Tuesday we tramped our way back to the village racing a thunderstorm to set up camp. The Lord held the storms until we dashed under our canvas. We lashed canvas to poles with duct tape ropes as the Heaven's opened. The best part about the rain: peace. Children sneaked through the openings to huddle against the rain. We just waited out the storm. Programs in both the new village and the original village finished the day. I was so frightened when my girl (white tank top picture from previous blog) failed to show. I looked for her all over. On the way back we stopped at the original village. I wasn't going to get out and play, but something told me I should. Searching for my buddy Tabitha from that village, a tiny hand grabbed mine. My girl was back! My heart surged with joy! So many children yet somehow the Lord tells you, "This one, this is the one I want you to touch." On the way home she sang to me. I hadn't heard her speak and now she sang! Joy, unending joy.
A pastor in the uplands of Uganda had a dream. In his dream a group of people from around the world came to teach in their small school. He told his school, and waited. On Wednesday a group from England, Ireland, Germany, Uganda, and America visited his school. That story simply blew my mind. We taught several lessons on story writing and career guidance, watched some girls do native dancing, attempted to dance like Africans, and finally tried to match them in soccer. We lost. In our defense the other team wasn't just girls this time, and these guys have been doing manual labor most of their lives. Not to mention that we gave several girls a ride home after the games. 4 miles. One way. Every day. Barefoot. I felt humbled and impressed.
A more humbling experience this morning: Starting at 6 in the morning we mowed the church grounds. These had never been cleared before. African grasses stand over my head mixed in with bush and several trees. We used slashers and machetes. All of us will sleep very well tonight. At 8:30 a miracle occurred: an army of men from the village showed up to complete the work. We gladly left the field in their competent hands. The women of the village also came to help with their church. They used hoes to overturn dirt around the campsite, many slaving with children bundled on their backs. So much pride in actually getting a church. Our town, around 300 people/ close to village size, takes 4 churches for granted. If American people had to dig clay for every brick, fire the bricks in the oven, lay them by hand, and clear the land with long knives, more would come to church Sunday mornings. I definitely have a greater appreciation for the resources available in America. God has blessed our country, and he's blessing Uganda.
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