Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Africa - Day#2 (Keep It Together-6-4-17)

Sunset Over The Atlantic
The Cool Clock In Amsterdam
Sunday, June 4th, 2017
            If yesterday was a normal day of surreal and somewhat romanticized notions, today was tough.  Throughout our travels, it was difficult to decide what was day or night.  Do we follow the internal clock that was telling us it was in the middle of the night, or watch the rising sun? 
            Our transatlantic flight had rocked.  Todd and I had two seats next to the south facing windows.  As we left land and soared high above the ocean, the darkness of the night fell upon us.  Ironically, those who sat on the north side of the plane saw a constant sunset, as light shown up and over the top crest of Earth, while from our side we could only see stars.  After journaling, I tried relaxing while listening to Dvorak’s Symphony #9 (“From The New World”).  It was fitting music.  I fell asleep for about 15 to 20 minutes towards the end of the composition.  When I stirred, I did watch one movie to pass the time. 
            Crossing the British Isles, you could see the lights of cities and towns far below.  As we began our decent into Amsterdam, a line of freighters were heading from the channel into the North Sea.  Being a farm boy, I also noticed first cutting hay in some of the fields while we prepared to land.
            In Amsterdam we eventually met up with Noah Dellamater who came in on a later flight; to complete our traveling team of nine.  We had a six hour layover there in the airport.  I was so exhausted; I had to get up several times to walk around.  I wanted to close my eyes but couldn’t find a comfortable place to lean against.  Several other members of our Team did, by simply laying down directly on the cement floor of the terminal.  Finally it was time, and once we loaded onto our plane, I quickly fell asleep as did many of the others.  I vaguely remember having the sensation of the plane taking off, but that was it.  I slept for about an hour before they delivered a meal.  Todd and I were in the middle row between two other Team members (Nyles Bates and Paul Fay).  It was so tight that you had to keep your arms in front of you and your knees together.  I decided that if I lifted my knees just six inches higher I would have technically been in a prenatal position.  We had to mentally hold it together like that for almost eight hours.  I occasionally shut my eyes in a driftless stupor, and did watch a movie.  Deep breaths warded off panic throughout the tight quartered flight.  Our steward was awesome though; helpful, funny, and with a waxed, curly mustache that looked pretty cool.
            After landing in Nairobi, Kenya, we waited about 90 minutes in a hot line of people crowded together until we could present our visas and passports.  We got our bags and met up with Brian Dellamater and his son Gabe who had arrived in Kenya the week before us to prepare for our group.  We loaded up around 11:30 at night, and headed for “67 Airport Hotel.”  The hotel was a breath of fresh air and had a courtyard much like a fancier version of the dorms I lived in at college.  We talked and made plans as a team.  I sent some messages to my wife Cindy back in the States, who was living in Sunday afternoon while we were in early Monday.  She transferred some money into Todd’s account so we could use his bank card to get our currency in shillings tomorrow.  I couldn’t use my card as I don’t know the PIN number.  Back home I don’t use it a lot, and when I do, I use it as a credit card so I don’t have to use the PIN number.  Ignorant bliss can be crippling sometimes, but we figured out a solution while we could still stand.  Todd and I each showered and went to bed around 1:00 a.m.  I had slept only a little over 6 hours since Friday morning.  Under the light mosquito netting around my bed, and in the coolness of the air, we slept like the dead; now on the flip side.
            See you along The Way…
John Fay With An Unknown Friend
Between A Rock And A  Hard Place
The Statistics
After Our Arrival To Kenya
Bus Ride To The Hotel With Jake Rogers Doing The Thinking

Monday, June 19, 2017

Africa - Day#1 (Off We Go-6/3/17)

