A group of Hendrix Elementary School students want Ugandan children to enjoy an upcoming solar eclipse as much, and as safely, as they did this week.
Amy Flynn’s fourth-grade class has started collecting used eclipse glasses to send to Ugandan children later this year. School officials are working with Benjamin House Ministries, and the glasses will come with notes from Hendrix students about what the eclipse was like.
The African country lies in the path of a 2020 solar eclipse.
“One of the students said, ‘Well, we could keep them until the next eclipse’ and we said, ‘That’s not really possible,’” Flynn said. “That’s when we started looking, who could we even give these to?”
The idea built steam after Flynn reached out to Benjamin House staff. The organization works with orphans and families in Uganda.
Spartanburg School District 2 spokesman Adrian Acosta said other schools have been asked about either sending glasses to Hendrix Elementary or starting similar donation drives.
Friday, Flynn encouraged her class to bring in the glasses the district gave them for the eclipse.
She taught another lesson about the eclipse and its significance before having students write messages to the Ugandan children who will receive their glasses.
“I think it’s the right thing to do,” said Grayson Smithson. “I hope they’re thinking that, ‘Hey, some kid was nice enough to donate these to me.’”
Hendrix Elementary is an International Baccalaureate school, encouraging students to use lessons to take action, Flynn said. The eclipse provided a perfect opportunity for learning, because it it led to classroom lessons and a lesson in giving back, she said.
“I think that’s what they’re going to remember about fourth grade,” she said. “They’re going to remember all the learning about this specifically. I hope when they hear about the eclipse in 2020 in Uganda, they remember someone will be holding their glasses.”
Addison Posey said her “mind was blown” by seeing the eclipse with her parents and family friends. She hopes children in Uganda have the same feeling in a few years.
“I hope they get the message that the solar eclipse is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and they’re really experiencing history and now they have the glasses to actually experience that history,” she said.
Any residents who want to donate their glasses can drop them off at the front desk of Hendrix Elementary or mail them to 1084 Springfield Road in Boiling Springs.

We began our ministry that day by washing feet. Layers and layers of dirt... As I scrubbed the bottoms of their feet, they were not even ticklish. Their feet, just like their hearts and eyes, were hardened and void of feeling.
I won't lie... I caught myself thinking what's the point? What will washing these dirty feet accomplish? They will be dirty again in minutes.
Covered in scars and open wounds, I began to see their feet as a beautiful, sorrowful depiction of the lives they live. Hard, dirty, unfeeling, scarred, and wounded. 
God revealed to me that the washing was not only for them, but for me. I needed to see their filth, their pain, their scars, their wounds. I needed "the eyes of my heart enlightened" (Ephesians 1:18), because I was just as dirty, scarred, and wounded before I found Christ. Those feet represent all our lives before Christ, and thankfully Christ does not look at us and say, "What's the point? They will sin again." No, lovingly and patiently, He washes us clean over and over again.
Thank you Jesus for your never-ending and never-failing salvation that washes us white as snow.

I wish I had more faith…

Why is it that we, who have been given everything we need in Christ, bought from death, sealed by the Holy Spirit, living a life of joy and happiness and hope, experiencing that God has always been and will always be faithful, and awaiting an eternity in paradise with Him…………still doubt?

Why can’t I simply wake up every morning and trust that the needs that God shows me today, He will provide for in His time and in His way? Why can’t I rest in His promise that He has all this in His hands? Why does restlessness and helplessness and anxiety seem to be in my shadow? I’ve seen Him do it! I’ve witnessed the nearly visible hand of God right in front of me a hundred times! I know…I KNOW who He is and what He has promised. Why do I still wonder?

When I’m looking at a sea of faces of kids at a local school I chaplain, why do I give in to fear that they will turn aside from the Word and just continue the cycle that has been destroying the family in Uganda? Why can’t I remember the examples of the ones who are steadfastly following Jesus and are going to make a difference…or think of Charles or Joakim or others on our staff who are breaking that cycle and leading others to do the same? I want my first thought to be a thought of encouragement, remembering a young man who used to be Muslim and is now being baptized on Christmas to publically profess his faith.

There’s a computer program that we use to track our giving for Benjamin House. The front page has a chart that tracks giving over time. I check it every day. Every…day. Why can’t I just trust that God has called us to this and He will provide every cent we need to accomplish the goal? Why does my heart skip a beat when I log in and notice the giving trend going down, or when I get an email from someone saying they’re discontinuing their giving. I’ve seen it before, and God always does something incredible and it goes back up. Why can’t I rest in that?

I want my kids to know their father trusts THE Father. No matter what. Now I just have to work to become that man. I identify with Peter more than I ever thought I did before. Everything in me wants to jump out of the boat at every instance. I want to be where Jesus is, on the front lines, in the middle of the dirt and the pain with Him. But before I take the 3rd step, I’m looking to the right and to the left to make sure nothing’s gonna hit me.
I have to be real. No plastic smiles here. Things are hard. And we go through days that we feel like we’ve been trudging through mud for so long that we can’t take another step. Then I get a message like this:
“I’m thinking about you all this morning, we miss each of you so much! I’m especially missing just hanging out at the Rogers house and see all of the beautiful Christmas decorations and decorating Christmas cookies. But I’m so grateful for the work you are doing in Uganda and seeing all of the updates on each step of this journey God is bringing you though (especially the recent ground breaking!). We pray for you but I’m spending some extra time lifting you up this morning, as I know the enemy tries to discourage and tear you down, I pray for strength, endurance, and Gods peace as you all are on the front lines. Thank you for being such an incredible example and blessing to so many we love y’all!”

So, I’ll continue to echo the man in the Gospels who said, “I believe Lord, help my unbelief.” I’ll continue to lean on the Church as she continues to be what God has called her to be. I’ll continue to wrestle Brennan, beat the girls off Inno, watch Sasha tackle manhood, keep Xan from having a heart attack, tickle my Becca-boo, and keep the ice trays filled for my lovely Julie. I’ll look into the eyes of the thousands, remembering the dozens that God has already worked miracles in, and we’ll keep walking by faith.

