Autumn!

Dear Readers,
As summer begins to end and the leaves
start to fall ,I realise it's so beautiful in
Portland.All the trees are starting to turn
red,orange and yellow.I am happy to
announce that Zoe and I are going to the
Ivy School this fall.I hope you all have a
wonderful end of summer.

Sincerely,

Lily Joy Kunkel

Family

Dear readers,
Here I am in Montana sitting
in my Aunt Carla's basement.
I have had a long tiring day
of family business stuff.
Have you ever thought of
how big your family is?
Sure they can be noisy
and loud sometimes but,
they are the people who you
yourself rely on.They always
love you.In your heart you
always love them no
matter what.I don't know what I
would do without family.
Families are based on love.
that's the very thing we depend
upon.I believe that God is
amazing because he has love
.So truly we depend upon the
love god provides.

Sincerely,
Lily K.

SUMMER!!!!!!

Can you wait for summer?I can't!
I can't wait to go to Montana for
another family reunion!!!!!!!!!!!
On the way we stop at Lutherhaven!
I hope to make a splash in the lake if
it's warm enough.Seeing Sam and Lucy
will be awesome!Seeing my other camp
friends will be cool.I hope your summer
is just perfect.Remember drink lots of
water,and wear plenty of sunscreen.

Sincerely,

Lily Kunkel

P.S.now I'm 10!!!!!

Sustainable Families & Free People

[Written in Ghana, revised and posted in U.S.]  In this final week, I’ve had a chance to meditate on Africa as scenes of life in the capital city drift by.  On the road, jammed bumper to bumper, one finds people-moving tro-tro’s [ancient Benz vans fuming diesel] and 2010 Benz cars with single occupants.  At every stop, street children run up to the window, offering gum, handkerchiefs, water.  The smell through my window is a combination of diesel, dirt, garbage, stagnant water, and peanut soup at every corner ‘chop bar.’  Africa lives in Hi-Def.   Unlike the West, where the only place we find Hi-def is in our living rooms; here, the Hi-Def is everywhere – turned up to 11 on the volume dial, cranked up in reds, golds, greens, the smell of death and the fragrance of life.  In the West, we live under the century’s weight of refining and automating ourselves into blandness.  We take out the garbage on Tuesday nights.  On one level, humans are the same everywhere, the same needs, the same basic desires.  But Africa in Hi-Def means you can’t escape the gritty details, even with the window rolled up and the AC on. 

It brought back a memory from last week when we rode the bus the 700 Km from Bawku to Kumasi, a bus so crowded that our bags were on our laps.  I sat on the right side, which means (if you know your geography) that we were travelling due South with sun on me the entire day.  Crammed into the back of the bus with Dad, myself and Elisha (the sem student travelling with us), were two young men and a girl, probably about 15 years old.  The girl, whose name was Adiza, was sent by her mother to Kumasi to live with an uncle.  She was given a phone number for the uncle, but nothing else.  Elisha bought her lunch because she was out of money.  He visited with her as the trip went by and found out that she didn’t even know where her uncle lived.  We dismounted from the bus on a dark Kumasi street, and hailed a taxi.  Adiza got down too, and just stood there.  She looked frightened.  Elisha asked her where her uncle was.  She said the phone number she was calling was turned off.  At this point, what do you do?  You’re standing on a dark street in the second largest city in Ghana, with a girl who has nowhere to go. 

This is a common story across the globe, not just in Ghana.  The global sex trade grows, in large part, because families struggle to survive forces produced by globalization, and children end up falling through the widening cracks.  After a generation, families don’t know how to be families anymore.  Maybe we never really did.  Still, Elisha was appalled that any African family would consider sending a child unaccompanied in this way.  She walked off into the darkness, and the three of us exchanged a glance.  What would you do? 

