Scavenging with the Matsiko Choir

I spent the entire preceding week in preparations, but it all came to a head on Friday. There were just so many last-minute things, and none of them could be done until the last minute, that Friday turned into a rather frantic Last Minute Day. I had a horse to move, a couple grills to pick up in town, a truck to fill up with gas, a few buckets of water balloons to fill, and a couple necessities to pick up at the store. And I haven’t yet mentioned the checking and printing and sorting and placing of the clues for the scavenger hunt. At one point, I was waiting to be able to go into the store, standing by the truck, filling it up with gas and talking on the phone at the same time (something you’re not actually supposed to do), when I received a second incoming call just as another person walked up, wanting to talk to me. It was quite funny! Is that the way the President feels, I wonder?

With the preparations all finished, and just barely on time, my fearless helpers from our church’s youth group were late and the Matsiko kids were early. Of course. So, they all converged upon our surprised little farm at the same time, and my jaw dropped. But only for a moment. Then, clipboard held firmly in hand (I feel lost without a clipboard), I charged out to meet the bedlam.

We gathered the kids on the cement slab, very impromptly and with not much order to speak of. It’s amazing what you can get across with a very loud voice. But they all quieted, wide-eyed, when they heard the word “horse.” Yes, we gave pony rides to the dear African children - and, I made sure to ask while I was in Uganda, most of these kids hadn’t seen a real, live horse before coming to America. The best part was when Kristi, who was leading around the pony while I commanded the larger horse, asked in passing if she could, “let them go.” Well, I was only half listening, as my charge had me a bit preoccupied, and I thought she was meaning, should she take the pony back to the barn to be unsaddled. Giving my okay, I was quite surprised when, glancing up a few moments later, I saw my sometimes sweet, well-mannered pony placidly walking about the pen with an unsupervised little African boy on her back! He was so intently concentrating on steering his newly commandeered pony that I hated to interrupt him.

Then it was time for the scavenger hunt. I don’t like to brag, but . . . it was pretty much the best scavenger hunt of all time. :-) We divided into teams, and each team got possession of their very own zealously-guarded traveling bag, treasure map, and first clue. And off they went! To the apple bobbing station . . . the brave-the-gigantic-Nebraskan-bred-chickens-and-find-the-clue-inside-the-Easter-egg station . . . the create your own “Fred,” who might, it is true, have possessed astounding similarities to a homegrown butternut squash (examples below)


. . . or, my personal favorite, the cowboy picture station, complete with Western gear and faithful rusty red pickup parked in the background (that was one of our Last Minute Friday additions!) - and Indians hiding discreetly in the trees. Did I forget to mention that I had armed the Indians with water balloons? (And, yes, I realize that Indians and rusty red pickups weren’t exactly in the same era, and water balloons were nowhere close. We were enacting a rather abbreviated version of American history).

It took a good hour or so to thoroughly soak, confuse, tire, and delight each one of the teams, and I had the distinct privilege of wandering aimlessly around (much like during the scavenger hunt we hosted in Uganda at our last camp), answering frantically sputtered questions, and watching the different groups sprint laughingly from place to place. It was quite the joy.

In the end, after their very last clue had led them to the buried treasure of some key s’more ingredients, the kids gathered around the fire for a delicious and well-earned dinner of hamburgers, hotdogs, chips, and watermelon. We instructed the goggle-eyed children as to the precise preparation of an American s’more, judged their adorably decorated Fred’s, and presented two happy birthday cakes to a pair of pleasantly surprised children whose birthdays had been that week.

And then we broke out the guitars and sang a few songs . . . and, my, but those dear children can sing! Per request, they heard the Lugandan song written specially in their language one last time. And then it was time for the Matsiko choir to load up the bus and head out. But, oh, what a time we had! I thank God.

"Just So Happened"

My apologies. I didn’t intend to end my narrative of this summer’s Africa trip so abruptly. It’s only that I got caught up in reading several good books lately and in writing a rather long something that has nothing at all to do with this blog.

“Where there is no imagination there is no horror.” That is a quote from Sherlock Holmes I ran across yesterday, and I’m pretty sure, according to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, this makes me one of the most horrified people in the world.