Pray for us. Pray that we will be able to take a step in the dark not knowing where our foot will land but trusting that the one who made it all and who loves us completely will be guiding that foot to a perfect and solid place. Pray that our hearts will remain steadfast and encouraged. Pray for the days when the dust seems too think, the air too hot, the roads too bumpy, and the language too hard. Pray for us to remember that each day is a gift and a responsibility and no matter what happens, we’re saved and heaven is waiting. This life is a blip on the screen, and I pray we’ll be faithful with this moment.

Bucky, Julie, and the Benjamin House Team



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A former Spartanburg pastor who moved to Uganda was back in the city Thursday night to update a large crowd of supporters about his first six months in Africa and the project he started there.
Bucky Rogers, executive director of Benjamin House Ministries, his wife, Julie, and their four children packed their lives into about 10 duffel bags and moved to Uganda in March to dedicate themselves full-time to Benjamin House. Rogers started the ministry to help orphans in the country.

It took about two months to get settled, Rogers said, but over the past six months Benjamin House Ministries has opened a church that about 300 people attend and started a family sponsorship program.

The next project is a transitional home that will help children transition from orphanages to a family setting. The home will give them a place to get comfortable with living with a family before moving into that situation, Rogers said.

Before moving to Uganda, Rogers took several trips to the country and saw firsthand how great the need was. Living there has allowed him to see the need in a different way, he said.

“It’s everything I expected it would be, and yet everything is different than I expected it would be,” Rogers said. “Every day is hard. It’s not hard in that it’s hot or we don’t have ice or we don’t have Chick-fil-As on every corner. We’re OK with that. But it’s hard helping 44 kids in a slum right now and seeing thousands more who need help. We’re asking God to open up the floodgates and let us help these kids.”

Kelly Clark, a member of Anderson Mill Road Baptist Church, went with Rogers on his first trip to Uganda. They were on a mission trip with the church, and Clark saw how much the trip and people there touched Rogers’ heart.

Clark said it wasn’t a surprise when Rogers announced his family was moving to Uganda. It seemed natural, she added.

Thursday was the first time Rogers had been back in Spartanburg since leaving. Clark said she was excited to hear about his experiences and had her handkerchief ready.
​
“They moved in March and I’ve seen the Facebook posts but I haven’t heard Bucky’s heart,” Clark said.