Our car pulls to a stop at a busy intersection in Accra and a young man comes up to my window and raps on it.  “You like phone card?  I sell you phone card.”  He says.  He, and a hundred-thousand other young men in this city.  But I’m still thinking about Adiza.  What she needed more than anything was a family that actually cared.  Cared enough to take care of the personal details, which is the whole point of family.  And in this, Adiza is not alone.  She joins a vast company of youth across the world with this single thing in common:  fractured families, surviving families, broken social structures, powerful forces driving parents to strange landscapes – all these work together to widen the spaces within our society, and the children fall first. 

I wonder if things aren’t even more soul destroying for young people in the West.  The cumulative effects of industry and technology have now been in place for generations.  We gave away our interdependence for a bowl of microwave popcorn, a remote, and an Xbox controller.  We didn’t notice losing one another because we had enough machines filling the gap.  We move rapidly from one sugar high to the next.  We don’t talk much about suffering.   In fact, our lives are built around escaping suffering.  And children -- the root and fruit of suffering -- are nice, we suppose, if they’re dressed in the latest fashions. 

I don’t know if you would consider the following an antidote, but it’s been one for me:  My family taught me that suffering is a part of life.  They breathed a sense of wonder into my days.  We were rarely in too much of a hurry to talk.  I was allowed to be creative, though much of my creation as a kid, I admit now, was lame.  We lived community and interdependence as a child.  The door was open, and whoever walked in got a meal.  Who, in his right mind, would spend a month sharing the same bed [actually, I counted, it was ten different beds] with his father?  I must be insane!  Most people here in Ghana still get it.  “Oh,” they say, “You are helping your father.”  Like, this is the way it’s supposed to be.  I am in my right mind.

It’s what I started calling a “Joshua Education.”  Joshua was a young man who got to follow Moses around for 40-plus years before he became a leader.  That’s a long time to be number two.  Yet, another ‘Joshua’ (Jesus’ name is ‘Yehoshua’) tells us whoever wants to be greatest must be the servant of all; whoever wants to enter the kingdom must enter as a little child.  Where’s the leadership development strategies that cover this approach?  My own University -- Concordia in Portland -- wants to ‘prepare student leaders to transform society.’  I don’t think Concordia University has a 40-year plan for this, though.  How can students transform society if they aren’t being transformed, themselves?

The car lurches through the tangled traffic, and I wonder if I’ll ever get the taste of diesel off my teeth or the image of discarded plastic bags filling the choked gutters.  Our driver, Nat, the Stephen Hawking-Albert Einstein-Maverick of taxi drivers all rolled into one honks his horn and yells at a guy blocking the intersection with his vehicle.  In the U.S., our culture is tuned so tight, none of us honk in rightful fear that the other man has a gun and will use it.  Here, Nat honks, yells, gestures, the other driver yells back, there’s a release of energy, a puff of dust, and both cars move on their respective ellipses, reeling between potholes and pedestrians like paper planes on a sudden breeze.  Nat mutters a curse, then smiles to himself, swerves and changes the dial on the radio.  Dad preps his class notes in the front seat, oblivious.

I think back to that night on the streets of Kumasi.  A young teenage girl with nowhere to go walked off into the darkness.  Three men made eye contact.  We all knew what needed to happen.  We were not going to let a girl wander the streets of Kumasi all night, hoping for a call from an alleged ‘uncle.’  I said to Elisha, “Go get that girl.”  This may have been the first time in the history of the dark streets of Kumasi that those words were followed by a free taxi ride, a free dinner, and a safe place to sleep.  For one night, we were the family that Adiza didn’t have.  [Epilogue:   her uncle finally contacted us, and we made sure the connection was made and she got to her family.]

I’m about to wrap up the written portion of this adventure.  A number of you have followed the journey.  One might ask, “Why is it important for your family to continue to be connected to the people of Ghana?”  I suppose, if we have reached a point where organizations and programs take care of everything, where families have no role in making a better society, then we SHOULD not go back.  We should leave the work to NGO’s, non profits, and corporations [when it’s all said and done, for practicality’s sake, we may have to start one].  But I hope what I’ve shared previously gives justification for this principle:  that families and family stories remain at the core of good change in society.  And our family is not finished.  We’re a bridge, and we hope to keep the span open. 

