stop trying to fix things

When I took English classes in school, I learned something called constructive criticism. This concept was a delicate balance between affirmation of work well done and criticism of things that were not up to standard. The key was to include some of both. 

The problem with missionaries and volunteers is that we all come to this place with the mindset of How can I make this better? or What needs to be changed? Those aren’t bad questions in and of themselves, but they shouldn’t be the only ones we ask. When was the last time a newcomer came through the gate at Noah’s Ark and asked, What is going well here?

When I came for the first time, I was amazed at what a smoothly-running system they had here. There were people for everything and everyone knew what they were supposed to do and the operation worked rather well. Of course, I didn’t see all the glitches and unmet expectations, but I was pleasantly surprised at the whole thing. They didn’t need me as much as I had thought they would. But did I tell anyone that? Nope. At least not anyone who was involved in it. I told some other volunteers who were also looking in from the outside. 

We always did constructive criticism in English classes, and one thing we always had to include was something about the paper that was good. Even if it was a random thing like “Your sentences are nice lengths,” if there is some praise the criticism is more bearable. If it is only criticism, we put up a defense and don’t change anything because of course the other person is out to get us. Do we ever do that with ministries? At least, ministries we want to help? 

I remember going on a walk up the road the first time I came to Uganda. The thought that went through my head most often as I looked upon this village for the first time was, They really need some new houses. Then things will be better. 

At some point, somehow, I had made the correlation in my head that if the buildings were better, that equaled a better life. 

Thinking back on that now, I wonder what on earth I thought that would fix. It is just about the most superficial fix ever. By nature, we judge things by appearance. It is the easiest information to gather and process in a moment and without intruding or putting in too much effort. We look, we process (a little), we judge, and sometimes we make a plan. I looked at those houses with their rickety wooden doors and caked mud walls, thought about how crude and insufficient they were, judged them to be not good enough, and thought someone needed to come change that. Someone from the outside. Because that is what I considered help to be: someone coming in from the outside to make someone else’s life better. 

Thank God, I have learned a lot in three years. I still have more to learn than I will ever manage, but I have learned a lot. Change does not happen from the outside. It can influence change, but it can’t control it. 

I recently met a woman who travels around East Africa training nationals to be counselors. She said she loves to do counseling herself, but she knows locals will respond better to a fellow national than to a white person storming in and demanding to help. Part of the reason is this: When we go somewhere specifically to help or to make a difference, especially if it is in the area of trauma therapy or counseling, we only hear the bad side. We only hear the terrible things that have happened and the sad stories people need to share. We don’t get the context with it. When a national listens to those stories, she can listen to them within the context of this world she knows. She has a framework that includes more than the words being spoken in the moment and more than one sad story. 

Constructive criticism takes that context into account. It says, “In light of the things that are going well, here are a few things that could make it better.” 

Someone once told me that men love to fix things. Apparently it is hard for them when women don’t let men fix their problems because for men fixing them is the logical response. 

Recently Christian and I were on a run and I was telling him some ideas I had for the holiday program. For one particular idea about how to write the timetable, he listened to what I said and then responded with, “But you know with how people see things here that that’s not going to work. You need to…” and he proceeded to tell me how to do it differently to be more effective. Do you know how effective his “help” was? 

I stopped running and started crying, right there in the middle of the road. 

(I mean on the side of the road. Don’t worry, Mom, I don’t run in the middle of the road.)

I finally told him, “I don’t want you to fix it. I need you to affirm what I am doing and then gently offer help. Find another way to tell me to do it differently.” 

These days, do you know what I see when I walk up the road? I don’t notice the houses anymore. I see a tree with the world’s flattest branches that provide shade to an entire yard. I see maize growing left and right, some of it green and healthy and some of it yellow and dry. I see women washing clothes in basins outside and hear children calling my name from paths to their houses. When I am lucky, I see baby goats. 

I realize I live in a beautiful country with friendly people who are going about their daily lives in the way they know how. Isn’t that what we all do? Of course things can always be better, but criticism is not the place to start. 