Somewhere around the mid 80’s, John Farnham released a song called “You’re the Voice.”  I’m sure the meaning of the song is nothing like how my brain has been applying it over the past 5 months, but nonetheless, those words keep ringing through my mind.  We’re all someone’s daughter…we’re all someone’s son.
Yesterday, Julie and I were driving back home and there were two very little girls digging through our trash, trying to find something of value, and probably trying to find food.  I met another boy at the gate who said, “Pastor, I don’t want to ask you for things.  I know everybody does that.  But we have no food.  My grandmother is sick and needs to eat.  Do you have anything left?”  A man came up to me after service last Sunday asking to speak to me sometime this week.  I made an appointment with him to talk this past Thursday.  He told me he was thrown in the latrine as a baby and someone passing by got him out and cleaned him up and nursed him back to health.  That caregiver died when he was a young boy and he’s lived the rest of his life trying to survive on his own.  He turned from Islam and accepted Christ that day.  I spoke to his wife yesterday and she too gave her heart to Christ as well.  I told them I loved them and I would see them next Sunday, and as we were walking away, he told me that was the first time he had ever heard those words directed to him.
The other day I was doing some painting at the church and a student from the school that I’m campus pastor for came by to see me.  He helped paint a little and then I walked with him back down to the school.  On the way he said, “Do you remember a few weeks ago when you talked to me after the chapel service?”  I did remember. He was clearly upset and wanted me to pray with him, so of course, I did.  He continued, “That day I was going to commit suicide.  I had already planned when I was going to jump from the 4th floor balcony.  I played it out in my mind over and over.  I decided not to after we prayed.  Pastor, I have nothing left.  I have no one left.  There’s no one who would even know if I had died that day.”  I kept it together until after I dropped him off at school and then I just got into my car and wept.  Of all the things in this world I understand, that just isn’t one of them.  I’ll never understand it.
When I think back over my childhood, all I can remember is love.  My parents divorced when I was 2 years old.  When I got a little older there were some pretty rough times…going from a fairly comfortable to having absolutely nothing within 6 months.  I can remember a few times during those years not telling my mom that my class in elementary school was taking a field trip because I knew we didn’t have the money and I knew it would hurt her to tell me that we just couldn’t swing it.  So, while the school was on field trip, I would hang out at the school, help the teachers grade papers and stuff, and then come home without a word.  I can remember saving up my birthday money and Christmas money that relatives had given me, and sneaking a $20 bill in mom’s purse every now and then.  My older brother was in trouble a lot, and I would wake up at night to shouting matches between him and my mom.  And yet, with all that…the thing that is most in the forefront of my memory is love.  There has never been a day of my life, ever, that I didn’t feel loved by my mom and dad.  I’m their son.  I know what that means.  And I’m a lot like them.
Over the past 5 months I’ve been struck by the reality that there are generations of people in Uganda who are just like their parents.  They too are someone’s daughter…someone’s son.  They’ve known neglect and so they neglect.  They know abandonment and a lack of love, so they abandon, and fail to love.  They’ve been cheated and exploited for gain, so they cheat and exploit.  They become their parents…and on and on.  Uganda is drowning for lack of heroic, godly, caring, strong, Biblical fathers.  I would never do anything to diminish the value of a mother.  But there’s something powerful about the hands, heart, and words of a father.  And they’re almost entirely absent here.  I can feel it everywhere I go, and with every boy and girl I talk to or spend any time with.  They hang on every word.  They’re content to just sit beside you…to hold your hand.  They have a scared look until you smile at them and then they smile the biggest smile you’ve ever seen.  A simple “I love you” spoken by an adult, and their life is utterly changed.
Ministry is ministry, and our whole world needs it.  And maybe I’m biased because these are my people.  But there is a level of need here that isn’t matched by any experience I’ve had in the 15 or so nations I’ve been to.  There’s a desperation that human words just can’t really fully explain.  That’s why we need you.  We need you to pray for wisdom and discernment.  We need you to pray for strength as we hold our hearts out every day and bring them back in every night bruised and torn.  We need you to give, and give sacrificially.  I need people to value life and the Gospel and choose to sacrifice something to see something miraculous happen.  We need you to come.  These kids, mothers, fathers, this society needs you.  It needs your smiles, your hugs, your words, your example, and the greatest need of every human heart…the Gospel.  We need you to keep telling the story, to remember us, and to help others see what they otherwise would not see.  We need you.
Our unveiling banquets in Chattanooga(Sept 13) and Spartanburg(Sept 15) are going to be a huge celebration of all the open doors God has made available to us in these past 5 months.  But it’s also going to be a very difficult night for me.  Because as much as I want to celebrate, and see everyone, and update everyone on our progress, I still have faces in my mind of all the kids and birth mothers we’ve had to tell that we can’t help them yet.  I have memories of kids waiting just outside the door…kids waiting on their name to be called.
So, in the words of John Farnham:
We have the chance to turn the pages over.  We can write what we want to write We gotta make ends meet, before we get much older
This time, we know we all can stand together With the power to be powerful Believing we can make it better
You’re the voice, try and understand it Make a noise and make it clear We’re not gonna sit in silence We’re not gonna live with fear
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​As we are in our last week in the United States there is a lot going through my heart and mind.  There are a thousand tiny details to still get ironed out.  There’s the actual travel (24 hours of travel time with 3 small children, 2 of which have special needs, and 15 bags that contain all our earthly belongings) through crowded airports, TSA checkpoints, times of food, times of no food, and times of plane food.  There will be dozens of things I want to jump on as soon as we land and plans that have been in my dreams for the past year that we can finally set into motion.  And yet, all I can think about is what happened last night.
 Last night I sat down with about 25 men.  The Lord led me to which 25 were there, but there could have been 100 others (although my heart may not have been able to withstand that).  I wrote each of them a letter, reminiscing on the past, reminding them of where they’ve been, and challenging them to never go back there.  In the mix were guys whose dads left their post and in doing so left a shattered heart after the dust settled, guys whose dads passed away early in their lives, guys who have been in the deepest sin struggles you can imagine, and guys who have earthly fathers that are second to none…and everything in between.  The one thing they all shared in common was that they each have a piece of my heart.
The Lord has been gracious to me to bring me young men over the years to invest my life in.  I don’t know exactly how He does it, or why He chooses the ones He does, but I’m so grateful.  I don’t have all the answers, and I have messed up more than I’ve gotten right as I’ve sought to lead these men to Christ.  I’ve said wrong things, given wrong advice, been impatient and pushy, and sometimes even pushed so hard that some of the men God brought to me are now far from Him.  But for whatever reason, He keeps bringing them to me.
I went around the circle last night and read those hand-written letters aloud to each of them.  I wanted them to be encouraged that they’re not alone…that every man goes through times of battle and can rise on the other side of it with victory.  I laughed and cried during almost every letter.  This was supposed to be my chance to encourage them and challenge them for the future.  But, just as I wrapped up and was about to pray, one of them spoke up and began to share how the Lord had changed his life during the time I’ve known and loved him.  One by one they shared, and the real flood gate of tears started.  But these weren’t empty tears from brokenness or shame or self pity.  If there can be joy in tears, I think that’s what was happening.  I’ve never been more happy and more sad than in that moment.  Then some of us went out to Taco Bell for one last ride.  I’ll remember it forever.
People keep asking me how I’m doing, and I don’t really know how to answer.  As far as moving goes, and selling all our stuff and being in a new culture, living simply, embracing poverty, and all the unknowns I’m doing fine.  I’m ready.  I’ve never been so ready for anything in my whole life.  But when I think about the people I will leave, the relationships that will never be the same after 5 days from now, and the legacy these men will go on to build, I am completely undone…broken…scattered.  That is, until I think of the 25, the 250, the 25,000 young men in Uganda who need to have this same testimony.  What if a nation of fathers begins to commit to their families that they will not leave their post?  What if each believer in that nation decides they’re going to add one more to their family whether through mentoring, foster care, or adoption?  What if I could help make sure that one more child has the mom and dad they need and that they will never go to bed afraid ever again?
You see, Benjamin House isn’t just a project for Julie and I, it’s our lives…made into an organization.  It’s the priorities of our family (the Gospel), multiplied.  And as we go, we look back over our shoulders at the thousands who are holding our hands, holding us up, holding us accountable, and holding the rope for us in prayer and giving, and we are overwhelmed.  Please continue to pray.  We will be at GSP at noon this coming Tuesday, tickets and duffel bags in hand, ready to step out of the boat and trust Jesus to keep us from sinking.  Pray, tell our story, give in whatever capacity the Lord allows, and let’s change the world.  I’m just crazy enough to think we can.

