A moment ago, I was thinking that there could be a book called God Is. Each chapter could have a different title like God is the redeemer, God is coming, God is immeasurably more than we could ask or imagine, God is love, God is hope for the orphans, strength for the weak, and God is always enough. But then I realized something. There is a book like that. It’s called the Bible.

I honestly believe I could fill a whole book with “God is…” statements. There are just so many! Four months before coming to Africa, the middle school girls at our church were having bible study. Kudos to Corinne Le for starting that bible study, by the way! At our first meeting, Corinne had laid out journals for us, and we were each supposed to choose one. There was no question about which one I wanted. In fact, the journal is next to me on my bed right now.

The cover is blue and has an eagle on it. Until that day, I had never seen/heard the verse on the cover. But boy, am I glad I saw it that day. It’s a pretty well-known verse, but also a really important one. It is a verse that we should all strive to base our life off of. It isn’t one of those, “Be-perfect-so-you-can-be-like-God” kind of verses. This verse has become one of my favorite, and is definitely one of the most inspiring.

It reads: “Those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles.” Isaiah 40:31. I don’t know what you envision when you read that verse, but I sure know what I see. I picture a person flying in the sky. It’s sort of like in the gospels when Peter walks on water, but as soon as he loses faith, he falls. It may seem impossible for a person to fly, but just remember, nothing is impossible with God. Never, never, never, lose faith in our Lord Jesus Christ. Some of you may have thought that I was going to say never, never, never give up (Winston Churchill), but if you have faith, you won’t give up anyway.

I’ve sort of strayed off topic a little bit, but I think that’s okay. The point of everything I post is to always have faith, always give it all to God, and pray for those who aren’t as fortunate as you. Sometimes it may not seem like I have all of this in me, or at least I didn’t the last time you saw me. But this has always been in me, just bursting to get out. Coming here has given me the courage to finally get it off my chest.

Really, honestly, I know that I will never be the same girl. Mission trips can make you do things you never would have done otherwise, and things that (without faith) could’ve/should’ve killed you. They also stretch your faith so thin you think it’s going to snap. Mission trips… broaden your faith more than you before thought imaginable.

I want to thank everyone who reads this blog. We can honestly feel the prayers and support.  They are DEFINITELY helping. The last thing I want to say is that there is this really great book you should read. Stormie O’ Martian has written a series of books called “The Power of a Praying…” Teen, adult, kid, whatever you are. I have The Power of a Praying Teen with me in Uganda, and it’s a really moving story. After each chapter, there is a little devotional-thingie. There are a few questions and they give you some supportive verses. Please look into purchasing one of those books. They are inspirational for adults and children. That’s all I have to say for today.

Thanks, Jennifer

First-Born Calf

Chicks no More

Last weekend (at the end of his term break), Henry hopped on a bus in Hoima bound for Kampala.  From the super-crowded and crazy Kampala bus park, Henry took a boda boda (motorcycle taxi) to meet us at the mall.  We knew Henry would be transporting his backpack and the extra-large suitcase we loaned him, but when he showed up in the mall parking lot, he also had with him an additional parcel he had lugged with him.  We watched him dismount the motorcycle clutching . . . a live chicken.  The chicken’s legs were tied together and it was wearing a makeshift diaper, fashioned from a plastic bag.

Henry explained that the chicken, which wasn’t from his family’s flock (they weren’t old enough quite yet), was a gift from his mother.  She knew that we bought our chicken meat from grocery stores and really wanted us to have a fresh chicken.  While we were quite flattered that she would think to send us something, and while we were impressed that Henry had ridden the four hours on a bus while holding the live chicken, we were a bit perplexed as to what we would do with it, especially since we had planned to take Henry bowling for the first time at the mall.

“We can just leave the chicken in the car,” declared Henry.  “She will be fine while we are . . . doing what?” he asked.  “I will prepare the chicken for you when we get back to your apartment.”

So, we left “eggy” (as Jennifer had named the chicken) in the car while we went inside to bowl.  Not only had Henry never bowled, he had never even seen anyone bowl, and had never even heard of the sport.

Being a pretty good athlete, he picked it up quickly, though he opted for a two-handed delivery.

Bowling in Kampala

When we got back to the car, eggy was waiting patiently for us in the back of the car.  And when we got back to the apartment, Henry showed us city folk how to “prepare” the chicken.  I helped him hold eggy while Henry deftly separated her head from the rest of her body and then held her by the neck as she flapped around for the next thirty seconds.  (I had heard about this phenomenon, but had never witnessed it.  Jennifer opted not to witness it, and Joshua is still scarred.  Jessica was on ten-day medical mission road trip with the Gregstons).

Henry and Headless Chicken

We then plucked, skinned, gutted, and quartered the carcass.  While fresh chicken tastes materially better than frozen, the mess and work associated with the preparation has not convinced us to forego supermarket chickens.

