Single? And A Missionary? To Africa?

My parents and I went to the Iowa State Fair last month. I saw a booth for an ostrich farm and got excited. Why? Because ostrich meat = delicious! You didn't know? Anyway, there was an older man there and I inquired about getting some ostrich meat and about how they raise them. It came up that I went to an ostrich farm in Kenya (there’s nothing like holding an ostrich egg, seeing ostriches from baby to adult and then eating a sumptuous ostrich meal. Every bite is a piece of delicious guilt.). It then came up that I lived in Uganda for the past two years after which inevitably came out that I’m moving back to Uganda…for good.

Then it happened…as it has happened so many times before. And I mean, SO many times. It’s almost like they have a script.

The Scenario: The person finds out that I’m single and moving to Africa and they respond almost word for word with this:

“I mean, you’re a pretty girl…you have a nice personality…and you’re single? And moving to Africa?”

While it’s encouraging for a stranger to compliment my looks and personality (ok, it's usually creepy), they can’t possibly understand. Usually the person saying this is a stranger so I don’t delve too deep into it. But for you? I shall. In fact, it’s a topic that I’m dearly passionate about.

It’s conversations like these that remind me that what God has called me to isn’t exactly considered “normal” by American standards. Sometimes I like to feign innocence, “What? It’s not normal for a late 20-something single American girl to move to Africa? Say it ain’t so!”. Ok, fine, I usually just think that in my head. The American expectation is to go to college, get married, have 2.5 kids and get a house with a white picket fence. My sophomore year of college, God gave me distaste for that expectation and though I had no idea what He would do, I knew that my life wouldn’t be that.

However, I never (never never) expected to be a missionary. I definitely never expected to be single at my age. None of this was a part of my plan. And if God would have let me in on this little life plan years ago? I would have never agreed to it. In fact, I would have run the other way screaming.

But…now? I couldn’t dream it any bigger or better than this. It was God that put these crazy desires in my heart and because of that, I wouldn’t want it any other way. I can’t imagine not living in Uganda. I can’t imagine not being able to work with Ugandan high school girls. I don’t even want to imagine that. There is absolutely nothing else that I’d rather do. 

Bottom line: I would rather have the peace of God by living in His will than anything else…even marriage. I still would love to get married. In fact, I really desire that and pray that it’s a part of God’s great plan for my life.  However, my To Do list doesn’t come before God’s. I won’t let my desire for marriage or anything else get in the way of what God is calling me to.

Now, that clearly comes with a lot of steps of surrender. This is not a one stop surrender shop. I could tell you about the little and big steps that God had me surrender to over the years and how many times I have to surrender this daily. These are things that God and I have had pleeeeenty of long conversations about. It all comes back to obedience and surrender to Him above anything and everything else, no matter how difficult it is. No matter how insane it seems to anyone else. No matter how much it doesn’t make sense, even to me.

I’ve been in the book of Jeremiah for quite awhile now. It’s encouraging to see that I’m not the only one who was called to do crazy counter-cultural things for God.  In fact, my life is pretty normal compared to what God had Jeremiah do. The Bible is actually darn well chock full of people who did wild things for God that made absolutely no sense to them or those around them. My favorite Bible verse encourages me all the more. I especially like how The Message version says it:

“Do you see what this means—all these pioneers who blazed the way, all these veterans cheering us on? It means we'd better get on with it. Strip down, start running—and never quit! No extra spiritual fat, no parasitic sins. Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we're in. Study how he did it. Because he never lost sight of where he was headed—that exhilarating finish in and with God—he could put up with anything along the way: Cross, shame, whatever. And now he's there, in the place of honor, right alongside God. When you find yourselves flagging in your faith, go over that story again, item by item, that long litany of hostility he plowed through. That will shoot adrenaline into your souls! (Hebrews 12:1-3)

What are some crazy things that God has called you to? 

Reverse Culture Shocked

It happened in the egg section at Wal-mart. I surveyed the numerous options of eggs (small? medium? large? different brands? organic?) and felt the panic in my stomach rising. In Uganda, there was only one choice when buying eggs. I was now faced with about 15. I repeatedly asked myself, “what’s the normal American choice to make? Just make the normal choice…but what’s the normal choice?”. 

On another trip to the grocery store, the cashier asked me if I wanted something in a bag. I raised my eyebrows and looked away. A few awkwardly silent seconds later, the cashier asked me the question again. I then realized that I had answered the Ugandan way, not the American one.