A word of advice: Next time you want to “help” somewhere, don’t just look for the gaps in the programs or the people that are not being reached. Don’t approach it from what is missing. Look at what already exists, the good in what is happening, and see how you can add to it. Build on it. Expand it. Don’t tear it down straight from the get-go. Be constructive.

the struggle

As I was cleaning out some things on my computer this week, I found this half-written blog from over two years ago. I don’t like to waste things—especially my own efforts—and it surprised me how fresh some of the memories and emotions came back to me. So, if you can imagine yourself back in April of 2015…

____________________

There are a lot of things that perplex me, but one is how often struggles and joy walk hand in hand and how seldom we recognize their partnership. 

The students are not listening. Big surprise. On a hot Wednesday afternoon, after a nearly full day of school and a big lunch, who wants to sit in the sun and practice an Easter skit time and time again? I scold Vanessa for sneaking crumbs of the biscuit that serves the purposes for our Last Supper, then hound the disciples for being too loud while the chief priests are talking. Looking to my right, I catch a glimpse of Hananja dipping a long piece of grass into my water bottle. These are P.5 students, I think to myself as I toss Teacher Prossy my water bottle for safekeeping. Can they not focus for even one hour? 

I did not sign up for this. Quite literally, I did nothing to sign up for preparing Easter carols. I did not even express interest. The task was assigned to me without question by a head teacher who left little, if any, room for personal opinion or declination. We had been rehearsing for three weeks, with two still to go before the performance, and in that time I had yet to discover whether I was in charge of the whole thing or only two songs. Sometimes we are slaves to ambiguity. 

After several long and frustrating meetings, I had finally resigned myself to sitting back and doing as little as possible in the way of carols… until the head teacher left the school and suddenly I knew that if the program was a disaster, fingers would point to me. I in no way recommend this as a method of motivation because it is undeniably based in pride, but it was the push I needed to step up and start making things happen as best as I knew how.

So here I am trying to offer direction to thirty P.5 students as they pick biscuits and talk incessantly. After shouting a little and clapping so loud my hands sting to get them to pay attention, they politely listen to my direction. For some reason, however, no matter how many times I physically pull Richard off to the side of the priests for his line, he still stands directly in front of them.

____________________

That was where my previous writing ended, with Richard standing directly in front of the priests. At the time, what I knew was that at eight in the morning I had to pack up my guitar, my school things, and a small speaker because between normal library work and practice for carols I would not reach home again before five in the evening. I knew I was busy and I knew I had to find someone to help the students change into their costumes and I knew I had to find a room where they could do that and I knew I was so excited for Easter weekend because that meant carols were over. That was what I knew then. 

Here is what I remember: 

I remember being surprised at how smoothly the whole event went, from the classes being ready on time to everyone having the correct costume to the Easter story being acted out and told in the correct order. 

I remember Sarah, a student from secondary, being willing to spend hours in a tiny concrete room in the church changing a dozen P.2 girls into ballet costumes and all other classes into soldiers, disciples, and Jesus-es. 

I remember our P.1 Jesus almost falling off the P.1 donkey as he tried to ride it up the steps onto the stage, and Teacher Lindah laughing and enjoying her class’s performance.

I remember being proud of the teachers and students. 

I remember working with secondary students after school every day. One group was learning a song and one group a dance/skit/thing. Some days they became weary of practice, but I wanted to get it just right. I remember the song went fairly well. 

And I remember the dance was one of the most powerful things I have seen. I loved that I had the privilege of being involved in it. And I loved that even though I was not onstage with them, my job was to squat in front of the stage and give cues at two different points because the person playing Jesus kept getting confused. I could have watched that one over and over again. (Unfortunately, to this day I have never seen the video.)

I remember after the whole event was over, walking down the road toward school with several students and feeling like I was walking on air. Everything was light, the performance was over, and one or two people told me they had really enjoyed it. 

