Candid camera on my weight loss

Last January I decided to lose weight. 

Jeanette's advice; "Eat an apple, it boosts energy and ebbs hunger". I tried it but each time, I would swear I had an apple, I just didn't know where it had disappeared.

Clare's advise; "Drink warm water, it is filling and it warms the tummy". Apart from several trips to the bathroom, this advice didn't make any sense, I was still hungry.

Then I discovered the Daniel Fast.

Quite apart from losing weight, I desired a more intimate walk with God. A fast without an agenda ends up being a diet plan. I liked the idea of seeking God while disciplining my body. No sugar, no meat, just vegetables and water. It sounds torturous but it's not so bad, just a little bit.

I started the days in prayer. At every turn there was a temptation but having a reason to fast - things to pray over made it possible to get through the days. I felt extremely drained the first days, my head pounded, I visited the bathroom often but by the end of week 2, I was going steady. It wasn't strange that everything seemed to go horribly wrong during this time - it was a spiritual battle. My body protested but my spirit fortified.

I stuck to water, apples, nuts, bananas, carrots, greens and veges of all tribes. I begun to shade the weight.

At the end of the fast, I felt stronger and attempted to carry on the eating habits. I started at 145 pounds, I'm down to 140 or a little less. I know it doesn't sound very encouraging after all the hard work - cut me some slack.

Ever wonder why some people don't share their weight loss secrets? They say "It is stress" or "I don't know" or simply "Nothing! the weight is just coming off". Whaa! Don't believe them. It's just that their methods are suicidal and they don't want to share lest you chock. I know a lady who ate an orange for lunch. She would have coffee in the morning, an orange for lunch and soup for dinner. Oh and then she would go to the gym everyday without fail. Before I go on about other people let me share my habits, bad or good, I will let you decide.

Breakfast - A banana with coffee/tea. You get used to it.

Break - An apple or nuts

 

Lunch - A bowl of soup with a chapati or a bowl of salad (who knew it could be so filling)

Afternoon snack - An apple or an orange and nuts

Dinner time -  Rice or Irish or pasta but I major on sauce.

Drink warm water all day. 

Office stress and a busy home life account for some of the weight loss.

It's going well so far, most of my trouble is in the mid section. I can't quite get the muscles to firm up enough so at the moment I look a small pregnant woman.
 I'm not going to the gym until I have this weight where I want it. It's easier for me to maintain than try to lose weight on a tread mill.

Remember: The more you eat, the more you'll eat. The less you eat, the less you'll eat. Choose quality over quantity - more fruits and veggies. Portion control. Don't let your body lie to you. When it says "eat or you'll die" sometimes it's just being fussy and used to a certain routine. Ignore it, keep busy and you'll be shocked at how much more life is in your body. Hopefully at that point you'll realize you are not dead yet (smile).

Losing my "Ugandan-ness" one year at a time

There was a time I thought British Airways was calling my name to board a plane back to Uganda.
Things that were seemingly normal baffled me, the addiction to coffee for example, I didn't understand why it ruled the world. A cup or the lack thereof dictated whether one's day went well or not. While tea did a fantastic job keeping Ugandans calm (maybe too calm), here, life didn't begin until the "cup of coffee", then there were bursts of energy and sudden flat valleys or near zombie-ish states.

Then the "I'm late" panic. Just like Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, there was no time to spare, no time to chat. Run here, run there, run everywhere, one needed a reminder just to breath.
 Grim faces in the bus, snarls on the train. I made sure to keep to myself lest someone lashed out. I avoided eye contact and didn't smile unless I knew the person.

There was hardly a support network to speak of especially when one needed help with child care. No dates, no movie nights, just mopping, cleaning and cooking and out went romance.
"Uganda is paradise!" I thought. I missed Rajib, the little boy at Nakawa Market who called on Saturday morning to say he was available to help with my shopping.
I missed Nicole, who was ever ready to braid my hair in 4 hours or less for 20 bucks.
There was a salon at every corner. I could have my nails vanished in no time.
I missed the luscious fruits and local dishes like ebo, emalakany and atap.
I missed the days I could go out gallivanting knowing that someone was home to care for my kids.

One year down the road, there has been adaptation and assimilation.

"There has been an alteration in the structure and function of this organism, parts that have resulted from natural selection and by which this organism has become better fitted to survive and multiply in its environment".

I drink coffee almost each morning. It all started one morning, when I got to office feeling exhausted, I couldn't pay attention to the tasks set before me. I had deadlines to beat and things to do. Instead of drinking my usual cup of warm water, I made a cup of coffee and whoa! it was an instant energizer, amazing! I took one the next day and the next and tomorrow I will have another cup.

