Students.

I have thirty-nine students. They're not just children I see during school hours, they are a constant part of my life throughout the day. They bring frustration, joy, laughter, craziness and encouragement. I love these guys! I have decided to highlight one student a week, so as to introduce them to you, in hopes that you will join me in prayer for each one. :) 

Linda 

Linda is one of six children in her family and is a natural little mother; often taking care of her younger siblings or other youngsters. She has the best penmanship in the class and has an eye for art. I often find her doodling random little things on the side of her homework. She is a sweetie and has a soft and creative spirit.  

Please Pray that Linda would hear, listen and respond to Gods word. 

Pray She would use her gifts for Him

Pray she would see the Love of Jesus in believers actions and words and become a true follower of Jesus and know His love for her. 

Pet Names and Puppy Tails.

Sometimes it's the littlest things that bring the most pleasure! One of our compound dogs had six puppies a month ago. Now, there are six little tails wagging at me everyday as I come back from school and play with the little pups. Sadly, soon I will have to find them their own Didinga homes, as my budget does not allow for six hungry mouths.

The Didinga people often don't name their animals, so I decided to do them a favor and name them for them (Aren't I the best). Just imagine these names being called all over the village. ;)

Ladies and fellow, I introduce to you the puppies...

                                               Hero. 

Schnuckums 

Honey Bear.

Pumpkin

Zazzels. "Zazy"

Hunky 

Just ONE of the things that makes living in Didinga pretty great! 

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.