundibugyo. After a few years, Jonah shared his dream of going to medical school with us.  We decided this was a worthy investment of time and money, so we gave him the green light to pursue a medical admission. Jonah was over 30 years old so he took the Makerere University “Mature Age Entry” exam.  He scored in near the top of all who took the exam. He was called in and asked how he cheated.  He must have cheated—because it was not possible that a student from Bundibugyo District could have performed so well.  So, they deleted his result and sent him away.  He was determined, however, and came back the next year and again scored in the top three of all who sat.  This time they accepted his result and he was admitted to the Makerere University Medical School. 

Jonah was a smart guy, but biochemistry almost did him in.  I think he passed by 1%.   But he was very experienced seeing patients as a hardworking clinical officer.  So, he did well at MUMed during the clinical rotations.  But he was always singled out in class by the professors.  No matter which subject whether it was surgery or obstetrics—they would look at Jonah and say, “and if you are practicing way out in the bush with few resources—like, in Bundibugyo, this is how you need to think about this.”  It was a slight humiliation.  Calling out Bundibugyo as the least developed and most backward place in Uganda.  
 
Nevertheless, Jonah persevered and graduated in 2005 from Makerere—and was the first to graduate as a native born from Bundibugyo in 29 years.  The last previous Bundibugyo-born graduate was William Sikyewunda who went on to be a member of Parliament and the District Health Officer. The New Vision’s headline on 31 March 2005 said “Bundibugyo’s Reason to Smile”. He went on to do his Internship Year in 2006 at Rubaga Hospital where he was much loved and appreciated for his serious work ethic.

Our mission, World Harvest Mission, sponsored Jonah with a Bond Agreement that he would return to serve in Bundibugyo District for at least 5 years.  For Jonah that was not a burden – he desired to return to Bundibugyo.  Immediately upon finishing his internship at the end of 2006, he did return to Bundibugyo.  He was immediately posted to the District Hospital.  It was a place he knew like the back of his hand since he had worked there for many years as a Clinical Officer prior to attending medical school. But there was still a requirement that he have an Official Tour at the time of his posting. On that tour, he was shown the Operating Theatre where he found a pregnant woman lying on the operating table. He asked why she was lying there and was told that she was waiting for the family to come up with the money for the surgeon before he was willing to do the surgery.  Jonah was annoyed and immediately terminated the tour.  He said, “Get me theatre scrubs and boots…I will operate on this mother—for no money.”  That story spread like wildfire in the ensuing days.  “Dr. Jonah is here… and he is not charging money to do surgery!!”
 
Jonah came back not just to be a doctor but to stand up to the rampant corruption.  That action shook up the District.  But life became hard for him.  Not everyone was happy that he came back to serve.  There were those who feared him and were jealous.  Everybody knew that Dr. Sikyewunda came from Makerere Medical School and became a member of Parliament.  People began to talk already that Dr. Jonah would be the first Mukonjo Parliament Member from Bundibugyo.  That was a radical idea.  I don’t think Jonah was entirely opposed to the talk.  He knew that corruption was rampant and might need to be cleaned out from within.  But I think he thought that would be some years down the road. 

So, he began to serve his people…


So, when there were a rash of deaths in Kikyo Sub-County (a mountainous area on the slopes of the Rwenzoris) in August of 2007 (six months after he began his posting), he took an interest.  He went up and treated people and investigated.  There were a cluster of deaths in one family – about five.  The father and all of the sons of one family—and then soon many more from that clan.  So, the pattern seemed to be infectious.  In retrospect, it is thought that these men were involved in butchering monkeys hunted in the mountains and then many more died who were involved with the burials. But that was covered up because it was an illegal practice.  Jonah brought in the District Surveillance Officer who sent off samples for testing for Hemorrhagic Fevers to UVRI.  The tests were negative.  There were no hemorrhagic features clinically.   Malaria tests were also negative.  It was mostly a picture of fever, vomiting and diarrhea.  At the time -we thought it might be typhoid.
 
Jonah passed by our house one day on his way up to the Kikyo Health Center.  Jennifer went into our stores and gave Jonah all of the Ciprofloxacin, gloves and alcohol hand sanitizer that we had.  He was in a hurry, but we insisted that he wait until we get these supplies together.  He did wait but as he pulled out on his dilapidated motorcycle he laughed and said, “I must serve my people.  If I die, then I die.”

And so it went.  Things smoldered and flared through September, October and into November.  Finally, on Thursday 29 November 2007, we got a call informing us that the CDC figured out that this disease was due to a new strain, the fifth identified, of the Ebola virus.  Much later in 2008, it was given the name Ebola bundibugyo.  Nobody in Bundibugyo or Uganda was happy about the fact that it was named for a place in Uganda.
 
So, this was the 17th documented outbreak of Ebola since 1976.  All of the significant clinical outbreaks had occurred in Africa except for some of laboratory contaminations in other parts of the world.  The last previous Ugandan outbreak prior to this was in Gulu in 2000.  Uganda lost another hero due to that outbreak, Dr. Matthew Lukwiya, who died while caring for Ebola patients at the St. Mary’s Hospital in Lacor on 5 December 2000 – almost exactly 7 years prior to Dr. Jonah’s death.

As soon as the diagnosis was announced, Uganda MOH epidemiologists visited Bundibugyo and reviewed the records of many of the cases as they could find and decided that officially speaking (during that early period of the epidemic) there were 79 cases with a 43% death rate.  My own opinion is that it is a significant underestimate.  They used extremely strict case definitions and had no medical records for many patient deaths which made it impossible for them to be categorized as Ebola-related deaths.


So, we received the news from the USA CDC and immediately changed our approach to the way we handled patients, but by that time it was too late….

So, let me try to walk through the timeline of the final ten days of Jonah…

Friday 23 November  is the day Jonah believed himself to have been infected. That was the day he and I examined Jeremiah Muhindo.  Ebola experts call this type of patient a “super-infector”.  Very sick patients with high viral loads and lots of caregiver exposures.  He was an important man in the community – many people were involved in his care.  There were five health care workers who died at Bundibugyo Hospital and they all had contact with this patient:
--Jonah
--Rose Bulinpikya, nurse matron
--Johnson Kiza nurse
--Joshua Kule,  senior clinical officer
-- Asanasio Matte, ophthalmic assistant. (few of the patients in this epidemic had bleeding manifestations, but many did have conjunctivitis, so the ophthalmic assistant got involved – again, before we knew it was Ebola).

In between two of the times we saw the patient together, Jonah went in alone and arranged a face mask of oxygen onto the dying man, hoping to provide some relief or comfort. He was not wearing gloves because he could not find any at the hospital at that moment, and he felt that his friend needed the oxygen. That was his greatest exposure.

Sunday 25 November Jonah traveled to Kampala to pick up Masika from school as they were breaking off later in the week.

Wednesday 28 November he began to notice a headache, and wondered if he was getting malaria. (5 days from last exposure, though of course he’d had earlier ones too).

Thursday 29 Nov the EBOLA epidemic was announced by the Ministry of Health. Jonah’s headache persisted in spite of first line malaria treatment, and he vomited twice. He instructed his family to wash the floor with bleach, to not touch him, and to not share his food or drink. He picked up his oldest daughter Masika from boarding school, and by the time they came home he was feeling weaker and worse, slumped over on his young brother’s shoulder. We talked to him on the phone about this time – our first time to talk since the announcement of the Ebola epidemic.  I asked “How are you doing?”  With a sort of nervous laugh, he said “well, I’m not feeling so well.”

Friday 30 Nov  he had two malaria smears at a private clinic up the road from his house, one positive and one negative. Though he still hoped his illness was malaria, he talked to a doctor friend who encouraged him to be admitted, so they hired boda-bodas and both rode to Mulago Hospital. There he was put in an isolation tent.

Saturday 1 Dec  a blood sample was taken to test for the Ebola virus.
Sat to Monday he was mostly up and talking during the days, still having fever, vomiting, and some diarrhea. Then his urine output slowed down, so the staff began to give IV fluids, but in retrospect he was not dehydrated but rather in renal failure. He was thirsty, and at times hungry. He remained optimistic until Monday that he would recover. His family would come and see him from outside the tent flap, talking loudly to communicate but not touching. The Mulago Hospital doctor assigned to his care had fled, but MSF Spain doctors checked him a couple of times a day. His young brother sometimes entered the tent to care for him when no nurse or other medical person was available. He was alone much of the time.

Monday 3 Dec he began to have chest pain. He told his family this was a bad sign, that he had seen patients and when they had chest pain they were getting much worse. His brother describes finding him reading a medical text and thinking through his symptoms and what was happening. He read them some Bible verses.

Tuesday 4 Dec his chest pain became worse. He could not always talk because of breathlessness, taking several breaths to get words out, so his brother just kept quiet. He also felt a lot of abdominal pain and weakness. His young brother was finishing A levels and left to take his last exam. When he returned he found that the MSF team was in the tent and they told him to wait somewhere else. Later he saw Jonah’s body. I think the hardest thing for the family was that Jonah died without any of them around, alone in that tent. That’s hard for us too. His brother and the Mulago staff decided that it was best not to tell the family that day, they should keep it under wraps until the morning. But Jennifer did inform the family due to direct information from MSF, for which his wife and sister were very grateful.

The picture of Jonah in this situation is somber but not desperate. He knew what was happening to him. He followed his own symptoms and watched them unfold. He knew the choices he had made to care for patients might cost his life. It was five days from exposure to illness, and six days from the illness to death.

After Jonah’s death, we spoke with doctors from MSF who had cared for him.  It was spine-tingling to hear Jonah speak from beyond the veil.  Tuesday afternoon, he was still walking and talking and said to them, “I have seen these patients die and I know that I am dying.”  I don’t think his doctors really believed him.  Moments before he died he said, “I am going to die now. And I pray that no one should ever have to die of this disease again.”  Right to his last moment he was thinking like the compassionate doctor that he was, looking beyond himself to others.

The final numbers of the Bundibugyo Ebola epidemic are not huge:
Cases: 143
Deaths: 36
Case Fatality Rate (CFR): 25.2%

The CDC Team in Atlanta published a summary in the journal, Emerging Infectious Diseases, and they only officially recognized those Ebola patients who had laboratory confirmation of their infections:

Total infections: 56
Total deaths: 17
CFR: 40%
 
This is almost identical to the overall death rate of the massive Ebola epidemic in West Africa of 2015-16.