James grew up in the northern part of Uganda, in a city named Gulu.  Gulu was one of the cities hardest hit and most affected by the 20 year war led by Joseph Kony and the LRA (Lord’s Resistance Army).  Within just a few years of the conflict, many of the adults in the region had been killed and many children had been abducted by LRA troops to become child soldiers.  The children would leave their homes and hide at night out of fear that the soldiers would come and kill their parents and take them away to become soldiers.  Deep into the conflict, Uganda emptied the cities of the north and gathered people into very large refugee camps.  An entire generation grew up in those camps. James told me about his life growing up in an area that was basically under prison encampment conditions. “Mom and dad died when I was 4 years old leaving me with my little brother, Joel, and my grandma.  Life became really hard during that time.  My brother, Joel, and I weren’t able to go to school, and my uncle would drag us from the hut almost daily and beat us.  My grandma wasn’t able to care for us because she had nothing to feed us and there was no way to buy food.  We would wait on food from the government people who ran the refugee camp.  Life there was so terrible.  We would go days without eating.  Sometimes I would steal from our neighbors so my brother would live.  We were caught so many times stealing and they would beat us so badly.  When I was 7 years old I was abducted by the rebels (the LRA).  They took us out into the bush and for 6 months I was forced to carry heavy things very far distances.  There were 7 of us that were abducted at the same time.  4 of them were killed in fighting, and 3 of us survived.  They made us kill.  I refused at first and they beat me over the head and made me watch them kill a woman who was simply fetching water at a local well.  I saw many people killed during that time.” James spoke softly as he showed me scars literally all over his body.  He showed me 2 large scars in his leg where a stick hand gone through his shin as they were running through the bush when he was abducted.  “We happened upon some government soldiers and the rebels started firing.  I started running and I jumped down and embankment to get away.  That’s how I escaped and went home.” After some time passed, a man from Canada came to the camp and collected all the orphans to take away to an orphanage.  James and his brother, Joel, were separated and taken from their grandma.  He was able to eat and go to school, but even James admitted, “We were so wild. We were used to bush life and had no family, nothing to ground us.” A few years later, the leaders of the orphanage were exposed.  They had stolen money meant to help the kids and the orphanage was closed and all the kids taken back to Gulu.  Some were reunited with family members, and others were left to the streets.  “The only way I’m able to go to school is because I am one of the lucky ones who has a sponsor,” James said.  “My grandma can barely afford to feed us, she surely can’t afford school.  Joel isn’t in school because he doesn’t yet have a sponsor to help with school fees.  He dreams of becoming a doctor when he is able to go back to school.  I want to be president.” James is 21, and his brother, Joel, is 18.  I met James through a strange set of circumstances and the Lord compelled me to tell his story.  I don’t tell his story to get people to get emotional and say to themselves, “Man, that’s so sad.  How could anyone treat children like that.”  Honestly, I don’t believe God has called me to try to move people’s emotions.  He has called me to move people’s actions.  To motivate a nation to rebuild families, restore relationships, build great moms and dads, put away corruption and deceit, and lead their country.  He has called me to wake up generations of Americans who have fallen asleep at the wheel and been anesthetized by plasma screens, apps, status symbols, and extravagance.  He reminded me again today that the point of life isn’t simply to arrive safely at death with more toys than your neighbor. I probably shouldn’t say things like that.  I’m sure it will come across as harsh and judgmental.  But, honestly, I value the lives of the children of Uganda(and many other places in the world) and the future parents they will be one day more than I value being liked.  We have no idea in this country what 90% of the rest of the world faces on a daily basis…the fear they wake up with and go to bed with every day. But you can choose that your life will be different.  You can determine that you’re going to live life with your eyes open and although you can’t save every child…you can save one more today.  You can build a father today.  You can help a mom keep her kids today.  You can stand with a young, pregnant and terrified 13 year old girl so that she doesn’t have to walk alone.  You can choose to sponsor Joel and make sure he finishes high school, university, medical school and changes the lives of countless other Ugandans he will treat one day.  You can lock arms with us at Benjamin House Ministries and make a difference.  Or, you can go back to life, enjoy your kids and grandkids, and arrive safely at death.  I think most people are just waiting for an opportunity to make their life count for something greater.  Stand with us.  Sacrifice to help us fund the ministry that will accomplish all these things in Uganda.  Become a child’s sponsor and make an impact that will be felt for generations.  Or, if not us and if not Uganda, then do something…somewhere.  Life is a breath and then it’s gone.  Let’s use every ounce of it. To donate online, visit www.benjaminhouse.net.  To contact me, just email me at bucky@benjaminhouse.net.  I’d love to make time to talk with you.  Child sponsorships for Joel and thousands of kids just like him will begin in March 2016.  For those of you who have been following my family and our story, we fly over with a one way ticket to Uganda on March 8th with no plan B.  We need you rowing with us.  So, grab an oar, and may God bless you for your sacrifice.

The other day I had myself a good old-fashioned pity party.  We were setting up the stage for our annual Ignite Band Christmas Rockstravaganza (a Christmas worship service that I and our worship band do each year).  This year, my youngest son Brennan was going to be singing a verse and chorus of “Where are you Christmas?”.  You know it.  The song’s chorus says, “My world is changing, I’m rearranging.  Does that mean Christmas changes too?”  Brennan did so good as he practiced it for the first time with the microphone.  No nervousness at all.  I knelt there beside him, holding the microphone, and sort of zoned out thinking, “I wonder if he has any idea how true the words he’s singing really are?  Does he realize just how much it will change?  Am I a bad father for making choices that will drastically affect his life forever?”  And thus commenced the pity party.
We are moving to Uganda, Africa.  I’ve spent months telling our story, trying to raise funds, trying my best to not worry about our funding and to just trust God with our future, thinking about the details of forming a non-profit, assessing the needs in Uganda, preparing my team for action once we hit the ground in March, and studying Ugandan culture and the orphan care situation there until I couldn’t see straight.  I prepared my heart and mind for nearly every change that we have coming, and have been trying to prepare my kids for those as well.  But there was something about this simple line from a simple song that destroyed me that day.
Growing up, Christmas was magical.  No matter what actually happened in the busyness and bustle of that day, no matter the fact that I grew up in a divorced family and we traveled all over the place from spot to spot to see relatives, it was always my absolute favorite day of the year.  The anticipation was always so sweet and it always reminded me just how much I was loved.  And, I guess that’s what hit me. Next Christmas, while most people back home are enjoying snuggling up by the fire on a cold Christmas Eve, we’ll be opening our windows to try to get a breeze.  While dads are tucking in their kids snugly under their quilts, warm in their pajamas, daring them to come out of their rooms, I will be tucking in the mosquito nets around our kids’ beds and praying them off to sleep.  While families make plans to drive around to see Christmas light shows and church musicals, we will enjoy having our neighborhood kids over for dinner in a dimly lit room.  While kids back home gather together with family, getting big sloppy kisses from grandma and being tickled by grandpa, my kids will skype with their grandparents to tell them Merry Christmas and kiss a computer screen as they say goodbye.  Christmas indeed changes too.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve gotten weepy!  I used to never cry.  I don’t think I cried more than 10 times between the ages of 15 and 25.  I’ve cried more in the past 48 hours than I did those 10 years!  And so, as I thought of all these things, I started wondering if I’m somehow shorting my kids.  Will they blame me in the years to come for taking them away from comfort, family, friends, and all the things they’ve come to know?  Am I being selfish in taking them halfway across the world to chase after this dream I believe the Lord has given me?  And while I’m at it:  Of all the people in the world that are far more capable than me of doing this task, why did the Lord choose us?  We have nothing to offer.  I’ve never done this before.  Gracious.   I have spent the last 6 months talking to congregation after congregation about how God had brought us to a place of complete trust…and He had…but at this moment I was overwhelmed and couldn’t seem to get it together.
Then Joseph came to mind.  I would never presume to place myself in the same category as a man like Joseph, but I do wonder if he ever had times of doubt like this.  What am I doing?  How does a mere man raise the son of God?  Is there not someone else who is in a better position for this task?  What will this mean for my future…for our other children one day?  I wonder, as they fled to Egypt, if he ever questioned whether he was a good enough, strong enough father, and if he would be able to deal with what his future would hold.  Did Abraham think about leaving his home/friends/extended family when the Lord told him to go to a land he did not know?  Was Noah apprehensive about starting over with just his wife and kids?  Did Peter, James, and John ever doubt that what they had experienced was real…real enough to go across the known world and make it known?  Would Paul have still gone on his great missionary journeys and propelled the church into the world if he had allowed the thought of change to overcome his mind?  Again, I’m no Abraham or Peter, but because I am surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, I should…Lord willing, I will…throw off everything that hinders, and the sin that so easily entangles(like doubt), and run the race that has been marked out for me.
My kids’ Christmases will be different.  Their world is changing.  They’re rearranging.  And that means Christmas changes too.  I want them to love their family, and long for time with their grandparents.  I wish we could enjoy all the things each Christmas that we’ll be leaving behind.  I wish they could have more than memories of those things.  But more than that, I want them to know that when God calls, no matter what the call, answering that call is more important than anything else in the world.  Christmas is still about God coming to the desperate and alone…and that part of Christmas will never change.
Most people aren’t called to move their family to a third world country.  For them to do so would be wrong.  But we are.  We aren’t any better or more spiritual, in fact I can name about 50 people off the top of my head right now that I think the Lord should have called instead of me J.  And so, we go.  And although you don’t go with us, in a way you do.  You are every bit as much a part of the Benjamin House story as we are.  As you pray for us and the families we will restore, you become a part of their family.  As you sacrificially give to allow us to be on the front lines of this dramatic shift in the orphan care system of a nation, every bite of food we take, mile we drive, person we meet, father we train, mother we give a job skill to, lost person who is adopted by Jesus, child who receives AIDS treatment for the first time, teenage mother we love, teenage pregnancy we help keep from ever happening…all of it…you ARE Benjamin House.
Your giving, particularly at year end, is critical to our family and ministry.  As I’ve said before, I hate asking people for things.  But, this task is too big for us to do alone.  We need you.  You can send your tax deductible contribution to Benjamin House Ministries PO BOX 21, MOORE SC 29369, or give online at www.BenjaminHouse.net  Contact us through the website if you would be open to us speaking to your civic group, church, small group, etc. between now and when we fly out on March 8th.
May God bless your family this Christmas.

