They call it the Pearl..

After 12 weeks in Sudan tomorrow I will be headed out to Kenya and Uganda for a week and a half break. Monday I fly home to see my family and I can't wait. I haven't seen my dad and sister in over a year so it will be great to be home for a bit - even if it is short.

Next post - from Uganda, the "Pearl of Africa".

Skin and Bones

I’ve been doing some thinking about skin and bones. It seems my life has been marked by my skin and bones. In the first grade I was the kid who got passed from person to person in the piggyback relay race because I was so small. As I recall, there were two of us and we were simply described using the word “refugee”. Maybe that was a little foreshadowing for my future - it wasn’t exactly a funny name six years later.
By sixth grade, when I actually understood what it meant to be a refugee, my bones became the source of great irritation. One, because I was growing at about 3 inches per day, and two, because the kids behind me in line used to grab at my bony shoulder blades to aggravate me. In junior high I assumed I would grow out of my bony phase. I was sure that by the time I was a senior I’d be huge; the guy everyone was afraid to tackle in rugby. As it turned out I ended up being the guy who was lifted into the air during lineouts because my teammates exerted just about zero muscle strength to do it. As for college, and all the earnest prayers I could muster, the great freshmen 15 evaded me as did the sophomore, junior and senior 15s. I even had a challenge with a high school buddy to see who would get the 15 first. As far as I know, I lost. Or rather…am losing.
All that brings me to where I am now. Throughout my life I have stood out as one of those skinny guys – skin and bones. That has all changed and the miracle of it all is that I didn’t even have to put on any weight! I have finally found a place where I fit in. I am not sure what it says about Sudanese nutrition but in Sudan my skin and bones is average; if not slightly above average. Perhaps it is because the term “refugee” is about as common here as fast food is in the US but nonetheless I blend right in here – in this nation of skin and bones. Mind you, I have lived in Africa my whole life and have never been able to convince my skin to change color, so I don’t quite blend in, but if it was a matter of body structure I could evade taxes and never be found in the vastness of South Sudan. Skin and Bones.
But seriously, I have been doing some thinking about skin and bones. I have been thinking about my skin and bones and how this body of mine just isn’t how I wish it was. How it fails me completely when I’m tired, and gets sick when I need it to be strong, and how inevitably today and tomorrow its going to carry me into some muck of sin and I’ll see once again just how ridiculous this skin and bones of mine really is. I’ve been thinking about how corrupted it is – some things never change – I have broken my foot/leg three times because my frame couldn’t handle the life I live and spiritually speaking my skin and bones just never heal; this skin and bones is a mess.
But then I realize there is some good news. I am still a “refugee”. I am a refugee trapped in the poor nutrition and ill treatment our fallen world is made of. The good news is that one day I’ll finally make it home. And on that day I get to have a new body; something more than skin and bones. And I’ll get a new name that has nothing to do with not belonging, being chased away, or being a foreigner and everything to do with being loved and cherished and new. For now I’m still a refugee, which isn’t a whole lot of fun. After all I’m still skin and bones, living in a skin and bones world. But then again so was Abraham and David and Paul, they were all skin and bones like me; the stories are there to prove it. They were all skin and bones; falty, fumbling flesh that doesn’t feel to great in this life but I know they’ll be waiting for me in their new bodies, with their new names to welcome me home.

where i live...

The Master artist at work...

A look around our compound

Our oldest vehicle. Keeping the vehicles running is a huge task!

This is our little workshop. One of my first projects was to build the green workbench so that I could get stuff done.

This is outside our office. The door on the left is a storeroom/ping pong room. The door on the right is the office.

My desk.

The kitchen.

The dining room. We meet here in the mornings for a short devotional time as a team.

Looking toward my tukol from the office.

Looking toward the office from near my tukol.

This is my tukol. It has been given the name: Ft. Jesus.

My room.

One of my roommates...

Another roommate. There are about a zillion of these things around. They are harmless but incredibly annoying.

"Hot water heater"

The shower.

Outside the outhouse.

Inside the outhouse. (just what you wanted to see - right?)

"Who stands his ground? Only the man whose ultimate criterion is not his reason, his principles, his conscience, his freedom or his virtue, but who is ready to sacrifice all these things when he is called to obedient and responsible action in faith and exclusive allegiance to God. The responsible man seeks to make his whole life a response to the question and call of God." ~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison

Epic Journey...

I'm not sure what constitues and epic journey (I never paid good enough attention in classics classes) but I'm sure I came pretty close today. I went to our farm to collect some tomatoes for the market here and found myself fighting the mud, the sun, and many other obsticles to get there and back...an epic journey. It took me four hours to slosh and push my way back from the farm with my load of tomatoes - a distance that is only about 15 miles. Here are some pics of the journey. ~AW

Luka resting on the quad



Go Deacs!!! ...



The road..





The tipped trailer - not cool!



We made it!!!