Picture with the Family before Todd and I leave
Saying Goodbye to Kora    :  )
The "Team" traveling from Rockton, Illinois to Kenya
Saturday, June 3rd, 2017
            I’m over the Gulf of St. Lawrence heading toward Canada’s province of Newfoundland.  It’s where the little wooden boat in the story Paddle to the Sea last sees land, just before being picked up off the coast of the Grand Banks by a French fishing boat.  He had been on a long journey, floating from his humble origin in the Great Lakes.  I guess I’m on a similar long journey.  The top of the clouds, illuminated by the sun, look like the slush and ice during spring break-up on our rivers back home in Illinois.  I love those rivers.  I love those rivers and their lonesome bottomlands.  They’ve become my “next of kin” after the sugar maple, hemlock, and white pine forests of my life-blood in Northern Michigan.  I’m in new territory now though; farther from my home than I’ve ever been.  The journey has just begun, however, as I travel to the flip side…of the planet.  I like that analogy.  It holds various depths of meaning.
            As I travel next to my son at 39,015 feet, ice crystals dot the windows.  I’ve wondered what would happen if we went down.  I don’t think that way to be morbid; it’s just where your thoughts go sometimes.  For the most part, I think like a survivalist though, and so my only regret is that my flint and steel set, for making fires, is buried away in my “check in bag” somewhere in the bowels of this plane.  Those two things are like my security blanket.  If I have those, surely I could survive anything.  Fire is life, and I know fire.
            We go to Africa with an open heart.  Our souls are jars of clay; fragile, but with the capacity to hold more than we can fathom (2 Corinthians 4:7).  To that end we travel to learn and travel to be taught.  We bring muscle and we bring smiles.  As we travel to Kijani Farm within Kenya, Africa to camp these next two weeks, news has reached us that those who went before us had to shore up the thorn hedge that surrounds some of the property.  Apparently the zebras and wildebeests were getting into the herd of cattle that a family from the Maasai tribe was keeping there.  Imagine that; should we be so lucky to see such a thing.  I don’t go to romanticize the wilds, but still, the wild is something to fall in love with; God’s creation unleashed and still yet raw.  We’re out over the Atlantic Ocean now.  Onward we go to the flip side.
            See you along The Way…
O'Hare Airport
Loading my orange bag I've had since 8th grade
The "Team" (Todd, Nyles and John) loading up
Todd and I heading to Detroit to catch the next flight
Over Michigan-The Home State
Ticonderoga, New York - A Classic Pencil
Clouds of Slush
Dinner over Canada
This is it...Over the Atlantic Ocean
Heading to Amsterdam

Sunday, June 18, 2017

Dad - A Father's Day Memory

“Masculinity is bestowed. A boy learns who he is and what he’s got from a man, or the company of men.  He cannot learn it from any other place.  He cannot learn it from other boys, and he cannot learn it from the world of women.  The plan from the beginning of time was that his father would lay the foundation for a young boy’s heart, and pass on to him that essential knowledge and confidence in his strength.”
(John Eldredge – Wild at Heart) 
This article comes from a fishing trip I had with my Dad about eight years ago, on the morning of Wednesday, July 8th, 2009.  I hand wrote it that afternoon into a journal I used at the time.  About a year later I typed it up and submitted it to my friend Don Miller, who printed it in the Severson Dells Newsletter entitled “Notes From The Dells.”  I had that article framed, and presented it to my Dad on Father’s Day of 2010.  The pictures that accompany this blog entry come from a trip that he and I took together last summer on June 1st, 2016.  It was a day trip into Wisconsin at one of his favorite creeks (mine too).  We each caught a handful of trout and enjoyed both the beautiful scenery and companionship.  Enjoy!
See you along The Way…
Dad
Me
Dad
Me