It’s fitting that as I end this piece, I’m sitting in a sweltering classroom with pastors-in-training telling their life-stories to one another.  Feel free to disagree with me, but I think our entertainment industry has removed all the wonder from our American stories.  We’ve CGI’d ourselves into an entertainment coma.  Among these men, I’m hearing phrases like, “Jesus appeared to me in a dream, and said ‘go and work for me, so I did;’” and, “I got an anonymous letter of invitation to come to the training school, but when I arrived no one had sent it, but I think it was Jesus;” and, “as a boy I had a dream about ‘gathering people’ and a mentor explained that I was called by God, so I started gathering children to hear bible stories when I was six years old…”.   And there are more.  Does getting everything visioned, goaled, programmed and prepped into an airtight strategy also mean that wonder and dreams – real, literal dreams -- get locked out?

This trip was no reminiscence.  Dad and I found ourselves challenged by the vigor of the people and the needs of the society.  Pastors and evangelists in Ghana have no pension plan, and they need one – if not for themselves, then for their families.  Many of them are too poor and cannot afford the public transportation to visit their parishioners who live beyond a day’s walk – motorbikes would help.  Most of them are missing precious resources for study – things we take for granted because we’re online.  The 14 students in the classroom all left families behind who need support while their husbands and fathers study. 

We were reminded that in our family, lasting work means investing in people.  We believe we are still called to serve people in Ghana in some capacity.  The best Good News these days is tied to helping people join sustainable family-systems and become free persons.  In fact, after watching Jesus, I’m unsure if there is any other kind.  Remember Jesus’ words to announce his calling, “. . . he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor.  He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor” (Luke 4: 18, 19). 

Example:  My appreciation for the morning sunshine and the beauty within even this dirty city are intricately connected to the protein-packed breakfast I had this morning, the clean water I drank, my anti-malaria medicine, and my restful sleep.  Take away any of these, place me at the mercy of someone else’s whim, and you should not be surprised that I’m not thinking of the beautiful sunrise or the possibility that I can change and grow like a plant in sunshine.  To be free is to be free in every way, or none at all. 

So, here are some things in which you may see us engaged in the months and years to come [feel free to join us]:  sustainable communities that go beyond a classroom education, support for healthy rural living, technical skills training, care for neglected children and families on the margins, and more.  We’re not sure how we’re going to do it, but we’re sure of the need, and we’re sure of the supply.  To quote Hudson Taylor [first missionary to China], “God’s work in God’s way never lacked God’s supplies.” 

The ‘70’s, ‘80’s, and ‘90’s saw our family make lasting relationships with many people in Ghana.  We’ve returned after 15 years, and those lasting relationships are even stronger.  If you’re interested in hearing more or participating in some way, please be sure to shoot a quick email to mom at ellamum2@gmail.com with your details, and we’ll keep you on the list.  [And stay tuned for the final video!]

We Talked!

Hello!
Recently,we skyped Dust and Dan.
We talked about missing them and
how much we love them.I am trying
to update you my best.Thank you
for the extra funds.That is how we
got to skype them.I am so happy
because they are coming home in a
week!!!!

Sincerely,

Lily Kunkel

"Its All Who You Know. . . ."

It was when the motorbike jerked and made a grinding sound like broken metal that I knew we were in trouble. David pulled the bike over and we climbed off. The red dirt road stretched between stunted trees both ways to the horizon, not a soul in sight. The equatorial sun overhead burned my scalp when I removed the helmet. Sweat sprung from every pore, sweat dripped down my ears and nose, sweat ran down my back and soaked my shirt. We were in the deep bush in the upper eastern region of Ghana, in the Konkomba area. Dad and Rev. Emmanuel Tito were long gone ahead of us, a tiny dust cloud on the horizon. It was obvious something was very wrong with the sprocket and chain. We were 20 miles from any sort of potential help. Part of me counted how much good water I had left and whispered ‘turn back,’ but a deeper part of me rose up like a lion in the grass. We were in the hands of God.