The next day, we took Henry back to school for the beginning of his second term.  Upon arrival, Henry was given his report card.  Always at the top of class in rural schools, Henry was accustomed to receiving top marks.  For the first time, however, Henry was competing against the top of the top in the country and was clearly disappointed with his grades.  He did quite well in Physics, decently in Chemistry, but left himself plenty of room for improvement in Biology.  These scores were perfectly in line with how he had done on the national exams; biology had been his Achilles heel then also.  The saddest part of the whole scene was that he really felt like he had let us down.  We told him how proud we were of him, but he was pretty bummed.

Later in the week, he called and was in much better spirits.  He had spoken with other students and with his teachers, and was better able to understand that he hadn’t done nearly as badly as he thought.  He is determined to improve, and we are confident that he will.

Tomorrow, we are going to visit him at school after church, and then I’m . . . “Goin’ back to Cali.”

Since I became Associate Dean for Student Life in 2005, I have been the official name reader at the law school graduation.  Since I preside over first-year orientation, I really enjoy closing the loop by announcing their completion of law school by inviting them one by one to cross to stage and receive their diploma from President Benton.

When my family and I decided to come to Uganda for six months, we talked about all the things we would miss while we were gone.  One of the biggest disappointments for me was that I would miss graduation.

To my surprise and delight, Dean Tacha called me into her office just before I left and told me that a group of students had scheduled a meeting with her and encouraged her to bring me back for graduation, even offering to help fund it themselves.  She informed me that if I was willing to come home, the law school would pay for it.  Done.

So I will be home from Monday afternoon through Saturday morning.  I have a huge shopping list prepared by my family, the Gregstons, and two Ugandan judges.  My first stop?  Chipotle.  I cannot wait to see my students, my colleagues, my friends, and several members of my family.

When I arrive back in Kampala next Sunday, ten Pepperdine law students will already be here and will begin their internships with Ugandan judges the following day.  The day after that, our friends from Texas (Alan and Holly Brown) arrive in Kampala for three weeks in conjunction with their efforts to adopt a Ugandan orphan.  I am really looking forward to this final stretch of just over two months.  Thanks for following along on our journey.

As I pondered in my prior post, the actions of Westerners in Africa (and other developing nations), even when driven by indisputably admirable motives, can (i) detrimentally impact both the short-term wellbeing of those the actions were designed to help, and (ii) impede the long-term development of a country.  So when, for example, Westerners send money to African orphanages, there is no legitimate dispute about the sincere desire to help.  No one questions the motives of those involved; only the impact is questioned.

With respect to international adoption, however, I am increasingly hearing critics question (to put it charitably) the motives of Western (both American and European) families who come to Uganda and seek to be granted legal guardianship of orphan children.  (Under Ugandan law, these children cannot be adopted in Uganda until the children have been foster parented in Uganda for three years first.  Accordingly, after being granted a legal guardianship by the Ugandan courts, these families are permitted to obtain a visa from the US Embassy, which enables them to emigrate to the United States, and then (and only then) adopt the child in their home state).  Legitimate questions have been (and are being) raised about the true orphan status of some (critics say many/most) of the children who are made available for legal guardianship by orphanages and families.  Much more can and should be done on the front end to ascertain the true orphan status of these children before the families come to Uganda and become attached to the children.

But some (many?) critics of international adoption are not content to offer fair caution and criticism about the process.  Instead the motives of the Western families are being seriously questioned in an effort to discredit the entire enterprise.  At public meetings (as opposed to private conversations), opponents of international adoption are asserting that American families are coming to get “their black baby” because it is “fashionable” to have an interracial family.  As I previously confessed, I have a hard enough time accurately identifying my own motives, let alone of those who I don’t know and have never met.

It is certainly true that international adoptions, including those that result in interracial families, are on the rise.  I have been reliably informed that in Uganda, the number of Americans being granted legal guardianship over Ugandan children has increased fourfold in the past four years, with this year projected to be north of four hundred.  I have also been reliably informed that there are 2.6 million orphans in Uganda, though many, many less than that are in institutional care (orphanages).  The consensus here in Uganda seems to be that recent popular books written by influential evangelical leaders in the United States are contributing to the increase in Americans seeking to adopt internationally.  Books like “Radical” by David Platt are often cited as fueling the “evangelical fervor” for international adoption.  While I don’t know if there are statistics kept on the religious affiliations (or intensities) of those who seek to internationally adopt, my anecdotal observations support the notion that evangelical Christians are disproportionately represented in families seeking to gain legal guardianship of Ugandan orphans.

