Tag Archives: missionary preparation

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We are fond of saying that we are in relationship with those who follow, pray, and support us, so it is our responsibility to let you know what is going on in our lives. 

Cindy’s father, Roy Shimp, died last month, August 24th. He was in Hospice care at home, surrounded by his family and holding his wife’s hand. Several weeks before, he accepted Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior, an answer to thirty years of prayer. 

Cindy spends her days divided between her job and caring for her mother. Her two brothers help as much as they can, but hers is the part-time job, and she is the one that drops everything to go when no one can. She is pretty burnt out as well as grieved, exhausted, and afraid her mother might not recognize her the next time she comes through the door. She and her brothers are trying to get her placed in a memory care center.

When I returned from Uganda and spent a little time in Jacksonville with Cindy, I traveled to Memphis to celebrate my father’s 80th birthday. As I was starting out to return to Florida, I received notice that my mother was having heart attack symptoms, so I turned around and got her to the hospital. She is beginning her third week there, trying to survive heart failure, the five surgeries it has taken to get her pacemaker right, blood clots, and bleeding from blood thinners.

Meanwhile, my Dad, who is completely visually impaired, is beginning to learn how to get along without his wife catering to his every need. My two sisters and the neighbors in his retirement home are helping to get him back and forth to dinners and he is learning to cross his apartment alone. 

While the world around me is spinning, my own situation has stalled. Medical clearance for my shoulder surgery was delayed for a sinus infection. I have spent way too much time lying at home, and then waiting for the next appointment scheduler to call. I had hoped to complete six weeks of immobilization before our first grand baby is due to arrive in late October, but those hopes appear dashed. 

As I write this, Cindy, who finally had a day of rest, had it interrupted for a sudden change in her mother’s mental status. She is at the hospital with her now. Tomorrow would have started her three-day shift of mother-sitting anyway, but she just cannot seem to catch a break. 

While you pray for us, keep these things in mind. If you, like me, aren’t sure how to pray, please do it like Jesus did:

“Your will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven.”

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Saturday May 21

What a day! I found a riding partner, a friend named Nelson, and we took a long dusty trip down the worst road in the history of roads. Two and a half hours later we arrived at the home where my dear friend and practically adopted daughter, Janet, has been staying. There I got to meet her uncle, aunt, and some extended family. I was welcomed, fed, and treated like a royal guest. Uncle Charles was surely sizing me up for intentions but was gracious and a generous host. We spent far too long there for the rest of the stops we would make. 

Nelson, Janet, and I left there and went down the main road only a little while and found the home of Sharon, our friend with the surgical concern. Even though we had just finished lunch she forced us to sit at her table for another lunch. I was informed that it is extremely rude not to eat what is offered. She had slayed a chicken for us so it seemed proper to eat it. I showed her the GoFundMe page we started on her behalf, and she was thrilled to see all the donors who had contributed to her care. Her eyes beamed with gratitude even as she blessed our little group. She is quite a prayer warrior!

After lunch we wrestled our way back down that horrible Lira Road, this time with rain that disguised the depth of all the potholes and reduced visibility. I hate that road! 

We were nearing Gulu when we passed a group of pedestrians we recognized. It was the boys football team from the mission I have visited before. Their car stranded, they were walking toward Karuma, roughly 40 km (25 mi) away. I loaded the van with footballers and we turned around headed for Karuma. 

As we neared the Nile River, we found the rest of the team, somehow much nearer Karuma. They waved frantically at us to stop, and motioned that there was danger. Just ahead was a herd of elephants on the side of the road. We stopped to see what they would do. They are known to topple cars that get in their way so we kept our distance. A tour bus ahead of us stopped just after passing the giants, and that seemed to startle them away from the road. As the elephants scattered back into the bush, the walking half of the football team ran passed that spot as if they were being chased. Elephants are the symbol of the Acholi people, but they are reverently feared.

 We caught up with the group at the police checkpoint just shy of the Karuma Bridge and stopped to ask if we could help. After the police involved themselves in the exchange I ended up with one or two fewer passengers than the twelve I had been carrying. We all crossed the Nile, some in the van, some privileged to see the amazing rapids close-up and on foot. 