I roll my tongue when talking with colleagues. My Ugandan friends would deny me straight up if they heard me speak in office. This is one of the few times I'm  glad none of them are any where near. It's not exactly intentional but when you constantly interact with colleagues who speak a certain way, it rubs off. They pronounce words in a certain style and only seem to understand me better when I say it the way they do. So there I go strressing my "r's" and moving my lowerrr jaw this way and that :-). I have caught myself a few times and smiled because it is furrnny like that.

Because life is "chap-chap", I am "chap-chap". Unless it is lunch hour chances are I'm headed somewhere to accomplish a particular task. If I'm heading home, I've got to get to the train station by 4:50pm to catch the train that will arrive at Vienna by 5:20pm in order to catch my bus at 5:26pm, which will get home at 6:00pm so I can whip up a meal for my people and so on. If I meet friends around these times, it's gonna be a "hi - bye" situation. Any slight delay causes a domino effect on all plans for the day.

A typical day is filled  with scheduled meetings, assignments to finish, deadlines to beat. So, in the busy mechanics of the day, lunch hour is the only time the machine stops for a break, then I can sit and chat.

Please don't touch my weekends!

I used to get really upset when bazungu gave forced smiles on the streets of Kampala. They grinned obviously without feeling. The grin was wiped off as soon as they walked past which I considered rude.

Now, imagine my self chastising when I did the same thing in office. My thought process went something like this: "Hey! I know we work together, I don't know your name or what you do, I'm not about to stop to talk but I acknowledge you". 

There are more mannerisms that have crept in. I need to keep tabs on them lest I lose all my Ugandan-ness (If ever there was such a things).

He breaks His heart to get our attention, sometimes

I stared at the news flash on my computer screen Friday morning. I remember thinking, the timing couldn't have been worse. Christmas will not be merry. Those kids could very well have been mine, Adam Lanza too.

I picked my kids up that afternoon and hugged them tighter.
It is easy to worry about their safety at the daycare and school. I pray for them constantly to avoid going kuku.
This country is so big, there are vast numbers of people facing troubling issues of one kind or another. It is a "lonely society" - that doesn't help. The man across the road, the neighbor 2 blocks down, the woman in the grocery store.What do they do? What are they thinking? Do they have family? What trials are they facing? The official response is "I don't know and frankly, I don't care. I've got issues of my own".
We need to reach out, to break down the barriers and remold the culture. God is calling us as believers to cross that line. He is calling us to care enough to ask. Every one needs compassion, the kindness of a savior, someone to show genuine concern. Mental and psychological issues don't always stem from "medical diagnosis", it might be loneliness, self loathing or rejection, which can be remedied through a Jesus culture; a hug, a note to say "I love you", "I'm thinking about you".
Perhaps if we stopped for just a while, gave a smile, looked people in the eye, showed more interest in others, then we would experience Jesus. We would find true joy in living. Shades of grey would turn to color. The emptiness inside of us would be filled with Jesus the bread of life, the living water, the lover of our souls. He is the reason for the Christmas season and sometimes He has to break His heart and ours to get our attention.
I pray for the families.
I pray for the children who witnessed friends lives shredded right before their eyes - innocence slashed.
I pray for this nation, that we would live for what really matters. That the laws would be altered to focus on life as God intended it without selfish agendas.
That we would ...
"Think of yourselves the way Christ Jesus thought of himself. He had equal status with God but didn’t think so much of himself that he had to cling to the advantages of that status no matter what. Not at all. When the time came, he set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human! Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn’t claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life and then died a selfless, obedient death—and the worst kind of death at that—a crucifixion".
Philippians 2: 5-7

And all this to buy my pardon, to buy your pardon, to buy our pardon. It wasn't about Him, it was all about us.

Help us to see you, God give us your eyes. Heal the hurt and draw us closer to you forever.

My P4 English teacher.

As I write this blog post, a special woman is on my mind. I met her over 2 decades ago. Her name was Jennifer and she was my P4 English teacher. As we commemorate World Aids Day I think of her.