Ironically Jonah’s death was not included in the official tally of deaths of the Bundibugyo Ebola epidemic because he died in Kampala.

These numbers are super tiny compared to the 2015-16 recent epidemic in West Africa where
Cases: 28,616 (200x bigger)
Deaths: 11,310 (300x more)
CFR: 39.5%

Bundibugyo was not the largest epidemic in history.  But we did learn more about the disease as a result.

It was a tremendously organized effort.  Large organizations came and invested enormous amounts of manpower and money:  the Uganda MOH, Uganda Red Cross, Medicins sans Frontiers, the USA CDC, and the WHO.  There was one member of the WHO team who had been present at ALL of the previous Ebola epidemics.  He was primarily interested in trying to understand where the Ebola virus was coming from.
 
The Ebola Task Force included all of these organizations and was headed by the RDC and the Uganda MOH.
It was composed of a number of sub-committees:
1.    Clinical Care (MSF)– organizing the care of the sick
2.    Social Mobilization (MOH/Red Cross)—the community educators putting out messages of prevention
3.    Contact Tracing (WHO)– following up on those potentially exposed
4.    Lab (CDC)
5.    Logistics/Finance – Ug MOH
 
We learned this about Ebola:
Incubation: 2-21 days (the larger the viral exposure, the shorter the incubation)
Transmission: contact (no evidence of airborne transmission – except perhaps droplet transmission when health care providers have been sprayed down and blood has been aerosolized).  One brief anecdote here…The Sunday after Jonah died, Jennifer and I were home alone, having breakfast.  It was eerily quiet.  No kids (we sent them to Kampala so they wouldn't be at risk if we got sick).  No visitors because people thought we might be infected…and then I cell phone rang.  The guy on the other end of the line said, “Please hold for the President…”  President Museveni then came on the line.  We had a 10 minute conversation in which he asked lots of specific and intelligent questions about Ebola.  Specifically he wanted to know if Ebola could penetrate intact skin (my best answer: NO)  because he was trying to make public health recommendations for his country. At the end of the conversation he asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?"
I always regretted that I didn’t ask him for Ugandan citizenship for me and Jennifer :(

Reservoir: to the best of my knowledge it was during this epidemic that they made progress in understanding that the long-term reservoir of the Ebola virus was Fruit bats.
Intermediatehost: primates (it is believed that the first cases in Kikyo on the mountainside occurred in a family who were hunting and butchering monkeys)


Those at risk: Health care workers and family care givers and especially those that bury the dead.

This is the insidious and seemingly evil part of this virus.

Let me just say a little bit about Jonahs burial…
We lived in Bundibugyo for 17 years and we attended dozens if not hundreds of burials.  Jonah’s was unlike any other we ever attended. 
Since Jonah died in Kampala, his body had to be transported back to Bundibuygo.  That was done by the Doctors Without Borders – Spain team.  The district leadership planned bury it with no ceremony, no attendants, not even his wife. We strongly objected. We knew there was no danger to standing a few feet away and watching the MSF team put the coffin into the ground. We drove Melen, the three oldest girls, his sister Sophia, and his mother, to Bundibugyo Hospital. When we arrived the other two staff were just being buried.  I called the DDHS thinking someone from the district should show the courtesy of attending the burial, and he and the LC5 came, as well as a handful of medical staff. We asked Melen what she wanted, she only wanted to be sure that someone prayed. We circulated looking for someone who was willing to sing, and thankfully found a Red Cross mobilizer who led hymns while the coffin was unloaded. Again people tried to keep Jonah’s family away, but there was no reason for that. Because Jonah’s body was decontaminated and enclosed in Kampala, the infection control protocol for his burial was less than for the two who died here. The team merely wore gloves, and MSF allowed the girls and relatives to stand by the side without touching anything. When the coffin had been lowered on ropes, Scott asked for a pause. He took out a Bible and read.  And they stood at a distance.  Quietly.  While the MSF Burial team lowered the coffin into the ground. 
 
By our estimates only his youngest brother and his mother had any potential exposure, touching him or cleaning up from his sickness. But the entire family was ostracized as dangerous and put into quarantine for 21 days.  It was harsh.

Jonah’s wife did receive a small worker’s compensation lump sum from the government since he died while doing government work, but inexplicably they published that fact and the sum in the New Vision.  This was a horrible decision as every distant relative descended on Melen, trying to vie for a piece of the pie.  And Melen was pregnant with their sixth child at the time of Jonah’s death.  A child he would never meet.  And it turned out to be their first boy, now named for his father.
 
At the graveside, as they lowered Jonah’s coffin into the ground I read


John 12:
But Jesus answered them, saying: The hour has come that the Son of Man should be glorified. Most assuredly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much grain. He who loves his life will lose it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. If anyone serves Me, let him follow Me; and where I am, there My servant will be also. If anyone serves Me, him My Father will honor.
 
Jonah fulfilled this description as well as anyone we have ever known, not loving his life too much, being willing to die for the good of others. 

I would like to pause here for a moment before I move to my final points—to address the issue of how we deal with such a tragedy.  How do we make sense of the death of a good man, one who we have poured so much into, who has just finished six years of medical training who has come back to serve his people, who is the father to five children.  It makes no sense, humanly speaking.  I will say two things:

First, We cannot see the ways of God.  God is all-knowing and all-loving and all-powerful. We know these things from the ways he has revealed Himself in history. But sometimes we cannot understand His ways.  We must accept that God is Mystery –with a capital “M”.  It will never make sense to us – but we cannot see all of history in the same way that God can.  Look at it this way. If you wanted to understand the ocean, but you only had a cup of water from the ocean.  You could say that it is salty, that it might have some sand, and some microorganisms in it. But that cup of ocean water could never reveal the depths of the ocean and the undersea world of creatures and vegetation and beauty.  In the same way, we only see dimly now through a veil.  God is beyond our understanding…

Second, there is some good that has risen from the death of Jonah…we established the Dr. Jonah Kule Memorial Leadership Scholarship Fund to sponsor students in medicine and other health-related education.  We have seen 6 doctors sponsored at Mbarara and KIU; in nursing at UCU; in lab medicine at Mulago and Mengo; in anesthesia at Mulago.
Those sponsored in medicine included Baluku Morris, Monday Julius, Katuramu Tadeo, Peter Kisembo, Isaiah Kule, Birungi Fred.  And they are all bonded to 5 years of service in Bundibugyo (though it seems unlikely at this time that the District will have the finances to hire them all).

So, what does this mean for us today?
How should we then live?

We are here today remembering and re-telling the story of the final days of Dr. Jonah Kule.  Is his life a model for us? 

As medical students, I used to presume that you were motivated by a sense of service and calling.  That there was some desire to heal the sick, to comfort the dying, to help your fellow humans.  These last few years though I’ve run into more and more young doctors who are motivated only by money.  I have a Kenyan colleague who seems to be willing to do a Cesarean delivery on every woman possible to make as much money as possible.  There is a doctor in Bundibugyo recently who has been doing unnecessary hysterectomies in order to make as much money as possible.

I would like to leave you today with one more verse from the Bible, Micah 6:8

He has told you, O man, what is good:
And what does the LORD require of you
But to do justice
And to love kindness,
And to walk humbly with your God.
 
I would implore you as medical students to reexamine the reasons why you entered medicine. Of course, medicine is a sure meal ticket and potentially a lucrative career.  I’ve heard so many intellectual justifications about why you DESERVE to be living comfortable and convenient lives.  You’ve worked hard.  You’ve suffered.  You’ve put yourself in harm’s way.  You deserve to drive a nice car, own a big house, wear the best clothes, and to send your kids to the best schools.


But let’s look at this verse from the Book of the prophet Micah…

WHAT DOES GOD REQUIRE OF YOU…

1      DO JUSTICE…God does not call us to lives of convenience but to lives of justice. 

The Bible is full of evidence of God’s concern for justice:

Isaiah 58
Cry loudly…raise your voice…declare to My people their transgression...on the day of your fast you find your desire, and drive hard all your workers…Is this not the fast which I choose? To loosen the bonds of wickedness, to undo the bands of the yoke, and to let the oppressed go free? Is it not to divide your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into the house?
If you remove the yoke from your midst, the pointing of the finger and speaking wickedness, if you give yourself to the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted then your light will rise in darkness…You will be like a spring of water whose waters do not fail.

And I would like to make a distinction here between charity and justice.  Charity is giving something to someone in need.  Caring for the poor.  This is a good thing.  But justice is doing something in which there is a structural change in the system that oppresses the poor and those in need.

You see corruption and deceit in your communities, in your hospital. People taking money from patients for dressing changes and placement of IVs.  For services that are declared free by the government. I daresay that if we see it and don’t speak up then we are complicit in promoting injustice.  Injustice is an oppression of the poor –who have no other resources to access private care. 

Jonah stood up to injustice when he rolled up his sleeves and did the CS for the woman on the table who had no money.  He stood up to the corruption, called it out, and did the just and right thing.  He challenged the system of corruption and publically condemned in it word and deed.

Doing justice is doing the right thing.

What is that for you today? 
What does that mean for you in your life? 
How can you be working for justice in an unjust world? 
Does that require some sacrifice in your life – of course, it does.


2.  LOVE KINDNESS…This is about who we are as people.  How we treat each other. 
Aristotle defines it as being "helpfulness towards someone in need, not in return for anything, nor for the advantage of the helper himself, but for that of the person helped.

Kindness is a comfort to those it touches.  It makes their life easier, more pleasant.
Another way we can think about Kindness is generosity.  Giving.  Some say it’s more blessed to give that receive.  To live generously is to live with a spirit of kindness.  Always looking for opportunities to bless other people.
Philippians 2:3  - count others more significant that yourself…

There are so many organizations and movements in our culture and in social media extolling the virtue of kindness…
The Kindness Boomerang, the LifeVestInside, Random Acts of Kindness, Pay it Forward…
The common thread here is doing something for someone else expecting nothing in return.
Usually these are small acts. 