    I consider myself fairly patient on most accounts; better than I used to be at any rate.  I suppose age and experience evoke that trait.  It’s time in training well spent.
            When I first began fishing for trout it was hard to wait and be patient.  It’s hard to wait for any kind of fishing for that matter; especially when you are a kid.  As a kid I captured grasshoppers and crickets in an old wire mesh box once used to ship us honey bees for our hives.  I waited eagerly for dad to get home to take me to Bass Lake.  In those days I watched the red and white bobber from the bow of the canoe.  Sometimes I would be surprised by a sudden and quick hit that would immediately tug the bobber under, leaving only a trail of bubbles.  Sometimes it was the slow turning of the bobber as the colors changed from red to white and began to dance lightly up and down on the surface of the water; the fish below playing with the bait.  During days when I fished a lot, I dreamed about red and white bobbers.  I still remember the placement of the bed under the window, in the room on the back of the cabin that we rented for a week during the month of June on South Manistique Lake.  I remember waking up in that room to dreams of patriotic colored spheres of plastic bobbing on my line while standing on the end of a long wooden dock.
            Almost to the day, a dozen years ago, I caught my first trout.  As an adult at that time, I had begun to grow in patience.  I had to in order to keep my head in the thick, bug infested swamp called the “Headwaters” that my dad used to take me to.  Since then I’ve fished many a mile of creek, stream and river.  I’ve been able to experience many things as a result; things such as deep water, shallow water, and sacred water.  I’ve seen big fish scoot out from under a bank while catching nothing but minnow sized chubs.  I’ve experienced tangled line, lost lures and flies, broken reels, leaky waders, busted poles and scenery worth dying in.  Each outing builds a layer of experiences, and as a result develops patience.  Time in training is time well spent.
            When I approach a good hole or pool or run where it’s obvious trout habitat I take my time, appreciate it for what it’s worth and pick my casts selectively.  I marvel at the fish or marvel at the excellent cast served on a silver platter and only occasionally curse the lost opportunity of nothing.  For I know deep down that even nothing is something.
            Today I fished with dad on the “Creek who must not be named.”  Whatever I think I have; whatever I think I’ve gained, whether in pompous attitude or honest humility, I’ve got nothing to his patience.  I don’t mind leaving a fine bend in a creek after a yeomen’s attempt at catching a trout.  In the beginning years I didn’t mind because I thought I’d have better luck at the next bend.  Now I don’t mind moving on because I figure the trout are there in hiding, and after “X” amount of casts they can stay there to proliferate or be caught the next time.
            My dad, however, works the crowd like a good comedian.  I’d say he works the crowd like a politician but his efforts are more than “Good enough for government work,” and if you don’t approach the tangled mess where wild trout live with at least a partial grin, you’ll never make it out alive or with an ounce of wit.  With that old blue pole he’ll flip his spinner to land with an announcing plop.  I’ll hear the familiar click of his bail as he begins to reel.  Those sounds are about as comforting as an old flannel shirt on a cool fall day.  With patience he systematically breaks the whole into parts; casting at different angles according to the current and branches and underwater structure.  Not perfect.  Not without frustrations.  It’s simply more patience or at least different patience, because the results are often the same as mine.
            I fished today but I watched today too.  I realized in the end that this experience, like many others, was both a continuation of my training in patience and time that was well spent.