We had planned for so many years to adopt a little girl from China.  They require you to be 30 years old and have a certain income and as soon as we reached those milestones, we began the process.  In a somewhat sterile way, we went down a list they gave us of special needs and were asked to check off ones that we would be open to.  In our minds, we were okay with a medically correctable special need.  Things like cleft lip, club foot, even birth marks are considered special needs in China, so we checked all those.  We would adopt a little girl, bring her to the states, get her whatever small surgery she needed to be “normal” and then go on with life.
We were paired with a little girl and we finalized the process and were ready to travel to China.  We had been given some indication that she had some delays, but all children in institutionalized environments have delays.  We read up on overcoming those, and got ready to receive our little Rebecca.  As we walked into the cold orphanage office, we sat down and she was brought out to us.  She was asleep and laid there peacefully but then began to wake up.  As she woke up she didn’t really move much.  Her eyes kept rolling back in her head and she would just scream and hit herself.  We quickly began to realize this was not just institutional delay.  Something was very wrong.
As we were leaving the office a lady came up to us, shoved a packet into our hands and said, “We never thought she would be adopted.”  Inside were some of her medical records that they had intentionally not shared before the adoption.  They revealed that at some point a hole had been drilled into her skull to relive pressure.  All the signs pointed to a scenario where either her birth parents or a caretaker had shaken her, causing damage to her brain stem, and bleeding on the brain.
The months following were a slew of doctors visits, tests, and scans.  We sat in the consultation room after her MRI and her neurologist came in and showed us the pictures.  The diagnosis was cerebral palsy, mental retardation, and cortical blindness. He pointed out large areas of dark in her skull where her brain should be.  It simply wasn’t there anymore.  He then told us to prepare for the future.  She would never walk, never talk, never be able to eat or care for herself.  She would likely be on a feeding tube and lots of medication to keep her sedated and comfortable and she would probably live about 8 years.  We were devastated.  We sat and held each other and cried.
I remember days later praying to the Lord and giving Becca to Him.  I said, “If you have given Becca to us for 8 years, then I will make them the most care-filled and love-filled days a child could have.  But you have the power to heal her now.  And I trust you either way.”  Our God answers prayer.
About a month ago, Becca grabbed our ottoman and pulled herself up to a standing position.  She has dozens of words in her vocabulary.  She interacts with us, knows our voices and the voices of her brothers and others in her life, and God is continually performing miracles in her life.  These things are unexplainable by human standards.  She simply doesn’t have the brain capacity to do what she is doing.
In Uganda, many children just like Becca are relegated to lay in their cribs until they die.  The culture doesn’t understand special needs or how to treat them.  Part of our ministry through Benjamin House will be to train therapists who will be the hands and feet of Jesus as they work in children’s lives to give them the best possible shot at a long and healthy life.  We’re asking the special needs community in the US to rally together and help provide the needed support for this to happen.  We are so blessed with access to services in the US.  To whom much has been given, much is expected.