Furthermore, I do not deny that there is at least some evidence that the willingness of American families to pay American adoption agencies, who partner with (or, in some cases, seemingly establish and operate) Ugandan orphanages, creates incentives for Ugandan children to be matched with American families before sufficient orphan-status investigations and attempts to resettle the children can be completed.  While the amount of money American families are being charged can easily be absorbed by many of these families, this amount of money often dwarfs the typical wages Ugandans otherwise earn.  Consequently, the opportunity certainly exists for unscrupulous individuals to make a substantial amount of money (relative to other Ugandans) by being involved in the adoption pipeline.

I am heartened that Ugandan authorities are increasingly focusing on the potential (and real) abuses inherent in this system.  It is not at all clear, however, whether those who want it cleaned up will prevail over those who, for philosophical reasons, simply want it shut down.

None of this, however, supports the notion that the motives of American families are questionable.  If, in fact, the writings of Platt and others are prompting American evangelicals to decide that they have room in their families and their budgets for one (or three) more children who are languishing in deplorable conditions in developing countries, then this strongly suggests that their motives are pure.  I will admit that there is a deep and cynical part of my soul that allows for the possibility that not everyone who seeks to internationally adopt is driven by a sincere desire to open their families to the less fortunate.  Unless demonstrated otherwise, however, I will not question the motives of these families, but will instead offer a tool that can be used by all of us to assist in ascertaining our own motives.  This tool is simply asking the “so that” question until the answer to the next “so that” question is the same as the prior one.

Let me illustrate how this “so that” tool works by using an example that is getting lots of play in the New York Times and in the legal community right now.  The cost of legal education, when compared to the prospects of legal employment on the other side of law school, is causing many potential law students to rethink whether they should go to law school.  It seems to me that there is a relatively easy way for law students to make this decision – simply answer the question of why they want to be a lawyer.  One strand could go like this: So that I can get a job at a big firm.  Why?  So that I can make a large salary.  Why?  So that I can a can buy a big house and drive a nice car.  Why?  So that I can be seen as successful.  Why?  So that people will respect me.  Why?  So that I can feel good about myself and make my parents proud.  Why?  So that I can feel good about myself and make my parents proud.  OK, so this is the end of this “so that” strand.  One can then discount the risk of this “so that” strand playing out and compare that outcome to the cost of legal education and then make a decision.

But another strand could go like this: So that I can become a lawyer.  Why?  So that I can represent individuals who are overwhelmed by a process they cannot navigate or understand.  Why?  So that their suffering can be relieved.  Why?  So that they can be freed to reach their potential.  Why?  So they know that they are valuable and worthy of other people’s love.  Why?  So they can get a glimpse of God’s presence in their lives and in this world.  Why? So they can get a glimpse of God’s presence in their lives and in this world.  OK, so this is the end of this other “so that” strand, which can then be assessed against the cost of legal education.  If students can make more money going to business school, but cannot fulfill what they discern to be God’s purpose for their lives, then law school will be the choice rather than business school.

Granted, nothing in life is ever as easy as a simply illustration, but this “so that” tool can be applied to all aspects of life.  Why am I exercising today?  Why am I taking my children to church?  Why am I living in Uganda for six months?

Likewise, why am I traveling to Uganda in an effort to bring a child into my family?  If it is so that I can provide a home for an orphan who has never had one, so that I can give love to a child of God who has never experienced it, so that this child can catch a glimpse of what the relationship between God and his children is like, then God bless you.  If, however, if it is so that I can be like those down the street who adopted a child from Ethiopia, so that others will see me as progressive or fashionable, so that I will be respected and admired by men and women in the community, then please rethink your decision before you come here

That’s about all I have to say about (so) that.

President Paul Kagame of Rwanda, generally thought of as a forward-thinking innovator who has helped Rwanda emerge from its darkest genocide days in the early 1990s into one of the brighter lights of Africa, is a frequent encourager of Africa reducing its dependence on Western aid and the services provided by Western NGOs (non-governmental organizations).  To be clear, he is not at all ungrateful for the support Rwanda and other African countries have received (and continue to receive).  His point is simply that African sovereignty depends upon sustainability and self-reliance, and that Africa needs to always be on the pathway toward independence.

There is, of course, no question that much of what the West has done for Africa has been very good.  For example, it is undisputed that the AIDS epidemic in Africa has been contained by assistance from the West.  Had the billions and billions spent been withheld, the devastation would have been infinitely more severe.  But other programs and expenditures leave the question more open to debate.

I will confess to wondering myself whether some of the work I have been involved in is actually helping as much as I would like to believe.  For instance, when a group of American lawyers descend upon a children’s prison and prepare their cases for resolution so the children can gain access to justice, this feels like a really good thing, and it is.  But if this act then causes the Ugandan government not to provide such services in the future because they believe Americans will keep coming back, then it can actually serve as a long-term detriment.  Accordingly, we are being as careful as possible to integrate Ugandan lawyers into these projects and we are attempting to change structures, rather than fix immediate problems.  Time will tell if these restructuring plans hold.