But back to the point. So, obviously, I am now back in America. Living in Nebraska and - if I had written a few weeks ago, enjoying the gorgeous fall weather - but now I have to say faithfully turning up my electric blanket heater every night and bundling on the layers every morning. Back to the good life, I think they call it.

The God who blessed me so very richly in Africa has not left me empty-handed here. Within a week of my re-entry into the States, I learned that a choir of African children (the Matsiko choir: see www.matsiko.com) would be in our area and staying for nearly three weeks! Guess what country in Africa the kids were from? Uganda!! “Just so happened” they needed temporary homes for the dear little people to stay in, so it was my and my family’s privilege to house two Ugandan boys for 2 ½ weeks in September.

Also during this time, the choir scheduled with our church to come one Sunday evening and delight us with their music and dance. “Just so happened” they booked the very same night I was scheduled to share with my church about the trip. So, all the people who came to listen to the incredibly talented Matsiko choir got to listen to a half-hour’s very brief version of my time in Rwanda and Uganda first!

But more than that, because every one of those children was born in Uganda . . . and because every one of those children speaks Lugandan (although there are many different tribal dialects in Uganda), I had the privilege of sharing with the Matsiko kids the song I had written in Lugandan while I was in Uganda. I cannot tell you what a blessing it was to me to be up on that stage with a microphone and my guitar and look over into that one corner where all those dear African children were and see their faces grow absolutely silent, just like the kid’s faces had in Uganda, as I sang to them in their own heart language.

I have found more than enough to fill my time since returning from my trip, and a very large portion of it is work that I absolutely love. But my deepest passion remains with the African children, and I have seen so clearly again and again how God is beginning to pave the way for me to serve Him by serving them. I would greatly appreciate all your prayers as I continue to wait and work towards the incredible joy of the calling God has on my life. I am reminded every day how very deeply God has blessed me in the past - and how much He continues to bless me right now.

There is more to tell you about the Matsiko choir, of course. Like the night we invited them all out to the farm for a bonfire, hamburgers, horse back rides, and the best scavenger hunt of all times! . . . But you’ll have to wait till next time to hear about that.

Day 40: August 15, 2008

I rather hopefully, hopelessly dreamed I’d catch some sudden, life-threatening illness. Not too life-threatening, of course, but just life-threatening enough for the doctors to order me not to dare step foot on a plane. Then I’d have to cancel my ticket and spend some more time in this place my heart adores. And perhaps it would take a long time for them to find me another ticket, and in the meantime I’d just be here, in glorious Africa . . . I was awfully upset when I woke up this morning in perfect health.

Yesterday evening our friendly little African gray parrot came swooping down to his tree to chat with me one last time. Of course, he didn’t know it was the last time, but I do like to imagine that he’ll miss us when we’ve gone. Hearing his whistle from inside, I rushed out to the front porch to reply, but I hadn’t been there long when John Paul came to drag me back to the table where everyone was waiting for dinner. That was in fun, but I feel dragged today - pulled against my will away from the one place I want to be more than anywhere else. Africa.

Jon, Eva, and I woke up early, and a rather bleary-eyed Candice and LeeAnn stumbled downstairs to see us off at 6:00 a.m. As the sun rose, Eva and I left Jon at the airport, lugging his African drums along behind him. Then we had some time on our hands. A lot of time. We were in Entebee, a good half-hour drive from Kampala, and my plane didn’t leave until 4:30 this afternoon. So, we got creative. We went to the zoo. Who would ever have thought I’d spend my last day in Africa at the zoo?

It was just like our African safari in Rwanda - only all the animals were in pens instead of out in the wild. The zebras that had stared at us so suspiciously as we exited our safari vehicle didn’t even look up from munching their hay as we ambled past their large square pen. Go figure. But I got some amazing photographs - of the Ugandan national bird, lots of monkeys (one of which jumped on the table and attempted to snitch our food at lunch), a majestically sleeping lion, and lots more - and I figure if I place them right, no one will know which ones I took on safari and which ones I took at the zoo! How’s that for exaggeration?! When we got tired from walking, we rested on a rather narrow picnic table bench on Lake Victoria while the sun burned down on us and made our eyes water. It was a beautiful day of blue skies and towering white clouds, and I thank You for that, my Lord.