Jonah was a kind man – one who thought always of others first.  Of how he could serve, of how he could help…

What opportunities for showing kindness do you have in your life?
 Are you touching others with unexpected, unmerited kindnesses? 

3.  Walk Humbly with your God.

What does that mean to walk Humbly with God?

To be humble in the Bible means literally to ‘submit yourself to the humbling process of God’

It means you submit control to God.  You have faith that He is in control.  That he is great and we are not.

I remember one time Jonah and I were traveling together.  It was early in our friendship.  He was still a Clinical Officer.  We were staying in a guest house together.  We had a small room with two beds.  I think we arrived late.  We ate dinner and I came back and collapsed into bed.  Jonah took a shower.  By the time he got back I was almost asleep.  He said, “Scott did you pray? We need to pray before we sleep.”  I smiled and nodded.  He prayed, giving thanks for the day, for our safe travel, for our accommodation and our meal.  And asked that God would protect us through the night and give us rest.”

Jonah was a man who pursued justice, who practiced kindness, and who walked humbly with his God. 

He gave his life serving others.

He is an example and a hero to his family, his friends, to Uganda, and to the world.




Masika, little Jonah, Mbusa, Melen, and Biira

50 years of Justice, roaring and trickling

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Fifty years ago today, the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. was murdered.  Prophetic voices are those that speak unpopular truth in spite of opposition, that bring God's word to bear upon the times.  Rev. King took the promises of Isaiah, the concerns of Jesus, the equality of the Gospel preached by Paul, and applied them to our American problems of racism, poverty, and war.  Like Jesus and Dr. Jonah, his faithfulness to that vision of justice rolling down like an everlasting stream put him in the path of evil, of danger, of those profiting from injustice, and led to his death.  Like many of the Biblical prophets, his life was human and not perfect, but that does not invalidate the core of what he stood for.  This article gives a good reminder of the faith-based roots of Rev. King's civil rights work.
photo from Time Magazine
Fifty year anniversaries are now entering my memory.  I was five, and I remember driving through Washington DC with my parents after the riots that followed Rev. King's death.  My dad had a small construction company which employed mostly inner-city African-Americans from Baltimore and DC, so I'm not sure if we were there to check on a job site or on his employees or to see history, but I remember the eerily empty streets, the boarded windows of shops, the detritus of destruction, and the sense of anguish.  At least some of America mourned the loss, with violent frustration.  

Today's anniversary is a good time to reflect on how people of faith should be responding to injustice in our own time.  Yesterday our leader stoked fear of immigrants once again by painting a dire picture of a caravan of Central Americans fleeing war and heading for the border, calling on the military to stop them.  America in 2018 remains insular, fearful, divided, racist, and unjust, and many of our supposedly evangelical churches have chosen to turn a blind eye to much evil in return for a Supreme Court Justice appointment of their liking.  Wherever you fall on that issue, link to this statement from a broad range of Christian leaders seeking to apply Biblical principles to current events, and prayerfully consider how we should bring faith to bear upon our own times.

And lastly I give you an example I'm proud of.  Duke Cru paints a bridge every Easter Saturday, covering over the layers of student advertisements with white paint and a "Christ is Risen" message.  This year they (3 of my kids) added the names of all the students killed at Parkland, and that of Stephon Clark the 22 year old young father, unarmed and in his grandmother's fenced yard, killed by anxious, jumpy policemen who mistook his identity and didn't wait to find out the truth. Jesus' death and resurrection matters, to the students of Parkland, to the Stephon Clarks of this world, to the gunmen too.  Because that redemption calls out evil and brings a solution.  Justice will roll down. 






Survival against the Odds

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Today we celebrate FIVE YEARS since our friend and colleague Dr. Travis Johnson was diagnosed with colon cancer, shockingly cutting short his family's mission service in Bundibugyo.  His tumor had spread by the time he was diagnosed, and his prognosis has never been very encouraging.  We have asked and asked for a cure, for a miracle response to surgery and chemo and radiation and now immunotherapy.  Instead, we have received survival without assurance.  Another month and another year, as Travis and Amy suffer toxic treatments, travel to the best care, eat and exercise like olympic athletes, raise prayer support, and pursue every possible avenue of help.
In fact, what we would like to see for Travis (NO TUMOR LEFT so we can hope for not just a year or five, but decades) is what we'd like to see for all those we serve.  Not just a moderate extension of survival, but a clean slate, a hopeful future. Instead, we have an incredibly unlikely gift of a 5-year struggle that finds Travis completing yesterday a 100-kilometer bike ride, with three growing kids and a meaningful job and a life that looks outward to the needs of others, without the cloud of cancer being removed. I'd like the babies in our Newborn Unit to stop getting fatal infections, but instead of 100% survival we get some dramatic rescues and too many sorrowful deaths.  I'd like to have Dr. Jonah alive, but instead we have his sweet daughters and his precious posthumous son and his hardworking wife and six medical students graduated or near-to-do-so following in his footsteps.  I'd like to have a financially and spiritually thriving school in Bundibugyo, instead we have an institution beset by riots and rumors on a regular basis that still manages to turn out the best in the district but never feels like a sure bet.  I'd like loose ends tied up, rogue cells zapped out of the body, jobs for our unemployed dear ones, and while we're at it, peace in South Sudan.

What we get, though, is the obscure uncertainty of living by faith.

Easier for me to say than for Travis and Amy, though I know they do say it.  We get to keep plugging through the next treatment or the next day.  We get to do our best, even when it feels pitifully too little, jerry-rigging oxygen tubing to share the molecules like the loaves and the fish amongst too many patients.


We get to keep walking into an uncertain day, facing absences and strikes and shortages and desperate needs.  We get to keep praying for our dear ones when beset by thieves or illness or failures or injuries.  

And on milestones like today, sometimes we get to look back and give testimony that maybe God's hard plan contains the best in some mysterious way.  Our sermon in church today talked about the times Jesus' disciples wanted what they thought was good and reasonable to ask for (help in the storm, healing for Lazarus) but in the silence of God's seeming non-response, they were set up for something unimaginable:  waves and wind stilled, resurrection.  That's what we look for for Travis and Amy, for Africa, for us.  We don't live by the odds, which is unsettling but hopeful.



Grace in the flesh

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This is Mama M holding Baby M.  This is a miracle in process.  Whose outcome we do not yet see. But 11 days ago, Scott decided that M (the mama) was going to die unless she was delivered of her preterm pregnancy.  She had severe pre-ecclampsia, a complication of pregnancy that is more common in Africa (and in African-descended Americans too), characterized by high blood pressure, swelling in hands and feet and face, kidney injury, bleeding, headaches, etc.  So he took her in for an emergency C-section and removed M (the baby) who was 2 months early and weighed a kilo (2 pounds) and came out in severe respiratory distress and every complication in the book.  She's had pneumonia, very abnormal blood tests, petechiae (bleeding in the skin), bacterial and fungal infections, and a gut infection known as necrotizing enterocolitis.  In her 11 days of life up to today, she has never been stable enough to even feed.  Which kind of works out, because her mom was so sick she got transferred to a regional hospital, leaving the baby behind whom none of us (me included) expected to live this long.  This baby's premature delivery and unusually critical course we thought was the sad but inevitable cost of her mother's survival.  But day by day we look at baby M and say, she's still fighting so let's fight for her.  Tuesday we called the OB team and said, if the mom is stable, can we bring her back to Naivasha to start trying to make some milk to put in the tube for this infant?  She arrived back yesterday evening, and there she was this morning.  Very much not dead.  Very much ready to start caring for her baby.

Most of me acknowledges that baby M still has a slim chance of survival.  She's on our three strongest antibiotics and an IV anti-fungal.  She just came off the extra breathing/oxygen help of CPAP.  She is tiny and vulnerable and has been starving.  

But I can't help but hope.  This is one spunky baby.  This is one survivor of a mom.

And this is one crazy day, a day of possibility and courage.  Scott's team started the day with one of their first ever audits, a review of processes in a case where a baby's delayed C-section ended in his death. It would be easy to blame, or despair, but instead the team problem-solved the lack of surgical drape sets and arranged for more.  Progress.  After rounds I had the somewhat unusual privilege of a morning with the East Africa Women's League Naivasha branch, charming survivors themselves, with memories of pre-independence countries, steam boats and farms, and I got to tell them about the realities of medical care in Kenya now and share some testimony of why it's worth working for and how we survive and how faith impacts us.  Mid day I got off the phone wanting to cheer for one of our team leaders who had just spent two hours meeting with someone in a very sticky situation, and shown such wisdom and grace, she was amazing.  In the evening we cheered for another team leader who had spent the day in an 8 hour cross-cultural and contentious meeting, doing the right thing at high cost.  Then on to worship leading rehearsal for our church, singing about grace.  So many little ways that the universe clicked towards truth today.

Join us in praying for the M's, mom and baby, to be living miracles, testimonies of grace in the flesh.

April: a sip from the deluge

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April has thundered down upon us in an abundance bordering on drowning:  in rain, in work, in visitors, in emails, in tasks, in blessing, in exhaustion.  We preach pace and sabbath, but in the last few weeks we've been working long days at the hospital and long nights at home.  So many dangling loose ends, threads that have unraveled and not been tied off.  People we've failed to answer, situations we've failed to anticipate, love we've failed to show.  We are worn thin and we are sorry.

A few sips from the deluge to illustrate this month:

Patients, teaching, innovations, audits, deaths, surgeries, procedures (Our normal daily hospital work)

Mama M in the background with baby M, and their incubator-mates . . . still going improbably strong, thanks for prayers!!

Triplets whose mom had been sent here from a private hospital due to lack of space there, at 29 weeks.  The OB team held off labor for a few weeks but they were still born way too small and early.  The boy (the largest) died, but the two sisters are still struggling on.  Keep praying!

One day I just could not understand why my patient's oxygen level was so low, until I moved the bed out from the wall and saw the tangle of the improvised shared oxygen system.  We need better OXYGEN!

