It wasn't what I expected to be doing in the mountains in Uganda
- hitting up the local bars and sharing the gospel with people there.
In the last week, though, we've been to three.
The first time we went, I found myself standing beside the
front door looking to be the first person on my team out the door.
You see, I have an issue with alcohol - of the smell making
me sick variety more so than the moral variety.
I was much more concerned with praying protection over
myself and Nicole (who was
sharing with the men and women there) than hearing what was said-
Not to mention fighting off the urge to run out of the room
and throw up on the side of the road.
The second time we went, I didn't even go inside.
It was in one of those circular buildings you see in
pictures of the Ugandan countryside, and there was barely room for Jonathan (who was speaking),
Megan (who also shared), and
Brutus (who was translating).
Again, I spent our time there praying - for protection, for
open ears, etc.
Again, I didn't hear much of what was said.
The only difference was that I didn't feel like I was going
to throw up (thank you, God).
So today, we went again.
God started speaking to me about sharing my struggles in the
past with suicide while Nicole
was sharing with a group of men fixing the tire on a truck.
I didn't know if I was supposed to be sharing about it that
day or not, so as she spoke, and as we walked to our next destination I asked
God when.
At the time, I didn't know where we were going next, but
when we came to a stop in front of another drinking establishment, I knew.
This was the place.
After praying protection over myself, being prayed for by
some of my teammates, and going through the introductions, I spoke - fighting
back tears the entire time.
The weight of what God had given me to share had never been
so heavy, and I had never felt so urgent of a need to share as I did in that
moment.
Three and a half years ago, I was standing in the same place
I stood today (figuratively, not literally).
Staring out at the incredible view in front of me, but
completely unable to enjoy it.
Why?
Because at that particular moment, I was (literally)
breathless.
It was my first trip to Catalina Island,
and my team was clearing brush off the trails.
We'd worked our tails off on this same trail the afternoon
before - just on the first quarter of the way up.
That morning, half way up the trail, I was wheezing.
Completely breathless.
The view I had of the water was just incredible, but I was
too concerned with sucking in my next breath to worry about it much.
My team prayed strength and breath into me, and breath was what
God delivered.
I just couldn't make it the rest of the way up the trail to
continue clearing brush with everyone else.
So I traded spots with one of the guys on the paint crew,
and battled the rest of the day with the voice inside my head trying to tell me
I had failed.
At the end of that day, while everyone else was unwinding
before dinner, I did a little bit of unwinding of my own - sitting on some
larger rocks near the water, seeking God out to speak peace into my heart.
He did that through Brigitte, one of my leaders that trip.
We sat and talked about the day, and when I shared what had
happened, she reminded me of what I already knew-
That I had worked incredibly hard, I hadn't failed, and
there were people on the trip who couldn't have imagined doing that kind of
work in the first place.
What I learned on that trip was that the only way I could
really truly have failed was to have never tried in the first place.
That was the lesson I had filed away in my memory banks.
God brought me back to that day today as we were climbing in
the Mount Elgon region in Uganda.
There I was, staring out at an incredible view of the range,
fighting to catch my breath and muster the strength to make it the rest of the
way up to where most of my team was waiting-
While Megan, Isaac, and Brutus (two of the locals we've been
ministering with this week) patiently waited with me.
I wanted to cry, and I know I asked God why He would allow me
to come to this place again.
He told me it was time for redemption.
The same God who redeemed Brisbane
for me in Chantaburi planned to redeem Catalina Island
in Uganda.
This time, there was no going back down the trail.
No switching teams, no giving up and heading back home.
The rest of the way to our destination, every step came with
a prayer.
Lord, give me
strength. Lord, don't let me slip and fall.
I can't say that I felt strong through the grueling process
of climbing up the mountain, but I felt jubilant when I caught up to the rest
of my team.
Some of it came from knowing I had conquered the climb.
The majority, though, came from knowing Catalina
Island was redeemed - and that is well worth celebrating.
There I was, at Budadiri Primary and Boarding School for
Girls in Kalowa Parish, standing in front of the smallest group of school
children I have ever addressed in Africa while on The
World Race.