There was one thing about this zoo that was very different from American zoos. In America, we believe in cement and pavement - which, if ugly, is at least comparatively clean. In Africa, they believe in dirt. Red dirt. And for some reason, those vicious little African fire ants love red dirt. So, we were walking past the zebras down the broad dirt path, when suddenly our taxi driver (who was walking a few steps ahead of us) stopped short. Eva and I stopped beside him, wondering what the problem was. Then we looked down. Hundreds upon hundreds, and thousands upon thousands of those little red ants had taken over the path before us, literally overflowing into the grass and trees and making the road seem like a live, seething thing for a good five yards. What now? There was no second path, and the trees on one side and fence on the other made skirting the issue absolutely impossible. We stood in wide-eyed contemplation for several moments, and then, without a word, our driver hiked up his pant legs and, high-stepping, dashed through the ants, shaking himself fiercely when he reached the other side. Eva and I looked at each other, hiked up our pant legs, and dashed after him! I do believe that was the most ferocious thing we saw at the zoo today.

After escaping from the fire ants and eating a nearly-stolen lunch (so, you see, it really was quite an exciting day), we were just in time to witness the 44th birthday celebration of Zakayo. The chimpanzee. It is quite a celebrity event, I’m told, and by the masses of school children, photographers, and random spectators like us, I think I believe them. We waited and waited while the zoo experts expounded loquaciously on the benefits and pitfalls of being a chimpanzee, and it was all fairly dull - except that they actually led us into the chimp’s cage. Not with the chimps present, of course. But I’ve never been inside one of the cages at the zoo before, and it was rather fun.

And then, after ushering all of us out, they ushered Zakayo in . . . We were hardly prepared for what happened next. They had set up this fancy cake, complete with a thick layer of frosting, on a one-legged flat board that served as a table, from which dangled an obviously hand-made happy birthday sign. (All this for a monkey!) Well, the birthday boy came racing out, sniffing furiously (probably because a bunch of humans had gone touring his house while he was away!), finally spotted his birthday surprise, went charging over, but . . . not bothering to take a second look, raised his arms and sent the whole thing flying through the air. The cake landed upside down, the table crumpled into a heap, and the birthday banner rolled down the hill. Zakayo just kept running. How’s that for gratitude?

He did finally come back though, mostly, I think, because they let the other chimpanzees out, and he began to think that maybe he shouldn’t be so finicky about the flavor of icing after all! So, he snatched up a slice or two, squatted down, his back to us, and began chewing away. He never did turn around. The newspaper photographers were rather frustrated with their uncooperative subject, but I thought it was hilarious. Oh, another thing they’d done was hide little containers of chocolate milk all over the place. So, as Zakayo pouted, all his friends romped around finding treats, then sat down to enjoy. Chocolate milk carton in one hand and slice of cake in the other. I must say, it’s the most interesting birthday party I’ve ever seen!

And then it was time to go. Eva - God, bless her - dropped me off at the airport. So, here we go again . . . I’m presently on a plane sitting in the Dubai airport, bound for London, and wishing I had never left Africa. Dear God, speed the day of my return! You work all things well.

As I was getting ready to leave the Entebbe airport in Uganda to board the plane, I looked out the huge windows and was overwhelmed by a strong sense of, “You will come back here again. I will bring you back to this place.” So, there You go. Here is the end; here is the beginning. I’ve never known five weeks of such incredible contentment and joy. I’ve never loved so easily, so deeply - never been so filled up with so many dear hearts to love. My Father and my God, I bow down at Your feet, and I thank You for this trip. I praise You, my God, for all the marvelous things You have done since I left Nebraska. May it be a beginning, Lord. This is my plea. You have begun something, Jesus, and it is good. Finish it. Amen.

So, would you believe me if I told you this is actually one of my safari shots?


The gracefully elegant - but still humorously chicken-like - Ugandan national bird.