Every day brings struggles and joys.  One day last week Scott was on rounds and a mom who was resting on antibiotics after rupturing her membranes almost two months early showed him a green-looking cloth soaked with the fluid.  Preterm babies don't usually pass meconium (stool) so he put on a monitor (something that we can't seem to make standard due to the high volume and poor staffing) and saw a sustained stressed high heart rate.  He was able to push through an emergency caesarean quickly and called me in . . the baby's umbilical cord was not only around the neck but stretched like a sash over his shoulder and across his body and through his legs, a tight mess cutting off his blood supply.  A quick exit and some resuscitation and he did well.  Days like that we think, yes, this is what it's about, saving lives and teaching as we go.  Other days we still despair, as the docs in our county have called for another strike, and the interns are finishing their year with no replacements in sight due to a prolonged lecturer strike.  

Visitors, students, projects, donors (April is a popular month)
Cindy B spearheaded the Friends of Naivasha Hospital organization that raised money for the maternity and NBU--she visits once or twice a year with a whirlwind of innovation and energy.  This time she invited us to an evening safari at a local private reserve.

Former RVA student and friend, who are studying various medical courses in Germany and dreaming of working back in places like this.
Isaiah, a Kule Scholarship student about to graduate in Uganda, took a bus on  his vacation week to come see us in Kenya.  We walked down our hill to see the wildlife . . . 
And he spent his days with us in the hospital.

Dr. Jim O'Neill and family visited Naivasha where he had volunteered and raised funds; a leader in Paediatric Surgery, and still thinking forward at 85 on how to improve care around the world.

The University of Nebraska team donating a Pumani CPAP machine to our NBU (my new Paeds consultant partner is on the front right, Dr. Julie, by our head nurse Epharus, and my former partner who is now medical superintendent of the hospital is in the white shirt receiving the machine)


We spend a fair amount of time with University of Washington rotating residents and students too . . this is Carly who hosted Luke when he was in Seattle doing his away rotation.  Small world.

Teamwork, mentoring, bearing witness (both in the hospital, the community, and Serge)
Most unusual morning in April: Speaking to the East Africa Women's League, some really gritty and gracious women who have lived here since steam boats plied Lake Victoria, and have the stories to tell about it.  They care about Naivasha and gather to support charities.  I was super nervous but they were very kind.

Bethany shall represent the 24 people we supervise (Team Leaders, Area Specialists, and a couple of team members who are lacking Team Leaders), 22 of whom we met with this month in person or by video.  It's our annual review time to reflect on the year and set goals for the next.  Always a delight to see what God has done; but also added quite a bit of work to this month.

The April 2018 Paeds team.  The two interns here (Litole far left and Lokomol center) are amongst the hardest-working least-complaining humans I have ever met. We used to have at least 3 to 5 sharing call; these three months it was only two.  We had some UW med students, and the doc next to me is one of our two medical officers Linda.  I've been working on a core curriculum with a pre- and post-test for the rotation, and one of these women bumped her score by 30 POINTS!  They both learned a lot and were great to work with.

Scott's OB team out for lunch with a visiting University of Washington professor who was here helping set up a quality improvement study of cesarean section delays.  His partner Dr. Chege is front center.  

Serge Family celebrations, kids (both new ones and ours)

Laura Mixon (Serge teen) in the musical "In the Heights" by Lin-Manuel Miranda.  Great dancing and beats, but also a meaningful story about home, families, immigrants, prejudice, injustice, hope.  Really great job by Rosslyn students.  
The Serge crowd who came opening night, with our very own star (and Gaby front left will be in RVA's musical this Spring too).

Photo courtesy of the Kibuye team--they studied inventors and Scott wrote up a story of his dad's work on Pringles, which was fun and sweet.

Baby Jonathan safely born to the Faders at Kijabe, baby Davis' adoption was finally approved in Uganda, and baby Bennie returned with her family the Nolens this month from Home Assignment.  We've added to our Serge family this year: Keza, Davis, Julia, Jonathan, Ivy Joy, Jacob, Bennie, Salem, and if I can also claim him, Clark.  Lots of joy, though we do pray for a couple others who have lost little ones and long for parenthood.

Jack with his Duke Rugby 7's team at a tournament in Nashville (rain there too!)
And Luke got to go on vacation with great friends including Abby, and his RVA pals Thomas and Sierra.  When we are far from our kids, it does our heart wonders to see them with friends.  Julia is one paper and one exam away from finishing college, and Jack is almost done with his Junior year.  Caleb soldiers on (literally) and God willing will complete his first deployment in about a month.  One of the highlights of our month has been a few group-chats with the family.

Scientific Conference and Retreat Preparation (part of life is meetings . . .)
Sergers were strongly represented at the Kenya Paediatric Association meetings this week, doing research and presenting it.  This is part of the Kingdom, making care better for kids.  Above is Jason's project being projected . . 

And here is Caleb from Kijabe presenting one of Ari's several projects.

Scott and I rode down to Mombasa on the train to catch the last day of the conference . . 

And then accompany the Brotherton-Streets to scout out our retreat venue for August. Yes, one of the other MAJOR JOBS of this month has been working on planning a retreat with speakers, logistics, themes, child care, etc. for about 150 people in August.  

So, if you haven't heard from us in a while, perhaps you now know why. Oh, and forgot to mention the edits on the fourth Rwendigo tale due this week and working with the pictures and cover, and lots going on in lives of our Ugandan fostered young-adult kids, and taking a course on HIV, and working on finances and legal issues . . .  Sometimes it feels like our heart is in too many places.  So this quote from a devotion I found particularly encouraging today:

St Bonaventure (1221-1274) called the Trinity a "fountain fullness" of love.  God is unhindered dialogue . . an eternal waterwheel of self-emptying and outpouring love--that knows it can completely self-empty beause it will always be filled back up.  This is the very definition of divine love; all human love merely imitates, approximates, and celebrates this same pattern.  (R Rohr)

The reminder that our resources are NOT limited, that all the pouring out will be refilled, that we are merely channels of the foundational force in the universe, LOVE.  Pray for us to not be irritable and rushed, but to be kind and loving as April turns to May.



MAY in VIRGINIA: nothing better . . .

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May is a big month for Myhres, and many of those milestones happened in Virginia.  As our 31rst anniversary approaches, we have landed in Charlottesville ahead of Luke's graduation from med school and Julia's from college, and Caleb's return (we pray) at the end of the month from his deployment.  One day we were in Naivasha, knee deep in the struggle to resuscitate babies and protect moms.  Suddenly the next day we are here in the full Spring of blooming dogwood and azaleas, waking in the early morning to hear birds from our childhood.  Robins, cardinals, blue jays, red-winged blackbirds and scarlet tanagers.  Hot days and blue-ridge sunsets.

After months and years of distance (Luke left home for boarding school ten years ago at age 15), we revel in the rare privilege of a few days to run errands, pack up a house, talk, cook together, ride bikes, make coffee.  In fact it may be the most undivided parental attention he's had since Caleb was born.  After a year of a difficult surgery and recovery, the stress of the match, the culmination of a challenging medical school stretch . . . we are just delighting in this young man.

Biking to Monticello

Bike repairs at the Community Bike Shop

Sunset at the Vineyards

Meeting friends at Lampo's, Luke's favorite C'ville restaurant

Morning coffee in the yard

Blue Ridge Sunset

Tomorrow our 3 days in C'ville come to an end, and we head up to Vienna, VA.  We will speak at Sunday School at 10:15 am Sunday at Grace OPC (2381 Cedar Lane), the church in which I was raised and where we are all members, the church that has been disproportionately generous in supporting us for all these years. Our talk , "Walking through the Rift Valley:  Dark Days and a Billion Reasons to Hope" will share about our work with Serge as Area Directors and as doctors in Naivasha, Kenya. All are welcome!

The next two weeks will be immersed in celebrating the two graduations with both our moms and my sister too, moving people from Charlottesville and Durham to West Virginia and back several times, helping both Luke and Julia pack up and move on to their next phases of life.  In June we will drive all the way across the country, moving Luke into his newly rented studio apartment in Salt Lake City then welcoming Caleb back from Central Asia, visiting his home in Alaska, and returning to West Virginia in time for our Aylestock family reunion before we return to Kenya in early July.

Nothing matches the bright green of the Virginia spring, the return to a place full of memories and meaning for us.  We are grateful for this time.


Her name is Julia Kathleen Myhre . .

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 . . .and she's now a graduate of Duke University.  About seven years ago, we first visited the Duke campus with Caleb, passing through on the LAST possible day for college tours as we were working our way down the coast.  Caleb liked Duke, but it was Julia tagging along who came away from the day saying "I want to go to school here."  When she decided to apply a couple years later, not all her high school team believed in her chances.  But one thing about Julia, when she makes up her mind, she can work and lean into the hard.  And so four years ago we were carting her belongings up three stories in a quaint but non-air-conditioned no-elevator dorm for her college adventures to begin.  She found her niche in the intersection of environmental policy, cultural anthropology, and global health.  She tested water quality in Alabama on an environmental justice research project.  She worked on the Duke Campus Farm towards a sustainable food chain, volunteered with senior citizens and church preschoolers, joined the leadership team for her Christian fellowship, catalogued rare seeds and studied the impact of grazing on indigenous plants in Jordan, studied Arabic and worked with an arts internship in Morocco, completed a comparative global health semester abroad in India, South Africa, and Brazil.  She played intramural soccer and tennis, camped out for Cameron tickets the year Duke won the national championship, made pottery, went camping and to the beach.  She baked cookies and encouraged younger students, cultivated friendships with multicultural beauty, drove hundreds of miles to be with brothers and other family.  And she wrote papers and took exams and came out with honors, in the top fifth of all Duke undergrads.

So today we wrapped up a weekend of celebrating this gift, the gift Julia has been and will be to the world, and the gift she received in this 4-year banquet of opportunities.  She grabbed them and worked hard to make the most of them, and we are so happy for her.  Person after person who had spent time as her teacher or mentor or friend smiled at us and told us stories of her impact.  She will be missed in Durham.

After a few family travels she'll start a Fellows Program in Greensboro NC, where she will be mentored in the integration of work and faith as she works part-time in her field of environmental action and food, takes theology classes, and volunteers in the Church of the Redeemer.  

