Hey, guys! I haven’t posted anything in while, so I thought that I might as well blog now. This school year has been pretty good so far. I’ve had a lot more homework than I expected, but I’ve been able to get it all done. Near the end of the summer, I started having some doubts. At first, I just wasn’t feeling God’s presence, but then it got worse.

In the beginning of the school year, I was trying to pretend like nothing had happened. I was trying to live like everything was normal so that no one knew anything was wrong. I didn’t want to admit it, because that would make it real. For me, telling someone didn’t seem like an option.

Then, it got pretty bad. I was upset and confused because I had no idea what God was doing. I didn’t feel like he was real. That was REALLY scary for me because I had only doubted God once before, and that doubt dissolved within a few days. I was scared because I had always felt God was right there beside me. I felt alone like I never had been before.

At my school, I’m the Community Service Prefect. The people on the Prefect Board are known for being Christian role models and kids that “have it all together”. I felt like since I didn’t know what I was doing, faith wise, I wasn’t suited to be in a leadership position at school. I was afraid of what people were going to think, because the prefects are supposed to encourage people in their faith and help them out.

Also, I was taking a class called Bible Discipleship, which is a class for disciples of Jesus that want to learn how to live and love like Jesus did. At that point, I felt really empty, and not at all like a disciple of God. I decided to talk to one of my best friends about it. Even though I didn’t feel God, I kept praying. I tried to be patient, but it was really hard. My friend helped me feel a little bit better, but the connection I used to have with God still wasn’t there.

My school’s spiritual life retreat could not have come at a better time. That whole week, I was fervently praying for God to come back. I know he would never leave me, but at the time, I didn’t feel him. We looked at the stars and just listened to the sounds of nature one night. That week, I started to gain my faith back, and was almost restored to the way I was. However, I still didn’t feel God’s presence. It’s hard to be a Christian when you don’t feel like God is there with you.

On the last night, we do something we dubbed “Cry Night”, as mentioned in How_He_Loves. I wish I could say that I felt God place it on my heart, but I wasn’t feeling God at that time. I just kind of decided that I would share what was going on in my spiritual life at the time. I was really nervous, but I felt like I had to share. I think a lot of people were surprised by what was going on in my life. I was just honest in saying that at the beginning of the week, I didn’t really feel God. I went on to say that everyone doubts, including parents and teachers. I told them that going on the retreat had helped me a little bit. I ended by saying that when you doubt, you can’t give up, because God will never give up on you.

When I got back, a few people asked me about it. Out of the blue, a guy asked me if I was an Atheist. I was completely taken aback. To be honest, I got a little scared! I said, “No, why?” He told me that he thought so because of what I said at the retreat. Then I remembered! “No, no, I’m not.” A little later, some things happened. I always find myself going to God when trials surface. I spent a lot of time praying, and, gradually, I started to feel better. I would read a Bible verse and be like, “God, that’s exactly what I needed to read!” I knew he was there with me, and it felt like he was holding my hand again.

Last week, the quarter ended. So many storms occurred in the first quarter of the year. Spiritually, it was the most difficult time in my life. During the first quarter, I learned that being open and honest about your problems is the best thing to do. I learned to trust God in the hard times, and to know that He will never leave your side. For 1^st quarter, a song and a verse have really applied to my life. They’re what has helped me to get through the quarter, in fact.

When most people think Jeremiah, they think of Jeremiah 29:11. Unknown, at least to me, was a verse really close to that one. Jeremiah 29:13 says, “And you shall seek me and find me when you search for me with all your heart.” I was searching so intensely, and God revealed himself to me. I put my whole heart into it, and he appeared to me.

The song “Oceans” by Hillsong spoke to me and to what I was going through. More specifically, two parts felt like exactly what I was going through. The first is “And I will call upon your name. And keep my eyes above the waves. When oceans rise My soul will rest in your embrace. For I am yours and you are mine.” When I started to feel like I was drowning, I would just sing that to God. Also, one of the verses near the end applied to me whenever I felt like God was asking me to do something I didn’t want to do.  “Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders. Let me walk upon the waters wherever you would call me. Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander. And my faith will be made stronger in the presence of my Savior.”

I’m somewhat hesitant to post this, as almost none of you knew this about me. It’s like I’m sharing a part of my soul with you.

I hope this encourages you guys to keep your eyes above the waves and trust God!

 

Love,

Jennifer Gash

I am told patience is an acquired virtue.  If so, I still have loads to acquire.  I feel like I am in a jumbo jet circling an airport, waiting for permission to land.  The pilot keeps announcing on the intercom that we should be given the all-clear any moment now, but the all-clear never comes.  I am stuck in a holding pattern.