Sixty students, staring at me and my translator at the front
of the class, waiting to see what I had to say to them that particular day.
Ten minutes earlier, the head teacher had handed me a piece
of paper with the name of the classroom I would be going to written on it.
The Unit.
I could hardly remember being as excited for ministry as I
was in that moment, holding that piece of paper.
As the head teacher had explained, The Unit was a group of
sixty students (boys and girls) who were deaf.
Budadiri is the only school in the area with a program
designed for them - the social norm in Uganda
is to ostracize the deaf.
They can't hear, so why bother with educating them, right?
But this program at Budadiri educates the deaf in their
community, and teaches them job skills so they can go on to accomplish things
in life.
With the translator assisting me, I was able to spend at
least thirty minutes with the Unit.
God made sure I told them the truth about who they are -
His beautiful creation, made exactly as He designed them to
be, and for His purposes.
I got to hear each of their names, and share a little bit
about myself and where I come from.
All the things that were on my heart came out of my mouth,
and it was good.
The highlight of the morning, though, was when they sang for
me.
Not a sound came from their lips, but those two songs were
the most beautiful I had ever heard.
And I know God was even more enthralled with them than I
was.
I can't even begin to tell you how special this group of
boys and girls is, especially in facing the odds they face every day.
Or how much I praise God that even here in Africa, there are
people who see life in the midst of brokenness and are willing to put
everything they have into giving that life a fighting chance.
Every life is precious, every life is valuable. And God
doesn't mess up when He brings things to life.
On the way back from Jennifer's house, we had a crowd
following us the likes of which I can only imagine would be following a Hollywood
star.
Children fighting to hold even a finger as we walked down
the hill, and a few parents following behind to make sure the baby that was
being held was returned safely.
You could say it sounded like an army coming to conquer-
Except that we weren't looking to conquer anything.
We weren't looking to be celebrities.
We were just walking home.
School was letting out for the day at most of the schools we
walked by, so the crowd around us only grew.
And as I walked with two girls holding my hands, I realized
something.
In Kenya,
I came to understand that something we all feel the need for is recognition - acknowledgement
of our existence.
If remembering a name is all we need to feel recognized,
then perhaps the act of touching someone signifies something deeper.
A desire for relationship.
I've been reading Ecclesiastes this month (my favorite book
in the Bible), and there is a part that talks about relationships.
Two are better than
one,
Because they have a
good reward for their labor.
For if they fall, one
will lift up his companion.
But woe to him who is
alone when he falls
For he has no one to
help him up.
Again, if two lie down
together, they will keep warm,
But how can one be
warm alone?
Though one may be
overpowered by another, two can withstand him.
We weren't meant to be alone - God established that when He
created Eve as a companion for Adam.
He established that people were meant to live in
relationship with each other.
Personally, I don't believe there is anyone in the world who
desires to be alone ALL the time.
If they think they do, it is a lie they have been listening
to for far too long.
No one can make it on their own, and while I'm not a fan of
The Beatles, I think they had it mostly right when they said "I get by with a
little help from my friends."
Just, in the case of believers, it's more like "I get by
with a little help from my family."
Tuesday afternoon, we were about two-thirds of the way up a
hill and wondering when we would reach the house we were visiting when joyful shouts
of "Hallelujah" reached our ears.
I looked up to see a woman in a maroon dress running down
towards us with hands extended so high in the air she might have been touching
the sky.
By the time the "Aye-aye-aye" shouts started, she was
hugging us enthusiastically.
I didn't understand it, but TIA (this is Africa)
so I went with it.
As she disappeared up the hill, Perez (a member of our
entourage) explained - her name is Jennifer, and today was her 50th
birthday.
I wouldn't have pegged her for a day over 35.
So we trudged the rest of the way up the hill to her house,
where we took tea, Megan shared a word, and we had lunch with Jennifer, her
family, and most of the neighborhood (or so it seemed).
While that was going on, the wheels in my brain were
spinning.
Jennifer didn't even know us, yet we were the guests of
honor on her special day.
It was mind boggling.
Later on, as we sat in our team meeting and talked about the
good things about our day, I went back to that moment where we met Jennifer on
the road.
Her excitement came from the thought of meeting brothers and
sisters from another country.