By the time we got away from our unscheduled detour, it was well past dark. One common piece of advice in Uganda is not to drive in the dark unless you absolutely have to. I braved the ever-changing obstacle course of humans, livestock, and automotive traffic with and without headlights or high beam dimmer switches all the way through Gulu to the north side of town where Janet would stay with her old teacher, my new tutor, Beatrice. 

As much as we wanted to stay, Nelson and I once again pierced the darkness and emerged into the warm welcoming light of home. After a brief rodent hunt and unfruitful hearing aid search we went to bed.

The rest of May

The thing about journaling is one does it when there is nothing else to do. I have been insanely busy, and have often fallen asleep on the couch reviewing my studies. The other factor is that I have been involved in the lives of several who, for security’s sake, must remain nameless on this media.

The troubles that have plagued me this far include a lack of water with bad shoulders that harshly object to carrying 20 Liter (5-gallon) Jerry cans full of water to the bath. Apparently when my landlady switched my meter she assigned me one with an outstanding balance and cut off my lock giving free access to all my neighbors while I was in Florida. The result was a shutoff account my first week here.

Another little nuisance has been Jerry the rat. Jerry stole one of my hearing aids and apparently ate it. I found the battery for it inside his nest inside the kitchen range I destroyed in the process of hunting him, but the hearing aid was not there. Now I need to hire a junk removal man to take away the scraps of the stove I once was so happy to receive. While I waited for the arrival of the rat trap I ordered, I tried to make friends with Tom, the neighbor’s cat, hoping he could help me take care of little Jerry permanently.

My association with several former wards and staff of the mission I once served has caused me to be unwelcome at that mission. I have not been able to visit friends there, whether staff or children. In fact, Patrick, who goes to school next door to my house and visits often, was told he is unwelcome to return even to visit his wife and boys there.  His wife has been threatened with termination if he returns. I do not understand the politics of man, and I would never have expected a Christian organization to behave in this way.

Beatrice has been such a great teacher! When I am in the market, people are amazed I have begun to speak their language. Her husband, Simon, who is a professional driver, has occasionally relieved me of my driving duties, especially on the long backroads that are so hard on my shoulders. 

Janet’s cousin Dorcas has joined us to help out with housekeeping at Beatrice’s home and mine. Dorcas speaks Acholi Luo and very little English, so we are helping each other learn. Her brother-in-law died, so we travelled to her husband’s remote village in Oyam District. This was my second Ugandan funeral, but it was still a cultural experience. This one had no interpreter, but I was happy to have less attention. Every eye was on me when it was time to eat, and each one turned to smiles when the munu (white one) had no trouble eating the local fare with his hands.

The first Sunday I was here, we attended the Catholic service at the School of Nursing next to my house to be supportive of Patrick and a few other Catholic Christians in our group. The second week we went to Beatrice’s church, a small, primitive group with a lot of energy but not much else in the way of resources. There, one of the ministers singled me out and began to preach at me, using scripture to condemn my use of jewelry, my diet of pork, and my comparative wealth. The third Sunday, I talked the group into visiting Gulu United Methodist Church, but when we got there it was empty, so we went to the Watoto Church in town. It felt like the charismatic congregations in America, with English worship, electronic displays, and a rowdy choir. It turns out we were at the charismatic church on the Day of Pentecost, so that was a real treat, especially for the conservative traditionalists in my group.

Last week I toured a couple properties in Minakulu, where I hope to plant TLC Uganda Ministries. There was a piece of land about 5.4 acres, less than a kilometer from the main highway, but the price was ridiculously high. Just around the corner from that land was an abandoned health center, complete with pharmacy, out-patient department, in-patient ward, maternity ward with birthing room, and office building. It was in terrible disrepair, but the rent for it was reasonable. After I left, the caretaker called to say she would inquire with her tribal elders about selling the property outright rather than renting. Any such consideration will require an engineer’s approval. 

No one really gets in a hurry here. Even if you are in a rush, the pace is “when we can.” I have learned to sit back and say, “TIA!” which stands for This is Africa! Leisure is part of the way of life here and no one does business without first exchanging a greeting and pleasantries. Americans have got so rushed it is a refreshing change…until you need something in a hurry.

Monday June 6

I went to the water management office at the opening of business. I was told to wait for a staff meeting which may take a while. It did! 

I capitalized the time doing some shopping in town. I got my old Uganda phone line fully reinstated, bought a tire for the van, had a bad battery terminal replaced on the van, had the tire mounted, and then made it back to the water management office, where I still had to wait. I am so glad I didn’t just take a number!