Thieving little monkey


Zakayo's rich abode. I stood under the tall tree on the right.


Chocolate milk and cake.

Day 39: August 14, 2008

My Savior and my God, teach me to meet every opportunity in the fullness of You - to face every joy and sorrow in the fullness of You - to begin and end every day in the fullness of You - to live wherever I am in the fullness of You. Amen.

Today was my last full day in Africa, oh dearest God, and already I am heartsick to have left. I should very much like to live the rest of my life and not have to say another goodbye. Sounds rather like a slightly pathetic country song, doesn’t it? But it’s true. I have an entire castle-full of people - Americans, Africans, Canadians, Brits, and so many more - that I’d like to have about me the entire time. And, so, again my thoughts turn towards Home. Some day . . .

In the meantime . . . We spent a large part of this, our last day in Africa, in solitary boredom. What a horrid feeling, but it’s true. Without the slightest hint of an agenda to occupy our otherwise sadly somber minds, we sat and wished for people who couldn’t be there. Is this what people do in nursing homes and jails? To make matters worse, LeeAnn, our sole remaining fearless leader (Miriam, our other fearless leader, flew out a couple days ago), left for several hours on a visit to see her sponsor child. She was understandably thrilled about the opportunity, and, to be sure, we tried our very sincerest to be thrilled with her. Only, we couldn’t all of us fit in the car, so she left, and we were left.

And that’s how a late breakfast and a couple long hours of nothingness found us. Finally, in utter desperation, Jon, Candice, and I escaped the compound to take a walk down the hill, around to the left in a big arc, and then back up the hill again. When we discovered that no lunch had been prepared for us at the guest house, we had another adventure eating at a local restaurant. One hour killed; an eternity to go. Each step and every breath is the breathtaking Africa that has captured my heart, but I am counting down the moments now, and it is not a very happy process.

Then John Paul came late this afternoon, and it was like the sun suddenly sprang out from behind glowering clouds. For a precious, too-short time this evening, he added some much-needed laughter to a group full of frowning Westerners, cross with having to say goodbye. I look at where I am right now, and I think the best thing in all the world would be if I could simply rip up my plane ticket and remain right here where I am. In Africa. This joy denied is hard for me to accept. But, dear God, are You not in control? Do You not know the plans You have for me, and are they not good plans? Father, change my sore heart into a spring of praise to You - for all You’ve done, for all You are, for all You’ve been to me. I have been refreshed here by my African brothers and sisters in Christ, and You have brought overflowing effortlessly out of me a deep compassion and devotion for the dear children.

I thank You, God, that even if today I had to say goodbye, it was not a final goodbye. I thank You that I never have to say a final goodbye to my family in Christ. God, these dear people are the joy of my heart, the light of my eyes. If it were not for You, I could not leave them. As it is, Jesus, hold my heart. As You hold their hands and guide them, as You guide me . . . “Here I am, lay me down/ All my tears at Your feet/ Take it all, every breath/ Every single heartbeat . . . Wrap me up in Your arms/ You are my only Home/ So secure here with You/ I am never alone.” Dear God, take all my dreams - all I am - and use them for the glory of Your Name. Above all else, my Lord, this is my desire. Be glorified in me. Lead me on in the light . . . in this path, where the sun shines golden, though there may be tears of dew on the roses . . . My heart belongs ever first and foremost to You, King of kings. Love of my life, lead on.

Day 38: August 13, 2008

John Paul took those of us who are left (Candice, Jon, LeeAnn, and me) on an excursion through downtown Kampala today. “Those of us who are left.” Sounds rather morose, doesn’t it? I’m afraid I’ve been feeling more and more solemn these days, having said goodbye to all the dear children and most of my favorite people that I’ve been privileged to meet here. We are in the dreaded winding-down process, and we wish it would all go backwards, but . . . “Time marches on.”