Just about the time that Xan started getting used to us, and our bank account started to recover, we felt the Lord was calling us to adopt again.  Julie wanted a little girl, so we began the process to adopt domestically.  We carefully put together a profile and waited.  Two birth mothers chose us, but we lost both due to the birthmothers changing their minds.  We rejoiced in that, but it was also very painful.  Then one night we got the phone call that would change everything.  “We have a 3 week old little boy.  Do you want him?”  Well of course!  How could we say no!  So, we drove all night to Baton Rouge, Louisiana.  The next morning, our little Brennan was placed in our arms.  He was so tiny.  We took him home, and the crying began. He cried…and cried….and cried.  We later found out that his birth mother likely used drugs pretty heavily while pregnant with him.  His first few months were painful ones for him and for us.  We spent evenings stretching out his muscles that had been made tight because of all the pain he was in.
Over the years, he has had therapy on top of therapy to try to get him caught up.  The drug abuse has left him slightly delayed and on the autism spectrum, but he has progressed so much.  Brennan is the happiest, most content child I’ve ever known…and such a blessing to us.
In Uganda, a child like Brennan would have been left alone to grow in silence and obscurity.  People just don’t know or don’t have time or money to get children like Brennan the care that they need.  We want to bring that kind of hope into families that are confused and scared.  So much can be done, if we have people standing with us.
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Will you give so that kids like Brennan will have a full and long life?

In a neighborhood on Spartanburg’s westside, Bucky Rogers and his wife, Julie, take a needed break on the couch. A small film crew is documenting their home life and their mission to build Benjamin House Ministries, an organization with the goal of helping orphans and rebuilding families in Uganda.

The last few months have been a whirlwind of activity, and from an outsider’s perspective, their lives would seem to be more exhausting than many others. Bucky and Julie Rogers have four adopted children — Sasha, Xan, Brennan and Becca, who has special needs.

A Tennessee native, Rogers has worked as pastor of students and worship arts at Anderson Mill Road Baptist Church — The Mill, for short — in Moore since 2006. After several mission trips, he and his wife felt called to pursue a life helping children abroad. A 2013 trip to Uganda solidified in their hearts that God wanted them in the African country.

Named in honor of the stillborn son of friends, Benjamin House celebrated its global launch in June at an event featuring presidential candidate and former Arkansas governor Mike Huckabee. The event made headlines nationwide and ignited a fundraising campaign.

Brightly colored T-shirts bearing the Benjamin House name are donned regularly by followers across Spartanburg County, and a social media campaign has seen supporters post photos wearing the shirts in 40 states and 13 countries, so far.

For his part, Rogers has become a reluctant front man for the movement. A pastor, with more than 14 years of experience and a passion for music, he appears more comfortable in the presence of young people, helping guide them through life’s troubles, than in soliciting money for the mission.

“I’m kind of used to meeting people’s needs,” Rogers said. “I thrive on that. So, asking people to partner with us financially to help us accomplish this task is something that doesn’t come easily. But, for these kids and these families, I’ll do whatever it takes. And, I’m seeing more and more that people are just waiting for an opportunity to be a part of something like this.”

In July, Rogers and members of the Benjamin House team spent a few days touring orphanages and discussing potential partnerships with existing Ugandan organizations. At one possible future home, surrounded by students, Rogers said the dream of Benjamin House — up until then only envisioned on blueprints and in his head — was becoming real.

A documentary chronicling the last several months and the effort to build Benjamin House will be unveiled at an event at the Upward Star Center on Thursday. Rogers plans to return to Uganda in October to finalize more plans and, in March, he will move his family there to begin building Benjamin House. His vision is that the organization will be more than a group home for orphans, that it can repair families and be a conduit for education and change.

I sat in an airplane on the way home from Birmingham, Alabama with one thing running through my mind…”How in the world am I going to tell Julie?”  I hadn’t done anything wrong.  My conscience was clear.  But we had determined in our pre-marital counselling that we weren’t having any kids.  Both of us had incredibly rebellious siblings that made our parents’ lives like hell for years, and selfishly we didn’t want anything to do with that.  But that was all changing for me.
I had very suddenly gotten a desire to pursue international adoption that I tried for days to ignore.  Quickly, though, it dominated my thoughts.  Everywhere I looked I saw reminders that I needed to pursue this.  I was miserable.  I knew what Julie was going to say.  We didn’t have any money and international adoption ranges from $25,000-$35,000 to complete.  We didn’t have space in our little seminary house.  We didn’t have a support network of grandparents who lived nearby.  We were 24 years old.  Nothing in this made sense.  But I knew we had to do it.
So as I arrived home, I simply said, “Julie, we need to talk.”  I spilled my guts about all that I thought God was calling us to do, and she started crying.  I thought, “Man, you’ve messed up this time!”  She then said that she had been praying that God would bend my heart toward adoption for many months.  She quietly prayed, and waited, and He did just that.  With no money in the bank, and no reason for any government to say we were ready to be parents, we started the process.  About a year later, we got off the airplane with our little Xan.  We were met with a huge crowd of cheers and well-wishers, many of which had sacrificed greatly to help us fund the adoption.  God had provided every single dime we needed.
Rewind a few days to when we were sitting in the hotel in Guatamala after having met Xan (a 6 month old FAT baby boy!).  He was getting to know us, we were getting to know him, and no one was sleeping.  I walked through the halls of the hotel with him at 3am and something struck me.  I expected to feel a tinge of anger…maybe asking myself how a woman could just abandon such a tiny and precious little boy.  I expected to hold his birth mother in some fault.  But, I confess, I had a much different reaction.  Xan’s birth mother had been raped.  She had a choice at that moment to terminate the pregnancy, or to give our beautiful Xan-man life.  I thank God every day that she chose to shelve her own emotional turmoil and put his life first.  She is one of my heroes and Xan will always know his birth mother is a giant in our eyes.
The truth is, there are hundreds of thousands of young girls around the world who are just like Xan’s birth mom.  They’re being faced with horrible circumstances and huge decisions.  For many of them there are few options.  That’s not the way it has to be.  Through Benjamin House we will provide a place of hope and healing for young women who are being faced with similar circumstances.  They won’t have to choose between eating or providing for their baby.  The gut wrenching decision of whether or not to keep their baby will become increasingly lighter.  Maybe you have some of those circumstances in your past.  Maybe you’ve questioned God as to why He would allow something like that in your life.  Maybe this moment is the answer to your question.  Maybe He wants you to stand with these many many other girls, holding their hands and telling them there is hope and a future.  Regardless of whether you can board a plane and physically sit beside them or not, you can stand with us at Benjamin House and hold their hand through your prayers and your giving.  Every dollar gives life to children, hope to mothers, restoration to families, and healing to a nation.  Hop on and let’s #BuildBenjaminHouse.