A couple nights before the 4^th of July, I was at home and started hearing these popping noises outside. I was immediately transported back to my home in Uganda, wondering if I was hearing tear gas guns and rifles. My heart started beating faster as I tried to assess what was happening outside my window. Living in a home without bars on the doors and windows had been hard enough to adjust to. Even after figuring out that it was the neighbors setting off fireworks, I wasn’t able to calm down.

During a visit at my church’s youth group, I was about 10 handshakes in when I thought, “huh, I bet shaking hands isn’t the most common way to greet American teenagers” but I couldn’t think of what else to do.

After eating at an Asian restaurant, I discovered that one of the workers was from Indonesia. His accent was thick and without meaning to, I started talking with a Ugandan accent. Apparently talking to someone with any kind of accent brings it out. I was mortified.

It’s reverse culture shock. Though I had experienced it in a small way in coming back from short term missions trips (I have a whole theory on the differences of short term reverse culture shock and long term but that’s for another day), I had never experienced it in this way. One of my first weeks back, a missionary couple from my church was heading back to the field. In a prayer, my pastor mentioned how they had experienced a time of having the comforts of American life. I smiled from my pew knowing that; in fact, it was harder for them to come back to America than to go back to their African home. I guess it’s easy for people to assume that American life is easy and that life in Africa is difficult and thus, it’s easier for missionaries to be back in the States. Though there are definitely parts of American life that are great (two words: Air. Conditioning. Ok, two more: Fast. Internet.) I’ve wrestled with the “why”. America IS my home. This is the country that I was born and raised in. This is the culture that I know…right? However, when I moved to Uganda, I expected it to be different. I expected to have to adjust. I expected nothing to be “normal”. Coming back to America, I expected to be normal. After two years of not fitting into a culture, I expected to be able to fit in. Being gone from the States for two years, I had lost what it meant to live a “normal” American life and make “normal” American choices. Making those decisions, even as small as buying eggs, stressed me out and often, I panicked.

I'm now living in a third culture. I have my American culture and my Ugandan culture but with both of those mashing together, it creates this third culture: an American-Ugandan mix. No matter how long I live in Uganda, I’ll never fully fit in (my skin color alone will make sure of that). The longer I live away from the States, the less that it will feel like home. From this point on, neither culture will be completely home. 

I have no doubt that I'll be able to add many more awkward stories to my third culture resume. For your entertainment, of course.

Martha, Martha, Martha...

Twice this month the story of Mary and Martha was told at my church: once during Sunday’s sermon and another at a Ladies Night Out. Hm, I think God was trying to tell my church the ladies in my church some of us me something. Specifically, at our Ladies Night Out, we were given time to reflect on the passage more. As a natural planner, I can always relate to Martha. God struck me in a more personal way this time.

For those unfamiliar with the story, let me give you a quick recap, Sarah style. It starts when Martha opens her home to Jesus (we could do a whole blog on that right there but, I digress). A whole party gets started and Martha goes into full on party planning detail mode. I’m picturing some major market shopping, cleaning, cooking, etc. If she’s anything like me, she probably wrote a big long To Do list and got a ridiculous amount of satisfaction every time she got to cross one of the items off. Mary, her sister and party planning helper, is sitting at the feet of Jesus, soaking in His words. Not so much into the whole party planning helper mode. When Martha (oh so tactfully) mentions to Jesus that, “wouldn’t it be cool if my sister helped me with all this party goodness instead of sitting here doing nothing?”, she gets a shocker of an answer: “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one, Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.” (Luke 10:41-42).

Oh. Snap.

Picture Martha’s face for a second. Eyes widened, eyebrows raised, and an expression that’s a mix of surprise, shame and confusion.

While I originally started thinking of my natural tendency to plan (and over plan), God took it a step further.

What if?

What if…instead of going party planning crazy, Martha also sat at the feet of Jesus, soaking in His words? Her to-do list wouldn’t get done.  The house would be dirty. Food wouldn’t be bought much less cooked. People wouldn’t get invited. Or, people would show up and nothing would be ready. There was just So. Much. To. Do.

But…

Think of what Jesus COULD have done. Think of the miracles that COULD have been performed.

“What? The food isn’t ready? No biggie, I do this thing with bread and fish. You’ll have leftovers for weeks. What? We ran out of wine? No problem. Got any water? Check this out...”

I mean, think of the possibilities. Think of how God’s glory COULD have been shown that day. And, going further, think of how God’s glory could be shown in my life every day that I stifle with my plans and my To Do list.

That hit me hard.

These past few months have been planner months for me. My To Do list is still monstrous. I’ve been getting everything together to start support raising again. And planning planning planning.

