Songs for the Dead.

Hopelessness.That is what I saw in the eyes of the women as the wailing sounds surrounded me. Marta was the local witch doctor in Nagishot; A woman whose very face invoked pity. She was childless (a very shameful thing in this culture) she was an alcoholic falling down hurting herself or burning herself in the fire. she was crippled, often crawling to reach places she wanted to go. Covered in scars and burns from her witchcraft practice, Marta was lost and Marta was alone and now, Marta was dead.

 When someone dies in Didinga there are many rituals that must me be observed; Like the beating and eventual killing of a goat to insure the spirit of the deceased does not return to do evil.

 For a typical Didinga funeral, everyone comes and sits on mats and mourns together for their friend or family member. The grieving is often done in song. Wailing songs about how the person died and calling out the name of the dead in high pitched minor notes, that sometimes make me shiver in their eeriness.

 The night before Marta died, I woke up around three in the morning with her heavily on my mind. I had heard she had suddenly fallen sick just that afternoon yet by the time I reached the clinic they had already sent her home and so I decided to visit her the next morning. This wasn't the first time Marta was sick, I guess I assumed it wouldn't be the last.

 I lay there in my bed praying for Marta and debating if I should go to her house in the middle of the night, as she seemed so heavy my heart. I didn't go. Even though I've been a follower of Jesus for some time, I am still learning to know the difference between the Lords prodding and my own. Oh, for a listening heart!

 I prayed for Marta until I drifted back to sleep. The next morning she died and so I went to her funeral and sat surrounded by friends as they sang their songs for the dead.   

My head hurt and my heart ached with sadness as the women next to me wailed, "oh Marta, oh Marta! You fell sick and died...oh God, take her to heaven!!!" Someone brought out pictures of Jesus colored with cranes and placed them on the grave, someone else put down some of Marta's charms on the grave. It was a desperate attempt to please whatever god or spirit would listen.

Funerals are not easy in Didinga, yet they are common. Marta was the witch doctor who needed Jesus. Many times she had heard the gospel and had opportunity to respond. Even that last week, before she even fell sick, she was visited by the pastor and given opportunity to hear. Many times I sat with her and talked about Jesus who loved her.

We do not know her heart; perhaps in her last moments she turned and accepted Him who had been pursuing Marta since her birth. 

Marta is gone, but her friends remain. Pray for them, that they would listen and respond to the Good News; that they would have hope; that they would see Jesus. That they would not turn to witchcraft and spirits to save them. Please pray for these precious people! 

Burning the Chaff. Decluttering the Heart

    The sky is full of smoke during the day and at night you can see the crimson flames licking up the weeds and left-over chaff from the wheat. The Didinga are burning their fields. The wheat harvest is done and the beginning of rainy season is upon us! Everyone is in anticipation as they wait for the first rains to fall and for the plowing and planting to begin!

                 

Though the fields look scorched and marred now, because they are burned, within the next 

month of rain the hills will turn green and the soil will be rich with upcoming plants. Burning releases nutrients into the ground, which help revitalize the soil. It’s also a method of brush, tick and weed control. It never ceases to amaze me how fast the flush of green replaces the chard and burnt!

The other night the field next to my hut was being burned. I watched as excited children and teenagers grabbed handfuls of weeds aflame and helped light the field. It was the closest to the 4th of July I've seen in two years! I walked through the burning field and reflected about the things in my life that I can hold on to so tightly. I thought about the necessity of those things being burned away so that new things can grow. I want to be fruitful and full of life. 

Maybe it's unforgiveness, resentment, disappointment, hurt, anger, fear or distrust. Maybe it's something that started out good, but like the wheat, has served it's purpose, gleaned and must now be let go of. Perhaps it's time to let God burn some of your fields too.

So often I'm afraid of being burnt, afraid to take the hand of sorrow or suffering, afraid I'll be made empty and desolate and alone...

Yet, if wheat is not ground it is not useful for tasty bread. 

Unless a sead dies it remains alone. 

And more than anything we can trust God who does the refining because He does so only to brings life afterward. 

"When through the deep waters I call thee to go,

The rivers of woe shall not thee overflow;
For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.

When through fiery trials thy pathways shall lie,
My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply;
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine."

The Journey to South Sudan in Pictures.

After purchasing all of our groceries for the next three months we transported them to the guesthouse via 'boda- boda.'

It was a difficult task to fit luggage, supplies, food and 4 people into one Land Rover!

We were packed REALLY tight for two days on bumpy hot roads.

Crossing the Nile River. 

We saw some baboons chillin' by the Nile.

We had only one casualty flat tire...Too bad the car jack was at the bottom under all the luggage. :) 

Stopping for a bit of tea. 