Ms. Jennifer was one of the most beautiful women I met in my first 8 or 9 years on this planet. She was probably in her early twenties, young, graceful and energetic. When she walked into the classroom a pleasant aroma filled the air. Her clothes fit just right, gently hugging her tall slender frame. Her big Afro was smooth like a curved sponge. I remember how she'd use the tip of a pencil to sooth the itch on her scalp while I dug into mine with all five fingers.
I was never afraid of her, mostly respectful. She didn't see reason to spank unless one clearly misbehaved  or failed English terribly but that was hardly ever the case. I loved to listen as she read excerpts from J.A.Bright's Junior English Composition and Grammar and The Nile English Course.
She was a confident, African woman, who had mastered the English language teaching us verbs, nouns, pronouns, adverbs, adjectives and more. I admired her.
I joined the Girl Guides club because she was one of the patrons. She taught me how to salute, to stand "at ease" with my feet slightly apart and my hands in a loose grip behind my back and to stand "alert" with my feet together and my hands in tight fists at my side. She smiled with pride when we sang the girl guide anthem she's taught us;
"Our way is clear as we march on and see our flag on high.
Is never furled through out the world for hope shall never die.
We must unite for what is right in friendship true and strong.
Until the earth in it's real birth shall sing a song, shall sing a song".

I caught a glimpse of her one late afternoon, while I was making my way through the taxi park . People pushed and shoved, conductors shouted taxi destinations, mini vans filled every little space. I had to wiggle my way through the micro spaces but I couldn't wade through the crowd fast enough. She looked a little haggard, her cheekbones were more pronounced, her clothes hang loosely on her tall frame. Her light beautiful skin was riddled with dark spots. My heart sunk as I watched her fade away.  The virus hadn't spared her. It didn't honor her beauty nor esteem her purpose here.
Many little girls and boys will not have the opportunity to sit in her class and listen to her read stories from J.A Bright.
I'm told she passed away.
Today I think of her, of Mr. Tibs, Mr. Sande, Mr.Zaddock and many other young men and women who caught the virus and were not even aware that it was lurking out there.
Then I think again - the means by which she met her end doesn't matter as much as her impact this side of heaven and more importantly if she made her way into the Pearly gates.
Right now, I'm grateful that she taught me English. Even though she is gone, it's a language that I will always know and remember her by.

Let us thank God for friends and family who have gone. Love and care for those who are still here battling this disease. And carefully steer clear of it's way; be faithful, abstain ... you know the works.

World Aids Day!

A girl needs a good shoe

I like a good shoe. I feel confident in a good shoe. It keeps toes and heels free of  blisters. I stand tall and walk with a little bounce. But recently I made the most interesting discovery.

A few weeks ago, I noticed that little Miss. A needed new shoes. She'd had three long serving pairs; Sandals, Snow boots and "Sunday best". With the cool temperatures setting in, sandals were impractical, besides, her toes nearly grabbed the front sole, not to mention that they were in shreds from summer escapades. The snow boots from last winter and the "Sunday best" faced a similar problem, they didn't fit any more.
Usually Mr. O or I would make the trip to the store, roughly gauge the size and bring home our findings to be fitted. It had worked in the past.  This time I thought it brilliant to take her along.

Once in the shoe store, we made our way to the kids section. I pulled out a shoe and she gladly tried it on. I saw another shoe that looked better and she tried it on too.Then she figured that instead of sitting and waiting for mom to bring the shoe, she would make her own picks, glitter being the main attraction. Before I knew it she was pointing at this shoe and pulling out the other shoe, steadily picking up speed and excitement as she went along. Her heart was racing, she was frantic. As I reorganized the store and returned the shoes she had scattered, she tapped my shoulder. She beamed her most brilliant smile, leaned forward, raised her eyebrows and as if she had discovered something extraordinary, said with finality, "Mommy, we go!". She was ready to walk out the store in this wonderful pair of multicolored rain boots. She was beside herself. She had found THE shoe! The only problem was, mommy had money enough for a pair of practical shoes. Rain boots wouldn't work for everyday use.

She would not let me touch her. She would not allow me to take the shoes off. Mommy was not good for her at this point in time, she lost all composure. She came undone. A serious case of meltdown. She screamed, her hands fell loosely at her sides as she shrugged her shoulders. Her little heart was breaking and falling to pieces right there on the shoe store floor. Tears were spilling out (at this point I would like you to imagine the animated cartoon characters with tears sprouting like a fountain).
I was beside myself too. Shoppers cast subtle glances, kids peeped from behind their parents. I had never seen little Miss. A  so unbraided. What had over taken my calm little Ms.? Why was she reacting so?
Turns out, she was truly spoiled for choice. Who knew that shoes would have such a profound impact on a 2 year old girl?
I finally managed to draw the curtain on the spectacle, I picked a pair of practical shoes and little Ms.A happily carried them all the way home. She promptly sat down on the living room floor and changed into her new shoes for the rest of that evening.