Sunday, May 14, 2017

Mom - A Mother's Day Tribute

            Mom’s an interesting blend.  Two days after being married in Jackson, Michigan, she and my Dad both returned to school and their classrooms to teach.  Later that spring they took their official honeymoon.  Packed into their little VW bug, they drove all around Northern Lower Michigan.  
They traveled by Charlevoix, up back roads to Mackinaw City, and then down to Gaylord and into the Pigeon River State Forest.  Who knew that after a year in Eaton Rapids, and a year in Rudyard of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula near the Kincheloe Air Force Base, that they would settle into the “Tip of the Mitt,” and call Northern Lower Michigan their home?  I was born while they lived in Cadillac.  After a few years they moved to Gaylord where my sisters Becky & Karen were born.  They had several rentals on the west side of Otsego Lake, and then they bought their first house, on ten acres, eleven miles northeast of town out past the old railroad stop of Sparr.
Mom with baby Mike
Introducing me to moving water at the Manistee River
            For being a girl raised “in town,” the country life seemed to fit my Mom perfectly.  We were a one car family, and yet we somehow made it work.  While Dad taught Jr. High math in Gaylord, my sisters and I eventually went to elementary school in Johannesburg, and Mom worked full time as a “Stay at Home Mom.”
            Soon after moving out to this first house of theirs on “Rural Route #1”, we converted part of the shed into a barn (several years later the dirt road was officially named Dipzinski Road).  The country living that we were a part of coincided with the nationwide “Back to the Basics” movement.  It was only natural that we add farm animals onto our land.  Later, we would build a small little pole barn to better house the animals we had.  When I was in second grade, Mom brought our new triplet kid goats to our elementary school.  At the time we were learning how to write the cursive letter “G”, so it went perfectly with the lesson.  It was great fun running around the playground with my classmates as the baby goats raced along right behind us.  Not too many Mom’s (or students for that matter) have the chance to be a part of something like that.
            Annual gardens were a given.  Mom used every square inch of the large drop freezer that we had, in addition to the storage shelves in the root cellar, dug into the side hill off the back of the original shed.  Looking back, the cellar was very “Hobbit-like” and fun to play near.  My sisters and I often climbed the rock walls that led into the small wooden door, dropped stones and sticks through the air vent protruding up through the top of the hill, and jumped from the top of it down into drifted snow in the winter.  Mom canned and froze the fruits and vegetables that we stored.  As kids we were often handed an old “Cool Whip” container and sent down to the valley behind our house to pick wild strawberries.  Mom used these and other berries to make jams and jellies as preserves.  Bribes to keep whiny kids at bay were promised in the form of a trip out to the Otsego Lake State Park where my Dad worked as a ranger in the summer time.  We could go swimming if we filled the container with strawberries as opposed to filling our bellies.  She also used the large crock down in the lower utility room of our house to transform cucumbers from the garden into pickles.
            Mom was always baking.  We had plenty of milk from our goats, and eggs from our chickens.  My mouth waters right now when I think of a thick slab of Mom’s freshly baked bread, slathered in butter.  She was an integral part of our areas first health food co-op.  She used the bulk food she purchased to make many different kinds of meals.  It was also through the co-op that we were introduced to dried fruit, carob, and large blocks of cheese.  Baby Swiss was my favorite and Mom knew it!  As a growing boy I often made several peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at any one time.  I’d quench my hunger from sandwiches made from natural peanut butter (you had to stir in the oil first), alongside homemade jam; all on top of the freshly baked bread.  If I wanted to change it up, I cut thick slabs of cheese and put them on the bread with a generous quantity of yellow mustard.  Meat often came from our chickens, as well as from the geese we raised.  She would also fix wild game Dad brought home from his adventures in the woods.  Throughout the various seasons we had fish, snowshoe hares, or grouse.  I can still picture the thick gravy over a drumstick from those birds.  It was dark meat, and it tasted delicious.