Looking out the window delighting in God's beautiful creation in Africa!

     

Getting out to run and stretch the legs. Yep, even in 100 + weather! 

Trudging through rocky roads,(suddenly I want icecream!) trails and fallen trees. 

I was so happy to see the Didinga mountains, knowing I was almost home!

Finally all unpacked and happy to see familiar faces!

I Miss You

Dear Africa,

It's been 4 months since I left you. At first I was happy to go and see my home in America. Yet lately I keep dreaming of you. I hear your children laughing and...I miss you.

I miss your color. Splashes of red, purple and gold captivate my memories and I smile.

I miss your music. The fast pace beat of the drum and the emotional rhythm with clapping hands and body fully given to melody. I miss you.

I miss your Children, those dark eyes looking up at mine so deep, so full. The beautiful smiles that make my heart embrace life....I will never recover from their looks. Oh Africa, I miss you.

I miss your crazy, unpredictable nature! I never know when you will surprise me, your personal, community orientated schedule. I miss you.

I miss your dirt, that blanket that covers almost everything and paints your world in red.

I miss your noise, full of languages and activity, mooing, baaing, and clucking and song.

I miss your people, those I have grown to love and care so deeply about.

I miss you.

I miss you.

I miss you.

I will never be the same because of you and I love you.

See you next week!

Because Jesus lives,

                                   Abbi

 

It's not about the Bull it's about the horns, antlers or whatever.

The dress code in November is camouflage if you live in Plains Montana, coupled with a bright orange vest. In fact if you do not wear this uniform with pride you may get some disapproving looks. It is, after all hunting season!  Everyone knows that the size of the man or woman is shown by the size of the antlers on the animal you shot, killed, gutted and posted on Facebook. Oh, the majestic head of a glorious buck or bull, which if shot must be thrown in the back of your pickup truck and driven around town, tail gate down, antlers showing and tongue out for a minimum of three hours.

Now, I was raised a Montana girl, but sometimes I fail to understanding the obsession with hunting season. So I set myself to understand it this week, and this is just a few notes of my research.. 

There is something that comes over a Montana man during hunting season...I like to call it "That time of the year."  The man becomes highly emotional and sensitive.
 

If you sat in a little café here in Plains long enough, you more than likely would see men walk in after a long day of hunting, all clad in their armor of camo and orange.  They find a group already sitting around the table. "Where you been hunting?" says the one man to the next, looking away as he takes a swig of his coffee.  "In the woods, you idiot!" says the other (either that or he tells a falsehood about where his favorite hunting spot is; there is a lot of heckling and lies among this crowd.)

Now if you was not informed proper (sorry; I can't help but add some redneck rhetoric), then you might think this was a cruel and unkind response, and that it was perfectly okay for one man to ask where the other was hunting, when in fact it was completely inappropriate!  Pretend you're a cook right now and someone just asked for your secret recipe! How do you feel? I mean, that's just rude!  

Remember the whole, "men get over emotional during this time of the year?"  Yeah, well, this also happens when another man gets a big buck while the other is still looking. Apparently, getting skunked is like dying an old maid...apparently it's sad. I was consoling a woman the other day with my new found knowledge, as she expressed concern that her son would be jealous over her other son's buck.  I told her that, "It's like a girl getting married, on one hand you are angry that the girl is married and you are not, but on the other hand you're rather happy that the girl is off the market." I told her, just tell him, "The woods are open my son and you still get to look for bigger and better bucks, while your brother has filled his tag and now he just has to sit at home and cut up meat!"

I was trying to follow a conversation with two hunters the other day who were pretending to be humble. They had measuring tape out and the antlers of the white tail bucks they had killed. They were slurring out numbers, "Ahhh it's just a 122 (I really can't remember but there was a lot of numbers.) "Yeah, he's not that big, but he's all right," he says as he can hardly lift the massive tangled rack!

"I shot a two point once..." I wanted to say that, but I think they would have called me a baby Bambi killer. Yes, people will laugh at you if you don't come home with a 4, 5 point or whatever.

Bottom line...I'm not a hunter...and I would just like to confess that, with only one day left for hunting season, I still don't really get it, but just like the movie "Bambi" I find it entertaining.

You might be going through culture shock if...

 Well, it has not quite been a month since I have been in the States eating meat, communicating in English and texting "lol" If I could sum it all up in one word it would be, 'crazy',  absolutely crazy and wonderful, Okay, that was three I know. :)  I just want to hold on to every moment of laughter, sunshine and dwell in the absolute glory of holding the hand of my little nephew.