A good shoe. Every woman loves a good shoe. It runs in this family - mother, grandmothers' (one and two) and maybe even great grandmother (I will research).
So, I can't blame little Miss. A, she just needs to practice self control, that is how we all survive and sometimes ... it's just the lack of money.

Happy Friday!!!

The day after

It is official, Obama won reelection!  He has 4 more years to finish what he started and he had better because …

Last night I hoped to be awoken by screams of elation from the winning “side” (left/right) but the neighborhood was as quiet as the Vatican (but maybe it's just my village). Eyes were glued to TV screens and fingers were hitting refresh buttons. Fine!  I have no problem with that but after the results, couldn’t people shout ko? They got the news, turned off their TVs and went straight to bed quietly.

 I flash back to Uganda and the buzz that would go on in the streets till morning. The cheering - as if in a football match. How the sounds carried a clear indication of who had won. Everybody would give their opinion or argue about who stole votes and so on.

We didn’t even have a public holiday! People stood in winding lines, in the cold, for over 2 hours just waiting to cast their vote. It took another 15 or so minutes to finish the voting process - ticking and affirming political views on the piece of paper, surely one needed a holiday. Back home it takes a whole day just to  tick the “hat”, “hoe”, “Chair”, “key” . These people don’t know how to have fun, maximize relaxation and minimize stress. One can’t even “pull the excuse” of voting on their boss because there is the option of early voting; in person, online, through the post office – tight!!!

I got onto the bus this morning and saw the same sullen faces. It was another ordinary day – business as usual. We listened to the drub vroom of the bus except for those who had ear phones. And even then, it’s not certain whether they were listening to gangnum style or NPR (National Public Radio). There was no expression of happiness or disappointment, just blank stares and straight faces.  At that moment I missed Fat boy, CBS, Mr. President and every other radio presenter discussing a version of the results over the taxi radio. Maybe I can blame the weather - it’s really chilly out here but honesty, abantu bano bansobedde!.

I grabbed a newspaper at the train station eager to get the details on swing states and all that, and then sat next to a guy who couldn’t be bothered. Really?? Was there an election yesterday? I asked myself.  At least show some relief that campaigns are over, no more “This is … and I approve this message” ads. But then again, I’m a simple Ugandan woman, watching from a bird’s eye view or maybe an ant’s.  I should take my excitement elsewhere no?

# Culture shock or different life styles.

Who's in charge of our babies?

Lately news events have read like scripts out of Hollywood.

Murder in Manhattan. 
My eyes nearly popped out when I read the story of 2 children killed by their nanny in Manhattan. A chill went through my body and I immediately sent out a prayer for the mother who came home only to find her babies drenched in blood in the bathtub. O good Lord!!!
No body, no body should experience this heart break, but Ms. Krim has.
I could only imagine her screams of horror, blood rushing out of her brain as she denied what she saw.
She had 3 children.  Leo (Lito) - 2. Nessie - 3. Lulu - 6.
Leo and Lulu are gone. Nessie lives to tell the story, to live a life scarred by the memory of her siblings soaked in blood and the horrific screams of her mother struggling to get to grips with this nightmare, her body releasing the tension, the only way it knew how.
Ms. Krim kept a blog . As I  looked at the lovely pictures and read her journals, I identified with a mother who cherished the gifts God had given her. Pictures from the summer, days at the pumpkin patch, ordinary days in Manhattan - she was there, involved in the intricate details of her children's lives. Marveling as their personalities formed.
She writes, "Lito, I must say, is a very clever little boy.  He is super talkative and just has a million thoughts running through his brain and can express himself amazingly well for an almost-2 year old.  I'm thinking he could be a Mini-Kevin". (Kevin is her husband)
As a fellow mom and a blogger, this all comes from a familiar place.
I pray the  Krims' find Jesus, because this world has nothing to give in the form of true comfort.

Fathers and sons.
 I read two different stories of fathers' accidentally shooting their sons to death. These may sound like scenes off the pages of a novel, imaginations out of a creative mind but no! It's reality. I can't begin to understand the dread and self loathing these fathers will face the rest of their lives but I know they are going through some dark times. Their stomachs wretch and turn until there is nothing to give up but still the haunting thought that they killed their own sons... suicide is an alluring option.

I find myself silently praying for them because apart from Christ there is no way to get out of that "hell".

Gone with a trace.
In the same period, I read in the news of a 10 year old girl who was going to meet up with her friends and walk to school but didn't make it. Her bag was found and later her body was identified. The guy who did it is a 17 year old who lives in the neighborhood. Even though her parents were home, she was old enough to walk to school.