There are some days when I have a thousand things to say to really anyone who is willing to listen.  I can usually carry on a conversation about almost anything, and I can definitely debate almost anything.  Today, I have no words.  Here are just a few of the things that have happened in the past 36 hours that have left me at the point where I just sit on my bed, wanting to sleep, but having my eyes forced open by the tears:

1) In the heart of downtown Kampala, a bustling and ever developing city, there are highrise apartment buildings and hotel suites (well, I say highrise…but I guess 12 floors isn’t exactly high rise), busy city traffic, and the hum of commerce.  In the very center of it all is a place where people don’t even glance.  its about 5 acres of land called the Kitanga Slums.  When you drive by you simply look to the other side of the road.  If you ignore it enough, maybe the sights and smells of that place don’t really exist.  But then you visit. You walk through the narrow alleys between houses, overwhelmed by the stench of the raw sewage you’re walking through that is right outside of everyone’s front door every day.  I say front door, but no one has a door, just an opening and a curtain.  Kids are playing in a pit that flows with all the sewage from all the area buildings that have running water (Kitanga has none).  Babies wander around the slum by themselves, nearly exclusively because their fathers are gone and their mothers are prostitutes that are either working or sleeping.   On the hill directly across the street is a coffin vendor, and the front of his lot is lined with dozens of tiny…overwhelmingly tiny coffins.

2) An orphanage way out in the bush welcomes us with cheers.  As they wait for their lunch to be ready (that we had purchased so they could have beans that day instead of just porridge), they sit on the front porch of the small building that serves as their lodging, gathering, and dining areas and begin to play a game with a couple dozen dirty, used bottle caps.  As they get their plates of rice and beans, they gobble it up with their little fingers, licking every morsel of food off.  One of the wooden bunk beds has the words “mom” and “dad” carved in it and then marked through with a big line.  The director talks about his dreams and challenges, and I leave overwhelmed by both God’s goodness, and a hundred “what if” questions running through my mind.

3) Perhaps the most powerful man in southern Uganda invites us into his home, talks about how he is getting older and wants to pass his ministry along to someone he can trust, and then offers us the blessing of land and his connections to get started.  He even offered us office space in his ministry headquarters until we are on our feet.  We ask him why he would do that and he simply says that he trusts us and what God has called us to do.

4) A pastor sits with me and he sounds JUST like me.  His passions were identical to mine.  It was as if I was looking in the mirror….until he gets to the part where he says:  “And so we must move northward to plant churches in areas in more hostile zones.  If we don’t, ISIS may get there first, and we want to make sure when they get there that they find strong believers and multiplying churches.”  The shame for the complacency in my heart was overwhelming.

5) I just left a hut where a grandmother knelt down and hugged my leg.  Her grandson, whom she is no longer able to care for physically or financially sits on the edge of being removed from school altogether, and the Lord has placed him in my heart.  He has no father to tell him how to be a man, what manhood looks like and how to build a life.  His tribe is scattered from the war and still recovering.  As we drove by the public park in the city, he said, “Papa, we don’t go there at night.  People get their neck sliced and some kidnapped and others killed who go there after dark.”
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And I sit here in my room, wishing I could close my eyes and reopen them and it will have all been a nightmare.  This couldn’t possibly be happening in our world.  Yet it is.  And the tough thing is, I can’t solve this for them.  I can’t throw money at the situation and make it better.  I can’t grab kids out of desperate situations and save the day every time.  But I can give them the source of ultimate hope, train them up to choose a better and more sustainable life, and inspire them to follow hard after God regardless of the circumstances around them.  I can love them unconditionally and tell their stories to everyone who will choose to hear it.  I can give YOU and opportunity to stand with one more…to help one more have life.  We are ONE tribe…ONE family.  Let’s stand together.

There are a lot of things that get lost in translation here. A wave that we would consider to say “hello” actually means “come here.”  If you only shake someone’s hand one time, you must not like them very much.  The more handshakes the better.  There are obvious language issues and even when you try to speak something in Luganda, the words are so similar that if you try to say, “Is it time for breakfast?”  you might just end up saying, “Armadillos swing from the tower.”
As we traveled today after church this morning, we ate lunch with a little fella named Brian.  One of our team members has sponsored him for a little while and got the chance to meet him while he was here.  Brian is from a very rural village and had never been into the city.  He had never seen a white person.  He had never tried ice cream and was a bit taken back by it being cold (they don’t have refrigeration that far out).  You expect stuff like that to be new and odd for someone in the bush.
When our team member went to see them off and tell them goodbye, he did the typical open arms so he could get a hug.  Brian just stood there looking puzzled.  One of the people from his organization broke the silence and said, “I don’t think he’s ever been hugged.”  When he told me that, my heart sank.  Of all the cultural norms that you expect to be different, that’s not one I ever wanted to experience.  In the US, children, even though many are neglected, are held in fairly high view.  In Uganda, children aren’t viewed very highly.  Physical affection from a father particularly is pretty rare.  I can’t imagine this.
Be a hug for a kid.  Get involved with what we're doing, today.

As we’ve gone through this week in Kampala, everything I see, I’m seeing in a slightly different light.  In years past, I’ve taken it all in, enjoyed the scenery, played with the kids, and tried to make as much difference as I can in 10 short days.  This year, every moment we’ve had, I’ve looked at things in terms of the future.  What will this look like when I live here?  What will this process be like when I’m waking up here every day?  How will I go about doing this or accomplishing this goal?  Kids aren’t just pictures of faces to me anymore.  They’re not just a crowd of eyes and ears.  I’m asking myself every day… Does that one have a home?  Does she have food?  I wonder when the last time he’s had a bath is?
Yesterday at the festival a group of kids were piled on me and I realized they didn’t have armbands.  The festival costed $1,000 shillings (about 30 cents) to get in.  If you didn’t pay, you didn’t get an armband and you didn’t get lunch.  There just wouldn’t be enough food to go around.  As we sat there it dawned on me that they had been there all day, in my lap, on my shoulders, in my arms and hadn’t had a drop of water or a bit of food the entire time.  I’m just not okay with that, and I wonder what would happen if a few thousand people would join me in not being okay with that…
I would expect to go through the day pretty sad, but its had a very opposite affect on me.  I’ve felt more alive than I have in years. It’s incredibly freeing to know exactly what the Lord created me for, and to be making plans to do it forever.  You may not be called to go for the rest of your life…but what if the Lord would call you to give of your excess, and maybe even sacrifice a little to help us in this task?  That calling is every bit as legitimate.  You might even find that it makes you more alive than you’ve felt in years too.  Help us tell the story of Benjamin House.  Share it everywhere you go.  See if your sleep doesn’t come a little easier and your love is a little easier to access.