The challenges that can be encountered when Americans with the purest of motives are not careful when trying to help were starkly illustrated in the past couple of days.  Earlier this week, the Ugandan government closed down an “institution” that was apparently masquerading as an “orphanage.”  Those running this “orphanage” have been arrested and charged with a whole host of fraud and child neglect crimes.  The authorities are alleging this “orphanage” was funded by a civic organization in the United States, which thought it was sponsoring needy children – providing them food, shelter, and education.  Apparently, however, the children were actually not orphans, not really getting any schooling, and living in squalor (the pictures and video were quite disturbing).  In contrast, the individuals who were running this “institution” were apparently living like kings on the $35 per child per month they were receiving.  (Reportedly, most of these children were taken back to their families within hours of the raid, who professed shock and disbelief that their children had not been at a boarding school).  The allegations are that the American civic organization was duped by the Ugandan “orphanage” leaders into believing that it was supporting children in need.  Apparently photographs and descriptions were sent that were completely fabricated.  Supposedly, a member or two from the American civic organization came to Uganda within the past six months, but never actually visited the location in question.  Once again, these are the facts as alleged, which may or may not be ultimately proven.  The government (and others who have lived here in Uganda for quite some time) have no doubts that this is not an isolated incidence of unsuspecting Westerners unwittingly supporting “orphanages” that do much more harm than good.

In contrast to this, earlier this week I met with two pastors from an American church who had just flown into Uganda the day before, and who were flying back home the next day.  They were here to meet with the leaders of the sponsorship program in which many of the church’s members participated.  They met with the leaders of the program, the teachers in the school, and the kids themselves in order to ensure that the money being sent was (i) being used by its recipients to accomplish its intended purpose, and (ii) not doing more harm than good.  Fortunately, they found precisely what they hoped to find, perhaps in no small part because those to whom the money was being sent knew they would be held accountable.  Not only was their money being used in the ways represented to the donors, but this support was also revitalizing the surrounding community by providing jobs for those who were serving and teaching the children.

The contrast between these two scenarios could not be more apparent.  In both cases, there were American families who sincerely wanted to help impoverished children in need of food, shelter, and an education.  In one case, there was a lack of follow up and accountability.  Not only was the money being diverted from its intended purpose, but the fact that money was being sent affirmatively harmed those it targeted – children.  Children were (apparently) taken from their homes and used as tools to enrich unscrupulous people.  In the other case, representatives of those sending money took affirmative steps to ensure that the money was being properly used – to hold the recipients accountable.

I am by no means the first person to issue a word of caution about ensuring that money given for laudable reasons is not actually causing harm – the book “When Helping Hurts” comes to mind.  And I am certainly not an authority on this subject.  But living in Africa exposes one to the harsh realities of this more readily than living in the United States.

In fact, just last evening, I was talking with a friend I have gotten to know fairly well since arriving in Africa.  We were chatting about the differences between street children in Jinja versus street children in Kampala.  We both have a sincere faith and a desire to follow the teachings of Jesus, which includes caring for those in desperate need.  (Though she is younger than I, her life demonstrates a firm understanding of this better than mine does).  I was telling her about my internal struggle every time a child, pregnant mother, or mother holding a small child comes up to our car window to beg at an intersection.  The traffic here is so congested, motorists are constantly harassed by those who seem to be in dire need of food and money.  Aren’t these children and mothers “the least of these” Jesus instructs us to help?  Don’t I have the means to help?  Aren’t I being selfish or self-righteous (even judgmental) if I refuse to help?  On the other hand, doesn’t Jesus also instruct us to be wise and shrewd?

What would Jesus do?

I firmly believe he would instruct us to help.  Perhaps he would want us to provide immediate relief to those in need and leave the judging to him.  I don’t know for sure, but I think, however, he would want us to help in ways that actually help, rather than prolong or exacerbate the pain.  I think he would have us consider both the immediate and long-term consequences of our actions.  And I think he would encourage us to take steps to ensure what we gave was being used to help those it was designed to help.

So what is my point?  Simply this – it seems to me we are called upon to act on the instinct to help, but also to take steps to ensure what we are doing is actually helping.  We should partner with organizations (like World Vision and others) where there are no doubts about how our money is being used.  In the alternative, we should recognize and accept the responsibility to verify how our funds are being used when our giving creates risks of abuse and harm to those we seek to help.