If there’s a theme for the last week and a half, it would be the old proverb, ‘it’s all who you know.’ We could not get a reliable vehicle to go upcountry and into the bush (not without spending a minimum of $800), so we decided to use our network of friends and trust in God. I mean, what do a little hunchback pastor with a perma-smile (Rev. Emmanuel Tito), creaky Mercedes Benz loading vans belching diesel smoke, a small boy with a wrench in a village in the middle of nowhere, children singing who composed their own songs based on Bible passages, and a young man baptized by Dad 27 years ago – what do all these have in common? Read on!


Dad says Ghana is at least three countries. First, there’s Accra the capital city on the coast that sucks everyone down from the interior regions into a haze of dust, diesel fumes, and heat. Millions and millions of people. Across the world, cities of developing nations continue to swell. Lack of city planning means that Accra’s greatest problems revolve around transportation, water (you have to buy water from trucks), and sewage (more on this later). Second, there’s the Kumasi area – Kumasi is the seat of power to the Ashanti tribe who were historically the most powerful in the old Gold Coast. The Ashanti language, Akan Twi, is the national ‘trade’ language and all goods from south and north pass through the Ashanti region. Third, there’s the ‘rest of the country’ that is relatively disregarded by the other two, but filled with folks with whom Dad spent a lot of time. It’s this ‘third country,’ with its underdeveloped roads, bush villages, and seeking people that drew in my father years ago. Now, as he disappeared from view over the next hill, I realized Dad was back in his element. He grew up around farmers and men of the land, and the pastor with whom he rode was a farmer. I thought to myself, “He’s not coming back!”


As David fiddled with his ancient motorbike (he had no tools), and I looked for shade, I thought back over the last few days. I thought of having dinner with ‘little Sammy,’ once a baby whose single mom was helped by mom and dad, now a thoughtful young teacher. I saw once again the big grin on Edward Ayariga’s face as he told Dad that he had received ‘The Small Animals Best Farmer in Ghana’ Award last year. Dad helped Edward get a good start as a farmer years ago. I thought of meeting Mr. Kunsi in Kintampo – the same Mr. Kunsi who had a tiny chemist shop in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere but now runs two in the large regional town. Mr. Kunsi proudly drove us in his car to the new site for the church building on the crown of the hill overlooking the market. A site from which he personally resisted and expelled a developer (who had dropped loads of sand and concrete blocks on the land). It’s a little like the Wild West here. And like the Wild West, anything worthwhile is worth fighting for, said Mr. Kunsi’s eyes as he told the story. I thought of seeing the old mission station where we used to live now being used as a school – a worthy transformation. You’ve heard this old proverb: ‘give a man a fish…. teach a man to fish…’ Our family is about the latter. On the long rides across this country, I’ve had much time to meditate on family mission. Ours continues to unfold. Does your family have one?


Vehicles in [and on] which we’ve ridden: we tried to get on a bus in Kumasi to the Brong Ahafo region 200 miles north, but the lines were so long that we ended up taking ‘local’ transportation. [interpretation: buses are ‘top of the line’ transportation, everything else falls underneath them, figuratively and literally]. This ‘local transportation’ happened to be the usual Benz loading van with passenger seats added. We sat in the back with the doors tied open around a huge set of baskets. Its these same Benz vans that litter the side of the road, burned out and smashed up from rolling multiple times. Interpretation: unstable at any speed over 55 kmp. It’s these same diesel Benz vans that belch smoke all over the country and if you’re stuck behind one, you get sick on the fumes. We said a prayer and got in. When we got out 4 hours later in Kintampo, we were covered in a layer of fine red dust. After that it was a little Nissan van to Tamale, another Benz van [the driver stopped to refill his radiator from a river] to Yendi, ‘uncle Bob’s’ Nissan 4x4 to Saboba and back to Yendi, two ancient motorbikes from Yendi to Nalongli and then all the way up to Gbintiri, a Toyota truck used as an ambulance for the Lutheran mission in the Konkomba area to Bunkpurugu, more motorbikes to Garu, a Nissan truck driven by ‘Father Dominick’ a local Anglican priest to Ziako, and a bus back to Kumasi. Phew. I won’t even start on the different beds on which we’ve slept. Why do it this way? Though poor in finances, after 22 years of life here, we are rich in relationships. In fact, I just said to dad, “I don’t know if people are going to get that our family experience is very different than most Anglos here.” He said, “Just tell them we invested in people, family by family, for 22 years, and we’re back doing it again.” Family mission. There you go.