Today, we went to a school a bit out from the city.  When we got there, they were a bit restless.  You can kind of tell within a few minutes which crowds will be really locked in to the message, and which ones will…well…struggle to be locked in. This one was definitely the latter.  They were on the edge of being wild.  Even as the worship was happening and our guest artists were presenting, they were just not quite paying attention.
As Jason got up to preach, they were still disconnected and loud.  I started getting pretty discouraged until I saw him.  He was probably about 16 years old and was standing inside one of the classrooms facing our stage area.  He was up on a chair with both hands on the bars that are on the windows (that are on all windows in Uganda), with his face as close to the bars as he could get them.  His eyes were fixed on Jason and you could tell that he was 100% in.
I then started looking around and there were others.  In the midst of the chaos, there were pockets of people, even people outside the gates of the school, who were listening hard and with expectation.  These kids are all over Uganda.  They’re waiting for someone to take an interest, to look beyond the rough exterior, and to invest in them.  I believe this country can be changed.  I believe that some of these very kids that we’ve ministered to could very well lead their nation to a great awakening.  Hope is difficult to mine, but once it is found it is stronger than steel.  It drives and moves us to be better than we can be.  I can’t wait for that to be our story for the rest of our lives.

One of our teams has been in a rural village this week working in the school, partnering with the church to reach out to the border villages, and building a home for a group of 4 orphaned children. The village cares for them, but the hut they were in was literally disintegrating. This group of kids would normally end up being brought to an orphanage and institutionalized, separated from their extended relatives and the village and tribe they’ve grown up in. This isn’t working. Institutions don’t change kid’s lives. Families do.
As we drove through the city, I was a little overwhelmed by the sheer number of children. There were kids everywhere, in tattered clothes, dirty, and with no caretaker in sight. Contrast this to the kids we saw in the schools we visited. They were well dressed in their uniforms, clean, and cared for. The reality is that if a child’s family can’t afford school, they’re either relegated to a life without education or they end up being given up by their families in order to attend a school at a children’s home.
I could literally see Benjamin House in my mind today. In fact, at one point one of the recording artists we are traveling with came up to me and said, “You’re dreaming of bigger things aren’t you?” I confess I was, and it was a beautiful place. A place where families are strengthened, the vulnerable and truly orphaned are cared for and set into families, where education is available for a price that allows families to stay together, and a lighthouse of truth for the teenage culture in Uganda so that we avoid much of the orphan care crisis before it begins. It’s big…but God is bigger. And I am so ready.

Today, we visited three more schools and ministered to nearly 600 teenagers, encouraging them and challenging them to be the generation that makes a change in Uganda that lasts.  I stood there in front of them, asking the Lord to give me words that would make an impact.  Their eyes were so intently focused.  They listened to every word and we saw some make significant decisions for the Lord.  The last school we went to was a boarding school, so many of the kids there spend a large portion of their year away from their families.  They are away from those influences during the most influential times in their lives…when they need strong families the most.
My prayer, as dozens of students came up to be prayed over, was that the Word of God would not return void.  I prayed that there would be one student…one young man or young woman who takes the task seriously.  I seriously can’t wait to be investing in the lives of children and teenagers like this who are so hungry and ready to just be given a glimpse of hope.  As we drove back to the guesthouse, I couldn’t help but smile.  This is life.

First day on the field is in the bag! Today we went to the rural village of Najjanankumbi, Uganda.  It’s a village with hundreds and hundreds of children.  I preached at their morning services (which are definitely full of life, and dancing)! They then invited the whole village to come eat a huge lunch with us followed by a huge soccer match between our mission team and a couple of the local teams there.

The greatest 2 moments of the day for me were about as different as night and day.  The first was as I led a pastor’s training session for about 200 pastors and ministry leaders.  It was incredible.  They were locked on to every word and asked so many great questions.  It was as if they couldn’t get enough of Scripture and practical ways to apply it.  I loved it.  Then, I went out to the soccer field and sat down.  One by one, kids started coming up to me and sitting down.  Before too long, there were about a dozen kids all sitting close enough to touch me.  They stared up with their beautiful brown eyes and bright smiles.  I was in heaven.  As I looked down I noticed one little boy’s feet.  His toes were all cut up, toenails mangled and rotting, and he had an open sore on the top of his foot.  It hurt me just look at it.  I asked a translator to ask him if his feet hurt so that I could find some bandages and try to help him.  She asked and her response made my heart drop.  She said, “He says it doesn’t hurt anymore.  Bucky, these kids hurt all the time.  Eventually they stop feeling pain.”

I’m not okay with that. I do realize I could work my whole life to try to keep kids from being in this position, and not end the problem.  But I can make a difference for one more.  And I’ll wake up every day with that burning in my heart.

In about 20 hours, I will be boarding a plane to head to Uganda. My family and team of like minded people are moving there soon, but that’s not why I’m headed over right now. This is the first of two trips where I begin the leaving process. We will be finding partnership ministries, locating where to build our central campus, and visiting rural villages to see how we can affect the orphan care crisis there. I will lead a team of 40 doing ministry in villages who have never seen anyone other than their tribe, and others in the main city in a very urban context. We will speak to a family of 4 in a mud hut, and to 3,000 students in the city center. And, in the excitement of all we will do, I will have one thought… why do I have to go back to Moore, S.C.?  Don’t get me wrong, I love our city.  Spartanburg has had my heart for 9 years now. But I have another home, and I cannot wait to get there.
Over the next 15 days I will be blogging about our journey, and I hope you’ll join in and experience it with me. Follow the story and find yourself standing with us in the dirt path to the bush, washing the feet of people who have just had jiggers removed from them with razor blades, pumping water for a widow from a local well, and standing before kids who have absolutely no hope, and promising them there is something more. Comment. Ask questions. Dig deeper.