We are grateful for the vast community of former teachers, team-mates, cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents, friends from Uganda and Kenya, soccer and tennis and basketball and volleyball coaches, church leaders, supporters who have all brought us this far.  Wish you could have all breezed through this weekend with us.  Here are some highlights:
  • Julia treated her grandmothers and her mom (me!) to a lovely lunch for an early mother's day.
  • Luke was on point, with logistics and icy drinks and cheer and help throughout the long weekend, keeping the focus on what-does-Julia-want.  Plus both grandmothers, my sister Janie, most of Julia's Biggerstaff cousins.
  • We put together a party for about 40-some people with a Costco run and some decorations at a pavilion on the farm where she worked.  She invited friends and their families to come out, and the atmosphere was lovely, bees and flowers and vegetables, abundant food and drink, conversations and a setting sun.
  • Parties for other friends where we dropped in to meet people, and another party hosted by the Duke Farm managers for the 5 seniors who worked there.
  • A church service at Blacknall, where Julia attended and volunteered.  Her pastor preached powerfully to the graduates, challenging them to pursue courage over clarity.  He talked about the disciples in the storm on the boat, and how most of our plans and lives do not move in clear and predictable directions.  To follow Jesus we need courage!
  • A Baccalaureate service where the Rev. Luke Powery (Dean of the Duke Chapel) preached another powerful, relevant, bold, hopeful message on the life of Jacob.  He talked about life in America, and challenged the students with the truth that life will bring wounds and difficulty and that is where we meet God.
  • A Departmental graduation with the Environmental Science faculty, where Julia received her diploma, and we met her advisor and enjoyed seeing the educational spaces and a reception with other students and family.
  • A dinner with grandmothers and a couple of her close friends at a hip restaurant with menu items we had to google to understand.
  • And of course, the main event, the massive commencement ceremony on a 90+ degree pounding sun day in the football stadium, where Tim Cook enjoined the graduates to not accept the status quo, to keep searching for better solutions.
Duke has been a provision of grace for us.  And so has Julia.






















Token of the world's remedy---

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That line appears in a poem by Thomas Wolfe, found in a book of his poetry Julia picked up in a delightfully dusty and disorganized used book store here in Salt Lake City.  He's writing about his lover dancing in the crook of his arm.  But human love, romantic and familial, truly does function that way.  A token, a downpayment, of the redemption that is remedying all that is broken.
surveying my kind of feast, courtesy of Luke's photo

The last month has been beautifully full of such remedy.

So full, in fact, so fully in our view and in our arms, that we've been out of the communication loop almost entirely.  And so much has happened, this will only be a token sample of gratefulness.

Hosting celebrations

After Julia's grad, we spent the days between Duke and UVA ceremonies at our family farm in West Virginia hosting friends of the kids.  Bike rides, river dips, tubing, gardening, cooking and more cooking, hikes and pizza, long discussions and games around the table.  Throughout May we had numerous kids for a few days at a time, sharing the wonder of WV and adding to the family.



Luke's housemates, a real community through med school


Luke's graduation

Both grandmothers, my sister Janie and nephew Joshua, and 3 of the 4 siblings plus Abby plus a Congolese refugee who works as a janitor at UVA hospital whom Luke befriended, joined us for another weekend of marking this milestone.  33&34 years after our UVA college graduations, we sweltered through a festive weekend of our son's medical school graduation.  Who would have dreamed?  Now we are a three-doc family.  Very grateful to God, and very thankful to Dr. Luke for his perseverance, integrity, passion, values, community, scholarship.  He presented his first research poster and power-point at a Global Surgery conference in Toronto the week after.



Family celebrating Dr. Luke!

Baluku Morris, one of the Kule Leadership Ugandan Med students we sponsored, and Luke at the same Global Surgery meeting in Toronto!

Cross-country Marathon

As May turned the corner to June, we departed the farm and began a cross-country trek.  We're over 2000 miles into the 3000 mile journey to Seattle (from whence we will fly to Anchorage to see Caleb), then we have to come all the way back.  Luke's Honda CRV easily held his limited earthly possessions for his move to Salt Lake City, plus Julia's Prius rocking the gas milage and bringing the rest of the family and camping gear. Along the way we stopped in on Abby plus a few relatives and friends, certainly not everyone we could have as this trip included at least one 17-hour driving day, aiming for distance over depth.  Still it was a plus to see my aunt and uncle, and Scott's aunt, who are all in their mid-to-late 80's, doing well, to hug cousins, and to reconnect with some of the kids' friends.
Luke's car with all he owned, plus one borrowed bike, the morning we left

Julia and the Prius, before the windshield crack that spread slowly across mirroring our progress across the USA

Dropped in on Jack's room mate from Duke's family . . 

And my Uncle Joe, Aunt Patsy, and cousin Janet . . 

Plus Scott's Aunt Lyn and family . . 

And our dear friends the Bolthouses.

America the Beautiful

To keep sane in our dozens of car hours, we have camped or hiked in a few lovely places.  The Rockies (CO), Arches NP (UT), and Canyonlands NP (UT) so far.  Our experience of the American West is fairly limited, so we have reveled in the scale of the vista, the color palette of rocks, the clarity of the sky, the bright specks of wild flowers.  So far our sightings include two moose, numerous elk, marmots, chipmunks, squirrels, hawks, thrushes, various lizzards, and a bull snake that Scott nearly stepped on.  My maternal agoraphobia has been pretty intense.  (stay tuned for Scott to add better photos here . . )





Utah's symbol, the iconic Delicate Arch in Arches NP


Ten thousand feet up in the Rockies

I used to be tall. Sweet times with Julia.


A New Home for Luke

Tuesday afternoon we reached Salt Lake City, home to University of Utah's Orthopedic Surgery training program where Luke will begin his residency on June 22.  He signed a lease for a small but bright studio apartment, and we've spent the last three days learning the ins and outs of procuring reasonably priced home essentials in this city. Ikea nearly sent some of us into full blown catatonic mental overload, and it took us a while to figure out that all the grocery stores here are called "Smith's" (as in Joseph Smith, founder of Mormonism).   But we made it to the weekend with a bed, table, couch, and two chairs in place, plus a broom, some pans, sheets and pillows, and most importantly, a way to make coffee.  He has electricity, gas, and internet set up.  And on breaks from scouring the city (checking used furniture stores off our list when the chairs were priced like pieces of art . . . or realizing his small studio's inches of counter-space won't accommodate a dish-drying rack . . . ) we were treated to tickets to see the US National Women's Soccer team play an international friendly against China, and the local MLS team Real Salt Lake (a friend Luke played soccer with at UVA is now working for the Royals here in SLC), and we drove half an hour into the mountains east of the city for a spectacular (steep and exhausting though!) hike to an alpine lake fed by glacier-covered peaks.  Salt Lake City has been surprisingly fun city so far, and we are thankful for Luke's opportunity here.






Meanwhile, Myhre's crossing oceans

C. finished his 9-month combat deployment to Afghanistan and long-delayed trek back to the USA, landing in Anchorage a week ago.  We are so thankful for his safe return, and can't wait to see him IN THREE DAYS.  It's been over a year.  Jack began the cross-country drive with us, but flew to Burundi a week ago.  Literally he lifted off US soil one hour after C. landed on US soil.  He'll be working with the Kibuye team engineer Caleb Fader as they prepare for a team coming to install a massive solar array to power the hospital there.

The 1rst Lt. last night at his battalion's welcome home ball

Missing Jack already.  Thankful he could celebrate with Luke, and travel the first legs of this journey with us.  But a little sad that the six of us won't be together at one time this year (last time was Christmas 2016).

And life goes on

As we drive and engage, shop and cook, focus and listen here in the USA these two months . . . we also continue with phone calls, emails, zoom meetings, reports, plans for our teams in East and Central Africa.  Two hopeful and productive recruiting calls, many hour-long mentoring calls with leaders of 8 of our 11 teams plus a few others, personal meetings with supporters, speaking at our key supporting church, face-to-face retreat planning with our invited speaker, and more.  Sliding across American time zones while trying to connect with African ones can be challenging; the new reality that our family life and work life now have almost no overlap brings its own aches.  Kenya, Uganda, Burundi, Congo, South Sudan, and Malawi are never far from our awareness.

So, the world still needs remedy.  We need it as our rough edges of sin and self grate on each other in dozens of hours cooped up in cars, in the grinding gears of being a family after years of kids being independent adults.  Our world needs it this week as would-be immigrants have their toddlers taken away from them wailing, as lava flowed across Hawaii, as our Serge team in Nicaragua faced roadblocks and forced evacuation, as Ebola continued to spread in the DRC, as our new team leaders for Litein landed into immediate sickness and infestation and exhaustion trials.  But we look for tokens that the remedy comes.  That Jesus heals, reunites, celebrates.  And we see those tokens in the profusion of wildflowers and the graciousness of ordinary people who love us so well.

Aspens in Utah

Salt Lake City Saturday Farmer's Market this morning





Road Trip Birthday--over the speed limit and accelerating

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Monday was the last day of our 6,500+ mile month-long road trip (Sago, WV to Seattle, WA and back by road, not counting the Alaska loop by air).  It was also my birthday (hint for which year in the title . . ). In honor of the event, I got the FRONT SEAT for the final leg AND the option to call the stops.  This is a family in which I am the shortest/smallest so generally I sit in the middle of the back, and a family who can get in the car and drive 17 hours stopping only minutes for gas/bathroom breaks,  so that is a bigger gift than you might realize.

Amazing pastries and smiles at Birthday base, ground zero:
Baby Luke and Emily, a medical-mom hero.

A small-batch local roastery gave us Birthday stop one,
Because a caffeinated mom is a lot more fun.

A throwback to childhood for birthday stop two,
the turtle-pecan-cluster blizzard for lunch at DQ.

A hike in a park amidst chipmunks and trees
Immersion in nature for birthday stop three.

After a month away, a practical stop number four,
Stocking up on food from the grocery store.

Reaching Buckhannon for stop number five,
we caught half of a world cup match live.

Home at last, my true love and the flowers he picks
As we walked to meadow for treat number six.

In West Virginia, also known as "Almost Heaven," 
We met my mom at our farm for Birthday treat seven.

The Birthday draws to a close with event number eight,
Family, dinner by Julia, and gifts to celebrate.



Thanks to God for 56 good years, thanks to my Mom for my life and my Dad for this farm, thanks to Scott for family and love.  And to friends and supporters for partnering with us all these years.






