I am going
to do my best to share with you some of my key take-aways and a few stories from
our amazing trip to Uganda. Thank you
–each one of you – for the prayers, love, encouragement and support. I could never have had the courage to say
“yes” without my incredible community huddled around me and faithfully pouring
into me. I am blessed!
So what did
I learn? So much. Too much to put on paper all at once. But I am going to attempt to share a few
things with you, my dear friends and family.
Lesson 1: Well, first, The Bible has never been so alive for me as during my time in
Uganda. I always thought of that
scripture about the difficulty of the “rich man” entering heaven as a kind of indictment,
and I guess I have always read it that way.
Until now. Post Uganda. Now, I just realize it is a sad truth that I
– as a materially rich American Christian – have to try much, much harder to
see Jesus than those who have little. With
all I have, I am able to “be God” so much and take the reins so much, that I
leave a pitiful little space for God to be God.
A couple
examples of how rich God’s Word was during our trip:On Wednesday, we were supposed to spend the day with a particular ministry. Well, due to some innocent mix ups, our plans fell through, and instead, we agreed to visit the Sangalo Baby Home, a small house (no running water) where a lady named Damalie was caring for 13 babies. The children ranged from about 3 months to 18 months and had nowhere to go. Many of their parents had AIDS, and others were simply not able to care for them.
Anyway, we
were not planning to visit any baby homes during our stay, and the few things
we had brought with us for this aged child, we had given away earlier in the week. Our team leader sent a couple of us to the bus to put a
bag together for this ministry, and as we inventoried what we had, my heart
sunk.
We did not
have any baby clothes, no diapers or toys…really nothing to offer. …Except some bottles of Children’s pain
reliever. So, we put those bottles in a
bag, and walked back to give them to Damalie.
I felt so empty handed and so sorry we did not have more for her. As she opened the bag, tears started to
stream down her face. And when she was
able to speak again, she shared that all the babies had gotten vaccinations that
very morning. And that VERY morning, she
had prayed to God about the medicine she knew she needed but could not
afford. About the long night ahead with
13 newly vaccinated babies. And then,
there we were. Out of the blue. A team NOT supposed to be there. With only one thing to offer: Pain Reliever.
Immediately,
I was reminded of God’s promise in Matthew 6, “Do not worry about tomorrow, for
tomorrow will take care of itself.” How
often do I really let the Lord take care of my tomorrows? How often do I instead prepare and toil and
hedge SO much, that He doesn’t get a chance to surprise and delight me in such sweet
and miraculous ways?
On our second day working with Return Ministries in Kampala, we did some home visits. We were in the van, driving to a very remote village to deliver some food and provisions, and I had the privilege of sitting next to Irene, a precious 9 year old orphan, whose parents had died of AIDS. She was beautiful and so soft spoken and sweet. In spite of all she has endured. She wants to be a pastor when she grows up!
Anyway, we were riding along, hand in hand, and she leaned over and whispered, “I am so thirsty.” I passed her a water bottle. A little while later, she whispered, “I am so cold.” A friend on the bus passed up her sweater for Irene to put over her shoulders. Then…a few miles later, ”I am so hungry,” and we gave her a snack. I got goose bumps all over when the passage from Matthew 25 came right into my heart. What a privilege to do unto the least of these! I was so touched and blessed by her. (As one of our family’s next steps from this trip, we are sponsoring her!)
Another day, we spent some time with the women and children of the Karomajong tribe in Masese. Truly the poorest of the poor. Very crude mud huts – with trash and sticks interspersed as filler. Bare feet with jiggers burrowed deep in them. Children with bugs crawling on their sweet little bodies. Rough stuff. It was very hard to see and very, very humbling. The women had swept the dirt (literally) and pulled up the only bench I saw for our time together. They had spread a few tarps on the ground and sat, waiting. Waiting for a word of hope. A word from the Gospel. These were strong women, women who were fighting on a daily basis to make it. And they wanted a word.
After we shared this time, we asked if we could wash their feet and paint their toenails. They loved that! It was so fun to see them giggle and get excited over the colors. Universally, we girls all desire to be treasured, loved, taken care of and seen. One of the ladies in this group told my friend, Ashley, that she was “nothing…dirt.” After some lip gloss, clean feet and pretty toes, she literally sat up straighter. It was beautiful to see.
And I pray that they will see what we saw in them: strength, dignity, courage and even hope. God bless those women…Kwagalabetty, especially, who asked that I write her name down in my Bible to pray for her “by name.”
Kwagalabetty
It was here – among these women – where I was approached by a young mother. She had a little girl, Faith, (who, by the way, was terrified of me, because she had never seen a white person). She asked me to please take her daughter. “Take her with you,” she implored. Dreaming of a better life for her little one.