However, regardless of our dwindled numbers and the awful overhanging knowledge that we all must leave soon, today was a very good day. Instead of our normal private hire, they allowed us to be adventurous and take the public transportation (matatu) for the first time in Uganda. I was, of course, remembering all the shaggy-carpeted walls and crammed seating inside many a matatu in Rwanda with my team there. John Paul was with us, and so we survived. The money transactions and banging on the roof confused me to no end, but a typical conversation attempting enlightenment on my part never got very far. They sounded a bit like this:

“But how do you know when you want out?” (There’s no sort of loudspeaker announcement of any sort as to where in the large city of Kampala the matatu is presently located, much less a posted notice of which stops are coming up next.) “How do you know when you’ve got to where you want to be?”

“Well, you bang on the roof, and they let you out.”

(Different approach) “So, how do you know how much it’s going to cost?”

“Well, from here to downtown, it’s 100 shillings.”

“Yes, but how do you know it’s going to cost 100 shillings?”

“Because that’s how much it costs to get from here to downtown.”

Needless to say, I never felt very enlightened. Alighting from the matatu because John Paul told us to get out (and we would otherwise have had no idea where we were!), we ambled our way through downtown. This lovely day, we visited the not-so-touristy places, with their wares colorfully overstocked on every available shelf, wall, and improvised table. The streets were crowded, even though it wasn’t the weekend, and at times we had to scrunch up our shoulders and squeeze through the crowd or risk losing each other. It reminded me of Hong Kong, and I loved it. When we were all tired and sweaty, we stopped for a cold drink at a small, fan-cooled “café.” Complete with American Country music playing in the background. “I hope you daaaaaaance . . .” It made me laugh.

We stopped for a short, impromptu visit of the children and adults at the Machindi choir training center. We literally just “happened to be in the neighborhood” and used that as a fun excuse to drop by. Then it was up the hill a short walk, past a lady with a monkey on her shoulder, to Mark and Sarah’s house. Mark is the principal at the MFL school, and he and his wife have been a help and blessing to us as much as time permitted them these last several weeks. We have appreciated them immensely - both for their hearts to serve You and their “Western-ness!” We sat down to a mouth-watering dinner of fried chicken, potatoes, and fresh salad with sunflower seeds and Ranch dressing (you cannot know how good that tastes until you’ve gone more than a month without them). And, as if that wasn’t enough, we later gathered around the living room coffee table for plates of still-steaming chocolate chip cookies and ice-cold milk. I have to admit, I don’t think I’ve ever eaten that many chocolate chip cookies all in one sitting before.

We talked on and on about our experience, gaining helpful insights from two white people who have lived in Africa three years now. They told us more about the school and what exactly it is Music for Life does here. And all the while, Seth, their two-year-old son, cavorted and giggled and interrupted and entertained like two year olds do. I walked away from the conversation with a clearer sense - I hope! - of what sort of struggles these dear children face on a day-to-day basis. It was both encouraging and heart-breaking at the same time. Rather like my time here in Africa. Deliriously happy and achingly wretched. But I thank You, God, for bringing here. I wouldn’t trade it for anywhere else in all the world.

Day 37: August 12, 2008

Things are winding down here - God, help us! I feel like a biker furiously, futilely backpedaling those couple breathless moments before ramming head-on into a brick wall. I can see what’s coming, and while a return to America might not be quite as shocking as a brick wall, I can’t help but face it with the same sort of dry-throated dread. Simply put, I don’t want to leave. To say, “I don’t want to go home,” doesn’t even sound right, as the United States simply doesn’t feel like home anymore.

I’m going to go through this day backwards because that is the way it is in my head right now. The last thing we did before returning to our guest house this evening was go swimming - in a pool, because they say the lakes here have all sorts of fascinating little viruses that are just waiting for a chance to get into your bloodstream and wreak some rather nasty kinds of havoc. So, we stuck with a pool. At a hotel. On top of a hill. Overlooking Lake Victoria. The view itself was priceless. The chance to swim with dear friends in clear blue water under a windy blue sky was even better. Although, I must say, when Candice and I decided it would be a good idea to swim ten laps, we weren’t functioning at our most brilliant level. I do believe I’m going to be a bit sore for the next couple days . . .

