We hired our gardener Beleke* because of his story.
(Well, we needed one too.)
Tropical weeds grow fast. 
Everywhere.

Last year, just as Beleke was beginning his seminary studies,
his sending church was attacked in a far away village by the LRA.
I do not know the extent of the evil inflicted there.
I’m not sure I could stomach it.
Suddenly, his scholarship/support disappeared into thin air.
His six children had to drop their studies.
He eventually had to drop his studies.
His passion became to work enough odd jobs to save up enough that they could all attend school again next year.
He has a pastor’s heart for his people.
And they suffer.
Far away.

Here he tends and hoes and hums a happy tune.
Weeds and tills with a smile.
He gently brings forth life out of our sticky red clay.
We have an abundant garden full of produce and spices in his care.
Sometimes he works a night shift across town and then comes over to water seeds in the morning hours.
He deftly uses these garden tools to bring life.

For more than three years we have lived in this fascinating place. And so many times a camera just doesn’t capture it all. I will often treasure significant moments in my heart, but not have a way to ‘keep’ them outside of memory itself. So I hope to ‘keep’ them here as ‘Snapshots’. Words to describe meaningful bits of our experiences here in Congo.

So Snapshot 1: Power –

I join 40 Congolese women in a mud hut behind our church to pray.
Their colorful clothes shine in the glimmers of morning sunlight streaming in through the eaves.
Their prayers are full of conviction and thanksgiving.
These women have carried heavy loads.
The burden of trying to survive war.
Trying to keep a large family safe, healthy and fed. In war.
They balance all this gracefully like a huge clay pot on their heads.
They cry out to their Lord for mercy and strength.
With thanksgiving.

Then a deafening noise overhead.

A huge UN Peacekeeping helicopter flies directly over our hut.
It is 500 ft above us, temporarily drowning out the words.
A white behemoth cutting through blue sky to keep ‘peace’.
In a show of the strength and control man can have.
It is big enough to carry a dump truck.
It swallows up thousands of gallons of fuel. And dollars.
It can carry very heavy loads.
Ungracefully.

And the question occurs to me:

Much of this footage is from our hometown here – if you want a peek. Our group is involved in translating, checking, publishing and training local church leaders with tools they can use to address the severe wounds of trauma. It is a privilege to play a tiny part in equipping others to work toward healing.

It was going to be a lazy Friday afternoon of leisurely sewing and listening to the boys play outside with their favorite friend. Until the extra jog.

I had just finished a 3-mile workout with our wonderful homeschool helper Katie, we did our 3-miles and were cooling down for the final stretch (in both senses of the word) when I heard panicked screams from the backyard.

Visions of broken limbs ran through my head and I ran out to investigate, only to find that the situation was potentially worse than that. You see, we have versed the kids in the dangers of rabies. It is alive and well here, remember this? The last time a stray dog got under our fence we locked the kids in the house while Kent went out in boots, coats and forced it to leave with rocks and sticks. Now, in the middle of the afternoon with 4 kids outside in shorts we had another stray in our yard.

So I ran for a long-sleeved coat and ran back outside to get the kids to safety and the dog away from our other dogs. Even those who are vaccinated can eventually die of rabies if badly bitten. The vaccine only slows down the virus. I finally spotted the dog, it was a young mangy little thing that wiggled under the front gate, who was thankfully scared off at the first rock. No signs of rabies, but good adrenaline boost anyway.

We got a little extra jog after our 3-miles. A few minutes later the kids are back to playing and all is assuredly well. A little extra jogging never hurt. I love so many things about life here in Congo, but I will admit that it involves more adrenaline than life in other places.

I have begun this post several times, and no words feel sufficient enough to convey the wonder of the privilege I’ve had the past 3 months to be in our local church choir. To put things into words feels like it will minimize a wondrous reality. I fear giving you anything less than reverence for these sisters. Their friendship is so much sweeter than candy and more precious than gold. I have been torn between wanting to post tons of videos and pictures and wanting to tuck it all safely away to savor for myself. I will attempt to find middle ground. We could learn a lot from them.

One of the first reasons I loved Africa was for her music. The rich harmonies, rhythms melt my heart on the coldest of days. The youth and Sunday school choirs usually sing in the French service we attend, but last Christmas the Mama’s choir, La Lumiere (‘the light’), came to sing in the French service for a change. They did so well and looked like they were having so much fun, I felt compelled to beg them to let me sing along – even just once.

They welcomed me, so I began attending rehearsals every other morning bright and early, feverishly scribbling down words I didn’t fully understand. It took about 2 weeks before I felt ready to try dancing along and another one before I performed with them. Anna tells me often how ‘good we sing’ and loves to watch.

 

These women are some of my favorite people on the planet.
The community they share is phenomenal to me.
A sisterhood like none I have ever imagined.
They visit the sick.
They give to those in need.
They share.
And share some more.
They serve others.
They laugh.
They dance.
They sing.
They truly are a Light in this dark place.
I know they have been a Light to me, even a clumsy mouse in the corner.

Guess I can’t call myself a ‘mouse’… giraffe?

It’s a French word, you know: source. We borrowed it.

Here it can mean the ‘well’ or ‘spring’ that drinking water is drawn from. Even if local folks have city water pipes (they provide brown water about 50-60% of the time), they often continue to haul water for drinking/cooking from a more trustworthy source.

This month the preaching roster at our Congolese church has been focused on provision. Last week was about God’s provision of manna in the desert. Kent was asked to preach today on Exodus 17 and the provision of water to the people. As he was preparing his sermon in between linguistics sessions, deadly cholera was making it’s way into town.

Apparently, there was a cholera epidemic here in the 1970’s that killed tens of thousands of people. Entire families disappeared. It is not a small thing that cholera is ‘back in town’. People have been tracking it through different locations for some time, and it has now arrived. This morning sandwiched in between announcements about the youth mission trip and choir leader’s meetings, there was also a page-long infomercial about hand-washing, vegetable preparation and other ways to avoid cholera. Seems we just got through the pervasive ‘un-ease’ about elections and now this?

It was the perfect time, as it turns out, to think about the ‘Source de vie’ we have in Jesus. Moses struck the rock and the people had the water to live. Not just any dirty water. Pure water. Life-giving water. They got life. Paul later explains that Jesus is that Rock. He is struck. We get life. For something that pure, we have to go to the Source.