WHEW. Can you imagine? What love this mother had – to want so much more for her child. So much, that she would GIVE her to me to take. Heart wrenching. Heart breaking. I shook my head, “no,” and turned and silently cried.
Lesson 2:
I learned so much about hospitality from these beautiful people (the
above example of the Karomajong women was a great testimony to this). No matter how much or how little they had,
the Ugandan people were so welcoming and warm.
From the tribal shouts of joy to the drums and 4-5 hugs of greeting, to
the wide smiles and lovely “Visitors,
you are welcome!” songs, every day was a “red carpet” – or “red dirt” (as it
were) – day. Those who served us food,
took great care in preparing it and covering it so we would not get sick. Mama Rebecca at Canaan’s stocked the fridge with
bottled waters for our Muzungu stomachs.
Our friends who got sick were nursed.
Clothes were hand washed. Tables
were set. Squatty potties were rinsed
and tidied.
We went to
serve, but we were served. So humbly, so
beautifully, so lovingly. I learned that
it does not matter what we have to offer…just that we offer it and welcome our
neighbors with open arms and open hearts.
Lesson 3: We are ALL evangelists. I have taken several “spiritual gift” surveys over the past decade. Every time, I consistently rate very low on “evangelism.” In fact, this particular “e” word makes me squirm in my seat. I’ve always been in the “let your actions speak louder than your words” camp. And I’ve always felt that I had to “earn the right” to share the Gospel. But mainly, I feel like I have used the “it’s not my gift” card to excuse myself from freely sharing my faith with others.
I was in the marketplace in Jinja, Uganda, and I started to
talking to a vendor about what our team was doing in Uganda. She asked me, “Are you born again?” …which I quickly learned is Ugandan for “Are
you a Christian?” We had a neat, long
conversation about our faith, and it really struck me: How many people do I see on a daily basis, with
whom I have never had such an important conversation? It was so natural. So simple.
By the end of our trip, I was boldly asking Ugandans if they
were “born again.” It was so fun! And opened so many neat doors. I guess I am
an evangelist after all. I just have to
let go of my pride a little and be willing to be more vulnerable.
I am so impressed by the audacious way the people I met were
speaking of the Lord, sharing their stories and living out their faith.
Lesson 4: If it’s God’s will, it WILL happen. In Proverbs, there is a verse about how man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps. God showed this to me time and again throughout our trip, as schedules and plans changed…and always in a way that, in hindsight, was clearly divinely orchestrated. Our day with Damalie (above) was one of those.
Here is the story…
I packed for weeks.
Very meticulously. Reading my
checklists – from Visiting Orphans and from my travel doctor. I had all my medicines. All my clothes. My snacks (in case I could not eat the
food). My first aid kit. My entire medicine arsenal. The kitchen sink. Everything.
All the t’s were crossed and the I’s dotted. I was ready.
Well…except for that huge mental battle that was raging in my head. All the fears welling up. The “pre-missing” of my family. That was brutal.
Saturday morning came, and we loaded up for the
airport. We got there, waited in line at
the Delta ticket counter and finally were checking the bags. I passed the representative my passport and
shot record, and he looked at them and back at our family. He said, “Do you have a ticket for your
infant? “ I said, “Oh, no, sir. My children aren’t coming. It’s just me.” …And then he asked the million dollar
question: “Do you have YOUR
passport?” As he asked, my stomach just
sunk. I immediately knew what was happening. You see, I had been applying for a new
passport for Turner (her infant one had expired), and I stuck her old one and
the application in all my Uganda stuff.
Somehow, I had managed to leave MY passport at home and take hers. I could not believe it. I had checked EVERYTHING.
So, Thomas immediately ran to the car and jumped in. He flew home.
I think he seriously went so fast that the police could not see
him! And he managed to get back just in
time to get my bags checked. I had one
bag that was 51 pounds (1 pound over my limit), but the guy just silently
tagged it “extra heavy” and didn’t charge me anything. I think he knew that would put me over the
edge of sanity!
Next thing you know, I was standing in a huge security
line. My plane had already boarded, and
every minute counted. I started telling
people my situation, one by one, and several very kind people stepped aside and
let me pass them. Then, I got to a
family in line. I explained what was
going on to the husband – that I was going to miss my flight and that I was
headed to Uganda, Africa, with a group.
Could I please go in front of them?
He simply said, “No.” I thought
some not-so-kind thoughts to myself but then resigned myself to where I had
made it in line. God was going to
continue to have to work miracles in order for me to make this flight. I finally made it to the scanner, and of
course, I got the “extra” search (I am so intimidating looking, I guess!). Needless to say, by the grace of God and a
wing and a lot of prayers, I made it on the plane. 
I ran back to the gate just in the skinny nick of time to
board the plane to Amsterdam. Two
things had gone wrong…but been redeemed.
