Fighting up from the bottom of a ball pool...

That's a bit what this whole internet lark feels like. It took me five minutes to load Yahoomail today.



As you can see, the Spirit is growing His fruit in me, primarily patience. And as you can also see, I am resistant as ever.



Let's go by weeks, as I have four to describe since the end of my last post. The first week, I turned up scrubbed and smiling to my first day of work. It was Tuesday the 6th of August. Pastor Glen Halliwell showed me around the office, gave me authority over the library (to bind, not to lose, and to drive out evil source texts), access to the music files, and a brief description of a cell group he wanted me to lead. It was a lot to process, but after the STORM mission, I was ready for almost anything bar purple people-eaters invading. I began by going through the music files and choosing songs for that Sunday. I was somewhat spurred on by the experience of the previous Sunday - a little saddened by the departure of my last physical links to Wales, and expecting to just fit myself into the music group, I was instead faced at the Saturday morning practice by a gang of nice-looking but utterly expectant faces: my fellow musicians were waiting for me to choose, lead, teach, play, pray and generally do all the work towards Sunday's music. I gently dispelled that myth by some cunning delegation, but they were as unprepared as I was. Let's just say that Sunday's experience spurred me to a put a little more effort into my job the following week.



Driving was also fun. The Maestro MG Wik had wisely (mwahahaha!) left in my care is about the lowest-bottomed car designed. On Malawian roads it scraped off everything. I soon learnt that slower was better, not only because it avoided serious abrasion with the road surface, but also because it also gave me more hope of evading the sporadic drunks and crazy dogs who wander across rural roads at night.



But I was hopeful. I really felt, and feel, that this was where God wanted me. Just as well, really, or I could have gone a biut barmy. FR also contributed to my sereneness - two early morning game-walks a week does a lot for your spirit.



Week 2, and things were becoming a little more normal, and I was making more time to meet people. CPC is made up of a good few Malawians, many of whom are street kids, and others of whom are well-travelled business people. There are also a good few South Africans, some Zimbabweans, many Dutch, British and North American missionaries, a smattering of all-purpose Koreans (have you ever noticed how Koreans are good at everything?), and some Indians. Needless to say, social gatherings are colourful. My CARE Bible Study Group, for instance, contains five regulars: Yvonne Turner, a 70-yr old outgoing South African lady who runs a chemical works, hosts the gatherings (although she currently has malaria). Monty is a US trained Malawian NGO social worker. He works for an American company, housing orphans, liaising with community elders and managing the finances, most of which come from abroad. He's in his mid-late 20s. Alan Bonhomme is Mauritian but was born and bred in Malawi. He is a mechanic and manages a 2nd car workshop as well. Originally a Roman Catholic, he knew almost nothing of God, the Bible, or faith until his conversion 4 years ago. I'd estimate late 40s or early 50s. Roosevelt is a member of one of the first Christian families in Gujarat, India. He has been in Malawi for a long while. His English is limited and he regularly prays, and reads, in Gujarati, which spices things up further. Again, around 50. And then there's me. Oh, go on then, I'll do me as well. Ian Thomson was born in Thailand, although he boarded at a school in South India for years. He works as the music co-ordinator at CPC and teaches music on the side. Somewhere in his early twenties, it is somewhat incongruous that he finds himself leading these studies and attempting to facilitate meaningful dialogue between the disparate parties.



Meanwhile, back at FR, the older of the three Maltese terriers[Tiki- or tick-y as she is aptly named] had given birth to 7 pups, quite an event. Her niece, Chip, was pregnant with another four, who would be born later in the week. So a good portion of my evenings were spent checking up on these little ones, feeding them, and providing company to the father of all 11, Fish, who had been banned from going near the litters. It's a beautful way to spend the evening, and when two of Tiki's pups inevitably died (she hadn't teats for them all, let alone milk!) I felt I'd lost a couple of proto-friends. The others are all doing fairly well. Tiki's 5 are all furry and walking open-eyed now. Chip's have opened their eyes, but need a while before they'll walk.



Cars - the two big vehicles were effectively off the road, the Raider with a flat battery and connection problems that I couldn't locate and the Sherman from sheer cantankerosity (she doesn't like starting in the morning and is too heavy to push-start). At the beginning of week 3, the Maestro began to leak oil and I began to lose my hair. Short of options, I took her into Alan's garage on Monday, expecting her to be returned that night. She wasn't so, I learnt to use public transport. Another truly Malawian experience, pubtrans consists of 10 seater minbuses, usually crammed full of 15 Malawians and their kids, goats, shopping, briefcases - oh, and now me as well. I actually quite enjoyed it, once I realised that not everyone was going to steal my wallet/bag/remaining hair. But I was glad to get the Maestro back on Wednesday - until I saw the K66000 bill (GBP220). I'd been expecting maybe K10,000. I thanked God for me wheels and let Wik handle the money-haranguing.



I was starting to get to know my guitar students now, the ones who turned up. Malawian punctuality is not the world's best. I'm beginning to realise it actually springs from optimism, not carelessness. Yes, they'd love to have guitar lessons! Yes, they'd be there at 2pm, even if it meant catching a minibus home to some suburb, eating lunch, and returning to church in the space of an hour! Oh, whoops, it's now 530 and the teacher has gone home for dinner. But as I said, a good portion did turn up. My youngest (still prospective) is three and my oldest 50. There are about 8 of them, and also 4 or 5 drum students. They seemed to come from everywhere, despite me not doing any advertising. I charged them K200 an hour (70p), and had to provide guitars for both of us as hardly any of them had their own.



Sunday music had drastically improved with a bit of effort. My focus is on trying to create as much space in the service for God to speak to or through the members of the congregation as possible. I do get some wary looks when I announce that we're going to have a time of open prayer, especially from the street kids and the Malawian visitors who are used to the traditional one-man pastor-worshipleader-preacher attitude to services, but I also see others opening up to themselves and to God, and learning to use the space for real, rather than programmed, worship. It takes a little bit of getting them there, though...I usually start with a fairly upbeat session of singing where I firmly take the lead. One week, we had a power cut which tied in with some new songs I wanted to teach. Without the powerpoint, this proved a tricky, and even at midday the CPC sanctuary is a little dim...without their usual scenario many of us found it tough to worship. But God has plans in that too