I also remember that that was the first time Christian and I played music together, and how much I looked forward to our rehearsals at school. Sometimes I hoped the children would come late because then he and I could play on our own—he on keyboard, me on guitar—until they showed up. It was in those weeks I started to see him differently. Guess that worked out okay.

I remember the struggle, but I also remember the joy. We need both ends of the spectrum. What would we have to be happy about if there was nothing to compare it to? I look back on our three cantatas in much the same way—remembering the struggles and emotional pain of trying to put it all together, but in the end being supremely proud of my dancers and actors and appreciative of the ones who worked tirelessly behind the scenes to pull it off. 

There are struggles here. Currently, one of my biggest struggles is staying positive, which is hard for me to handle because in the past that always came naturally for me. I am trying to learn how to cope with that struggle. I struggle with the auntie who says I am sending the children on a path to hell because we have a disco at the end of the holiday. I struggle with people who say they are going to do something and then don’t. I struggle when I say I am going to do something and then forget. I struggle to make time for the children and to make time for myself because it seems to be an ever-elusive balance. Every night Christian and I ask each other, “What was the best part of your day?” and on those days where I get to spend an hour or more just being with the children without an agenda, that is always my answer. 

Yesterday I learned how to make chocolate cake from scratch. Turns out it’s not so hard. Though I probably shouldn’t have told you that because now it sounds less impressive. Anyway, I made the chocolate cake and chocolate frosting with things I already had in my kitchen (including sprinkles, because my mother-in-law makes sure we are equipped with staples like that), and I tell you, that cake tasted better than if someone had given me a huge slice of fancy chocolate cake from a restaurant. Why? I put effort into it. I couldn’t take it for granted. I struggled. And it was worth it. 

Don’t shy away from the hard things. If you have ever seen the movie Home, you know in the end Oh and the other Boovs learn there is more to be gained by running to the danger than by running away from it. (If you haven’t seen the movie, watch it. And forget I said anything about the end.) When we avoid the hard thing, we also avoid the good thing. And the good thing is what you will remember. 

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. (James 1:2-4)

how to make beads out of paper

 

Step 1 ::  Cut

The way the bead turns out depends largely on the type and size of the paper you have. The best kind is the thick shiny paper often used for calendars or magazine covers. The longer the paper, the thicker the bead. For round beads, mark the short edges of the paper at one-centimeter intervals. Using a cutting machine or slicer, cut from the first mark on one side to the edge of the paper at the other, making a very long triangle. Do this three or four times on one side, then turn the paper around and cut from the opposite marks to the other corner, going back and forth until you reach the end of the paper. They won’t all be completely even, but that’s okay.

Step 2  ::  Roll

This is a simple process, but not an easy one. In a nutshell, you roll the paper around some sort of stick until you reach the end and it looks like a bead. 

First of all, finding the right kind of stick to make the hole is harder than I thought. My toothpicks were too big, my spaghetti noodles were too fragile, and my broom was too plastic. We ended up pulling pieces from a compound broom (one made from stiff grass that looks like long fir needles) and breaking them into two- or three-inch pieces for each of us to roll. That way we can’t accidentally close the hole in the process. 

Next, you have to roll the thick end of the paper triangle first, making sure to tuck it under itself because otherwise you just roll the stick up and down the paper and nothing ever catches. This may have been the part that made me sweat the most. 

Once you get your paper going, you have to keep it balanced, making sure it doesn’t list to one side and make a lopsided bead. The women who were teaching us made it look effortless. Don’t be deceived. One method is to roll with your thumb so the stick makes its way down your finger, but I find that hard to keep the paper balanced in the center. Another method is to use the thumbs and index fingers of both hands to roll between them, which is slower but more accurate for beginners. 

When there is about an inch of unrolled paper left, dip the end in glue and finish rolling. The glue will hold it closed until the bead is varnished. Pull out the stick, and you have a shaped bead!

Step 3  ::  Varnish

To give the beads their glossy texture, and to make sure they don’t unroll and fall apart, we use clear varnish. First, separate the beads by color. This makes it more organized when you actually put together the jewelry, plus in the varnishing some of the color bleeds and typically people don’t want tie-dyed beads (although, saying that, it now sounds pretty cool). 