You know the funny thing? God has seriously been doing miracles left and right. I’ve literally been shocked at how He’s working. The funny part? All those miracles have had NOTHING to do with any of the planning I’ve done. Nothing. At all. It’s like God’s been repeatedly saying: “This is my deal. I got this. Yeah, there’s a lot of money that needs to be raised but…I got this. I’m going to work in people’s lives. And, you know, I own some cattle…on a few hills…”.  

As some icing on that cake, I’ve been listening to the song “Restless” by Audrey Assad on repeat. I’ll close with the lyrics, which is also my prayer:

You dwell in the songs that we are singing
Rising to the Heavens
Rising to Your heart
Our praises filling up the spaces
In between our frailty and everything You are
You are the keeper of my heart

And I'm restless
I’m restless
'Til I rest in You
(Oh God I wanna rest in You)

Oh speak now for my soul is listening
Say that You have saved me
Whisper in the dark
'Cause I know You’re more than my salvation

Without You I am hopeless
Tell me who You are
You are the keeper of my heart

Still my heart
Hold me close
Let me hear a still small voice
Let it grow
Let it rise
Into a shout
Into a cry

I am restless until I rest in You

Goodbye to Kampala: My Home Sweet Home

I knew the day would come when I would write about my goodbye to Kampala. It was hard enough to experience and writing about it is even more difficult. In the past two years, Kampala went from an unknown city to my home.

In ways, my first weeks in Kampala seem like yesterday. The city was full of dust and overrun with taxis, motorcycle taxis (boda-bodas), people, animals and more. The roads seemed a maze of confusion and as we drove through the madness, I wondered if I’d ever be able to get around on my own. The thought of driving scared me to death, not to mention navigating my way around. Familiarity came with time. I remember the moment when I realized that I could navigate my way to the grocery store by myself. It was such a relief. In ways, my life was quite normal. Every day, I drove to an office, worked until 5 and came home. And yet, living in Africa is anything but normal. However, it became my normal and I loved it.

My goodbye to Kampala was overwhelming. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt more loved in my life. The Hope Alive! Kampala site put on a talent show for me. It was more than I could have ever dreamed. The kids performed skits, sang songs, performed a fashion show and danced. I loved every second of it. I love watching them perform. I always feel like a proud mother in the crowd cheering them on. The joy in their eyes shows how much they love it as well.

I took a lot of video that take in order so that I would never forget it. The following are two videos that mean the world to me. The first is my girls singing a song together. They added a verse that made me cry. The second is a poem that my sweet Brenda wrote about me. Again, another one that makes me cry.

Aren’t they gorgeous!? I love these girls so much and am so proud of them. We got some fun group pictures of that day as well.

I had my last Bible study with my girls. It was so hard to think of ending what we had been doing for so long. Looking into each of their beautiful faces, I wanted them to know who they were in Christ. Not who they were according to what they thought of themselves or what they had been told by others. No, they needed to know what Christ thinks of them and to find themselves in Him. These girls are hard and rarely show emotion. It was because of this that I was surprised at how many tears were shed by many of the girls.

My last couple weeks were full of a lot of “lasts”. My last home visits: visiting the families that I had come to know and love over these two years. It was not only hard to say goodbye to the kids but also to their parents. I visited Monica’s house for the last time. She made an incredible meal for us and spoke truth from the Word of God. My last trip to the market. My last trip to downtown Kampala (I can’t say that I’ll ever really miss that insanity). My last service at Lugogo Baptist Church. The last dinner with my roommates.

My friends threw a goodbye party for me on one of my last nights there. It was wonderful having so many that I love in one place. It still seems surreal that I can’t call them up and see them.

I’m a long processor. When I left Uganda, it didn’t seem real. It was such a hectic time that I wasn’t able to process that I was actually leaving. I didn’t cry at the talent show (I teared up but no tears). I didn’t cry at the last girls Bible Study. I didn’t cry at my goodbye party. It all was so surreal. The only time I cried was when I read a letter from one of my girls. Her words humbled me completely and left me amazed at how God has worked in and through me. Besides that…I was tearless….until it all clicked in a few weeks ago.

I was in Colorado for long term training at WorldVenture. I was about to go into the biggest interview of my life. This interview would determine if I would be accepted as a WorldVenture missionary. It was extremely stressful as well, they could say no. I knew how God had specifically called me to this and the thought of being told “no” at this point? It scared the mess out of me. God kept reminding me that He had truly called me to this and that He wouldn’t stop it now…but my nerves were taking over. It was at this point that it finally hit that I was gone. I wasn’t going to be seeing my girls for a long time. I wasn’t around my kids. I had gone…and the tears wouldn’t stop coming. And they haven’t really stopped since then. Every time I look at my pictures, read the incredible book that my girls put together for me, read the dozens of letters that the kids wrote to me…I can’t stop the tears from coming.