A short divergence here to explain that behind the highlights are all the usual issues that go with living in a tropical equatorial region. Both dad and I have endured stomach cramps, tremendous humidity that threatens to drown you with every breath, sunshine that can fry your skin in a minute at high noon, dark toxic fumes in the major cities from traffic, venomous snakes, and bloodsucking bugs. However, this is ‘old school’ for us, and aside from this short paragraph, I hope to not speak of these things. In the tropics, you really only need speak of major sicknesses like malaria, hepatitis, typhoid fever, guinea worm and such. And, thank God, we have escaped these so far.


David and I climbed on the bike, and with it groaning beneath us, slowly rode forward. “Maybe there is a village nearby,” David said. My mind drifted back to two nights before with ‘uncle bob’ and ‘aunt jean’ – career medical missionaries in Saboba, far out in the Ghanaian bush. Filled with faith, they’ve been serving the poor in Ghana for more than two decades. Dr. Young (Aunt Jean), a surgeon, was in the midst of telling us a story about how typhoid fever is everywhere now (“people go to the cities where sanitation is very bad and bring it back”), and how immunizations don’t always work (“don’t eat anything from street sellers unless they’re pulling it out of the boiling water or oil”), and how it’s so much more painful than Malaria (“every hair on your head screams in pain”), when she was called to the ward to deal with, in her words, ‘reducing an umbilical hernia.’ The first Anglos we’d spent time with since arriving in Ghana, they treated us to guinea fowl noodle soup and crackers for dinner. Then, ice cream. Later, Aunt Jean returned with the simple statement, “umbilical hernia reduced.” A day in the life – or is it a life in a day? -- of a medical missionary.


The following day, Pastor Tito and his friend David picked us up on motorbikes in Yendi and we rode 15 miles out into the bush to his village. In the dark, with a single lantern glowing, Dad preached (“Lydia invited Jesus home with her after she was baptized; does Jesus come home with you?”) and human shadows sang and danced. The bed was bumpy and the room sweltered that night. We slept little. And today, I found myself tired, on someone else’s motorbike, looking for a wrench in the middle of nowhere. “Clint Kunze [a good friend and also the director of Shoshone Base Camp – Lutherhaven Ministries] would love this,” I thought, as the bike ground down and through a deep pothole filled with sand. “He’s a motorbike guy. He’d pull out a shoelace and tie this motorbike back together.” Then I thought, “Hmmm. He’s also really really white. He would be red as this sand.” Still, next time I come, maybe I’ll bring Clint.


The rest of the motorbike story is classic Ghana, classic Africa. We found a village. In the village, somewhere, there existed a boy with tools. We tracked him down eventually, and he tightened things up, and the motorbike ran like new. For three more miles. Then the grinding started. Again. Even worse than before. Dad made an executive decision. “We have to be in Bunkpurugu tonight (still at least 80 miles away) because people are expecting us. We will continue while you two find a proper mechanic.” So I climbed behind Dad and we took off on Rev. Tito’s bike.


