Arts & Crafts

Yesterday we did arts and crafts in P-3….your’s truly being the art teacher. First we made cards with construction paper then had a mini-writing lesson and learned how to write a letter. Once the cards were finished, we attacked the coloring books my mom sent. Each student received a little restaurant style box of four crayons (thank you federal railroad). They were so ecstatic when they realized they get to keep their box of crayons. They screamed their thankyous and had to be told by a neighboring classroom to shush.

Answered Prayer

Two minutes after I posted that last entry, I checked my email. God answers prayer - I got back in. So overwhelmed, I need to go call my mom. Will write more tomorrow....look out Naval Academy, I am coming back!

Terrified

The last received communication from the academy stated, "The Readmission Academic Board will not be held in Feb due to conflicts on the Supe's calendar. I was not given a new date for the Board." Recently I was asked why in the past few weeks I didn't seem frantic over my re-acceptance into the Naval Academy. I hesitated then proclaimed that of course God is in control of it.

Days later, the question continued to bounce around in my head. This year began ith anxious prayers, begging God to re-open the doors to the Academy. Every other thought was a plead to God...and then one day the urgency, the anxiety left. I told myself that God had given me a peace in knowing that no matter the outcome it would be His will for me.

This past week, I realized the truth. After being told enough times, 'of course you'll get back in' I bought into it. I stopped thinking that God was in control and I needed His help. Yesterday, I read that it is easier to talk about faith than it is to live it, how true for my life. It is so easy for me to say that I know God is in control, I trust Him, want to do His will whatever that may be. But let me be gut wrenching honest with you- I am terrified.

Frightened that God's will is not for me to return to the place I have worked my whole young life for. Scared to even consider plan B and where that might take me. Distressed to think of never returning to a place and way of life that I have grown to love. Afraid of letting down my family and friends. Fearful of the unknown.

It is so easy to say that I have faith in God's plan for my life but how often I forget that my plans are not always God's plans. So I ask you to pray for me, not that I get back into the Academy but that my heart will once again desire to do His will no matter where it takes me. That I will consider it all joy, when I encounter trails, knowing that it is the testing of my faith in God. Pray that my heart will be filled with a true sense of peace and not rued by fear and doubt.

God's Handiwork

I was promptly put in my place yesterday as I read an email from my wonderful aunt. I had written sharing about the beauty of this place that has so quickly captured my heart. She recalled earlier reading about my struggle to find spiritual fellowship and growth in a foreign world where I attempt to maintain a grasp on the language. How easy it is to feel spiritually comfortable around our church, songs we know, and friends who walk with us. And yet as my aunt wrote, “you don’t have to be, as it surrounds you in the beauty of where you are”. The handiwork of God is seen all around without having to look in the normal places –church, hymns, people we know. We can see it in the pure nature that surrounds us everyday and know that He is near.
This brought me to my knees with a heart full of wonderment. I have been inwardly battling with a situation here for the past two weeks. I have let it control my thoughts, my words, and my heart. I felt as if a leech was rapidly draining my focus and my passion for God and the work here. Instead of turning to God with a quiet heart, I wrapped the problem around me like a cocoon and just laid in it. How silly. And so I escaped for two days because it seemed the easiest thing to do. And this is what God showed me…His hands in control of every sunrise, every wave upon the sand, and certainly in control of every detail in my life.
While this realization does not make the situation disappear like some magic trick. It does give me strength to carry on every day with a smile on my face – KNOWING that the man upstairs is writing every word in my life’s book.

Different or Just Plain Wrong

I was once told that when approaching another culture to apply the saying, “it’s not wrong, just different”. It’s hard to adapt your mindset when engrained in your DNA is the voice of society saying, “don’t eat with your hands, call before visiting, bathe at least 3 times a week, don’t stare”. A guilty conscience signals that you have veered off the straight and narrow…so in what situations do we hit the snooze button on our conscience?

Upon arrival, I found that the local American families use hired house help. This of course set me on edge, are Americans so lazy that they can not do what ladies here have been doing daily all their lives. We are willing to dive into the culture and way of life as long as we don’t have to get sweaty or do the nitty gritty. When I approached these Americans, I was blasted with excuses such as, “we don’t have time, we don’t know how, we don’t want too, they need the work so why not”. I walked away feeling scorned as they mumbled about my naïveté to the culture. And so, I did what any good soldier does – marched to the back of the line and fell in with the rest of them.