Happy Independence Day America(ns)!

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Today the USA celebrates Independence from Britain, which is something all three countries where we have spent our life have in common.  All three countries had people living in them who to various extent welcomed the first British explorers; all three could not have foreseen the impact of the influx of humanity that would follow, and probably if the had they would have taken a more violent resistance earlier. In America, this day was organized by the British-origin and other European-origin people who over the course of a century and a half came to see themselves as Americans, who espoused noble ideas about freedom and truth for themselves and rejoiced to have the opportunity to implement them.  Independence day celebrates their achievement of those goals personally, and then in fits and starts for other immigrants from all over Europe, Asia, Africa, the world, though the outworking of that equality is still not complete.  Like many current Americans, our roots include immigrants from many places, those seeking economic opportunity, those fleeing injustice, those looking for religious freedom, those who were imported against their will.  Very little of our ancestry comes from original Americans, the people who were driven from their land by our other ancestors.  This makes America different from Kenya and Uganda; the relative extermination of the indigenous people within East Africa was less extensive, so the independence celebrations are more about throwing off colonizers rather than celebrating the colonizers throwing off the distant king.  It gets complicated as soon as you start thinking about it.  

Anyway, today we remember our American roots, and thank God for AMERICANS.  Yes, the mixed bag of people from all over the globe who inhabit this vast land and in spite of everything are basically full of kindness.  The last two years have not been our most shining moment for graciousness and maturity on the world stage.  But when you come to America and interact with Americans once again, you are reminded that the basic cultural values of this place DO shine.  Willingness to help, to be involved.  Generosity.  Courage.  Idealism.  Faith.

Today then a tribute to the hundreds of Americans who support us, who love us, and who have made these two months of "home assignment" a pleasure.

Day three or so in the country, wish we had snapped a photo of the Stemplers.  Ellen has been our power-of-attorney, handling all our paperwork, logistics, banking, taxes, mail, etc etc etc for way over a decade.  A hidden part of missionary service, the person who quietly and effectively has our back.  She's moving, so we had to go through that filing cabinet in her basement and throw most things out and re-sort.  She's still going to help, but we can't use our Virginia address anymore . . .


Our main purpose of travel was to celebrate Julia and Luke's graduations.  So a shout-out to the professors, bosses, friends, deans, etc. whom we did not even know but who watched out for our kids.  And to the families in both Durham (Harteminks) and Charlottesville (Turners, Woods, and others) who were ESSENTIAL when you live a continent away.

Then there are the random-acts-of-kindness people, like the woman (mother of a classmate we happened to meet in the restaurant and eat with) turned towards another guest in the back of this photo who picked up the bill for graduation lunch.  That kind of unexpected generosity reminds us over and over of God's goodness.


A thanks to the many families who let us descend upon them across the country.  Some we had barely met but were friends of our kids, others were relatives we had not seen in years, others were supporters.  (The Harries family in Annapolis above)


My Uncle Joe, Aunt Patsy, cousin Janet.

Scott's Aunt Lynn and family.

Jack's room-mates mom made space for all of us as we passed through.

The Bolthouses always lift our spirits with their fun and kindness.

A friend of Luke's gave us tickets to a MLS game!

Another Duke friend who showed us around her city and squeezed us into her family's house.

Not only college kids need "sponsor families"; Caleb has been blessed by the Hatters in Alaska and we were delighted to spend an evening with them.

Cathy takes the cake though . . . for not only supporting us for years, but offering a cabin on a remote island in a wilderness lake, complete with air-miles to get to the nearest town from Anchorage, boat transport to the island, various things we would need including moose steaks from her freezer, stories of real Alaska and a warm welcome.

The Shadids in Chicago, heart friends for decades.


Scott's residency partner, our friends Fran and Larry. 

Emily who hosted all of us on short notice after only having moved into her house the week before.

And of course family cared for us deeply, including the Aylestock Family reunion last weekend:





These two friends drove many hours through many challenges to be with us in WV.


And our church here in Sago, WV, who gave us this flag for Caleb and who greet us with warm hugs and sincere interest even though we disappear for months to years.  Happy 4th of July from us to all our fellow Americans, with prayers that this year we turn a corner back to our ideals and away from fear, isolation, or greed.  God has blessed us through you, and together we can bless the world.

Re-Entry Repeated, it never gets easy

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Here is why it never gets simple to live a fractured life.

We should be experts at this, but sometimes the reality just smacks us in the face once again.  I'll describe a bit of it here so you can remember not to glorify the exotic cross-cultural worker life too much.  First, there is the aching grief of goodbyes.  Our kids are now ages 20-25.  This is a stage of independence and accomplishment and they are all admirably brave in navigating those realities:  moving across countries and states, finding apartments, buying plates and beds, writing papers, finishing labs or exams, changing drivers licenses and car registrations and insurance forms, dealing with medical care and taxes, connecting with churches and friends.  They do 99% of this without our input.  And that's hard.  Sometimes it's nice in your college and launching years to know that your parents are within a day's drive, or could show up for a weekend or attend an event or buy you a meal.  So being immersed in a fraction of that for two months and then flying several continents and 8000 miles away hurts. 


Likewise our moms are in their 80's.  This is a stage of independence and accomplishment of a different sort, they are plucky and resilient in their own brave ways, driving, cooking, connecting, serving, supporting, exercising.  They lean a little on our sisters, and on their friends and community, but they also live 99% without our input.  And it's also hard to know that we can't show up for a doctor's appointment, or take them out to a meal, or surprise them for a birthday.  Neither expected to invest their lives in mothering and then live with such little contact for so many decades.

So the return starts with hard goodbyes.  There is a little suspended out-of-time journey of darkness, video screens, cramped legs, meals on trays, that I actually love (movies and food and dozing and no responsibility).  And then we land right into the chaos of the airport in Nairobi, where luggage is being randomly thrown on two different belts and taken off by any and everyone, trying to find our bags (we did), and we drive in the darkness of a throbbing city and up the Rift Valley escarpment and it feels like home as we are embraced by old friends and team.  But we're tired and jet lagged and pretty quickly the sheer onslaught of minor difficulties reminds us that we aren't called to ease.

For example, in our 48 hours back, we found:  our internet modem exploded and had to be replaced (trip to the Safaricom shop and about an hour of forms and reboots), our toilet is leaking so the bathroom floor is wet (at least we have one), our clothes left in the closet have rat droppings enfolded and chew marks (laundry, traps) and our shoes molded, someone tried to break into the front window (they broke it but didn't get in), our houseworker who cleaned while we were at the hospital one day a week quit because a family she worked for previously returned (sounds small, but trusting someone in your home with everything for two years and then returning to find her unavailable was sad), the path we ran/walked on for daily sanity has been closed off by a wall of rock and thorn (for security they said, so now we have to find a new longer route around), in our absence our landlord did projects with our water tank that destroyed our little sustenance garden (we'll have to replant and wait), and we are sharing our home for the rest of July with college students on an internship (which is big-picture great but of course another change to come home to). Kenya also decided after we left in May to give two months for all foreigners to do a biometric registration exercise (as our friend says, in the days of Caesar Augustus . . ) so we barely made the deadline of spending our second day back going to Nairobi to report with our documents and be counted, which is always a stressful and unknown process.  Scott almost lost his life to a speeding motorcycle going the wrong way on a divided highway we were crossing as pedestrians. The Massos and Bethany are departing for a long season, and we will say goodbye tomorrow.  They are some of our best and longest-term friends.  More grief.  All to say, that from moth-and-rust-doth-corrupt realities of a two month absence to re-orienting to life that has shifted in significant points while we were gone, re-entry is HARD.  


And that's just the background stuff.  There are already so many Serge issues with teams and the retreat that we've tried to keep up with while in the USA (and it was much harder than one might think to keep our minds/hearts divided and focused back here, so we dropped a lot of balls), so we are hitting the ground running but already feeling out of breath.  Plus we haven't even gone back to the hospital until Monday, where no doubt there will be new people to work with and habits, rounds, meetings, medicines, etc. will have changed and we will be disoriented and catching up from behind once again.  I probably can't remember any Swahili.  Sigh.
There are bright spots for sure, a dog thrilled to see us, a comfortable bed and mosquito net, new neighbors who are also old friends come to spend six months on a research project, meals proffered and community restored.  We do love and choose this life and work.  But some weeks the cost is more evident, and more steep, than others.  Jesus said it would be, we just like to forget that.

Thanks for journeying with us by reading and praying.  And remember that if we're this disoriented by a transition we've made uncountable times (though it's always a little different), redouble your empathy for all the people we lead for whom this cycle of loss and learning and the constant imbalance of re-entry hits hard.


Until we sit under the vine and fig tree . . . .

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Today a goodbye to my two dear friends was disguised as a birthday party for Liana, who graduated a few days ago from high school and takes off for America in a couple more.  We sat around the table at a very nice restaurant, dressed in our best, circling to share 18 things we love about Liana as we reach the end of her 18th year, sampling each other's food, toasting and reminiscing.  As we got ready to leave, Karen was so intent on being sure we had a good hugging goodbye that ONLY THEN did it hit me, this is the end of an era.  Not only Liana, but Karen and Bethany are leaving.  How did this happen so fast?

Michael was a single guy engineer in Bundibugyo in our early days in the 1990s, who went back to the USA and proposed to Karen (best move of his life) then brought his bride to be our neighbor.  We have walked through pregnancies and deliveries, evacuations and decisions, school and church, vacations and ministry together for over 20 years.  Bethany joined us in the early 2000's and has been part of our teams or working while studying from the US or a bit of both for the last 15.  Uganda, Sudan, and Kenya.  Countless prayer meetings, walks, insights, care.  When we moved to Kijabe I never expected to get these two friends back in my daily life, but the war in South Sudan and the needs at RVA and Moffatt Bible college and the friendships we held and our kids' lives meant we became team mates again.  Even moving to Naivasha they have been intentional faithful friends.  I am 17 years older than Bethany, and Karen is just about in the middle of us, but we feel like close classmates or sisters, with different personalities and gifts but similar joys and motivations and goals.