As I write this, I’m sitting at the back of Dad’s seminary class here in Accra. The men are telling how they came into the faith. Phenomenal stories I might share at another time. But I’m smiling as I think of our last stop in the North, at the Kusasi village of Ziako. A young man, Pastor Cletus, our host, is standing on a hill overlooking the countryside with us. It’s just before Sunday worship, and down below us I can see people streaming over the hills and down the pathways in this dusty farmland (the rains have not come). These are worshippers from seven churches in the area, joining together. Too many people to meet in a building. Below us, they gather under three mighty trees. The drums begin, and the young girls start to sing. Pastor Cletus says, “These are words from the bible. The children and youth read the bible in their own language, Kusaal, regularly, and they write all these songs from passages that they find important.” Dad says, “I remember when we first met over there,” he points far away to the left past the Baobab tree and beyond a distant hill, “in 1983. We baptized over 150 people back then.” Pastor Cletus smiles, “You don’t recognize me? I’m one of the boys you baptized.”


I suppose, in a nutshell, this is why we’re back. It’s not really a trip to reminisce for us. It’s a family mission, and the mission is not finished. In Africa, when you travel to “greet” someone, what you’re really doing is much more. You acknowledge their humanity, you acknowledge that you are not independent from them; you acknowledge your need for them; and all are mutually encouraged by the ‘greeting.’ I, for one, returned from the Kusasi area impacted by the literacy shown by the young people. A powerful testament to having Good News in your heart language, but more than that, having good teachers who make sure you are released into making the Good News your own in song, dance, life. I am hopeful that the young Kusasi’s I saw singing and dancing will be able to share this deep appreciation for the Word, and how it’s released among them, with other young people in the Ghana church.


What is this all about anyway? After over two weeks here, I find myself wondering. If you’ve stuck with me to this point, you’re probably wondering the same. Dad is teaching the seminarians right now about St. Paul’s attitude towards his culture and God’s desires for his people in Rome. I wonder if we aren’t in similar times to Romans 2,000 years ago. We have a multitude of options to dissipate our desire for God. We have a multitude of ‘gods’ that drive us, receiving our time and worship. Many of these, like those of Rome, seem good for us and our children. What would St. Paul do (W.W.S.P.D.?!).


I know this: Africans are coming to the U.S. to share the Good News these days. Like the Roman roads, our skies carry passengers around the globe, and people go where they want. It took 10 hours to travel by big orange bus from Kumasi to Bawku, it took 10 ½ hours to travel by big delta airship from Portland to Amsterdam. What wind blew the ship that carried Paul? What wind blows mine and yours? “What marketing strategy is there for humbleness?” I heard Dad say just now to the men. Indeed. Every family has a choice, as we always have. Though ours has stumbled like any family, thank God, this particular family still trusts not in horses (or horsepower) or in the pyramid (schemes) of Egypt or the temples of Rome and all that the spirit of the age represents. The rewards are commensurate. People are eternal, living spirits, built to last forever. Sustainable in the purest sense. Our family mission: invest in people, the only resource that lasts. How about you?


PS. Many details of the trip remain uncovered. I’ve been filming short videos all along. It will be grainy and have poor sound quality, but stay tuned for the video recap of the trip once I’m around an editing program.


PPS. Many thanks to those of you who sent some financial gifts, you know who you are. Your family and ours are linked in thankfulness. Your kindness made it possible to make the trip North, and be a blessing in little ways to those in need.

Half Way Through

I can't believe it!Dust and Dan are half way through their journey.
i can't wait until they get back on the 28th !i hope they are having
a good time.It has all gone so quickly.A few weeks after they get
back i turn ten!!!It seemed like yesterday when i was 6 in Scotland.
As the Kunkel family grows older we still love each other more and
more.i hope that is how your family goes.

sincerely,


Lily Kunkel

P.S.have a hopeful heart and keep looking up to Jesus

Dust Checks in From Ghana

After a week in Ghana, with one chance to post an update, and 100stories, I find myself at a loss. Where to start? How to describethe depths of feeling beneath the surface? When it’s all said anddone, we’ll have planed, trained (actually motorbiked, because trainskeep derailing), automobiled, bicycled, and footed 18,762 total miles. Take 16,462 miles off for the plane trip, and you’re still talking2300 miles in Ghana. Full details to follow in the video summary oncewe return to Oregon.


