An Intro to the Adventure

I am back in Nebraska. Except for my family, my dog, and chocolate, it doesn’t really feel anything like home. My initial thought is that walking down the road here feels to me something like walking down the road in Africa might feel to you. I’ve left my heart, but it’s not in San Francisco. It’s lodged most definitely in Central Africa, and I don’t think it’s going to be moving any time soon.

Isn’t it funny how quickly God can spin your world around?

Two months ago, I had no idea I was about to board a plane for Nairobi, Kenya. One month ago, I hadn’t heard hardly a word about the streets of Lira, Uganda. And then very quietly, with almost no warning, God opened a door. And I walked through it.

And the angels were singing “Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” and the very heavens were holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen next, and I stumbled blindly along, bumping into walls, stubbing my toes, and really not having a clue what I was getting myself into.

I may be following after the King of kings, but that doesn’t mean I’m being very graceful about it. I still don’t have anything like a plan or an outline. But these last three weeks in Africa haven’t been much about me. They’ve been a showcase of the faithfulness of God Almighty. A testament to His mercy. A loud, ringing chorus of His love that never fails.

I’ve sat in a house in an IDP camp. I’ve drunk Chai tea that wasn’t made with “safe” water, and it didn’t make me sick. I’ve talked with boys who were abducted into the LRA and forced to kill. I’ve ridden a boda-boda (motorcycle) down the hectic streets of Kampala and felt as safe as I do now, sitting in this chair in my room. I’ve climbed an African mountain . . . hill. I know the names of boys who live on the streets, girls whose parents abandoned them, pastors who have a heart for orphans, brothers whom God has called to rescue the lost.

I’ve seen Jesus’ pulsing, bleeding, overflowing heart for the children.

And just that - just that one look into Jesus’ heart - has broken my heart for these kids. These hyper-active, naughty, loud, snotty-nosed, shiny-eyed, grinning, beautiful kids.

He’s begun to give me His heart for them. Not a plan on how to help, or an outline for an organization, or a goal to fundraise for. Just His heart. It’s what I saw every day in Africa - in the IDP camps, the churches, the streets, the houses, the tents. I know a few more of their faces now; I know their names. I am looking forward to introducing them to you.