Sometimes I

I just want to close my eyes

And act like everyone’s alright

When I know they’re not

This world needs God

But it’s easier to stand and watch

I could say a prayer and just move on

Like nothing’s wrong

But I refuse

‘Cause I don’t want to live like I don’t care

I don’t want to say another empty prayer

Oh, I refuse

To sit around and wait for someone else

To do what God has called me to do myself

Oh, I could choose

Not to move but I refuse

I can hear the least of these

Crying out so desperately

And I know we are the hands and feet

Of You, oh God

So, if You say move

It’s time for me to follow through

And do what I was made to do

Show them who You are

‘Cause I don’t want to live like I don’t care

I don’t want to say another empty prayer

Oh, I refuse

To sit around and wait for someone else

To do what God has called me to do myself

Oh, I could choose

Not to move but I refuse

To stand and watch the weary and lost

Cry out for help

I refuse to turn my back

And try and act like all is well

I refuse to stay unchanged

To wait another day, to die to myself

I refuse to make one more excuse

‘Cause I don’t want to live like I don’t care

I don’t want to say another empty prayer

Oh, I refuse

To sit around and wait for someone else

To do what God has called me to do myself

Oh, I could choose

 Not to move but I refuse

I refuse

I refuse

They say a picture is worth a thousand words, and we have taken at least a thousand photos in Uganda, but we can’t share them all.  So here is a video of a small collection of our photos, with the song “I Refuse” by Josh Wilson.

I hope this gives you a sense of what we are experiencing.

http://animoto.com/play/ykvxqTkA6rBcALTWLWFJjQ

Thanks, Jennifer

A couple days ago, Jake and I had a bit of a flashback. We were back in the lab, with Dr. Andrew. Except a few things were different. For one thing, Jake and I had lost about 50 pounds  between us (and that’s not an exaggeration). Second, our amazing teacher got to watch us use the skills he had taught us 3 months ago. And we needed them. We were taking finger pricks to test for HIV. Not too bad right? It’s at least easier than a syringe. Except our patients were all 3 and under. Some Ugandan children were so still and silent during the entire procedure that I was actually a little bit concerned. Others acted more like American children. Meaning they acted like I was trying to remove their fingers with a cigar cutter. For the squirmy children, I would sit them down in my lap and use one arm to pin them still, and the other hand to hold the finger and pump the blood while Jake pricked them and tried to drip a few drops of blood onto the test strip. After getting peed on 3 times and having heard screams that would curdle powdered milk, we were finally finished. We had one positive. But Dr. Andrew re-reminded us that we can’t look at this as a terrible thing. We have to have the hearts of doctors. We have to look at it not as a little girl having a terrible disease, but as a little girl finally finding out what’s wrong with her. We have to see it as us giving her not bad news, but hope, since it was caught so early.

It’s hard though. You give someone a life sentence, and there’s nothing you can do. What has really helped me is the Serenity Prayer my grandmother taught me when I was a little girl and stressed about life. The first line is “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.” There are some things we cannot change. Those are the things we have to give to God, or at the very least, beg that He take from us. This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but it’s something we all have to do. If there’s anything I’ve learned from the death I’ve seen both here and at home in America, it’s that we will destroy ourselves wondering what we could have and should have done, when there is absolutely nothing we can do. God is big enough for these problems, but we are not. Please today try to give one thing to God and accept what you cannot change.

3 months ago

Neither Joline nor I had ever been on a “mission trip” until we were in our forties.  My first such endeavor was coming to Uganda in January of 2010.  Recognizing that if I could do it, so could she, Joline (accompanied by Jessica) went to Honduras six months later.

Looking back on why we waited so long to get personally involved in missions work, Joline and have been able to identify plenty of excuses.  We both came from families of limited means – my parents were both public school teachers and there were four kids to feed and clothe, and things were even tighter for Joline’s family with seven kids at various times living under the roof of her blended family.  We were both involved in sports and we (well, at least Joline) took our studies very seriously.  Additionally, growing up, our worlds were quite small.  We could recognize third world countries on maps, but had little information about them and no one we knew was going there.  Our experiences were limited to periodic reports from the few missionaries our small church supported.  Both of us cared about the suffering and oppressed around the world.  We had contributed over the years to various mission-related organizations and groups and are sponsoring a child through World Vision.  This support is, of course, critical to the whole mission enterprise, and I don’t at all want to diminish its importance.  Indeed, providing financial resources can make a huge difference in the lives of the recipients, as my former student Holly proved by organizing a crew of people to bless Henry’s family as I posted about here.

But we had done virtually nothing to care for those in need in person.

When we were praying about whether we would respond to what we believed to be the recent call to Africa, we gradually came to the realization that perhaps this call was more about our children than it was about us.  We ultimately concluded that it was time for us to move beyond caring about and get to caring for.

This distinction had been brought home to me in a different context early in my teaching career.  Ken Elzinga, a renowned economics professor at the University of Virginia, had visited Pepperdine and delivered a series of lectures about what he thought it meant to be a Christian professor.  One of the points he made irrevocably changed me from that moment forward.  When students come to your office with challenging life problems, he implored the audience of professors, don’t just tell them you will pray for them.  Instead, take the opportunity (and the risk) and ask them if you can pray with them, right then and there, he encouraged.  In other words, be present with them in their pain and struggles, rather than caring about them from a distance.  Since then, I have endeavored to pray with my students whenever the opportunity arises.

