African Muzungu

Driving past the slums of Mbale to the little village of Namabasa after church, we sat in my little green Rav4 in nervous excitement and anticipation. This was a visit much talked about and looked forward too, but we all wondered just how it would go. I’m sure it wasn’t just Paul and my aunt Marisa who were anticipating the afternoon’s events, but also all those busy at the house preparing for our arrival: Paul’s mom, Mama Flower, his grandmother, his 2 sisters, brother and cousin were all busy getting ready for our visit. The meat had been boiling, and the matooke had been boiled and smashed. The pineapple and papaya were being carefully diced, and the g-nut (peanut) sauce was bubbling on the charcoal stove. This was the first time someone from my family would get to meet with Paul’s family, and there were so many questions and hopes surrounding this visit. Marisa and I greatly wanted to make lasting connections and start the relationship off well. Marisa’s position in the fam...

July 30. It was the best day of the year. And that’s saying something! There were multiple red-letter days this year such as the day Michelle arrived in Uganda, my first safari in Africa, and the day I fed a lion with my best friend (read about it here !). But this particular one was my favorite. The whole year had really been leading up to it, and it was highly anticipated by more than just myself! At the beginning of the school year, I gave my kids in grades 3, 4, and 5 a challenge: memorize and recite 16 answers together with supporting verses to these 4 different questions (which some of you might recognize these from AWANA’s T&T book 1): Who is God? Who is the Lord Jesus? How does God want me to live my life? Why did God give us the Bible? They had a total of 36 verses to memorize and recite word-perfectly by the end of July. The reward they were promised was an ice-cream party for all those who successfully finished every last verse, and for those who were able ...

I've never seen such compassion in a child's eyes as I did that day. I had woken up on a Saturday morning feeling pretty awful but not wanting to miss AWANA that day. So I drove myself to Kamonkoli, determined to grit my teeth and push through the pain. By the time I navigated the mess of a 'road' we're calling a highway these days and arrived at the church, my endurance was already tottering. I climbed out of my Rav4 and weakly handed over the bags of supplies to one of my boys to carry into the church. The kids were already singing, jumping, and clapping in the sanctuary as they exuded the excitement that comes when our teams of western visitors are around. 10 minutes in, and I knew the tears converging behind my eyes would soon make a full appearance. Crying and tears are just not understood or accepted here, and I knew how uncomfortable they would make the kids. I stepped outside behind the church and vainly struggled to hold back the flow. Just then, two of m...

We were playing together. I would hide, she would find me, I would tickle her. I loved every minute of it, and her grin and giggle told me she did too. Then, as she ran around the corner, it happened. She ran her forehead straight into the corner of the metal window frame. I heard the thump and came around the corner to see her small hand clutching her forehead and her eyes filled with pain. But she didn’t shed even a single tear. Usually when a Ugandan child is hurt, they are immediately told not to cry, distracted from the pain, and sent away to continue playing. I can’t do that. I’m thankful for a mother who tenderly comforted me when I was in pain, and believe that is exactly what God would have me to do for these kids too. So I ran to her, knelt down and pulled her into my arms. Silently, she buried her face in my neck as her father watched on. With hand pressed against her swelling head, and face pressed against my shoulder, she quietly waited for the pain to reduce. If ice ...

Christmas in Uganda is the time I feel the sacrifice of living overseas the most. The rest of the year it’s only on occasion that I really have to fight feeling sorry for myself. I wish I was a super-star missionary that never had any thought of being anywhere else but here. I wish I could say that I was always 100% content exactly where I am. I wish I was always happy in being where God wants me. But the truth is that I’m not. The truth is that there are moments when I’d give anything just to be in commercialized, snowy, wonderful Colorado Springs with the hugs, comfort, and familiarity of my friends and family. I look at the faces of the people who I love here and for the briefest of moments wish I was looking at the faces of my family instead. I sit in the two room, cooking-smoke filled house of some of my dearest friends and wish for a second I was on the comfy couch in front of the Christmas tree. I drive the sunbaked dusty red roads in the hottest time of year and long for sno...