Do I start with Dad being presented with a hand-crafted piece of artin front of 850 children at Holy Trinity Lutheran School in Kumasi [aschool that has won ‘best school’ in the entire Ashanti region for thelast two years], a plaque that reads: “Founding Father, Holy TrinityLutheran School: Reverend Dan Kunkel.”


Do I start with telling howthe young man with a Master of Arts who created the beautiful plaque[covered in Ghanaian symbols] was hit by a car when he was a littleboy, and Dad saved his life by rushing him to the hospital for surgery– now Michael stands 6 foot 3, and quietly shakes Dad’s hand and says‘thank you’.


Do I start with the people of Peace Lutheran in Kwasu[waaay out in the bush] being unable to stop dancing even though theirGhanaian pastor asked them to stop – dancing for the joy of the Lordafter Dad had preached his first sermon here in Akan Twi?


Do I start with telling how Willie – now grey-haired but still full of energy;Dad’s first contact in Kwasu – with a huge grin on his face, pulled Dad off the podium and had a ‘dance-off’ together before the Lord?


Doyou get it? This is Africa; people know how to praise.


Do I start with sweating on the veranda in the evening, with a glass of coldwater, making plans for the trip to the far north, and wondering howwe will contact the church in Bunkpurugu, when Kenneth [the youthrepresentative from Bunkpurugu] walks up from his 12 hour journey justas we say the word, ‘Bunkpurugu.’ Problem solved.


Do I start with Dad using the song, ‘two little eyes to look to God, two little earsto hear His word, two little feet to walk His way, hands to serve him all my days’ to help the children at Peace – all the children of God,old and young – remember what really matters.


Do I start with“Auntie” Florence, departmental head at Holy Trinity School and representative on the National Lutheran Education Board, coming fromthe other side of town – two hour journey -- to cook for us becauseshe loves our family [the story goes waaaayyyy back, but the short version is that as a young woman she once needed a place to stay for a few months and mom and dad were there]?


Where do I start? It’s been only a week, and we have a forest of stories. Because of the intensity of our travel schedule, it’s tough to get to an internet café and do regular postings. That, and where we’re going next, there are no internet cafes! But I’m recording the entire journey with digital video on our little camera. One picture = 1000words, right? So, stay tuned.


A final thought: Ghana has changed dramatically since we were here 15years ago, and so has the fabric of the Ghanaian Lutheran Church. The country is now an ‘emerging economy’ and you can see it everywhere. There’s energy and purpose. Everyone’s got a plan, everyone’s got a business. It’s beautiful. And so different from the United States. The culture back in the States feels depressed and old compared to the energy here. And the young people in the church carry the same energy. In the U.S. with young people, we find ourselves straining to gain attention or encourage discipline.


Here, I’ve been visiting with youth at each church, and I’m transfixed by the excitement, passion,and energy. They need very little from me. In fact, they are giving me what I need more than anything right now: renewed passion for the simple way of Jesus and His profound gift. Do you know the Lutheran youth in Ghana have raised their own money and ran their own youth gatherings for the last decade? The gathering last year closed with a surplus in the budget? Compared to the lackadaisical attitude among young people in the West, their energy is like a bucket of cold water poured over my head [and let me tell you, in this heat and humidity today, that sounds really really good!].


Tomorrow we leave Kumasi for the next leg of our trip. As boys, both Kris and I rode along with Dad as he worked among multiple language groups all over Ghana. We didn’t know it at the time, but this was very unusual for a missionary in the ‘70’s and ‘80’s. Back then, Dad was the only missionary in Ghana [about the size of Oregon], and he made a point of visiting the fledgling groups all over the country.The next week we’ll cover some 850 miles, and most of it will be by a combination of Ghanaian lorry, bus, bicycle, motorbike, and foot. In the ‘old days’ dad had a 4x4 truck and it was simple to jump in and go. Now, we’re visiting on a tight budget and gas costs $8 a gallon. Do the math. There’s no way to rent or even borrow a 4x4. Instead,we’re going back to the beginning. We’re going to travel with and among Ghanaians. I’ll video the whole journey, and when I return to the states I’ll post a final review in moving pictures.