Our time in Africa has been deeply impacting for Joline and me; it has been life changing for our children.  They are not hearing and praying about abandoned orphans and lonely widows.  They are holding them, singing to them, praying with them.

Joshua and Jennifer with a Widow

Jennifer at an Orphanage

Jessica in the Clinic

One of the events God used to start working on my heart was a visit to Pepperdine by Baroness Caroline Cox, a member of the British House of Lords who is one of the leading humanitarians of this generation.  One of our students asked her whether it is better to visit the oppressed around the world or to instead send the money it would have cost to visit in person.  Her response made a significant impact me and prepared me to heed the call to Africa when it came at the end of a Bob Goff speech in 2009:

“Please go.  The fact that you visit . . . will be a great comfort for those people you do visit, because the kind of people we have been talking about, they often feel forgotten . . . and the fact that you care enough to go will be a blessing to them.  You don’t necessarily have to take anything specific in terms of professional skills.  The fact that you are there will mean a lot to them – you care enough to leave your comfort zone, you care enough to go.  And when you come back, you’ll be able to be an advocate for them . . .  Other opportunities will open up which will show you your way forward through whatever door God may want you to go through in your life . . . When you come back, you’re going to have a massive ripple effect.”

I have been privileged to see this modeled in several individuals who have become heros to me, three of whom have written books about how God whispered (or yelled) to them to become involved.  While I have only read one of these books, I highly recommend all three.  The first is “Kisses from Katie.”

Kisses from Katie

I have written about Katie Davis previously and have very much enjoyed the opportunity to get to know her here in Uganda.  She is a remarkable young woman and her book is about how and why she ended up moving to Uganda at the age of 19, and how and why a few years later she is the mother to 13 girls and the director of a huge ministry serving a large portion of a poor, rural area in Uganda.

The second is “Love Does” by Bob Goff.

Love Does

This book was just released in the United States two weeks ago, but doesn’t come out on Kindle or Audiobooks until May 1.  I am positively jealous of my friends who have already read this book.  As I have written about previously, Bob is the person most directly responsible for the Gashes moving to Uganda.  The reviews are uniformly favorable for this inspiring book about love in action.

The third is “Go and Do” by Jay Milbrandt.

Go and Do

Jay’s book was also released in the United States earlier this month, but just came out on Kindle yesterday.  I have downloaded it and have already begun to dig into it.  As detailed in Chapter 14 of Jay’s book, Jay was integrally involved in convincing me to come to Uganda in January of 2010.  Chapter 14 also provides an overview of how and when Henry and I met and kindly alludes to the book Henry and I are writing about how our lives providentially collided.

In addition to these three members of my cloud of witnesses, I am also encouraged and inspired by the Gregston family (our Twin Family) as they continue to travel around Uganda providing medical care to those who otherwise have no access to it.  They have been “adopting” various children with serious medical needs along the way and arranging for life-saving treatments and operations that would otherwise be out of reach to them.  I encourage you to follow along with their blog here if you are not already doing so.

I have also been regularly inspired by my students at Pepperdine, many of who travel around the world to serve those in need.  Equally inspiring, however, are the students who regularly feed the day laborers at the Malibu Labor Exchange, who drive down to skid row in Los Angeles to assist the homeless in various endeavors at Pepperdine’s legal clinic at the Union Rescue Mission, and who visit incarcerated youths at a local detention center.

It is self-evident that there are innumerable opportunities, locally and internationally, to care for those in need.  I have come to the realization that simply caring about them isn’t enough anymore.

Ihungu Remand Home Custody (dormitory)

It was surreal to see Henry translating for Jim as he interviewed the prisoners.  It was a little over two years ago that Henry was doing the same translating for Jim with different group of prisoners at Ihungu, but at that time Henry was also a prisoner.  Praise God that justice was served and Henry was found innocent of the charges that initially put him in Ihungu, where he waited almost two years.  For almost two years now, he has been a free young man and has been able to continue his secondary studies in preparation for medical school.  Henry will be a fantastic doctor.  He will show his patients the same compassion he showed the prisoners he helped.  Today he was so encouraging to them and prayed a beautiful prayer for them before we left Ihungu.

Henry translating for Jim during interview with prisoner

Out in Namutamba (a town a couple of hours from Kampala), school children were being asked the same question I asked, “What is your name” but in Luganda it is “Erinnya lyo ggwe ani?”  The Gregston family and Jessica are staying in Namutamba, doing health screenings for three days.  The doctors saw over 200 kids today, so Jessica was kept busy, working in the pharmacy.  She has found that medical mission work is what she loves.