When we finally landed in Entebbe, Uganda, after DAYS of
flying, I was so relieved. That is,
until the baggage carousel had gone around and around and around and around…and
my ONE, most critical suitcase (which I had carried on and had been gate
checked in Amsterdam) was nowhere to be found.
I could not believe it. It had
ALL of my clothes, snacks, etc. The
stuff I could live on if nothing else made it.
And now it was missing. It turned
out that the bag had been dropped off in Rwanda during a brief, unexpected stop
our plan made there. The sweet Ugandan
baggage claim lady said they would bring it to our guesthouse the next morning,
and honestly, there was not one person in our group who believed we would ever
see that bag during this trip. I had to
get ok with that, and honestly, after a few hours, I did. But, again, God provided.
I decided He must have wanted me to go to Uganda. Because Lord knows, it was only by His
grace…multiple times…that I made it!
*****
I had realized that one of the biggest things God was placing
on my heart, was the completely lack of strong marriages in this country. I knew Uganda had an orphan problem, but I
really did not put my finger on what was bothering me and stirring in my soul
until close to the end of the trip: If
there are so few examples of Christian marriage, and so few men (specifically)
who have committed to this type of relationship, how will the orphan crisis
there ever change? How will couples see
the value of standing together to raise their children? Of being a team, sharing trials, growing
faith, training their children in the way they should go?
It saddens me so. And
even the sweet boys – like my precious and tender hearted Timothy at Canaan’s –
do not have many role models to show them the value of doing life with their wives
and leading their families. They
are raised by awesome and admirable women, but what about the men? 
Timothy
I was sharing these thoughts with a couple friends on the
team on Thursday. Then, Friday, out of
the blue (and honestly against my will, since due to the length of time we
would have to drive and be “taken away” from our planned playtime with the kids
at Canaan’s, I voted NOT to go), we drove several hours into a remote Muslim
community to spend the day with Pastor Samuel and his beautiful Kenyan wife,
Mercy.
God had called them to this community to be a light and start a Christian ministry, a church (that has grown from 20 to 200) as well as take in some 30 children who were not being taken care of at home. Several of these sweet little ones’ lives had been threatened by their own parents. We heard story after story that blew my mind. Of Jamal, born with a club foot and infected with tuberculosis. His parents thought he was demon possessed. Or of Tybita, whose father tried to decapitate her as a sacrifice. Or Moses, whose mother died and father was a drunk…who was so afraid of his father that he ran and hid.
I loved all they had done with these vulnerable kids and
their huge hearts for unwanted children.
But even more, I loved the depth of their relationship and shared
passion for ministry. I loved their
teasing and obvious affection for each other as they told their stories. I loved the honor they showed each
other. I loved their marriage! It was an answer to my prayers and gave me a
renewed hope that there are some Christian couples living out their vows and
helping others do the same. God had called them to this community to be a light and start a Christian ministry, a church (that has grown from 20 to 200) as well as take in some 30 children who were not being taken care of at home. Several of these sweet little ones’ lives had been threatened by their own parents. We heard story after story that blew my mind. Of Jamal, born with a club foot and infected with tuberculosis. His parents thought he was demon possessed. Or of Tybita, whose father tried to decapitate her as a sacrifice. Or Moses, whose mother died and father was a drunk…who was so afraid of his father that he ran and hid.
Pastor Samuel and Mercy hold marriage seminars at their
church, married Sunday School classes and are trying to show others in this
community what being “one” really looks like.
In their own words, they “mentor couples from the bedroom to the
courtyard.” From intimacy to
childrearing…
We were able to bless their ministry with some medications
and also financial support while we were there, but I hope to continue to build
them up, encourage them and equip them, so they can continue to be a light to
other couples in their community. 
Pastor Samuel and Mercy
Lesson 5:
I do not understand why. I cannot
understand why. But I am changed. And I am called.
My world has been turned upside down, and I honestly am at a loss. I have always known I was blessed. Beyond what I could ever ask or imagine. I have been grateful. I have always looked at my family and my healthy children as treasures and tried to teach them about God’s love and compassion.
But now, I
am having so much trouble reconciling my world of SUCH abundant material and
other blessings (and yet definitely some spiritual poverty) and my neighbors’
world of such deep poverty, hunger and sickness. I know one thing is for sure: God does not love me – or my children – more
than those sweet, precious little ones.
God’s heart breaks for them so, so deeply. In fact, if you believe what The Bible says, they ARE His HEART. So what does that mean? I want to know and love the Lord, and I want
to become more like Him. So, my heart
must be broken for them. My life cannot look
the same anymore. It must look
different. It must be changed.
In what ways
exactly? This is a question I think our
family will be answering for the next months.
One thing is certain, this trip is just the beginning…
AMENA!