Nearly three months ago, I posted that Uganda was facing a looming Constitutional Crisis.  The Chief Justice of the Ugandan Supreme Court had just reached (on June 23^rd) the mandatory retirement age (70), and yet no successor had been named.  Adding further urgency to the situation, the Deputy Chief Justice had termed out over a year earlier, and still hadn’t been replaced.  Because the Deputy Chief Justice is head of the Court of Appeals, these vacancies left the top two judicial posts in the country empty, and left the top two judicial courts (Supreme Court and Court of Appeals) without an appointed leader.

Fast forwarding nearly three months to the present reveals nothing new.  The Constitutional Crisis has, if anything, deepened.  Every morning when I wake up, the first thing I do is read the two daily Ugandan newspapers on line.  About every third day, there is another story about this Crisis.  What follows is a thumbnail sketch of how the situation has evolved, or perhaps more accurately, how it has devolved.  (I am only using public sources for this description, and those are the only sources I have, at least as far as you know).

Shortly before the Chief Justice reached the constitutionally mandated retirement date, an internal memorandum circulated within the government that floated the idea of the Chief Justice being appointed to serve a two-year term as an Acting Judge on the Supreme Court.  Uganda’s Constitution provides for limited-term appointments of judges to serve when there are vacancies on the court and judges are needed.  This provision allows for retired judges to fill these short-term slots.  This internal memorandum also suggested that perhaps an acting judge appointed in accordance with this provision could then serve as the Chief Justice.  This, in turn, could allow the retired Chief Justice to be reappointed as Chief Justice, thus skirting the Constitution’s mandatory retirement.

The media reported that the Judicial Services Commission (JSC) – the body responsible for recommending names to the President of Uganda for judicial appointments – rejected this idea as impermissible under Uganda’s Constitution.  The head of the JSC is the former Principal Judge of Uganda (third in command) and is widely respected in Uganda.  Instead, the JSC sent three names to the President from which he was asked to choose.  After seeking advice from his Attorney General, the President declined to accept the advice of the JSC and instead announced he was reappointing the retired Chief Justice.

This news was not well received by the Uganda Law Society (ULS), which is Uganda’s legal bar association.  The ULS then filed a petition in the Constitutional Court (which is the Court of Appeals) seeking to block this reappointment as unconstitutional.  The ULS also made hay of the fact that the retired Chief Justice was the lead drafter of the Constitution and would be, in essence, violating his own rules if he accepted a reappointment.  To his credit, the Chief Justice has declined to engage with the media on the constitutionality of his reappointment.

The President’s nomination then went to Parliament, which held closed hearings on the nomination.  But someone leaked.  It was reported that the head of JSC, in response to a direct question, stated his opinion that the reappointment of the Chief Justice would be unconstitutional.  Meanwhile, the Attorney General consented to interviews both on and off camera and stated that the reappointment is constitutional under the short-term Acting Judge provision.

Well, this pronouncement went over like a pregnant pole vaulter with the ULS.  They held a public meeting and voted to expel the Attorney General from the bar.  Quite naturally, this move was met with utter contempt from the Attorney General and other governmental officials.  Unsurprisingly, the government newspaper (New Vision) is highly supportive of the reappointment of the Chief Justice, while the private newspaper (Daily Monitor) is opposed.

So where are we now?  We are still in Parliament, which must ratify the appointment for it to become effective.  So Parliament can ratify, decline, delay, or . . . they could take another approach that is looming in the background.  They could amend the Constitution.  I have a sneaking suspicion that things are headed in that direction.

When Uganda’s Constitution was enacted in 1995, it explicitly limited the President to two five-year terms.  After the current President served two terms, he decided he wanted a third.  So his ruling party amended the Constitution to remove the two-term limit.  In 2011, he was elected for his fourth term in office.  While his actual age is disputed and/or unknown, he now claims to be 69 years old.  This means that if he were re-elected in 2016, he would bump up against the 75-year maximum for the Presidency.  And all indications are that he would like to continue serving as President for the indefinite future.

So . . ., don’t be surprised if Parliament re-evaluates the Constitutional provision forcing the Chief Justice to retire at age 70.  This would make it quite a bit easier to then lift the age limit on the President a few years down the road.  After all, if Parliament thought the age limits for the judiciary were no longer needed, then why would they be needed for the President?

So what does all of this have to do with me being in a holding pattern?  Thanks for asking.