Now the Massos are beginning a long slow transition to juggle the needs of all their kids and family, which will see Karen spending more and then most of her time based in Philadelphia with Serge.  Bethany is heading back to start a PhD in clinical psychology at Fuller, with research in community based resilience-building for trauma care.  Their lives continue to arc with ours in commitment to the marginalized of East and Central Africa, and in connection with Serge.  Still, it is the end of one era, one that seems quite pivotal in our life.  

In college we gathered our own "Africa Team" with a vision for serving together.  A few of us did, but over the decades I've seen God's grace in building His own teams and bringing amazing people into our lives (and us into theirs) to show us more of His love and grace.

Here's to friends who stick with you over the hardest times of life, and to life-long commitments in spite of distances to come.  In church this morning our leader read Zechariah 3, a vision I don't remember noticing too much before, but the scene is Heaven, and Satan is accusing a man named Joshua who represents Israel.  God steps in to rebuke the accusations and personally provide clean clothes and a promise that points to Jesus.  And the sign will be "In that day declares the LORD of hosts, every one of you will invite his neighbor to come under his vine and under his fig tree." (v. 10) . The defeat of evil is pictured as a picnic in the shade of grape vines and a fig tree, sweet abundance of food and fellowship.  That's where we are headed, and I have to believe I'll see more of that in this life with these two, and in eternity unending.



Deeper In

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Eugene Peterson writes about the post-resurrection fish-fry Jesus threw for his followers.  History has just pivoted on the point of the entropy's reversal.  Shouldn't His followers be in the Temple?  Or making speeches?  Instead, they are back to their boats, throwing their nets, water and wind and night air and the rhythms of their occupation. Peterson comments on this Gospel, "John shows Jesus getting us deeper into this world than we ever thought possible, not getting us out of it."  The resurrection life is not a ticket to the ethereal, it is a gritty existence with traction in this world's dust and sand.



This week we were back into the depths of life in Naivasha.  Biking to work at the hospital, plodding through presentations of patients, teaching interns, grabbing oxygen and working to bring breath back into babies, listening to hearts and lungs, making phone calls, arranging for scans, considering diagnoses, talking to parents, explaining differentials, keeping alert to fluctuations in jaundice or weights, being called to the operating theatre, Scott intervening to save mother's lives and me trying our best with their babies.  After two months in the USA I was surprised by how immediate the immersion occurred.  Within minutes it felt quite normal.  More than that, I was surprised by how much I really do love messy impossible health care for marginal children.  Teaching the nurses and interns how to calculate a dose or recognize a seizure (always a little disturbing to reach into a crib on rounds to examine a baby and be the first one to notice they are convulsing . . ).  For Scott, teaching them to do an ultrasound, to follow the course, to extract a breech, to safely complete a C-section.  In spite of all the misery, there is also the sense:  this is what we were made to do.

Following Jesus into Naivasha is following deeper into this broken world, not finding ways to escape it.  Hands-on, blood and reality.  Deeper into life even to the point of death, not instant solutions and controlled endings.  Jesus met Peter and John and the others in their boats after a futile night of their normal work.  We pray He meets us in the corridors of a District hospital, leaning over beds crammed with doubled-up patients, facing the futility of chromosomal errors and lungs filled with muck.  


Following Jesus deeper in pulls us away from people we love, which is the hardest part of all.  But we aren't alone, far from it.  I'll close with some photos of the perks of being on this journey with others.
Three Wheaton college students and Professor Scott Ickes (who worked with us in Bundi), here for the summer to study the impact of women's work on flower farms and in the tourism industry on their ability to breast feed their babies . . extremely important topics.  

One afternoon I took the three college students staying in our house to Crescent Island . . one of the beauties of Naivasha, which you can see in the background.




Another night, dear friends from Virginia passed through!  Summer is the short term mission season, and they were with a church group headed to support a Kenyan school and orphanage.  John and Mary are truly like a brother and sister in their connection to our family.  Pretty crazy to meet them on this side of the earth.

And even though the majority of the weekend we spent working, today was a real Sabbath.  Playing the piano for worship, making waffles and ice cream for our neighbors the Ickes's and our house guests, remembering community and celebration.




Quiet time in the afternoon, deeper in.






Invitation to Wilderness: Serge East/Central Africa 2018 Retreat

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 Over the last two weeks, we hosted Greg and Courtney Thompson and their family to a brief experience of Africa combined with speaking to our East and Central Africa Area in Serge for our Area Retreat, held every 3-4 years.  We invited them into some wilderness, and then they showed us that God invites all of us.

Greg spoke from Exodus 13, a passage I think I've tended to gloss over.  In verse 17 we are told that even though the way to the Promised Land could have been easier and shorter, God led them through the wilderness of the Red Sea, the desert, the thunderings of Sinai, the hunger and snakes and years of camping.  There the people were stripped of clarity and control, he said, as an invitation to intimacy with God.  



Powerlessness and confusion?  Well, we have that in abundance as we cross cultures, make a thousand mistakes, struggle to understand and be understood, to order and bless in the face of chaos. The shocking proposition he laid before us:  God actually brings us here for our good, to embrace us with protection and presence.  We need to be shaken out of our little kingdoms of comfort to cling to the only love that matters. 


In fact the entire narrative is one of a lover and a beloved, a growing confidence and warmth that actually transforms us into people whose potential for reflecting beauty and truth into a broken world brings about the vision of community we long for. Communion with God and with each other, spilling over into acts of justice and mercy for all.  We trust the path even when it leads through suffering, because it leads to intimacy with God.




It was over a year ago when we began dialoguing about this retreat.  In the meantime the Thompsons walked through some wilderness of their own, ultimately deciding to leave the place they have loved and worked in for the last two decades and move to Memphis to be part of the movement towards beginning to heal the centuries of racial injustice in America.  And in the meantime our people in Kenya, Uganda, Burundi, Congo, South Sudan, and soon Malawi have walked their own wilderness paths of grief and loss.  We faced miscarriages and wars and Ebola nearby and temptations and failings and loneliness and the mundane daily stress of feeding a family and caring for others.  But over the last week, we all came together to worship and pray, to strengthen and encourage, to ponder anew the God who pursues us even when the path feels obscure and the higher purposes cloudy.  

We are so grateful, to them and to the dozen others who came to speak to us.  We had 6 days of retreat, including Team Leader training on topics from vision to paperwork.  We had a panel of Kenyans express to us what it is like to be shamed by us, to be isolated or treated unfairly, good hard things we needed to hear.  We had long-term Serge wise people speak to us about evangelism and loving others and ministry from weakness and transforming communities.  We had spirited worship and a communion service on the beach under the stars. We danced and drew, swam and ate and ate some more.  We celebrated.  We commiserated.  We finally hugged goodbye and went on our hundred wilderness paths back to beautiful stretching places where God woos us to be loved.

Thanks to all who prayed for this time, and do keep us in your hearts as we return to the journey.


The Post-Parting Blues

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Post-parting blues may be the theme of life.  Humanity left the garden of peace, harmony, purpose, community (the photo from our beach retreat above reminds us of Eden) for a life marked by fracturing.  Our hearts were created for continuity and presence; they feel crushed by the reality of partings.  I don't think I expected to be hit with this so hard as we returned to Naivasha this week, but in retrospect it makes sense.  We pray over and pour into the people we serve, and one thing I've learned about prayer this year is how it catches one up on another's story, how it cultivates tenderness towards them.  So after a week of intense immersion in actual palpable relationship (not just virtual or spiritual) with 140 people we love, the parting was rough.  And augmented by saying goodbye to Jack (AGAIN).  He had an amazingly rich summer with our Kibuye team working on engineering projects, and the gift of an intersection point between family and work is no small gift.  His work also enabled him to serve as the 5-to-7 year old kid program leader at the retreat, and have meals and talks and fun with us.  I'm so thankful.  But the taste of the old days when our Serge life and family life went hand in hand makes this post-parting week even harder.                       

So. . . since that aching pit-of-the-stomach emptiness is part and parcel of August for many in the world, schools starting, kids leaving, vacations ending, new jobs and programs .  .  here are some ways that we see God giving us grounding to make it through those blues.

1.  A theology of parting and hope.  This book Every Moment Holy (thanks to friends) is a beautiful collection of bringing meaning into the every day moments of life, the behind-the-veil deeper realities.  I've been reading the section about missing someone, which reminds us that even that sorrow can make room in our hearts to invite God to change us, to fill us, to make something new, to open space to love others.  We don't deny the missing, but we do expect redemption even in this.  And we do see that Jesus walked this path, and continues to walk it with us.

2.  A discipline of meaningful work.  Truly our days of hands-on concrete patient care and teaching do give us a sense of rootedness and place, of being part of a community of good.  The partings are not meaningless, they serve for the good of someone.  Teaching our interns, performing surgery, attending to fragile patients, all fill our days. 






3.  Inviting others into the space.  What a treat that Alyssa, one of our Burundi Team Leaders, was able to spend some time with us in Naivasha this weekend.  The Ickes family next door, our church friends and worship team.  God continues to send us others even as we miss many. The emptiness can be an opportunity of sorts.


4.  Phone calls and photos.  The wonders of technology, seeing Jack reunite with Caleb whom he had not seen for well over a year, and climb mountains in Alaska.  Talking to Julia and Luke on the phone.  Hearing from our moms. Emails from many others.  Don't let me ever take for granted the fact that I can text Utah while writing a blog post in Kenya.  

5.  The long term view.  Ultimately we know that all these partings are temporary.  The great cloud of witnesses still wait in another dimension.  And in this world, time will carry us back to most of the people we miss today.


As always, this is a pep talk to ourselves, but let's remember the ones we love and encourage each other to press on with hope.

Wobbling but steadfast

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Who remembers these toys from our childhood?  I suspect my 50-something friends . . .  Weebles wobble but they don't fall down. They were little people with rounded, weighted bases, who tipped but popped back up.  