            On the floor in the little sun porch that jutted out on the south side of our small house, Mom often had material rolled out with the delicate tissue of a clothes pattern pinned onto it.  With special shears she would cut out the cloth to make clothes for my sisters and me.  A red and blue shirt with crabs on it is what I remember most specifically, along with a brown and white shirt that had tools on it.  What I remember most from my sister’s homemade clothes, were the pioneer dresses and bonnets that went along with our nation’s Bicentennial Celebration in 1976.
Family Picture- 1976
            After several years on Dipzinski Road, my parents purchased some property halfway back towards Gaylord.  For quite a few years it was simply known as “The Property.”  We often stopped there to hike and picnic.  My Mom’s parents went in on the deal, and together we each had forty acres.  With Grandma and Grand-dad living down state, it was really like having eighty acres; practically a wilderness with the woods and swamps surrounding us.  Eventually we built on the property; a house nestled back in the pines, surrounded by hardwoods and hills.  My sisters and I entered into the Gaylord school systems at that time.  Our barn, and farm, and garden grew in size.  We added wood burning stoves, bee keeping, and a maple sugar shack to our list of activities tying us to the land.
Christmas 1977
Mom & her friend Norean snowmobiling into Yellowstone-1980
Thanksgiving 1983
            Mom came by picnics naturally.  Grandma was a professional by anyone’s standards, and Mom simply took it from there.  It was from those stepping stones, coupled with Dad’s ingenuity, that they would often pack us up for day trips into the Pigeon River State Forest.  We would pile into our yellow Volkswagen van early in the morning, and look for elk on winding, dusty two track roads in the woods.  More often than not we stopped for breakfast along the way (cooked over an open fire or on our camp stove).  Later we would stop at the Pigeon River or Pickerel Lake to swim and play.  It just didn’t get any better than that; unless of course you take into account our camping trips.  That was like taking our picnic trips to a whole new level.  Dad’s engineering prowess was put to the test as he designed and outfitted a wooden “camp-box” that fit on top of a single snowmobile trailer that he refurbished.  Mom packed that box with the kind of thoughtfulness that a white footed mouse might use to store food prior to the first snowfall of the season.  Painted long necked beer bottle boxes were where she helped each of us kids pack the clothes needed to fit the excursion and the predicted weather.  In these sturdy boxes is also where our food and cookware was stored.  Each box slid into pre-fitted cubby holes and slots that kept them stable.  The entire operation was impressive, and one that led to many fun, and exciting adventures.
Mom and our "Big Blue Tent"
            As I grew, Mom was a listening ear when I came home from school each day.  She liked to know what was going on, and how I felt about things.  I never felt right about holding things back, so I pretty much told her everything that was happening.  That would come in handy while I was in college and gaining independence on my own.  She and Dad expected us to work hard and do our best at whatever we were involved in.  Mom also fostered spontaneity, as it was often with her blessing and a smile that I left the house with my dog, headed back into the woods, and disappeared into exploratory treks that lasted for hours at a time.  I have always appreciated how she encouraged the development of that part of my spirit.
Karen & Mom with her big bluegill
Becky & Mom after a college football game
            From Mom I have gained a love for reading.  I have also learned to be frugal in what I need, while being open and generous in what I have.  Living things of all species of plants and animals were to be respected.  Although creepy, crawling bugs, especially ones that randomly flew up beside her, she could do without.  Lovingly, Mom led by example what it meant to have a personal relationship with God.  She has good insight in how that looks and works, through personal experience.  That perception to detail also allows her to look at budgets and money amounts with more of an interest than most would have.  It’s from that personal experience too, that she has withstood two knee replacements and a back surgery; only to rebound time and again.  It’s been a lesson for me on enduring pain while trying to move forward.
Dad & Mom in 2001 before moving down to Southern Wisconsin
Todd and Jodi after helping Grandma bake some bread
Todd & Jodi with both sets of Grandparents after a XC Meet-2014
Over the years, while continuing to be my Mom, she has also moved into the role of Grandma.  It’s a different role, but one she enjoys.  From the various facets that have made her who she is, she is leaving a legacy.  These are the things that make my Mom an interesting blend.  Thanks Mom, I love you.
            See you along The Way…
Ice Cream at Meggy Moos's - Mother's Day 2017

