Yeah, I know. That title was a cheap trick to get you to read this post. Who could resist something so catchy? No, I never saw any car bombings. However, there were bombings in Kampala one week before our team arrival, and on my trip to Uganda and Kampala combined I think I ate enough potatoes to last me a lifetime.
If my heart was a placid lake of relative calm before this trip, it now looks more like the perpetually disturbed surface of the source of the Nile. Something is bubbling up from the bottom, coming to the surface, flowing out from here. How far will this current take me? I do not know. If I let it, it will shake me and change me. Now that I am back in normal, everyday life, it is my choice.
Here are some brief snapshots of moments in my travels that I will hang onto, of things I will treasure;
-That one day, walking through the slums with Junior, listening to his heart that was hungry for knowledge and love. Walking up to the witch doctors hut and finding a man there with an amputated leg. The amputee asked us for prayer because he was having phantom pains. It was an invitation to pray light in the territory of darkness. Junior relaxed his tight hold on my hand as we prayed the presence of God over that man.
-Jonah. The little boy who never smiled but always wanted to be held. He finally smiled at Sarah on the last day. It was so precious.
-Playing soccer along the dirt path with a group of rag tag schoolboys. The soccer balls were made of rocks and layers of plastic bags tied together with palm branches. It was a game of pure possession. Whoever keeps feet on the ball the longest, wins. Eventually we all would stop, panting, under the shade of some African tree to sweat it out. The heat of the Equatorial sun was intense on our heads, and the cooling breeze swept upward from Lake Victoria.
-Welcome Home. The wonderful ministry there, the workers, and the babies, all imprinted on our hearts. The joy of their worship and service was so beautiful. And the depth of their faith was staggering. I am convinced that Betty prayed out loud a few times just to teach me what prayers should sound like.
-If my faith were embodied in a person it would be a premature albino baby. I want it to look like a 6’4” black man named Timothy whose smile splits his face in half and whose hand is the size of my face.
-The boat sermon in N. Ireland. I don’t have to get out of the boat, but man do I want to! I want to be with Jesus even in the middle of the storm. I want to be able to risk it, big time. I want to say goodbye to comfort if that means that I get to know Him better.
-The quiet times that I had, just myself and God, to sing and think over the things that have changed in my heart. And the precious times that I had with those wonderful Northern Irish who love to encourage and laugh. I love the Mafia. <3
Is that all? Nope, those are only a few of the treasures that I have found since coming back here. What happens next only He can say. The promise is that there is always more to come. There is always more to come.
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