String beads of the same color on thick fishing line. This ensures that the holes don’t close up from the varnish. Then take a few beaded strings of similar colors and put them in a basin. Pour a couple splashes of varnish on top, just enough to cover them all without ending up with a pool of liquid afterwards. Swish them around until they are completely covered, and hang the strings up to dry. 

After about fifteen minutes they should be dry enough to give a second coat of varnish. Two coats is acceptable, but for marketable beads you usually need about four coats to make them look really good. After that, it can take up to three days for them to completely dry out and not stick together. 

Step 4  ::  String

Once you have your beads made, you can turn them into a necklace! Typically the paper beads are separated by a few small glass beads whether it is a necklace or bracelet or anything. It looks nice, plus after putting in so much work making the paper beads it’s a nice way to spread them out so they make more jewelry. 

Use a slightly thinner fishing line if you are making a necklace, or a thin piece of elastic if you are making a bracelet. Tie one glass bead at the end to anchor the string, and make a pattern of three glass beads, one paper bead. Or whatever else you want. 

We were fortunate to have some aunties teaching us who have sold these necklaces for a living in the past, so they were teaching us the professional method. When your necklace is as long as you want, tie the ends of the string together and tuck it into a bead so no one can see the knot. And… you’re finished!

will you be my parent?

A few weeks ago we had our term-ual (what’s a word for once-a-term?) visitation day at the New Horizon Nursery and Primary Schools. (Those are the schools here at Noah’s Ark.) It is basically the equivalent of open house and parent-teacher conferences done at the same time. The teachers stay at school all morning on Saturday so parents can come with their children and see the progress they are making in school. 

Before that day, the students and teachers spend some time preparing the classrooms and all their work in a presentable manner. By the time they leave school on Friday, the classrooms are swept, each student has a pile of notebooks on his or her desk, plus a file full of midterm exams and past papers, and teachers have filled out class lists of how each student is doing in each subject and socially. 

Of course, it makes it a bit difficult when we have a compound full of children and no parents. 

That Saturday morning, as we were fishing with some of the children, I asked Abraham, “If I want to see how you are doing in school, which teacher do I need to come see today?” I knew he was in Primary 4 (fourth grade) and his teacher had been sick for the last week. I was mostly checking to see if the school had made sure there was another teacher covering for her. He said to find Tr. Annet, the head teacher (principal) and she would be in that classroom. 

Later that morning, when fishing was over and Christian and I were sitting down to a late breakfast, Abraham showed up at the door. “Auntie Katie, you said you wanted to come talk to my teacher.” 

I was taken aback, considering I had asked only to check in on the teacher, not on Abraham himself, but I was not about to refuse him. I told him I would come down in a little while, as soon as we finished our breakfast. 

When I came down to school, I found Abraham in the P.4 classroom. Tr. Annet was sitting at a desk, surrounded by at least four boys and girls from the children’s home and a couple of aunties who care for them. I was happy to see some other adults had come down to talk with the teachers, and was about to leave when Abraham motioned for me to come over. 

I came at the end of one auntie telling Abraham, “When you need help, don’t be silent. Come find me or someone else who can answer your questions. You don’t have to die alone.” 

I knew Abraham struggled in school. In fact, it is pretty common knowledge. It was so good to hear someone telling him how many people here are for him and want to support him. 

Abraham showed me his books for each subject and the exams in his file. He was ranked last in his class, which was not surprising when many of his scores were under 30 percent. We stepped outside and had a talk about not testing the teachers so much and trying to get along with them so he can learn as much as possible when they are in the classroom, then came inside and heard the same thing from Tr. Annet. Abraham promised to try not to challenge the teachers too much and I agreed to check in with him once in a while to see how he was doing in that area. 