Jessica working at previous clinic pharmacy

Back in Kampala, Joshua and Jennifer were spending the day with Lindsey and Eden Doyle at our apartment, playing and swimming.  Today was Eden’s last day in Uganda, before heading to the U.S. tonight for the first time to meet the rest of her new family.  Eden’s adoption has been a very long process, with many ups and downs.  You can read the Doyle family’s blog at:  www.doyleadoption.wordpress.com.  We have been blessed by this family and by getting to know Eden.  Jim and I returned home tonight from Masindi just in time to say goodbye.  Before Lindsey and Eden got into the car to take them to the airport, our family gathered around them and I prayed for them.  My heart overflowed with joyful tears as we praised God for Eden and for her new family.  Eden is such a blessing.  But when she was born, her uncle named her Pichan (which means cursed).  It is hard to believe that someone would give a baby that name, but later the nurses caring for her gave her the new name Eden Hannah (which means delight and grace) and God has given her a new family who loves her and knows that she is God’s blessing to them.  Incidentally, Eden was born in Masindi, the town where Jim and I spent our day.

Joshua & Jennifer with Lindsey & Eden

As I sit at my computer, after everyone else has gone to bed, I am trying to wrap my brain around today.  But I can’t.  God has done “immeasureably more than we could ask or imagine.”  He just blows me away.  He rescued Henry.  He rescued Eden.  He rescued our family.  He has given us new names.  Henry’s name has changed from “prisoner” to “future doctor.”  Eden’s name has changed from “cursed” to “delight.”  I do not know our new names yet, but I know we have been changed.

This town will, however, always hold a special place in my heart, as it was the first town in Uganda I spent any amount of time in.  It is also the town where I met Henry.  I was a wide-eyed professor on a do-gooder tourist trip, and Henry was the hope-depleted Prime Minister (designated “Katikiro”) of the Ihungu Remand Home – the head prisoner of the 21 inmates at this juvenile detention center where juveniles are kept who are awaiting trial.  As I have written about before, Henry and I believe that our friendship was God ordained and meant to be for a lifetime.  I can say without hesitation or equivocation that if I had not met Henry on my first trip to Uganda in January of 2010, I would not be living in Uganda today.

So why, two days after Henry completed his first term at the top A-level program in the country, would we be returning to this prison?  Shortly after we arrived at Ihungu, Henry somberly declared, “I hoped I would never come back to this place.”  So why did we come back?

About a month ago, I was in Masindi (in conjunction with the Doyle legal guardianship matter I wrote about yesterday).  While there, I tracked down the probation officer/warden of Ihungu, whom we affectionately call “Mr. William.”  Mr. William and I had gotten to be close in 2010 because we shared something in common – a deep affection for, and an abiding belief in, Henry.  Mr. William told me that the inmate population of Ihungu had swollen to 33.  When the Pepperdine team of lawyers descended upon Ihungu in 2010, the prison had been at capacity with 21 inmates.  Accordingly, over the past few weeks, I had cleared my schedule and made arrangements to visit Ihungu to take an inventory of the types of cases that were there and how long the children had been imprisoned while awaiting trial.  Last week, I spoke with the High Court Judge assigned district and received his blessing and encouragement to figure out how to get these cases moved through the system.

During an earlier conversation with Henry, he had volunteered to help in my juvenile justice work if ever an opportunity arose.  Henry speaks five languages fluently and can manage his way through two more.  He also knows exactly what it is like to languish in a prison, clinging only to his Bible and his belief in God’s deliverance to those who wait for it.  Accordingly, when I asked Henry last week if he would be interested in joining me at Ihungu to meet with the prisoners, he didn’t hesitate get involved.  He remembered vividly the day with Bob Goff and John Niemeyer came to Ihungu in the late fall of 2009 and announced to the prisoners they would return with a team of lawyers to help the children get access to justice.  He remembered just how much hope that visit brought and the impact it had on the prisoners’ morale.  He wanted to be part of it this time.

When we arrived in Masindi, we went straight to The Masindi Hotel where I had spent numerous late evenings and early mornings with other lawyers preparing the prisoners’ cases for trial.  I wanted to see whether the hotel was already booked during the time the next team of American and Ugandan lawyers would descend upon Masindi to dedicate five tiring days and sleepless nights preparing cases for trial.  Fortunately, the coast is clear for June 15-22, the likely dates of The Masindi Project II.  Since Joline had heard all about The Masindi Hotel and seen lots of pictures of the “war room” we created, we wandered around for a little while and took some pictures.  From there, we met up with Mr. William.  He and Henry exchanged warm hugs and were genuinely happy to see each other.  Mr. William jumped into our car and we all bumped and bounced out the horrible road to Ihungu.  Joline and I watched Henry closely as we arrived, hoping to catch a glimpse of the emotions he was experiencing.  It had been almost exactly two years since Henry was released and he had never been back.