Kind of like us in real life now.  One of the constants of this season:  being thrown off-balance by unexpected change/problems/issues/sorrows.  This morning, for instance, one intern was so sick the nurses in the Newborn Unit had hung an IV drip, and even though she said she would still try to work she clearly had to go home (not that we would want someone with that level of gastroenteritis touching babies even if we weren't compassionate), the other intern is supposed to be on his last day and was unreachable until afternoon, all the new clinical officer interns were called to a half-day meeting, one medical officer (like a resident) got sent to a month-long training and the other had to leave for a family funeral, the medical students went to clinic, and my colleague was a couple hours delayed on the road.  Meaning that out of our team of 12, one lone clinical officer intern who wasn't in the meeting, and me, were left to round on, do vital signs, write notes, draw blood, talk to parents, for 32 NICU and about 30 more Paeds ward patients.  Or take this week: we found out that our medical licenses got lost in the cracks of ever-changing medical superintendents, one of us went to considerable effort to gather evidence-based support for following the Kenyan protocol for a certain type of patient but the team decided to just do what they have always done anyway, one of our kids had travel delays and later found out (unrelated) about a misunderstood missed deadline, I was scrambling to get the final edits on on the 4th Rwendigo book, all our kids are in significant transition as Julia wraps up her last week at Spring Lake Farm in Vermont and prepares to move to her Fellow's Program in Greensboro, Jack moves into his apartment with Cru friends at Duke (where he has no bed), Luke continues to figure out being an ortho intern, Abby (Luke's girlfriend) seemed to have one apartment after another fall through (though she finally got a place for her NP Trauma Fellowship), and Caleb got transferred to a different platoon that means he'll spend two of the next three months in additional training and field exercises.  Then there are wobbles one doesn't expect to make such an impact, like the death of one of our family friends Dr. Fred Hubach who represented the stable foundation of my childhood. There was a day when riots made the road our teams were traveling in Uganda impassible, and then an embassy notice went out to expect street protests in Kenya too. There is the daily scan of the Ebola news, praying the epidemic does not reach Bundibugyo or Nyankunde (so far it hasn't, which we are thankful for, though the total cases have risen to 103).  There was the afternoon I spent catching up our mortality database, feeling sad about the babies who have died.  Then there are the small things like going to worship practice, and the leader has decided I need to add the electronic percussion on the keyboard, which I've never done, so it was kind of stressful.  Or the fact that the lady who does two half-days of housework for us while we're in the hospital left for the week.  Or the bizarre announcement that after changing our residence to WV two months ago, the 911 coordinator decided to change our address number (we're on a little gravel country road but for some reason 3413 will eventually have to change to 3317 . . . ).  Or the constant cross-cultural nature of everything.  Nothing earth shattering, just the constant pushes and punches that knock you off your groove.  And all the above is this week alone.

Wobbling, righting, wobbling, righting.

One morning this week I was really struggling, particularly discouraged.  I knew that the constant hits throwing me off-balance had resulted in a pretty poor attitude.  This verse jumped out. "Create in me a clean heart, O LORD, and renew a steadfast spirit within me . . . that the bones You have broken may rejoice."  I need a new, tender, heart, a renewed steady spirit.  And the promise is that even the broken parts will eventually rejoice.  

The weighted bottom of the Weeble is what keeps it popping back up, and the weight in our lives is that anchor called hope, that leaning into a dimension where the spirit is being refined like silver.  Honestly the prayer for a steadfast spirit and clean heart DID help with the next day's punches.

We're all little Weebles trying to testify to glory.  

Advice to Oursevles

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This is an imaginary letter from people we work with in East Africa to us . . . garnered from our own plentiful mistakes when we have had friends who were brave enough to tell us what we needed to hear.  It is compiled here to help all us North Americans listen and learn. It has nothing to do with this photo, but I like this photo . . 

Dear Cross-cultural worker -

We want a partnership with you, and we see you have a lot to offer us.  You have great training, and you believe in what you are doing here.  We respect that. We like the way you've brought your family to our place.  So let us tell you a few things that will help you have an impact and enjoy your time.

Short answer:  it's all about investing in relationships.  

As you come, we assume you aren't going to stay long, so we often hold back.  We also fear that you don't particularly like our food or houses, which seem inferior to yours, so we're reluctant to reach out to you.  You might think God told you to come here, but He didn't necessarily tell us!  So you need to come into our place FIRST asking questions about whether you are needed and where, and how you can come alongside us.  Then you will need to do the work to come across to us.  If you plan events where we can interact on equal terms, if you can share food with us, if you can stop and talk to us, if you can ask questions, it builds a bridge with us.  It makes us feel seen as human beings. 

When you come, learn our language.  Know about our country, notice good things about it, write some positives in your blogs and letters showing that you actually like this place.  Don't make everything sound desperate.  Don't make it sound like you're the only one working, all alone, taking credit for everything that happens.  Mention us. Pray for our country too!

God is merciful, and even though God is just, God doesn't keep a scorecard of everything we do wrong.  Sometimes it seems like you notice every single deficiency and call us out on it.  You even seem surprised when things end up going well in spite of our mistakes, as if it doesn't make sense since we didn't do it your way.  Try to understand our limitations, try to adjust to new ways.  Ask us about our family obligations, ask why we need time away, ask who is depending on our salary, realize that we don't have a buffer like you do.  Notice what kind of schooling options we have for our kids, and how it's different from yours.  In fact many of us are sacrificing to work with you, but we aren't admired for that, and when we go home no one buys us dinner or lends us a car, instead they ask us for help.

We do appreciate all you've given up, but think about it this way:  you sometimes want to complain to us about how hard it's been for you, yet your lifestyle here is still far above what we can hope for.  So don't expect us to feel too sorry for you.

Sometimes we will have conflicts.  All people do.  Here, we don't feel comfortable being as direct as you are. If you want to correct or change something, pull us aside and tell us quietly, never shame us in front of others.  When you show anger, we can't hear anything you have to say.  If it's something really hard or big, please find a person we can both listen to who can mediate for us.  That's how we do things here.

Our favorite things:  when you come with a commitment to teach, to pass on your role, to give us your skills, to invest in training us. When you treat us as equal partners, when you notice us doing something right and point it out, when you ask our opinion and we can see we have something to contribute.  When you introduce us with respect, or tell others to listen to us, let your children play with ours.  When we can pray for each other.  When you remember us after you leave, and keep in touch.

Thanks for listening,
Your friends who put up with you for the last 25 years

OVC's--Caring for Orphans and Vulnerable Children

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four preems in one incubator today . . it doesn't get much more vulnerable than this

James 1:27 says "Pure and undefiled religion before God and the Father is this:  to visit orphans and widows in their trouble, and to keep oneself unspotted from the world." 

Active mercy, and deliberate counter-cultural living.  These two threads twine together when God's people pour their lives into the most vulnerable.  So many Kingdom parables talk about the small, the overlooked, the fragile, the margins.  

There are countless ways to love orphans and vulnerable children (and widows), but lately I've been asked a few times about our Serge East and Central Africa approach, so here'a a brief overview.  

Embracing presence:  we go to the places where the orphans and the vulnerable live.  Most measures of childhood risk light up the maps of sub-Saharan Africa, as well as India and South-East Asia.  That's where we are, in the villages and city streets, in the hospitals and schools.  We're not sending ideas from afar, we're walking alongside.

Empowering community capacity:  our primary method of visiting the orphans and vulnerable is to provide the means for their extended family to care for them.  This can look like food supplements for surrogate breast-feeding aunts and grandmothers when a mother dies.  Or dairy goats for families with HIV.  Or house-building for widows caring for children.  Or producing a locally sourced nutrition supplement, so that the weekly gatherings provide touchpoints for care and education and function as a support troup for the weary (see here and here and here).  Africans have been caring for their orphans and vulnerable kids for millennia; we're not here to change that but rather to bow to justice in sharing what we've been given.

Breaking generational cycles:  one of our biggest projects, which has been a battle for every inch of progress, has been Christ School Bundibugyo.  The school subsidy allows students from one of the poorest places in Africa to receive the best education in the district.  But we also provide full scholarships for about 20% of the student body through the OVC program.  Most of our teams have a strong educational component to pass skills on, and we attempt to focus on the most marginalized as we do.  This enables the last to become first, which is a Kingdom-coming moment.  

Seeing individuals:  across our countries of work, our teams have set up sponsorships for individual OVC's.  God sees first, and we follow.  Today alone, I had texts from three different young people whom we've sent to laboratory school, medical school, and nursing school.  Others have become math teachers or pastors or seamstresses.  Our teams want to be the catalysts that change lives, for those who would have otherwise had no dream of such opportunity.  And we see them now turning back to their communities to seek out and bless others like themselves.

Safe places and fun:  orphans and vulnerable kids need counseling.  They need after-school programs, tutoring, discipleship and sports.  They need coaches and pastors and teachers and friends.  They need skills training and support.  Just one person in a child's life can prove to be the channel of belief, fostering potential, cheering them on, giving them an alternative to the hard losses in their lives. It's so much fun to see a pack of kids playing football or drawing pictures or listening to stories.

Survival:  much of our Serge area works on a very basic level to just enable children to survive, to provide safe deliveries so they won't become orphans, to provide decent care for their illnesses, immunizations, growth monitoring, clean water and sanitation.  Day and night, we're working with our local partners to care for the most vulnerable.

There are excellent organizations that run orphanages; Serge is not one of them.  Quite a few of our missionaries are adoptive parents, which makes sense as the same people whose heart for the hurting propels them across the world also tend to want to give a home to an individual child, but we are also not an adoption agency. The places we work are mostly very traditional in culture, with an extended family network to absorb their orphans and vulnerable kids.  So we have chosen to focus on community-based efforts to strengthen capacity and build resilience, to enable children to remain integrally part of their culture while also having enough to eat and a decent education.  It's not the only model, and there are always exceptional circumstances that look different, but generally that's our modus operandi.  

Jesus tells us that as we pour ourselves out for the least of these, we actually in some true but mysterious way encounter him in the process.

Pray for our workers; the fractured systems take a toll, the reality of vulnerability means we see too much death.  Follow some of the links above if you want to join in a material way, putting your resources into high-impact places.  And consider what kind of true religion you seek.  According to James, it's not about winning political power and influence, but visiting--actually GOING TO--the orphans and widows.  We need teachers and coaches and nurses and nutritionists and artists and therapists and pastors and counselors and builders and engineers and probably gifted people we haven't even thought of.  Here's the link to find out more!

A few OVC's from my world today . . . 










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