But as I stood there on top of that hill, looking across the dazzling cascade of peaks and valleys falling away to the horizon, I was awe-struck. I’m sure, God, that You don’t hold anything personal against Nebraska, for You’ve painted some of the most brilliant sunsets I’ve ever seen there. But when it comes to that live, pulsing color of green - and hills that roll away like ocean waves to where earth meets sky - and flowers that fall like fountains over tree and bush alike - well, Africa has us beat by a long shot. This country captivates me - its animals no less than its plants, its music no less than its animals, and its people more than them all. I shall be sorry to go, but I thank You, God, that You have brought me here now.

Before our swimming excursion, we had gone into downtown Kampala for a delicious lunch at a rather elegant restaurant. A Chinese restaurant actually. Which made me laugh because here we were, in Eastern Africa, of all places, sitting down with chop sticks and soy sauce. And before lunch, we’d toured the present MFL school, which is, just as they told us, much smaller of a space than they need it to be. We toured the facilities and saw classrooms for thirty children the size of my parent’s living room and dorm rooms barely as large as my bedroom with nine bunk-beds crammed in there. And the children consider themselves fortunate to be able to attend here. Most African children do not get to go to school at all. But MFL is working on a new site (see Day 31) which they hope to have completed early next year. Lord, bless their efforts.

Our dear translators were with us all day long and were a constant source of joy to us, as indeed they have been all these weeks here in Uganda. Has it been only three? It seems so much longer than that. I will miss these Africans, my Lord. There is a simplicity to their happiness and honesty that I fear I will desperately miss in America. Our team also is saying goodbye tomorrow. Molly, Miriam, and Kathy must catch their flight early in the morning, and in a few days, Jon and I will be following them. After that, Candice and LeeAnn are staying a bit longer, and then they will go their separate ways too. Back to the “real world,” eh? My home is in You, dear Lord. When all around me is changing - changing yet again - my home is in You. Lead on, gentle Savior.

Day 36: August 11, 2008

Today was our first and only work day in Uganda. We woke up bright and early and loaded into our van to go to Eden School to paint. At least that’s what they told us. What they didn’t tell us about is the affect of the red dirt here in Africa. During the dry season, it billows and blows on everything, and during the rainy season, it forms muddy puddles and lakes that splatter on everything. And all year round, it is in the habit of converging on positively anything wishing to be white and turning it into a rusty blush color.

The walls at Eden School are white. Were white, I should say. When we saw them, the first three feet up from the gray cement floor were already well into that rusting blush stage. So, instead of the anticipated paint brushes, they first handed us sandpaper. No power tools of any sort. Just a little square of rough paper, and away we went! Fifteen minutes into the work we were starting to look like some pretty severe cases of dandruff . . . Three hours later, we had become albinos, white hair and all!

The work itself, though a bit hard on the hands and arms (If anyone is looking for a work-out to tone arm muscles, I have a tested and proven suggestion for you.) was enjoyable because of the company. Our team and the African helpers are simply a joy. But we did find one thing rather discouraging. Scrubbing so furiously at wall after wall, watching the dust float up off the wall and plaster itself onto us, we wondered just how long these walls could manage to keep the pristine coat of white we were about to bestow upon them. I think we came up with three months as the optimist’s answer.

The students were actually in class during our work time. We had commandeered the first floor, so they moved into the two above us. But whenever the bell rang for break, dozens of children would come scampering down the stairs. At first, they only stared and shyly smiled, but then they did the unthinkable. Spotting the extra sandpaper on the table, they silently distributed the pieces among themselves and actually, without anyone asking them, began helping us! Can you imagine kids in an American school voluntarily giving up their recess to scrub walls? We were very impressed . . . Though I’m pretty sure it had less to do with a love of hard work and more to do with their fascination of us. They ended up every bit as grubby as we were - almost worse, for they found great hilarity in taking the white powdery stuff and rubbing it all over their faces and arms - but they grinned no less the widely for it!

The dear, helpful children.


The looks of light-headed nauseousness might have had something to do with the fact that we didn't actually get our masks till about an hour after we'd started scrubbing.






And so the work continued well past noon, until finally at 2:00, they announced a greatly appreciated lunch. We left a mere hour later, the walls looking a bit less grimy for our efforts, but by no means entirely white. The Brits are coming tomorrow to do their best to finish the job we started.