When humans did begin to emerge from the staff meeting, I was greeted by the Revenue & Technical Manager, Okidi Robert. He did not just send one of his plumbers, but came with me himself to inspect and correct my water problem. We had the same problem with this line as with the original one I fixed — a bad shutoff valve. We rode into town to get the part and were almost home when the car overheated so severely that it stalled out. We were stranded, but only a few hundred meters from home, so we walked it together.

Once the water executive finished my plumbing, he educated me about direct lines, like the one to my kitchen sink, and all the rest which are tank-fed lines. Since the tank would take a few minutes to fill sufficiently to meet demand, the only one to work now would be the kitchen and the spigot at the meter. This became far more important later when the tank never filled. I was still forced to tote water in Jerry cans for showers and toilet flushing.

I managed to cool off my engine and make it once more to Beatrice’s house, but on the way back the van overheated again. I was watching the gauge go toward the dangerously hot end of the measuring line but could not stop in town because of a violent mob that had gathered to beat down a man I assume was a shoplifter. It was ugly! I’ve seen some abusive force before but nothing like what this mob was doing to that poor man. Justice would have to wait for another day. This white boy followed discretion’s voice, rolled up the windows, locked the doors, and kept pushing the steaming car forward to the next sub-division. 

In Layibi, sort of a town at the south end of Gulu, I stopped to burn my hand on the radiator cap and add some more water to the steaming cooling system. A local man was happy to help me get water in the 5-liter Jerry can I carry for just this purpose. I am recognized in this marketplace because I often stop here for eggs, bread, and corn flour.

I managed to limp home but just barely. A call to the mechanic I trust confirmed the head gasket likely needed to be replaced. I recalled that the missionary that sold me the van warned that the head gasket was wearing thin. Now it was critical. I paid for the tow and agreed to do without transportation for a week or two. What was my option? Drive with no engine?

Tuesday June 7

It was a good thing I gave Beatrice a teacher’s planning day, because I had a lot to do at home. First, the tow truck arrived and took away my transportation. After breakfast I busied myself tearing apart the rest of the kitchen range, looking for my hearing aid. I finally found it in the bottom of the mess I made tearing this poor stove apart. There was not enough of the hearing aid left to salvage, but maybe the factory in Texas will get a kick out of the story and replace it with a refurbished one. Since the new ones are $2,500, it would have been worth the destruction of a $300 stove if it had been intact.

The other order of business for the day was to contract the landlady’s plumber to come figure out why my water tank is not filling. He said he would not be here until 4pm, but in Uganda time that is usually 10am the next day. If he shows up and fixes it there will be one long, cold shower in my future!

I have been thinking about how I will get around while the van is in the shop. It is not safe to hire just any Bodaman in town. There are some competent professionals, but some are idiots, and still others are crooks who will drive you to an ambush site. There an accomplice knocks a passenger over the head and takes all their belongings. Then the driver reports a Boda accident and the police believe the head injury is a result of the crash. Police in Kampala once told me that is the number one crime in Uganda, and it often results in death. The alternative is waving down a passing car. This method, known here as “public transportation” costs a little more but amounts to ride-sharing and, except for the risks, is acceptable. I have made my way around this way before I had a car.

I spent the leisure time of the day studying my Acholi Luo notes and writing them in a computer document. Maybe someone else will find the information useful someday.

Things I used to view as dangerous are just part of life now. When Cindy and I first came to Uganda, everyone told us to be in before dark no matter what. I am not sure what boogey-men come out after dark, but I have only made it home in daylight twice since I have been here. Driving at night has its own  danger but I have found the risk outweighs being paralyzed at home. Just living in Uganda is dangerous, but then so is living anywhere. My plan is to go where God sends me and trust Him to be there when I catch up.