When I argued Henry’s appeal in March, I did so before a three-judge panel on the Court of Appeals.  The most senior judge on the panel was a last-minute replacement because the Acting Deputy Chief Justice (serving in an Acting role because of the vacancy created a year earlier when the Deputy Chief Justice reached retirement age) was quite ill.  Shortly thereafter, the Acting Deputy Chief Justice died.  This made the senior judge on my panel the Acting Deputy Chief Justice.  This leadership role carries with it significant administrative responsibilities.  And when the Chief Justice reached retirement age in June and no replacement was appointed, the Acting Deputy Chief Justice automatically also became the Acting Chief Justice under Uganda’s Constitution.  Accordingly, shortly after my argument, the senior judge on my panel became the Acting Deputy Chief Justice, then three months later also inherited the additional role of Acting Chief Justice.

So, where does that leave the judicial opinion in Henry’s case?  Likely somewhere near the bottom of the to-do list.  Further complicating things, another of the three judges on my panel was elevated to the Supreme Court in July.  What this means for the ruling, I don’t have any idea.  But what I do know is that the Acting Chief Justice/Acting Deputy Chief Justice/Senior Judge on my panel is scheduled to come to Malibu next month for a week, along with five or six other Ugandan judges.  While I do not intend to bring up the ruling in Henry’s case, it will be the proverbial elephant in the room.

Meanwhile, I still talk to Henry every week and he is doing great.  He begins his final term of Secondary School on Monday and is feverishly studying for the national exams in November.  He is hoping to do well enough on those exams to be admitted to medical school next August.

Every so often, I fail miserably in my effort to be a good example for my children.  One such occasion was on the way home from Uganda last week.

An inspirational figure in my life is 104 year-old Herb Nootbaar.  Herb and his dearly departed wife Elinor have generously endowed the law school’s Nootbaar Institute, which is the home of Pepperdine’s Global Justice Program under which my work in Uganda operates.  Each year, we have a birthday party for Herb in the fall to celebrate and honor his longevity and generosity.

Just before I left Uganda last July, I purchased an ornate walking stick to add to Herb’s collection from around the world.  It was a few inches too long to fit into any of our bags, so we paid to have it shipped home along with the checked luggage.  Unsurprisingly, the baggage jockeys rode it hard and broke its spirit, not to mention its handle.

Fortunately, I returned to Uganda in advance of the actual party and returned with a replacement gift – a personalized ornate bowl for the occasion of his 104^th.

Undeterred by my previous failure, I decided to renew my efforts to add to Herb’s colorful cane collection.  Joline picked out another winner a couple days before our trip home.  At the airport, I tried to reason with the ticket agent and explained to her that I needed to carry it with me because it was a gift for a friend’s 105^th birthday and last time I tried to bring one home, it broke in transit.  Her scowl signaled the length of my odds.  Fortunately, a supervisor walked by and inquired as to the problem.

I once again regaled my tale of surprise-birthday woe, to which he responded, “Unless you have an injury that requires you to use a cane, we cannot allow you to carry it on.”

Thinking quickly, I reached down and pulled up my pant leg to reveal the after effects of my knife dual with Tyrion Lannister.  Somehow I knew my nine left knee surgeries would come in handy someday.  I pointed at the carnage and asked with a devious grin, “Is this good enough?”

He grinned back and said, “You had better be convincing.”

Oh, so it’s a challenge?  Game on.

The problem, of course, was that the walking stick’s craftsmanship focused more on form than function.  While the handle was comfortable enough, the polished and rounded butt of the stick skated on the tile floor whenever I placed more than a modicum of weight on it.  But I hobbled on like a good soldier.

My oldest daughter Jessica could barely contain her stares and giggles, which threatened to blow my cover.  Her comment that “this is something Bob Goff would do” strengthened my resolve to do Bob proper honor.  (She wasn’t too far off – Bob managed to convince the airlines to allow him to transport a prison door back to the United States during a prior visit).

But my acting debut was not destined to be an easy one.  When we arrived at the gate, we discovered we were on the same flight home as two mission teams – one from Jessica’s school Oaks Christian, and another Joline and Jessica had encountered out on the road on one of their mobile clinic days.  Fortunately, the waiting area was carpeted, so the cane was behaving under me, but the area was teeming with airline rep’s, including the gate agent who had initially tried to poop on my party plans.

After three weeks of being stared and pointed at because I am white, one would think I would be used to the glare of strangers.  I wasn’t.  At one point, it got so awkward that Jessica felt like she had to tell her classmates that I was faking an injury to get the cane home.  It only got more awkward from there.

I am used to boarding planes early.  Each round trip to Uganda earns me 20,000 Delta Sky Miles, so I am Elite Plus.  We, the privileged class, get to board the plane before all of the common folk.  That is, of course, except those traveling with children and those who need special assistance in boarding.

As the first boarding announcement rang out, I happened to be in the general vicinity of a seventy year-old lady with a bona fide cane – polished alloy with a holster gripped handle beveled for each finger and tipped with a rubber snout that suctioned to even the iciest of surfaces.  So when she hobbled to the front along with the handful of parents towing behind their grouchy little ankle-biters dragging their teddy bears and blankies for the red-eye flight, all eyes turned to me.