Back at the guest house to wash away our albino-ness with warm showers - oh, and the feel of clean! - and then to the hospital to check a strange rash on Jon’s arm. It is the most serious thing that happened to any of us during our trip, other than a few days of uncomfortableness that never turned into any grave illness, and it actually proved rather humorous. You see, this morning, Jon had emailed his mother saying he had something the matter with him, wasn’t quite sure what it was, and he was going to the hospital to have it checked out. That’s all he said. Well, you can imagine what effect that had on his poor mother back in Canada! A bit frantically, I’m sure, she called MFL (Music for Life), trying to figure out what was wrong with her probably dying son. MFL then contacted us via text message on LeeAnn’s phone, trying to figure out what was wrong with our probably dying Jon. At that point, we were nearly at the hospital, so we waited until we had the diagnosis. It was: an allergic reaction to the fuzz off a hairy caterpillar that had ostentatiously crawled across the grass that Jon had then sat on. Seriously. I’m not making this up. Try texting that one back to your mother back home who is busy trying not to imagine all the horrible ways there are for her dear son to die in Africa!

After informing Jon’s mother of his narrow escape from death, we traveled to a rather elegant guest house (not ours) for a farewell dinner with the Brits and all our beloved African helpers. We had an amazing time . . . Really, all that was missing was the darling children. Sitting down to a delicious feast under a dusky sky with birds and blossoms abounding, it really felt like a taste of Heaven. I sat at a table with some of my dearest friends from this trip, and we simply enjoyed each other. Then came a time of sharing, thanksgiving, and laughter. We never do get too far from laughter here. It is a good thing.

After listening to our beloved Africans sing some songs for us - and, oh, the harmony of those voices! - and having a quick run at one of our favorite games (Whossa? Messa? Not messa.), we were the speechless recipients of gifts from MFL. As if we hadn’t already received so much more than we could ever repay, they generously gave us all bags with CDs and coffee inside. And, later, they gave us freshly-printed shirts to memorialize our time here in Africa. Then it was time for hugs and goodbyes all around - but we will meet again, praise God!

One more taxi ride back “home,” and it was a weary, happy goodnight for us all. Dear God, as You have blessed me - as You have rained down torrents of such blessings as I am too full to describe - so make my life into such a blessing. For the glory of Your Name, my dear God. Tonight again someone encouraged me to go back to the States and record the African songs You gave me to write here. Father God, lead me on, and I will follow. I run after You with great joy as You have filled me up so abundantly. We are blessed. We are so incredibly blessed.

Day 35: August 10, 2008

Dear God, my heart is so very full. Before You what do I say? Will I ever be able to actually understand all these things? Or am I to be simply overwhelmed for the rest of my life? We went to church this morning at Full Gospel (the same church we went to our first Sunday here in Uganda). I hold a great appreciation for that church. Walking through the sun-drenched open doors into the large, echoing sanctuary, there is an almost tangible feeling of Your Spirit in that place. It is a powerful presence, and it seems to be sadly rare in America and so all the more uplifting here. Today during worship, You gave me yet another picture. (I have yet to walk into that church and not hear from You, something else I am deeply blessed by.) It was a simple silhouette of a young woman, her right hand raised to Heaven, her left firmly grasped by the hand of a small child. Both standing still, faces lifted, silenced and amazed in the presence of God Almighty. It was like You were saying to me that You will use me to overflow Your love into the hearts of Your precious children - that You will flow through my outstretched hand to the hand of the dear child You let me hold. God in Heaven, I am overwhelmed.

The pastor told us a story today, a story of when he was younger. He grew up in the Catholic church, and near twenty years ago, he was attending the Catholic school just up the hill from where this church stands. In Uganda’s history, twenty years ago, the then-president, Idi Amin, ordered what amounted, in part, to a nation-wide persecution of Christians. As our pastor (who was only a student at the time) was in school one day, he happened to look down to this church when a group of soldiers pulled into the driveway. They began sorting through the congregation gathered there, asking who was a Christian. Some of the people said, “Oh, I do not belong to this church. I was just resting my feet on my way home.” Or, “I am only a visitor today. I do not really know what they believe here.” These people the soldiers let go. But there were others - people who stood up and said, “I am a Christian. I believe in Jesus Christ.” These people the soldiers loaded up into a truck and drove them away. I do not know what happened to them.