After that, we went to see Josephine’s teacher. Josephine is four years old and in her first year of nursery school. Her work was very impressive—she hardly colored out of the lines in her big numbers one through four and Tr. Rosemary said she gets along with the other students. 

Next it was Isaac’s turn. Isaac is a seven-year-old boy who is special to me. Last year I came to his classroom every Friday to check his books and make sure he was doing the work. Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t. This year, however, his handwriting is legible and he almost always finishes his work! Big improvements! We looked through all of his books, spoke with his teacher, and then started to leave the school area. 

We had made it halfway across the yard when I heard someone call my name from behind. Turning around, I saw Jonah running to us from his classroom. Out of breath, but with a big smile on his face, he said, “Auntie Katie, I want you to be my parent.” 

That was when I broke a little. 

What child has to ask someone to be his parent? 

I had been “playing parent” all morning because it was fun for me. I love these children. I know it is good for them to have someone checking in on their school work. And in a selfish way, I was doing it because being a parent made me feel important. 

Growing up, my parents were there. I never had to ask them to come to my parent-teacher meetings. I never had to ask them to come to my volleyball games or dance recitals. I never had to ask them to teach me how to drive or run a chainsaw or make lentil cheesebake. I never asked my Dad to show up to my rainy softball games in his bright orange raincoat, bright yellow hardhat and bright pink umbrella with the duck on the end. I was a little bit mortified, but he was there. They were there. And I certainly never had to ask someone to be my parent. 

I am not trying to criticize Noah’s Ark or the way things are done here. This is not a criticism of Piet and Pita, for they have provided so much for the children and if it weren’t for them many of these kids would not even be alive. They simply can’t be full-time parents to two hundred children. 

I am also not saying the aunties from the children’s home and family units are doing a bad job or neglecting the children in their care, for that is not the case either. Truth be told, I don’t think I would have what it takes to be a family unit auntie and live with ten children and have my job be to be their sort-of parent. I highly respect them. 

The thing is, this is not how children are supposed to grow up. Noah’s Ark is an institutionalized family, which is an oxymoron in itself. All of the workers—aunties, uncles, missionaries, teachers, pastors—are a fraction of a parent for a fraction of the children. But in order to thrive, children need more than a fraction. It takes two parents to make one child; doesn’t that tell you something? 

Please, parents, don’t make your children ask for your guidance. Don’t make them ask for your love. Don’t make them ask for you to be a parent to them. These things are meant to be given freely and if you can do that, your children will be some of the most blessed people on earth, whether or not they realize it or can articulate it to you. 

Jonah is a wiry twelve-year-old with a broken arm and a constant smile, and I was more than happy to be his parent for half an hour that Saturday. It was an honor. But he needs more than that. We all need more than that. 

education & discipleship

In my last post, What will have a lasting impact?, I pondered why I am here and doing what I do and where I think the Lord is leading me within His work at Noah’s Ark. To follow up, here is what it looks like broken down: 

Education

I think it sounds a bit stupid to say I moved to Africa to become a librarian, but I spend a good deal of time running the primary and secondary school libraries on the compound. Both libraries have the simple goal of giving students the opportunity to practice reading because it is such a necessary skill in life. I have been a bookworm my whole life and love seeing children and teenagers here developing the same habits. It brings me joy to see a student come check out a book during lunch and bring it back to me completed before supper (though it does make me worry a bit about whether they actually attend class). If they are able to read well, they will be able to learn more in class and from their books, they will do better in school and doors will open up for what they can do after finishing their education at New Horizon. Even if they don’t have academic aspirations, at least if they can read well then when they read the Bible they can focus on the information without stumbling over the words. 

The remedial reading program at the primary school has the same goals. Unfortunately, because of my schedule I can only work with a handful of students per term. It only scratches the surface of all the students who need reading help, but at least it is something. If they can read, they will improve in all their subjects and they can do more self-initiated learning. 

We have a book in the library called “The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind.” It is a true story about a boy from… oh, somewhere in Africa, though I can’t remember where now… who used scraps of rubbish and old bicycle parts to make a windmill and bring a small amount of power to his home, and then to the community. Do you know how he learned to make a windmill? He went to the library and read books!