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Getting there

Tuesday May 17

As some of you know, Cindy and I started a GoFundMe campaign for a 24-year-old woman with degenerative hip disease who needs bilateral hip replacement. This is separate from our mission endeavors but is consistent with our heart for those suffering from poverty related diseases in Uganda. I know this girl and she is the cousin of one of my dearest Ugandan friends. Sharon has received one of her new hips but is fighting illness between surgeries. We keep in contact and I have the privilege of encouraging her when she gets low or feels like she is not worth the trouble. Today started with a blessing I received from her father. I will copy it here:

Praise be to God the most high, the creator of heaven and Earth. Thanks be to God the Almighty father that gave you life, strength wisdom and the spirit of help. I Nelson Obua father of Sharon Adongo wish to send my sincere thanks to you Todd for taking a lot of concern to treat Sharon Adongo I therefore pray that God should really award you wisdom like Solomon, protect you like Abenego and Daniel, annoint you like David, remember you like Noah, prosper you like Isaac, bless you like Abraham, favour you like Moses. I beg we remain family friend.

Nelson Obua, Sharon's father

When I read that blessing I was reminded that this family of God, this Bride of Christ, extends so much farther than any of us generally are aware. I have never met Nelson, but God has moved him by mobilizing a few of us to act on his daughter’s behalf. If you would like to participate in changing and maybe even saving Sharon’s life, contribute to the GoFundMe campaign at gf.me/u/22pppw. Donations to that fund are not affiliated with the mission of TLC Uganda and are not tax exempt.

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Our next event of the day was to chauffeur our daughter for an endoscopy procedure. No matter how old your child gets, it is never easy to watch her go into an operating suite. All went well and we got her home to recover with her two fur babies, our grand-dogs. 

A quick stop at the pharmacy equipped me with my anti-malaria medicine and Cindy and I left for the airport. Since I had a trunk, a suitcase, a carry-on, and an oversized “personal bag” to wrangle, Cindy dropped me off at the departures  entrance and then drove around the airport several times looking for a parking space. She called me in tears at the thought she might not get to say goodbye and see me to the security checkpoint. I sometimes forget how hard it is to be left behind since she, too, is called to go to Uganda. She found a spot in long-term parking and rode a shuttle bus to come see me off. Devoted woman!

My first flight was late. United said they had to switch planes and crews. When the crew got there I thought we might board but there was another problem. The substitute plane has been fueled to go to a much farther destination, so the airline had to pump fuel out of the plane. They said it was either that or leave some passengers behind. I didn’t hear any complaints and I didn’t see any volunteers to stay behind. 

The trouble came when those of us with connecting flights stepped off the plane an hour and a half late. There were about twenty of us bustling through the crowds with the urgency that only comes when there is the threat of missing an international connection. One by one my fellow sprinters split from my path until I finally got to my gate. The Brussels attendant could tell what my frantic look meant, laughingly applauded my successful arrival, and coached me to calm down. This flight, too, was delayed. 

When we finally did board, God granted me two empty seats between my aisle seat and the aisle seat of the Congolese woman seated with me. We greeted one another and were neighborly on the trip, sharing the space between us like friends. It was a welcome change from the screen-obsessed millennial I was stuck with on the previous flight. He didn’t even grunt when I greeted him and bladed his body away from mine any time I looked like I might engage him.

It’s sleepy time. My neighbor is sleeping in the three seats next to me. I am accommodating as I can be, even loaning her my pillow and blanket.

Wednesday May 18

I am traveling forward in time. Since my flight is toward the rising sun, sunrise and breakfast came painfully close to the dinner before it. There is no way to feel refreshed after crossing six time zones even with one’s eyes closed. I have one more time done to cross before I arrive in Entebbe tonight.

I got to spend time chatting online with several Ugandan friends on yesterday’s domestic flight which offered complimentary in-flight Wi-Fi, so I feel out of reach on this long leg. When I land in Brussels for my layover, I will likely again be out of touch. In Uganda, I will briefly have Wi-Fi access until I set foot outside the airport. Even though I have a Ugandan phone number it takes hours to reestablish it, so I will count on my airport shuttle to remember me and be patient enough to wait for me to get through Immigration, baggage, money exchange, and the phone kiosk.

At any rate, I was overwhelmed with the expressions of excitement at my approach to Uganda. I will disappoint several people this visit since I will not be staying at the mission at which I have served before. Perhaps I can visit somehow.  

We arrived in Brussels in plenty of time to visit the cologne testers in the duty free shop. After a long flight I consider it a favor to my fellow passengers that I try one. The stronger the better.

I don’t know whether that cologne was strong enough, but I got all four of the center seats to myself for the long ride to Bujumbura. With my bad shoulders I refrained from taking them all at once, but waving my elbows was a privilege not many got. After passing people bashed my shoulder for the third time I moved inboard to make the most of those empty seats. Next time maybe one of you reading this will sit next to me.