Sunday, April 23, 2017

Africa - Tumaini

Kenya, Africa
            This past fall, my son Todd came to my wife and me and expressed interest in going with family friends to Africa.  Our friends, Brian and Heather Dellamater, are going with their family to Africa to begin the work of developing a piece of property called Kijani Farms located in southern Kenya.  They need help establishing the property with housing, etc. as they build relationships with the Maasai Tribe and grow the farm.  Todd’s request was somewhere between asking us and telling us, while hoping that we would say yes.  Hope.  At first our thoughts were “Ah no, we’re not letting you go halfway around the world”, although we didn’t necessarily express that directly to him.  Our thoughts focused around the limitations of time, cost, travel, and the simple fact that our son needs to be putting money aside if he wants to continue going to college.  Later, when he shared that they also needed someone who liked to cook over an open fire, that it would be a wild adventure, and that we would be working with others in a team; all while building relationships with the Maasai, it began to look interesting.  He knew the passageways into my heart.  Perhaps we needed to look at this trip as an opportunity, and with a different perspective.  Both my wife and I began to look at it more as a chance for me to share an experience together with our son; father-son bonding on another continent, in a different country, with a significant purpose.  We prayed about it daily and over several weeks, while talking with Todd, as well as Brian & Heather.  We didn’t know how it would all work out, but the decision was made that we would begin the process, put one foot in front of the other, and see where it would take us.  The mystery, revelation, and excitement will come in seeing how such an endeavor comes together.  Hope.
Todd & I talking about the possibilities on a winter hike
            Through Global Outreach we are going with a team of twelve local people, led by Brian Dellamater, to help develop Kijani Farm.  His wife Heather will act as our Base Camp Director here at home, while with their baby girl, until they can all come over to Africa together later this fall.  Presently the farm itself is made up of brush and trees; all of which have thorns on them.  Apparently it’s hard for the Maasai people to imagine that most of the trees that we have here in America don’t have long, sharp thorns on them.  Kijani Farm will someday be a self sustaining farm serving the people living in the surrounding region.  Eventually it will be a farm that they themselves will call their own, to provide what they are calling “The Kijani Five.”  The Kijani Five consists of: a health clinic, clean water (So far the only thing on the farm site is a recently constructed 5,000 gallonwater tank that weighs 11 tons), a school, a church to train pastors and leaders, and of course agriculture.  Together, everything on Kijani Farm is designed to train up the next generation.  It’s about having the people of the area build into Kijani Farm (For more information see:
            This will be my first mission trip out of the country, and only my second time on a passenger plane.  The first plane ride I ever took (outside of a brief outing in a single engine plane when I was a kid) was an hour and a half trip to see my sister in Atlanta nineteen years ago.  Our trip to Kenya will be an 18 hour ride with one stop along the way.  Perhaps I better bring a good book and a thick journal to keep myself busy.  Hope.  It will be a trip “full of firsts.”
            Two teams will be a part of this mission.  The first group that comes to Africa will be “Team Tumaini,” which means “Hope.”  I know it’s ironic.  Team Tumaini will leave the United States on Saturday, June 3rd and arrive in Africa the evening of Sunday, June 4th.  We will be in southern Kenya for 11 days and then leave on Friday, June 16th arriving in the U.S. on Saturday, June 17th.  A second team, “Team Rafiki” (which means “Friend”), will overlap our visit as they arrive a week into our visit and stay a week later.  Brian Dellamater and his son Gabe will be there a few days before all of us getting things ready.  We will travel with Brian’s other son Noah.  Noah was Todd’s best friend in high school, and they have continued to stay close throughout college.  Noah will be our guide through international travel as he has done it many times before.            
            Growing up in a Christian family in Northern, Lower Michigan there were several different times when I experienced a “Missions Week” that our church would organize.  I always enjoyed hearing stories from the missionary people that our church sponsored.  They invested their lives to make a difference in the lives of others throughout various corners of the world.  At the same time, the missionaries were quick to share how the people they lived with helped change their own lives.  While attending Trinity College (Now Trinity International University) I met my wife Cindy.  We earned our degrees in education, as we both had a passion for working with kids, and became teachers at the middle school level.  Within our local school community we have taught and coached.  We see teaching as an opportunity given gracefully by God.  Not every day or situation is easy, or works out according to plan, but it has helped develop within us a spirit of flexibility, compassion, and fortitude.  Often we see situations at school or in life that can only be explained as a “God Thing.”
Training to run, work and build relationships in Kenya
            Now on the cusp of actually going on a short-term mission overseas this June, I am slightly giddy.  I am preparing letters, emails, and a blog entry to share the dream and vision of going to Africa with my friends and family.  Yesterday I ran eleven miles on the trails of a local forest preserve.  I imagined what this trip might entail.  I pictured being able to run while I’m there.  How cool would it be to say that I actually ran with the Maasai Kenyans?  Even if that meant that I was dragging along behind them, but somehow managed to keep them in my sight far off in the distance.  Hope.  Do you think it will matter that Kijani Farm is over 4,000 feet higher in elevation than what I’m used to here in Northern Illinois?  Hope indeed.  I’ve been doing push-ups and sit-ups every other night just so I can feel like I can do and/or participate in whatever comes my way.  I can’t wait to gather around a campfire after a day of work, cooking a meal, looking at a night sky void of artificial light, and going to sleep in a tent somewhere in Africa out beyond my wildest dreams.  I look forward to seeing Kijani Farm’s resident warthog, as well as some of the gazelles and zebras that live in the area.  I am looking forward to seeing God at work, both through the projects that have been planned for our team, but also for the things that are unplanned, and for what I myself will learn beyond what I can physically and mentally give.  This opportunity has the potential to change lives in so many ways.
            We are going to need your help on this journey!  First and foremost we need your prayers; for the travel logistics, safety, unity, and our trip as a whole.  If you would like to be a part of our Prayer Team, Heather says this, “For each of our teams, we ask people if they would like to be a part of a Prayer Team just for your group.  This group gets more updates than our general email list... our expectation is that they would really commit to praying for you during your preparation, time in Kenya, and return home.  Please invite anyone you wish to join the Prayer Team and get me their email address.”  If this sounds like something you’d like to commit to then please email me, or leave a comment below, and I can pass your email along to her.  Todd and I are going with a minimalist mentality, but with big hearts; open to serve, looking to see God at work, and eager to humbly learn from the Maasai people.  To do this, Todd and I together are going to need to raise a total of $6500.  To help in this process, Todd and I are also applying for scholarships for first time mission’s work, while trying to get some money into our account soon in order to purchase airline tickets at a cheaper price.  At the same time, we would appreciate it if you could prayerfully consider giving money to help us reach our goal.
            See you along The Way…
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**You can be a part of our team by donating to Global Ministries at: https://globaloutreach.org/ (Tax-Deductable – Please click on “Give,” and then click on “Missionaries & Projects.”  You will see a search where you can type in the account# of “Ingersoll 06-17.”  After you “Check Out,” there is an option under the title “Anonymous” that says, “+Add instructions to the finance office” that gives you the ability to designate the funds for “Mike & Todd Rhines” specifically).
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Mailed donations need to include the team name (Ingersoll 06-17) in the memo line of your check, and please attach a note that it goes to Mike & Todd Rhines.
Address:
Global Outreach
PO BOX 1
Tupelo. MS 38802
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Tumaini = Hope