A new title

Do you remember my little friend Cranmer from the students' retreat in April?  His dad is in my discipleship group, and Cranmer often comes with his parents to our Sunday evening Eucharist.  Since we're friends, he often comes to sit with me for at least part of the service.  This week, he sat with me during the Intercessions [Prayers of the People], and sang through it.  I told him we were praying, but he wasn't interested in our prayers, and chose to pray in song.

I know the picture's a little blurry, but I love the joy in his face in this photo from the retreat.  

Last Sunday, Cranmer gave me a new name:  jaaja.  It's a wonderful thing to be named, isn't it?  

Jaaja means grandmother.  I suppose one could say that his dad is my spiritual son, since he's a student and is in my discipleship group, but I'm not old enough to be a grandmother!  

I'm trying to convince him that I'm an auntie rather than a jaaja, though I suspect that this new name is going to stick.  At least to him!

Lost and found

When you've not seen someone in a while, you tell them, "you're lost!"  I don't quite understand the origin of the phrase, though I hear it a lot.  I've been lost from blogging because of the proposal, as well as all that goes into starting the academic year and the semester.

Today, as I was looking for an index in "A Century of Christianity in Uganda," I noticed that there was a list of some of the Church Missionary Society (CMS) missionaries who served in Uganda.  There are only 693 names.  But look who I found (hint: it's number 326):

At some point, I'd love to research who this other Miss J. Hughes was.  She was "only" in Uganda for two years, and I'm inferring that she had only intended to come for a short time; others who left "early" had reasons for their departure listed.

I'm rather intrigued by this mystery woman.  Hughes is a common surname, so I doubt we're related, but wouldn't that be amazing?

And so it begins

After an entirely too brief short holiday (about a week once the last retreat ended), the students began to return on Wednesday to register for the semester.  Lectures begin on Monday, and I suppose it really doesn't matter whether I'm ready or not; this introvert needs put on her big-girl skirt.

In order to make the chapel rota, I have to know who has actually returned on time (it's probably fewer than you think), and the best way to do that is to go to the dining hall.  The theologians are often the first to arrive for meals and tea, and generally sit at the tables on either side of the middle aisle, which I refer to as sitting on the banks of the Jordan.

The returning students have come to expect me to come to the dining hall during dinner on the Friday before lectures in order to pull together the team for the first week of chapel.  Last year, when I had so magnificently split my lip and chipped my tooth, I asked one of the senior students to do it for me, and he reported that people were annoyed that I hadn't come myself.  In my defense, I really didn't want them to have to eat while looking at the horrific mess that was my face at that point in time.

The new students were a bit shocked and perplexed as to why this white woman was entering the dining, and then sitting down to chat with students.  It's a joy to see them, especially as they're so relaxed.  That will change next week; I know I'm giving assignments in my first lecture.

I actually had a hard time finding the seven students I needed for the team; we don't put first years on the rota, and the returning students were slow to return.  Finally, I saw some of the third year students enter (why were they late?  Theologians are never late for meals!), and when I went over to tell them my grand plan for their life, one of the young women, even before I had the chance to speak, looked up at me and said, "I want to be on your team."

She helped fill up the team, which was fabulous, but those seven little words represented so much more to me than completing a task.  It's been a season of personal and professional upheaval, and in the midst of all that's going on, her wanting to be on my team was a beacon of light.  It may seem small, but it was a tremendous gift.  I am exceedingly grateful.

A life overseas

Every once in a while, one of Facebook's "if you liked that you might like this" is actually spot-on.  One of these suggestions is the blog "A Life Overseas," written by a group of missionaries as an online missionary community.

I found this a couple weeks ago, which I believe is God-ordained, as I think I'm [finally] going through the usual missionary/cultural adjustment:  I'm different here, why doesn't anyone think the way I do, etc.

Adjusting to the Dennisons leaving has been hard.  Awful.  Gut-wrenching.  I'm still working through it, and a lot slower than I would prefer.  This post was particularly helpful for me, and so well written.  

Growing up around DC, I'm accustomed to people moving in and out of my life.  I lived in the same area for four decades before I made a significant move (and what a move it was!), and while other expats have come and gone, this is the first really deeply significant friend loss I've had here.  I'm hating it.  

I'm glad that my head knows that God heals all wounds, because my heart just isn't there yet.