“It is somehow different,” he said softly as the makeshift soccer field came into view.  The goalposts were gone that Henry had himself made from tree branches and nails he removed from the roof of the one-room warehouse he had called home for nearly two years.  In its place were a few cinder blocks.  Also missing from the field was the stone outhouse that had previously been in the field of play.  “It fell down about a year ago,” explained Mr. William in response to my inquiry.  As we turned the corner and the three stone buildings that made up Ihungu came into view, Henry gave a very Ugandan “Eh!” as he saw that other things had changed also, but much had stayed the same.  The maize (corn) plants had been cleared and a relatively fresh coat of paint had been applied to the building where the boys lived, but the rest of the structures were continuing to crumble and deteriorate.  Another thing I immediately noticed was that the distinctive, foreboding wooden door to the boys’ building that had figured so prominently in many of our initial pictures had been removed and replaced.  (More on that delightfully Bob Goff story in a later post).

Some of the male inmates were milling around outside in filthy, tattered, mismatched clothing as they cooked their morning porridge in the outdoor “kitchen.”  (The inmates at the Naguru Remand Home in Kampala wear clean uniforms).

Cooking in the "Kitchen"

Most of them stopped what they were doing and stared at us as we exited the vehicle.  Since we were with Mr. William, they must have known we were authorized to be there.  Joline and I slowly exited the vehicle and got her camera and my computer out.  I pointed out a few things to her from next to the car and then we looked around for Henry – he had been right next to us when we got out, but had disappeared.  We eventually found him with a group of prisoners, shaking their hands and introducing himself to them in their local languages.  After Joline I met several of the prisoners,, Mr. William retrieved the two girl prisoners and led us all into the boys’ building.

The boys’ building is about fifty feet long and twenty feet wide.  The floors and walls are concrete slabs and there are no windows, only small bar-filled rectangles on the walls near the twelve-foot high ceiling.  These rectangular holes have no screens, however, so the malaria-laden mosquitos have ready access to the prisoners.

Mr. William interpreted as I introduced myself, Joline, Michael, and Henry.

Talking to prisoners at Ihungu

The inmates seemed dutifully impressed that Henry had been Katikiro (Prime Minister) for almost two years and had left Ihungu two years earlier and was now back in school.  I explained that I had come with other lawyers two years ago and that I would be back with more lawyers in less than two months.  I described for them the information that we would be gathering on this visit and then what we would be doing when we returned.  They expressed their appreciation through a hand-clap pattern they all did in unison (they do this same thing at the Naguru Remand Home).

As we set up plastic chairs under the same tree that Henry and I had spent five days under more than two years ago, with him interpreting as I (and other lawyers) had interviewed Henry and his fellow inmates, Henry and I had a quiet moment.  “I hoped I would never come back to this place,” he said.  After a pause, though, he added, “I am glad I am here to help you.”

As we got started, Michael drove Mr. William back to town.  Starting with the two girls, we set up an assembly line, of sorts.  Joline wrote their names in large letters on a piece of paper and took a picture of them holding up their names, then escorted them to the chairs under the tree.  With Henry interpreting, I interviewed them and gathered some basic information – age, education level, crime charged, date and location of arrest, and date of arrival at Ihungu.  We also asked their favorite football (soccer) team – Manchester United handily beat Arsenal.

Midway through, Michael arrived back at Ihungu and he and Henry took turns interpreting.

Henry and Michael Interpreting

Michael has become more than a driver – he is a friend, and he relished the chance to participate in helping these children gain their freedom.  When all was said and done, we had a handful of murder cases, a handful of theft cases, and the rest were defilement (unlawful sex with a minor).  One had been at Ihungu for just over a week, a few had been there two years, and the rest were scattered in between.  To a person, they were exceedingly grateful to us for coming.  After we finished the interviews, which took a little less than three hours, we all gathered in the boys’ building again.  Before we said our goodbyes, Henry said a beautiful and moving prayer, asking God to protect and comfort the children while they waited for justice, and to forgive all of us when we fall short.  Another unison handclap from the grateful prisoners.

When we got outside, one of Henry’s fellow inmates from two years ago (Jabel) had arrived – Henry had told him we were coming.

Jim, Jabel, Mr. William, and Henry after lunch

They had an emotional reunion – they had been close and had been together for almost two years in Ihungu, with Jabel serving as Henry’s Chairman (#2 in command) during much of Henry’s reign as Katikiro.  From there, we all drove back to The Masindi Hotel for lunch.  I had called one of the prosecuting attorneys in Masindi last week, and he had agreed to meet me for lunch.  So Mr. William (we picked him up in town), the prosecutor, and I ate at one table, while Joline, Michael, Henry, and Jabel ate at the other.

Lunch could not have gone better.  Both Mr. William and the prosecutor fully embraced the idea of copying the pilot program we are running in Kampala and utilizing it in Masindi.  There are still some hoops to jump through to make it happen, but I am optimistic that the 33 inmates at Ihungu will soon be working their way through the justice system.  All in all, it was a great day.  One of the best parts of it was the fact that Joline and I got to work on a project in Africa together, which had not yet happened.