Some of the suffocating guilt was relieved by the claim that it provides these women with an income. But the second twinge of shame struck as I found out the amount we pay for their labor-intensive eight hour day…$3. *gasp- robbery* I was about to jump outta the boat when I was assured by the Americans that this truly is a lot of money. It hit me that their thoughts were along these lines: it is ok for these women (husbandless) to provide for their families on $20 a week but Americans living in the same place could hardly be expected to survive on such.

So how do I quiet my screaming guilty conscience that feels assaulted on so many levels? My womanhood howls as I watch another woman scrub my dishes, wash my clothes, mop my floors. Each week my ears burn red as I hand this woman a meager $10. I ache to shower her with love and friendship; and yet, there is always an employer/employee barrier I feel radiating from her smile. How do I bite my tongue as I watch these women serve us Americans who seem to have forgotten that we came to serve these women in Christ and not the other way around? How do I cross this culture barrier that seems as wrong as it seems different?

Everyone is Bilingual

Everyone is bilingual.

Have you ever tried to listen to your head and your heart at the same time?

It’s like the international departure lounge, you know you are going somewhere but you can’t understand a thing.

You see, we can speak both languages, but not at the same time.

Sometimes you just gotta let go of one and get on the dang plane.

I’ve got a first class ticket to heartland, departing now, arriving forever.

Kat Rascoe.

My Students Waving to You

"Hallo! How are you?" screams 75 third graders. These are the little ones that seem to find my dancing so funny. As I was struggling to find my groove as a teacher, I decided we should start class with a song. Well, singing always gets me dancing and that is when the laughter began. Two seconds of dancing and belly-laughter began filling the school room. Guess my calling wasn't to be a dancer.
Made this poster with all the fabulous art supplies I received in my care packages!

Writing on the chalkboard is such a challenge. I walk away from class speckled with what looks like dandruff but I assure you is just chalk dust! On the left is the P3 classroom and on the right is the P4 classroom.

This is school assembly after lunch. The teacher in charge will stand and lecture them and then they all say a prayer together and head to class.

Everyone Loves Hippos

"Hip-Hip-Hippopotamus, Hip-Hip-Hooray, God loves all of us" - How can you not smile when you see a hippo? So they aren't the prettiest animals, but they are rolly polly with pink bellies. And so they can take quite a bite outta you, but they love to play peek-a-boo in the water.

We went exploring for animals this is what we found.

Spiritual food

Have you ever felt an overwhelming deep spiritual thirst? Felt a consuming hunger that no longer will be quieted with mere crumbs? Psalm 63, “my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.”

I just realized how unknowingly spiritually blessed I have been these past two years. I was surrounded by bible studies where midshipmen unashamedly worshipped together, a church that preached straight from God’s word, a chaplain & his wife who showed God’s love to me every day, friends & family who prayed with/for me.

Here, I sit in church feeling as if I am sitting in an empty tomb. The foreign words roll right over my head and bounce lethargically around the large bare structure. I mouth words to songs I don’t understand, glancing around at the few who have shown up. Most are singing passionately, some even dancing as they worship God. And I just look on with a twinge of envy as I butcher the few words I am able to produce. I bow my head to pray and constantly peek to see if the prayer is over because unless a clear amen is said, I would never know. I walk out the doors two or three hours later with a subdued spirit and an earnest longing.

Every day is like a new miracle as I am awed by God’s greatness. I ache to share everything that He is doing with those who will be as amazed as I am. I hunger to receive guidance and fellowship from those who live for God. I thirst to sing enthusiastically, albeit off key, about Jesus’ endless love.

I spoke with someone else serving over here and realized this is a struggle for most, to find spiritual nourishment when in foreign lands. Please pray that the Holy Spirit will be a constant companion to me in the upcoming days.

Sharing the Laughter

Some days are rough, long, and heartbreaking; but today was not one of those days. Pure happiness and delight were woven through out every minute of this day. I captured some of the moments to share with you because words just didn’t fit.

Green Carpets of Uganda

Family and friends have persistently inquired as to what tea fields look/smell like. So here I am, sharing my secret garden with you - what I have fondly termed as the green carpet of Uganda.
Fort Portal rests on the mountain side; and everywhere you look, the mountain seems to have hiccupped little rolling hills, each softly coated in rows upon rows of green tea. At three feet tall, the tea bushes are woven together; deceivingly giving the appearance of one monster of a bush. The leaves and small pods are plucked by machines and workers to be made into the tea that I drink at 0630 when I am mumbling about killing the neighbor’s rooster.
Narrow paths crisscross the fields. As I run down these paths, my shoulders brush gently along the bushes on either side. My feet fall soundlessly as the soft soil muffles each heavy step of my run. From afar, I am invisible from the waist down, as if wearing one endlessly flowing green skirt. My breathe catches as I trudge up another hill - the mountain air taunting my weak lungs. I inhale deeply and gag as three gnats fly straight up my nose. So much for smelling the tea fields.