  I have my moments of finding myself outside with my tooth brush and water bottle brushing my teeth or pointing to things with my tongue (Didinga culture thing), or forgetting to flush a toilet or I'll be washing my hands for five minutes at the tap because first of all, it comes out and secondly, it comes out warm and THAT is stinking amazing! I WAS thinking  "I'm readjusting to this American world pretty well!"

But now I'm thinking "Or not"

 I'm having these moments of identity crisis where I'm walking down the street and think, "Who am I now, am I who I was before I left for Africa or am I who I became in Africa, or something all together different?"

Truth be told, since I've been back, I feel like I've been in this huge fog or like I am standing in the ocean with massive waves coming at me in quick pace and all I can do is stand firm because if one takes me down I might drown. I try to fix my mind to think clearly and help all the wonderful people around me to understand Africa, but the truth is, I don't understand Africa right now!

 I have all these weird emotions of duty, pride, anger, love, hurt, joy, anticipation, fear and trust, I find myself trying to fix other people's problems because I don't know how to fix my own (Why do we do that?!).

A couple of days ago I was in the children's isle of the library reading to my Niece "Born to be a Butterfly" for young readers.  Suddenly I just started tearing up, feeling so sad for the poor butterfly going through all that pain and venerability just to become a butterfly!

 Tears where streaming down my face as I read to her about how the butterfly first is born an egg then becomes a caterpillar.  The caterpillar get's so hungry because she needs to grow.  This desire causes her to eat and eat but the more she eats the tighter her skin gets around her and eventually her skin breaks open and she has different skin, this changing skin thing happens four times before she begins to develop this hard skin that protects her inside (the cocoon), and she just hangs out for awhile. (literally)

But inside a change is happening, she finally comes out of her cocoon with her wings all wet and vulnerable there she lingers on a leaf and can not move, she can not fly she must simply wait for the sun to dry her wings and when it does, she flies off with her translucent yellow and red wings in the sunshine.

I felt a little ridiculous crying over a little children's book, but God has put such beautiful illustrations in his creation! Since I've been back from Sudan, I feel a little messed up inside, a little confused and lost but I am confident that this is just a part of the transition God is doing in my heart. Aren't most of us just a little afraid of every stage of pain and glory? Of hunger and waiting? Well, I am, and sometimes I think I most likely will come out a moth rather than a butterfly.  I am so happy God knows what He's doing! That he did indeed create us to be more than we are and He will bring each transition on in it's own time.

So just wait, we may feel like little crawling things now, but one day we will be pretty glorious too.

The Way Home.

The past few weeks in Nagishot were crazy! I went to two funerals, helped deliver a baby, stayed up late with friends and counted down the days before I could hug my baby sister.

Then, the day finally came to begin the journey. That journey  which would lead me back to Montana, the place of pine trees and bluegrass music! Back to my home in Montana.

 

  After saying goodbye, finishing up the dishes and packing the last few things it was nearing 3pm before I began the 10 mile hike down to Chukadum with my violin in hand and Nacorice, my escort carrying my backpack.

Saying goodbye to friends.

Nacorice on the way.

We reached Chukadum and visited with friends before the sun went down and there I had my first meal of day with three older woman. We feasted on roasted corn over the fire as we talked and laughed in Didinga. Then I was shown a mattress where I curled up into a little ball and fell asleep (somehow) to the sound of the three snoring older woman.

Waking up before the sun I gathered things together and found a vehicle to take me to Torit about a five hour drive into South Sudan over bumpy and muddy roads swished in-between four people and two chickens. 

Finally in Torit I was greeted by the three happy faces of the missionary children who live there and spent the evening catching up and talking with these amazing servants of God! 

South Sudan immigration

After going to immigration and sorting out all my Sudan visa issues, I got on the MAF plane to take the next phase of travel to leave South Sudan and head to Kenya.

MAF Plane

The flight took all day but finally, late that night, I arrived in Kenya and got a good night of sleep at a hostel. 

Flying out of Sudan

The next day I went to the Doctor where I was poked and prodded. I found out that I've REALLY NOT been alone all this time!  Nope, I have three different types of parasites (and their children) living in me. I was given a prescriptions and by now should be animal free.

Doc in Nairobi

The next day, I took a taxi to the Nairobi Airport.

If you are up your world news you will know that the international airport in Nairobi burned down two weeks ago.  It was hectic, full of long lines and big white tents in which hosted the thousands of traveling people.

White tents working as the airport in Nairobi.

Going to Dubi

The first flight was 7  hours long to Dubi, the second flight was 13 hours to Seattle and third and last flight was only 59 minutes to Spokane where I saw my parents and sister for the first time in two years!

With tears, long hugs and flowers they greeted me and we talked the three hours to Montana, where I fell fast asleep, finally back, in my home in Montana. 

My home in Montana.