So, we do our best to look after our kids, put careers aside and purpose to raise these little blessings, we even home school to impart the right values and keep out bad influence but who says we can protect them from the world? Who says we can protect them from our selves? We CAN NOT.
We do our best but God does the hard work. Psalm 127 breaks it down.

PSALM 127

Unless the Lord builds the house,
    the builders labor in vain.
Unless the Lord watches over the city,
    the guards stand watch in vain.
² In vain you rise early
    and stay up late,
toiling for food to eat—
    for he grants sleep to those he loves.

³ Children are a heritage from the Lord,
    offspring a reward from him.
⁴ Like arrows in the hands of a warrior
    are children born in one’s youth.
⁵ Blessed is the man
    whose quiver is full of them.
They will not be put to shame
    when they contend with their opponents in court.

THE MESSAGE Version

^1-2 If God doesn’t build the house,
    the builders only build shacks.
If God doesn’t guard the city,
    the night watchman might as well nap.
It’s useless to rise early and go to bed late,
    and work your worried fingers to the bone.
Don’t you know he enjoys
    giving rest to those he loves?

^3-5 Don’t you see that children are God’s best gift?
    the fruit of the womb his generous legacy?
Like a warrior’s fistful of arrows
    are the children of a vigorous youth.
Oh, how blessed are you parents,
    with your quivers full of children!
Your enemies don’t stand a chance against you;
    you’ll sweep them right off your doorstep.

Interesting that the psalmist puts the idea of protection and the blessing of children in the same Psalm?

Falling beautifully!

GOD BE PRAISED!!!

Gothic Architecture: The House of Prayer

It is the sixth-largest cathedral in the world. The Cathedral church of Saint. Peter and Saint. Paul, aka the Washington National Cathedral. It pierces through the air, tall and elegant, blending in but standing out at the same time. It looks like an ancient castle, like a mystery house.
I was drawn to visit it because it's a house of prayer. Apart from the imprint it left on mind while driving by on a tour bus, I'd heard fascinating stories about the Gothic architecture.

Front view of the Cathedral

George Washington in his coat of many colors :-)

All Catholics know this structure. Reminded me of "Christ the King" in Kampala

Space window. The dot in the middle of the circle (up there) contains moon rock that  Apollo xi brought  back from his trip to the moon.

South Rose. Depicting the Church triumphant, imagery from the book of Revelations

Choir area

View from the Pulpit

Hall way

The chair that qualifies the church as a cathedral

The atmosphere wasn't reverent, it felt like a museum as opposed to a house of prayer. Our tour guide amused me as she mentioned stories from the bible like it was the history of Napoleon. "This is a crotchet of David fighting a giant" then she would pause to let it sink in, as though she was waiting for us to exclaim in surprise or something.
It has great architecture, that's for sure.

Worship and an Omelette

Fill in the missing letters.

Friday evening found me bobbing my head, raising my hands and singing joyfully in the Patriot Center at a Israel Houghton concert. I was sitting at a strange angle with those poles at an unavoidable spot. I'm sure the m_stery l_tters will n_t tickle your brains much.

God is the essence of my life but music has the effect of crowning it all. In moments of worship, I feel one with God. I feel like this is where I belong, everyday. Every moment. All the days of my life. It will be a full time occupation when I get to heaven but while I'm here on earth, I got stuff to attend to and some how worship should be woven into my daily routine.

I try to be a good wife but I slip often and my Sam takes it in stride (bless his heart). Two Sunday's ago, I pulled out all the stops and made him a sumptuous breakfast (they are rare like that). It looked good and tasted great too. Mich exclaimed, "wow! mummy, this looks nice" (mind you, he is not very generous with his applause). I scored highly. But quite apart from the gratitude they expressed, my heart was elated. I felt a sense of purpose. This is what I was created to do. I get a similar feeling when I'm worshiping. Then it dawned on me, that through loving my husband and taking care of my family, I'm worshiping God. As simple as that. Right in that moment, I'd heard the sermon and sang the praise - that was church right there.

Living in the DC, worship artists come often. So here are some pictures from the Houghton concert and DC fest early last month. Can't wait to see Toby Mac in December.

Israel

Israel, telling guys to worship passionately so that the babes can notice :-)

Key board player, Israel and the new breed

The New breed

Drama boy - Israel Houghton and the New breed

MercyMe crew

Brandon Heath

Mac Powell, lead singer Third Day

Bart Millard, lead singer MercyMe