In the meantime pray for ongoing health for us: we’re eating all local food and sleeping sometimes without mosquito nets. We’re hoping our old immunities from 15 years ago hold up, or that the journey does not exhaust our physical resources. It’s hard to describe the effects of 95 degrees and 95 humidity on the body, especially if there’s no break.
Well. That's if for now.
Keep us in thoughts and prayers.
DustKunkel signing off from Kumasi, Ghana. Over and out.

Arrival

Hi! Lily here. Dad and Grandpa arrived in Ghana! They supposedly got there
sometime this afternoon our time. In Ghana it was late at night!
I hope they had a good and safe flight.I wonder what he was thinking when he arrived. Probably" I'm finally here" or "I'm tired'! My mom said when he called he was already talking in "pidgen" english. This is talking with an African accent. I bet he sounded funny!
For the past 2 days My sister and I have been sick with a bad cold. It sucks!
But, I've had a chance to explore blog spot.com. I'm having a great time updating Kunkel
Fam. Adventures. I love to blog.I can't wait to hear more
news to blog about.

Sincerely,

Lily Kunkel

a final look at Concordia's year and theme....

Ghana trip

Hi! This is Lily.The recent news in the Kunkel family is Dustin's
trip.For 3 weeks this May he will be in Ghana, Africa visiting friends.
We all will miss him very much.But, it is a great opportunity for him.
Please pray for a safe arrival in Africa.

The other news is that I'm going to go to a new school. I hope it will provide
me chances to learn more.After a long search i got into a school called
the Ivy school. I can't wait to try something new!I will try to keep you updated.

Sincerely,

Lily Joy Kunkel

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Dan and Dust back to Ghana -- first time in 14 years!

See Below for Grandma Ella's first 'prayer email' ... this gives a good idea of the purpose for the visit... if we have reliable internet in Ghana (always iffy) I (Dust) will try to post from there. Otherwise, look for some videos and thoughts on this site when we return!


Dear Prayer Partners,


The adventure is about to begin! Dan and son Dustin leave from Portland on Monday May 3, arriving 26 hours later in Accra, Ghana. They will be there over 3 weeks, leaving Ghana on May 27 and getting back to Portland on May 28. I ask your prayers for them and their entire trip. Please begin now to pray for their safety during the entire trip and for health and strength. Neither of them have been back to Ghana since we left the end of 1994, so the climate may take some adjusting, and they no longer have immunity to the "germs" there.


Dan will teach a class to the seminary students while there. Pray that all goes as planned and that the Spirit will guide the teaching and learning. Pray for safety on the roads, as they travel up-country to visit many of the places we lived and ministered in. In fact, pray for good transportation, as they may have trouble getting a vehicle to travel in. they have quite an ambitious schedule so pray that they will be able to see everyone they hope to see and that the Faithful Saints there will be encouraged by the visit. Dustin hopes to make contacts for future ministry opportunities. Pray that he gets in touch with everyone that the Lord wants him to meet there.


And pray for those of us who will remain behind. Dustin's wife Janette and his girls Lily and Zoe have been plagued with lots of health problems lately. I also have battled a severe cold the past couple weeks. I will take Dan to Portland and come back to Tonasket for 2 weeks, going back to Portland to help care for the girls the last 2 weeks of May. Pray for safety and health for all of us. And lastly, pray for the working of technology, since we need to communicate with each other while they are gone (a vast improvement from the days we lived in Ghana and had nothing but letters to rely on with a 2 week turnaround if all went well!).


I will plan to send updates to you from time to time while they are gone. If you have any questions or comments for me, please contact me. and if you would prefer not to be getting these letters, just let me know.


Your prayers are precious to all of us. Thank you for praying. God bless.


Ella Kunkel

Blind Bartimaeus . . . . Revised Barbie & Ken Version (RBKV).

Checking to make sure this blog still works... bringing it out of retirement soon!!!