It didn't matter that she had yet to meet us - we are
family, and family is always welcome.
That concept isn't new.
I've read about it in Acts, in Paul's letters - the
hospitality of brothers and sisters, and the enthusiasm and excitement with
which they welcomed family into their homes.
What feels incredibly sad, in retrospect, is that until
Tuesday, I had never ever seen it beyond the pages of my Bible.
It was wonderful to be so welcomed, and I hope it will be one
of the first moments I remember when I think of Uganda,
My sadness comes from knowing that when I return to America,
most people will not be so welcoming when I meet them for the first time.
Even my own brothers and sisters in Christ.
I could sit in that sadness when I get home, but I trust God
to not allow me to.
I expect to take something away from this month (and
Jennifer) in being more eager to welcome a brother or sister in Christ when I
meet them.
Ministry in Tanzania is over and done with, and we've moved on to Uganda.
currently, most of the squad is out on the Nile rafting, but I (and a few other people) opted to stay back.
I've spent today resting, lying on a couch on a deck overlooking the river and spending time alone with the Lord.
Outside of the overall excitement of seeing the Nile River with my own two eyes, something huge occured to me.
I'm not all that far away (in the general scheme of things) from the spot where Moses's mother put him in the Nile thousands of years ago.
How crazy is that?
Now that I've seen the Nile with my own two eyes, it's even crazier to think that Moses being rescued by Pharaoh's daughter could only have been orchestrated by God himself.
The Nile is HUGE.
Wide.
Class 5 rapids in some parts.
It looks nothing like the calm banks you see in all the pictures drawn or painted depicting the event.
How in the world is a baby in a basket supposed to survive a ride in the Nile if not for the hand of God over him?
And the fact that he did, and was picked up out of the water is nothing short of miraculous.
Which begs the thought - if God's hand was on Moses all that time in that situation as a baby, then how could it not be on me now?
In places where people walk into your house in the middle of the night and take what they can get their hands on, it's miraculous that the guys in our house didn't wake up while they were being robbed.
And when you're riding in public transportation where the van doors don't always open correctly, or fall off, it's miraculous that that is the worst of the mechanical failures you experience.
Or when you're on a bus and a tire explodes - it's miraculous that all the driver has to do is pull off on the side of the road and change the tire in order to remedy the situation.
And that leads me to ask - how have you been protected under the hand of God?
Posted in 07. Tanzania by Cat Pollock on 7/31/2010
(written 07/29/2010)
I
realize that I haven't been the most forthcoming this month when it comes to
the writing of blogs, much less of posting.
My
first inclination, when I started thinking about why this is the case, was to
say it was because there was nothing that happened worth writing about.
I
never set foot in the hospitals.
Door
to door didn't seem to involve much in the way of craziness.
Visiting
the village Team Dynami worked in wasn't all that crazy, either.
Everything
truly crazy that happened at the Crusade last week happened when I didn't go,
and this week has been all about bible studies.
Looking
at it that way, it's hard to find much of anything to write about.
But
maybe the problem isn't in what happened this month - it's in how I am choosing
to see what happened this month.
In
hindsight, it's been a month of the miraculous.
Demons
cast out, people healed, others joining us in the Kingdom.
Not
to mention, God's protective hand has been over us every step of the way.
I
just haven't chosen to see it in that light.
The
truth is, I've struggled this month with homesickness like I've never felt
before in my life.
My
oldest sister, Christina, is having a baby in September (a baby I won't see
until I get home in November), and her baby shower is in just over a week.
Even
typing that thought out is enough to bring me to tears.
It's
one of those things I knew I would have to sacrifice if I went on the Race, but
the enormity of that sacrifice hit me, and suddenly I wanted to go home.
That
homesickness has affected my attitude, and tinged my view of Tanzania ever since it hit.
Regrettably,
I hid how I was feeling behind illness and used it as an excuse to stay home
from ministry some days.
I've
spent moments in the last few days contemplating what I could possibly say
about this month, and walked away mostly empty-handed.
Did
I really waste this month?
Did
I seriously deprive myself of the privilege of being part of God's Kingdom
coming to Tanzania because of my own
foolishness?