The man who witnessed this went to his room that night, wondering what it was that had been so important to those people that they had put their lives on the line rather than deny it. That day began a domino effect that eventually led to this man’s salvation. And, as we witnessed, he is now the pastor of the very same church where he watched the soldiers come and take away those who professed Christ. God is amazing.

After church, we spent a lovely time at our guest house with the guitars on the front porch. Jon Paul added the rich music of the African drums. Then there was lunch and a long afternoon, followed this evening by a special trip to a place called Ndere. That’s pretty much all I knew about it when we got on the bus. Something about dancing . . .

Ndere, it turns out, is quite a professional little spot situated on lovely, tree-crowned grounds. A team of very talented Africans trains there and, once a week, they give a special performance. A traditional African dance performance. Dinner and drinks included. From the first beat of the drum, I (in my jealously-held front-row seat) was captivated. I’m sorry, but the camera just will not do it justice, though I have added a few pictures. But there were a few things that I simply could not catch on film. Such as . . .

Our MC for the evening, an outgoing African man in a funny cow-skin hat who never stopped smiling and cracking jokes, called up all the children mid-way through the performance. After rather shy introductions, the man grouped the kids into a circle and instructed them to do whatever he did. He started simply: raising his hand, stomping his foot; then progressed to more difficult moves, like spinning in circles. He soon had them all quite comfortable, giggling hysterically, and extravagantly imitating his every move. I believe they even did the butt-shaking dance at one point. We in the audience really couldn’t stop laughing, but we had no idea what the children’s sense of ease on stage foreboded for later. It was a good half-hour after the “dance” from the children when a little boy (near ten years of age, I should think) walked quite randomly across stage. And I shouldn’t say “walked.” It was strutting rather. Only every third step or so, he’d add this little spin and slide on his heels, then look out at the audience with an enormous grin, anticipating our applause. And that wasn’t all. A bit later, a tiny little girl - barely old enough to walk - wandered across stage, looking rather lost, like she might have misplaced her mother, but not at all shy. Unfortunately for her, she had left behind on the ground a rather important piece of underclothing, but was nonetheless toddling about with her dress held quite up over her head. It was hilarious!

And so they danced and beat on their drums till the sweat poured down their faces, and we cheered and laughed until our sides ached and our hands buzzed. The sun set over the hazy hills, the stars came out, and the ladies kept up with their butt-shaking dance that I am still completely in awe of. I don’t know how you manage it for three minutes, much less three hours! But the Africans possess a unique and thrilling grace in dance and music that I think I am more than a little jealous of. Their entire bodies respond with unstudied ease to the voice of the drums, and the shining excitement on their dark faces is a sight to behold. They own the heart of music, I think, more truly than I ever shall. But it is such a pleasure and privilege to watch them.

They danced for us some Rwandan dances, with the costumes of blue and green and the long head-dresses that I have seen before. It made me heartsick for all my dear friends back in the blue mountains of that country. The girls also performed one dance while balancing clay jars on their heads. They started off with one, and we were awed. They floated about with apparent nonchalance, stepping and bending as if there were no breakable containers on their heads. But then they advanced beyond that to two jars, one on top of the other, and we were floored again. But did they stop there? Oh, no. Three, then four, then five, and on and on, until the very last, an enormously talented 16-year-old girl had eight jars perfectly balanced on her head. Did I forget to mention that she was still dancing? With a microphone. And singing. And then she decided that wasn’t quite enough and took a little walk up a flight up steps. With eight jars on her head. I think we all had our mouths hung open by this time. I know what it means now to hold another person truly in awe.

Those are the highlights. How do I find words for everything? There is simply not time enough or room. It is now late. The dance went almost to 10:00 p.m., and we still had the ride back to the guest house afterwards. I am exhausted. Dear God, hold me in Your strength. Amen.