Young, Girly Stella

Stella

Let me introduce you to my very girly and young Ugandan friend, Stella Amooti. We first began our friendship as we met every afternoon out in the field for language lessons. She was so patient with me as I tried to mimic her every word. Often she would roll in laughter at my pronunciation.

She lives in the village with her mom, brother, gramma, and girl cousin. Her mom, Akiki, is one of the biggest blessing in the world and I thank God so much for her. She brought Stella up strictly, consequently her English and grades in school are very good. She has done an amazing job at raising her children on her own.

Stella and I no longer do language lessons but that has not stopped her from making the trek over each evening to visit with me. We sometimes sit and listen music, go for walks, garden, or our latest thing is to cook the evening meal together. Most times we cook way too much food and it gives me an opportunity to send it home with her for her family.

I have begun to treasure our time together in the evenings as a time to just relax and giggle with her. God has really put her on my heart as I long to be the good role model she is looking for. Recently she met this guy and constantly seeks to use my phone to call him and speaks of her wishes for me to take her to the city to see him. I forget that she is a sixteen year old girl. I struggle to find the balance between being a confidant, a fun young friend, and a role model. Please pray for us as our friendship grows. Pray that I will give advice and guidance with caution and after much prayer.

City Bed Bugs vs Village Sticky Hands

I spent the past week in the city with American families who were evacuated from the village because of the Ebola epidemic. The week pasted slowly full of guilty pleasures of good food and real toilets. By the end of the long drive back, I sluggishly fell out of the car and twirled the knob on my door as if it were second nature. I waited for the wave of “you’re home finally” to wash over me but the musty air hung silent around my sun burned shoulders. I unpacked with care knowing that the bed bugs from the city bed were probably crawling all over my luggage. I awoke the next morning and with a heavy tread, made my way to the babies’ home. As I entered the gates, I heard my name being shouted, “katee, katee, katee”! It was like a symphony of angels singing welcome home. My feet seemed to fly as I raced to hug each little one with a passion I didn’t know I felt. I ached to weep as each child tried in one breath to tell me everything I had missed and ask if I had been lost for the past week. I just kept nodding, not understanding 75% of it, but it didn’t seem to faze them as their tiny sticky hands grasped every inch of me. Through out the day as I was stopped by a number of people, all asking if I had been lost for the past week, I was struck with the realization that I had genuinely missed the people. Fort Portal has become home.

Network of Love

Time and again my mouth falls open in a most unladylike manner, settling in this position as my brain struggles to grasp the unexpected gift of love. I began this blog as a way to share with friends back home in one felt swoop. And yet God has used it to encourage me to no ends. I have received countless emails from people who found it through someone who knew someone who knew me or even through googling “Uganda toilet paper” on the internet. (shout out to my new friend from Australia) Each email re-news my spirit as these complete strangers offer their support and prayers. Realizing that though perhaps to them it was just five short minutes out of their day which will never be re-visited, it made a world of difference to me.

A small act of kindness given to an unsuspecting victim could make a heap of difference.

New Year Thanks!

Happy New Years one and all. And yes, I realize that most of you still have eight hours to go but we just celebrated with a glass of Cold Duck champagne. The aroma of burning tires swirl around my head as I watch flares burn in the sky, local makeshift fireworks. I am so excited for this new year and yet have so much to be thankful for from this past year. Please know that I am sending my love to you all.

This is me - christmas day as I hugged my care package to my chest in childish delight. Thank you Kathryn and mom!

I ask that you pray for me as this upcoming year unfolds. I haven’t ever been one of those people who learn a hard lesson and then never make the same mistake twice. Too often I repeatedly stumble over the same hiccup – picture me touching the stove a second time to see just how hot it really is. This week I find myself falling flat on my face once again.

I sent in my re-admission packet to the United States Naval Academy. I can’t help but worry about getting back in and what my next year holds. I willingly trusted God and followed Him across the world to Africa; and yet I still hesitate to trust Him concerning my future. Though my heart longs to return to the Academy, I pray that God will show me clearly what His will is for me and that I will learn to trust Him in everything. May this next year be as fabulous as the last.