One
of the things I've learned out here is that God is good at redeeming the things
I screw up.
I
have no doubt in my mind that He is going to do something with this month.
Yesterday,
I listened to a sermon about Jonah - and how God used his half-hearted prophesy
for Nineveh to bring an entire city to
repentance.
If
that same God is guiding my footsteps, I can expect Him to do something with Tanzania despite my half-hearted
attempts.
Posted in 07. Tanzania by Cat Pollock on 7/29/2010
(written 07/16/2010)
Yesterday,
I met my new friend Agnes.
She
was sitting in her doorway, legs completely still - unnaturally still - as
Helena (another new friend) balanced Agnes's baby daughter Grace in her lap.
Paralysis.
That
was what kept her legs so still as we (Megan, Nicole, Lisa, David, and me) found out.
And
as our translator went through all the questions about how we could pray for
Agnes, if we could lay hands on her, God spoke to me.
When you pray, lay your
hands on her leg, and pray for healing.
Moment
of truth - meet Cat Pollock.
For
weeks - no, for months now - I've been wondering when this moment would show
up.
I
say I believe in a God that raises people from the dead (which happened in Cambodia).
I
say I believe He is capable of miraculously healing the sick, the incapacitated
- those who have been sentenced to a life without the hope of it.
I
say I believe He is capable of expelling demons from people with a single
breath.
I
say I believe all of this is possible, but am I ready to step from that into
becoming a vessel for that healing?
And,
if I am ready for that, then am I prepared if God has a different plan from
what I expected?
In
that moment, I had a paralysis all my own - a temporary paralysis in my heart
region.
Doubts
and fears about what I heard assailed me, and I spent the entire time our
translator worked her translating magic fighting through them.
What
it came down to was this question -
Cat, are you willing to be
obedient?
The
long and short answer was yes.
So
when we had permission, I sat down beside Agnes, put my hands on her leg, and
gave it up to the Lord as the paralysis broke off of me.
Agnes
didn't get up on her feet and walk, but I know
I felt a faint quiver in the leg under my hands that was not wishful thinking.
I
believe that she will be healed, and yesterday was the first step in that
direction.
A
first step for Agnes, and a first step for me.
A
first step towards letting God break out of the millionth box I've tried
stuffing Him into in my lifetime.
And
if that quiver is step one, then I wonder what the next step looks like.
*Photo courtesy of Google Search, not a picture of Agnes
Posted in 07. Tanzania by Cat Pollock on 7/29/2010
(I wrote this for a bible study at the beginning of the month, and I thought you might enjoy it!)
When
I was twelve years old, a hawk flew through my bedroom window.
Its
beak broke glass and sent it flying everywhere.
When
my uncle got it out, he told us that if the hawk had come in at night instead
of during the day, then I would be dead.
My
bed was where the hawk had landed, and if I had been there, its talons would
have ripped open my neck.
I
had nightmares for weeks afterward about that crazy hawk, and we had to step
carefully for months afterward going into my room so we didn't get a piece of
glass in our feet.
Eventually
the nightmares stopped, and the glass pieces disappeared, but I have never forgotten how much that hawk
frightened me.
We
all have things we fear - some people have longer lists than others, and some
fears seem to make more sense than others, but we all have them.
So
what do we do about it?
Or,
more importantly, what does the Bible say about it?
He
puts his complete faith and trust in God to keep him safe, and just because he
(David) asked God to do it.
And
1 John 4:18 says: "There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear,
because fear involves torment. But he who fears has not been made perfect in
love."*
Is
there any room for fear in our hearts, then?
If
we are in God, and God in us, should we be afraid of anything?
No,
but because we are human, and in the process of being perfected, it still has a
way of creeping back into our lives - whether we want it to or not.
Before
we get too discouraged, let's hear some words of encouragement.
2
Timothy 1:7 says "For
God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and love and of a sound
mind."*
God
has given us power, love, and a sound mind.
Remember
that.
Tell
yourself that truth every time you feel like fear is trying to overtake you
again.
And
Proverbs 29:25 says, "The fear man brings a snare, but whoever trusts in the Lord
shall be safe."*
Not
only do we have power, love, and a sound mind, but the promise of the Lord to
keep those who trust in Him safe.