Even the holiday program is a form of education. On the surface, it may look like a heap of games and crafts and movies, but here are some things they can learn from those: From craft projects, they develop their fine motor skills, creativity, and ability to stick with something even when it doesn’t turn out exactly how they want. From games they can learn how to be a good sport, how to play fair, and how to lose gracefully, and once they learn a game they can play it with their friends whenever they want. When the older children visit jjajjas in the village they learn more about the traditional Ugandan way of life and they have a chance to develop their sense of compassion by helping others. Of course when we go swimming they get to learn how to swim which will get them far in life if they fall in a fish pond or river. The point is, we don’t do those things so we can complete one activity and be done with it. We do them so they can learn a skill they can take with them and use in other areas of life. 

Discipleship

Before coming to Noah’s Ark, I never gave discipleship too much thought. Sometimes I did it, but since we never called it discipleship it didn’t quite click with me. 

Why should we disciple others? First off, Jesus commands it. If anyone can say “because I said so” it’s Him. Beyond that, He demonstrated that discipleship is the best way of spreading Christianity, and history has proven that. Here on the Noah’s Ark compound there is no excuse not to disciple others—when we live in such close proximity the possibilities are endless. This is how change will happen in Uganda: bring people more Jesus. 

The structured way I disciple others is through a Life Group. The teenagers on the compound (of which there are over one hundred) have the option of signing up for Life Groups, which are basically interest-based discipleship groups. Last year Christian and I started the Good Samaritans, a service group focused on helping those in need. We currently have twelve students in our group, which meets once a week at our house. Every week we have time for Bible study led by ourselves or one of the students, and then we discuss and plan which service projects we as a group want to undertake. The projects themselves usually happen on the weekends when the students are out of school. We have fed babies in the children’s home, made success cards for students taking a big test, written encouragement notes to people on the compound, made and sold food at youth events, and used the money to buy food for a local jjajja (grandfather) who is in poor health and two lame brothers who live down the road. 

How do we make disciples through that? We demonstrate how to serve in the love of Christ, both by serving our group and serving with our group. We teach them about the Bible on Tuesday nights. We get to know them—each week a different two members of our group come over for supper so we can get to know them on a more personal level. They tell us about their families, their pasts, their dreams for the future and how they came to know Christ. We pray together as a group and we pray for our group. Basically, we do bits and pieces of life together. 

Besides the teenagers, I disciple the other children in less structured ways. Again, it comes down to doing life together. When I am around the younger children, I have the opportunity to address conflict from a biblical perspective. When they see the way I live—my attitude, how I make decisions, the way I talk, how I use my time—they can see what the life of a Christ-follower should look like (I hope). They are young, but I know they pay attention, whether or not they realize it. Most of all, I try and love each one unconditionally, remembering that each one is a beloved child of God and if the God of the universe can love them well, there is no reason I cannot.

Jesus told His disciples, “You will do even greater things than these.” It sounds crazy to hear Jesus, Son of God, tell people that they will do greater things than what He has done. However, if each one had the Holy Spirit living in him, it was like twelve Jesus-es walking around doing great things! Sometimes I get discouraged by the limits of what I am able to do, but if Jesus can say “You will do even greater things than these” to His followers, then surely we can also say that to the people we are discipling. And then imagine the possibilities!

Awhile back, I was tasked with writing my own vision statement for what I am doing here. Or perhaps what I am doing with my life. At the moment, it’s the same thing. This post and the last one were simply my thought processes in figuring it out. (Apparently my thoughts require a lot of processing.) So, to sum it all up, my vision for my time at Noah’s Ark and in Uganda is this: 

to share God’s love with children in Uganda 

through education and discipleship

It will both describe and guide what I do, programmed and unprogrammed, structured and unstructured, in work and free time. What will have a lasting impact? Hands down, these kids. I get excited thinking about the potential, and I thank God that He has counted me worthy to be a part of it.