So I ducked my head and played my part.  Appropriately, the party-pooper was the agent assigned to escort the first wave onto the plane.  She didn’t blow my cover and even gave me a crooked smile of quiet respect.  As I ambled, the oldster with the Ninja cane chatted me up a bit.

“Sports injury?”

“Um, what?”

“Did you injure yourself playing sports?”

“Oh, that.  Yeah.  Football.  And you?”

“I was dancer.”

“About a million years and a hundred pounds ago?” I barely kept myself from asking as we traveled at a lapped-by-a-tortoise-with-a-bum-flipper pace.  By the time we reached the plane, I needed to shave again and had learned she was a nurse/nun who had been out of communication with the developing world for almost four months.  I caught her up on the world’s events and still had time to spare.

Just as I finally (and mercifully) reached my seat, I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder and heard a deep voice say, “Excuse me, Sir.”

Gulp.  I turned and looked into the face of the supervisor who had given me the green light to dissemble.

“Good show,” he said and gave me a wink.

I slid my cane to the back of the luggage compartment with a sense of pride and gingerly took my seat.  Midway through the flight, I limped down the aisle (just in case anyone remembered my entry) to the water closet.

Leg one of the trip.  Check.

Upon landing in Amsterdam, I nearly forgot the cane.  A smile and a wave from the dancing nun jogged my memory.  The stewardess had stowed her cane in the closet, but mine was at the back of the angled luggage compartment out of immediate reach.  I stole a glance around before hopping up on the seat to retrieve it.

I maintained the charade the entire way through the Amsterdam airport until we got to the storage lockers.  We stowed our backpacks and my walking stick and ventured into town.

My typical layover in Amsterdam is three hours, but we had six this time through.  On my first trip to Uganda back in 2010, my layover had also been long enough to see the Amsterdam sites, but Joline and Jessica had not been with me then.  On that prior trip, I had taken a tour of the Anne Frank house and wanted to give Jessica the sobering chance to see first-hand the devastation and tragedy of Hitler’s holocaust through the courageous eyes of this young girl.

It was every bit as emotional the second time through as was the first.  While we were pressed for time due to some of our wandering and snacking on the way to the house-turned-museum, it was well worth the one-hour wait in line to get in.

Determined not to miss our connection home, we jogged about half of the way back to the train station where we caught a ride back to the airport.  Still pressed for time, I got impatient with a group of loafers who were just entering one of two side-by-side upwardly sloped moving walkways that connected the train station to the airport.  The one of the right was steadily gaining altitude while its passengers stood clutching the rail.  The one on the left, however, was both still and empty all the way to the top.  As further evidence of my miraculous healing, I darted left and bounded upward with Joline and Jessica on my heels.

It turns out that the Dutch are rather technologically advanced.  They have actually invented (and perfected) motion detecting moving walkways.  As we ran north, the heretofore motionless walkway hummed to life and transformed itself into a southbound treadmill.  This unexpected development brought a grin to my face, but it brought uproarious laughter to Joline and Jessica.  My surgically repaired wheels were more than up to the challenge and I raced to the top against the current in a matter of a few seconds.  It took the two ladies in my life at that moment, however, closer to a minute.  When they finally reached the apex, a crowd of disapproving onlookers scoffed their disapproval in guttural Dutch, while Joline and Jessica wiped away their tears of hysteria.

We jogged the rest of the way to the lockers, whereupon I retrieved my cane and resumed my palsy.

Twelve hours later, I limped out of LAX onto the sidewalk, stowed the cane in my sister’s waiting mini-van, and declared victory over the airline industry.

Herb will get his intact cane three months from now, and I will have a fun story to tell at the party.

 

Burning the candle at both ends finally caught up with me.  Tuesday was a day of meetings at the court and a farewell dinner with Justice K and the seven Pepperdine students working for the courts.

By Tuesday night, I could tell I had contracted something Ugandan.  Fortunately, Dr. Jay Gregston has four trunks full of Ugandan medicine and he started me on a cocktail of drugs to try to knock down early whatever I have picked up.  I added Ambien to his cocktail so I got a solid night of zzz’s.

Wednesday is wheels up day for the Gashes, but Joline, Jessica, and the Gregstons have squeezed in another full day of clinic work in the slum of Namuwango here in Kampala.  This is one of the poorest, dilapidated places in Uganda and is badly in need of medical attention.  It is a fitting way to end our 24 days in Uganda.

We are grateful for the many kind notes of encouragement and prayers offered on our behalf.  Uganda has become part of who we are and what we feel called to do with what we have been given.  We will be back, and who knows, perhaps someone reading this will come with us next time.