And
when we see someone struggling with fear, we need to encourage them.
Isaiah
35:4 says, "Say
to those who are faint-hearted, 'Be strong, do not fear! Behold, your God will
come with vengeance. With the recompense of God; He will come and save you."*
We
are brothers and sisters - a family - and we are going through this life
together.
When
you or I see someone who is allowing themselves to be overwhelmed by fear,
remind them of God's promise to keep them safe and to save them.
Encourage
them to take their fears to God.
Ultimately,
He is the only one we should be turning to for help.
Remember
- God has promised to keep us safe.
His
perfect love is in each of us, which leaves no room for fear.
We
have been given power, love, and a sound mind.
Lastly,
when we see a brother or sister who has fear, we need to remind them all these
things.
Posted in 07. Tanzania by Cat Pollock on 7/24/2010
Written July 7th, 2010
The phrase "a thief in the night" took on a whole new meaning last night.
So does "while you were sleeping", for that matter.
Sometime after midnight, but before 5:30 this morning, Tanzanian ninjas broke into the guest house we've been staying in.
By breaking in, I mean walking through the front door. No one locked it before they went to bed.
And by ninjas, I mean some stealthy son-of-a-guns. In the theft of one person's computer, they had to take ear buds out of the victim's ear, and they did it without him waking up.
In all, two backpacks, four laptops, two i-pods, wallets, and one passport were taken (none of which were mine) while we were sleeping.
Tanzanian police have caught a suspect, but they didn't turn up the stolen property when they searched his house.
We all figure it's been sold already.
I'm sure I could think of about fifty different lessons to come out of what happened last night.
Lock the doors at night.
Lock up your computer and other valuables when you're not using them.
Etc, etc.
What I've been thinking about today, though, is a question my team's contact in New Zealand posed just before we left. If all you had was God, would that be enough? Five and a half months ago, my answer would have been a solid "No" - if I'd had to say something then.
My heart has to have changed, because I'm posing that very question to myself, and the answer today is a hesitant "yes".
Tremendous walls have fallen at my feet since then - walls I never could have scaled.
If my computer were stolen six or seven months ago, I would have been devastated, wondering how the Lord was going to provide me with a new one (or if He would even give it to me).
Now, I look at my screen and I realize... in the general scheme of things, it's just a computer.
Just a tool God has given me to minister to all of you while I'm out here.
If I lost it, there's always pen and paper and my teammates' computers or an internet cafe to share with the rest of the world what He's saying to me and teaching me.
And if there's not even that much, then I can always speak the words out loud.
Really, what it comes down to is whether or not I believe God is enough.
Is He big enough to be my everything?
Is He worthy enough to be trusted?
Is He capable enough to provide what I need to complete the task He's assigned me to for this and every other season of my life?
Is He loving enough to stick with me through all the horror that comes along with life as we know it?
Is he strong enough to carry me through my weakest moments and darkest hours?
Academically, I know the answer to every question just posed is a "yes".
It's a typical Sunday School response.
God isn't just enough - He's more than enough, you would say.
The Bible backs up that claim quite nicely, and you can recite example upon example of times where He lived up to your answer.
What I'm asking isn't about knowledge.
It's about belief.
Do I dare take that leap of faith and entertain the idea of God being enough?
What do I have to lose if I do?
Will that leap be worth the cost?
I can't answer those questions for you anymore than you can answer them for me.
Truthfully, I still don't have the answers in my own life.
What I've got is the faith to believe without having seen God's face.
I hope that when you start asking, you'll find that same kind of faith.
It wasn't what I expected to be doing in the mountains in Uganda
- hitting up the local bars and sharing the gospel with people there.
Three and a half years ago, I was standing in the same place
I stood today (figuratively, not literally).
This time, there was no going back down the trail.
Ministry in Tanzania is over and done with, and we've moved on to Uganda.
I
realize that I haven't been the most forthcoming this month when it comes to
the writing of blogs, much less of posting.
Yesterday,
I met my new friend Agnes.
When
I was twelve years old, a hawk flew through my bedroom window. 