The plane arrived at 10:20 pm right on time. But Immigration took until 11:45 to get us through and I was somehow near the end. When I arrived at the baggage carousel, I found my black and yellow Costco shipping and storage trunk in pieces. An attendant was there complaining that he had waited nearly two hours for me. All I could think was he was the wrong one of us to be disappointed. He told me I would have to sign that I received all the contents but did not want to help find a cutter of any kind to undo the cable ties holding on the lid. Around the carousel came my suitcase, and in it my nursing shears. Believe it or not, I kept a packing list for each piece of luggage. Some of you may remember my experience last time with lost luggage. It all appeared intact. 

A not-so-quick stop at the money changers and another at the phone kiosk, and I was finally ready to meet my airport shuttle. Only thing was he wasn’t there. Instead I was swarmed by taxi drivers offering to replace him. One called the hotel and asked the clerk for my driver. They said he would come but he never showed up. I hired the most persistent driver and we got to the hotel, only to find it completely dark. My driver raised enough noise about this mismanagement that the security guard let me in to my room. 

I’m bushed! Time for real sleep.

Thursday May 19

Jeremiah, my faithful friend and driver appeared right on time and I apologized for not using his service even for the little drives. He was quite gracious. 

We stopped in the capital city of Kampala to visit with a friend over breakfast, then journeyed on to Gulu in the Northern territory. When we arrived at Mucungwa Manor (the Lemmon apartment) Jeremiah offered to help get our van started. I reconnected the battery which was still well charged but nothing happened. We tried to jump start it and still … nothing. We took my battery out and put his in and still got nothing but clicks. I had swept away a lot of oxidation dust, but decided that had not been enough. I told Jeremiah we needed a soda. 

Off we went to the nearest restaurant, a scary hole-in-the-wall “pork joint” on the side of the road. There we ate, talked and laughed with the locals who came to or worked at the pork stand. When we were through, we ordered a Coca Cola and brought it home in a used plastic water bottle. Cokes are offered in returnable glass bottles which are not allowed to leave. 

I poured Coke over the oxidized cable connector and left it soaking overnight. Meanwhile, Jeremiah became our second ever overnight houseguest.

Friday May 20

This morning that copper cable sparkled like new. Jeremiah and I hooked it back up and “zoom” went the van! No worries!

Jeremiah left and I was faced to confront the loneliness of my apartment. I made the only thing I had— tea.

WhatsApp is great for keeping in touch with people all over the world for free as long as you have network signal. I sent out greetings to as many friends as I could think might be interested that I was here. And quickly got an invitation to tea (which is really just a late breakfast).

As I was preparing, I went to the spot where I carefully placed my hearing aids the night before, but found one missing. Jeremiah would have no reason or use to move them. The only explanation was a rodent must have found the scent on ear wax enticing enough to steal one. I searched all around and found evidence of at least two nests — one in a chair that had been torn up from under the cushion, and the other in the asbestos lining under the oven. I will have to go east and hearing aid hunting when I get the time.

I met our friend, fellow missionary, and TLC Uganda Director Nancy Cardoza at Elephante’s for tea. “African tea” is hot black tea with real fresh cream, ginger, and raw sugar. Breakfast was toast with avocado and eggs. The fellowship was great and the talk insightful. I can always count on Nancy for guidance about what not to do and how to avoid some of the painful mistakes she has survived. 

I went shopping in town and spent too long looking for car parts. I ended up at my favorite hardware shop, where the ladies, Sandra, and her mother always help be beyond any expectation. I was greeted with welcoming smiles and hugs, so well they know me. They asked about Cindy and hoses long I would stay this time. Then Sandra walked me around town markets showing me the best places to find those things on my shopping list. 

By the time I got home, I turned around again to pick up my friend, Patrick, who is studying at the medical school near my house. His family village is only a 20 minute drive, so we went to inspect his gardens. I am so proud of my friend who studies and works so hard at everything he does while his wife is working as a hospital nurse and caring for their two small boys. We got a takeout dinner and I took him back to school, then went home and ate half of mine alone for supper. The rest is breakfast. 

It is good to be here. Neighbors take me seriously when I speak their language, but I have gotten rusty from my time in Florida. I look forward to working with my Acholi tutor starting next week.