Awkward side note: the tears started approximately one hour before my massive interview. It was like a perfect storm of stressful insanity. For those that know me, you know that I’m not one that cries. I don’t really process by crying and I definitely don’t cry in front of people if I can help it. Tears are literally streaming down my face 5 minutes before my interview. I get it together right before entering the room. First question to me? “Sarah, tell us what you love about Uganda.” Did I mention that I’m an ugly crier? Oh my gosh. It was OUT OF CONTROL. Luckily, they didn’t see me as a psycho emotional crazy girl and still accepted me. Whew.

Goodbye Kampala, my home sweet home.

Goodbye familiar dusty pot-filled roads.

Goodbye morning traffic jams into work. I won’t miss you.

Goodbye to my compound and home. You were such a calming retreat to come home to.

Goodbye to Biajo and Juliet. I always felt safe and cared for thanks to you two.

Goodbye to those creepy men at Nakawa Market that would yell crude things to me. I also won’t miss you.

Goodbye to my sweet Hope Alive! kids. I love each of you deeper than you could ever know. You are in my heart and in my prayers…always.

Goodbye especially to Emma, Joseph, Andrew, Prossy, Dora, Agnes, Kevin, Benard, Lovin, Comfort, Justin and Flavia. Each of you specifically has a special place in my heart. I love each of you so much and hope to still be involved in each of your lives for years to come.

Goodbye to each of my girls: Esther, Emily, Rita, Shamila, Agnes, Brenda, Hope, Dutchess, Sandra, Sarah, Ruth, Jean, Lucy, Joan, Brenda, Jillian, Nancy and Paula. I always felt that I could never fully express exactly how much I loved each one of you. I felt like my heart was bursting every time we were together. You all are my inspiration. I see so much in each of you and cannot wait to see how God will use each and every one of you. I love you from the bottom of my heart. I miss you more than I could ever put into words. My tears come whenever I think of you.

Goodbye to my most amazing friends. I always felt like I didn’t deserve to have such incredible friends there. I am forever grateful to you all for your encouragement, love and support. You shared your culture with me, explained things numerous times and were so patient with me. There is no thanks that could ever be enough. I am so grateful to have each of you in my life. Special thanks to Georgina, Lonnah, Dorothy and Shammah. I would have been absolutely lost without you girls. Nkwagala nyo nyo nyo!

Goodbye to Hope Alive! and to Catharine. It’s been my honor to work for you these past two years. I've learned so much from your wisdom. I can only pray that I made some sort of organizational difference. But, more than the database and paperwork, when I think of Hope Alive!, I think of the people. I think of the site managers, the mentors and the kids. There’s been exciting moments and really disappointing heartbreaking moments…and we’ve grown together through them all.

Goodbye to my roommates. Ugh, do you know how boring my life is without you two!? I miss the laughs, the Mexican fiesta nights, the Alias marathons, the road trip adventures, and really, watching you two shine in what you’re doing.

The good thing about my goodbye to Kampala, and Uganda, is that it is not final. I praise GOD that He is sending me back to this country that I love so much. So, really, this isn’t so much of a “goodbye” as it is a “see you later”. For my sake, I’m hoping “later” is actually “really really soon”.

Masaka: The Last Visit

I remember my first trip to Masaka. The view from our hotel overlooked the lush green rolling hills of the small town. It reminded me of Lynchburg, VA where I had lived for so many years. Because of that, it always felt a little bit like home and I always looked forward to visiting there. The kids in Masaka are also different. In Gulu, there’s extreme poverty but at the same time, many of the kids have received aid from NGO’s for years thus bringing an attitude of expectancy. In Kampala, there’s a lot more opportunities for the kids due to the largeness of the city. The kids are street wise. But…Masaka…it’s just different. There are kids in desperate need there but the attitude is just different. It’s refreshing.

My last trip to Masaka almost didn’t happen. Riots started in Kampala and spread to various towns through Uganda, including Masaka. In talks with my field leader, it was just not safe to go. We delayed the trip, all the while praying that things would calm down enough for me to go. It was very important to me to say goodbye to those in Masaka. In addition to my goodbye’s, I had some business to do. I was seriously concerned that I wouldn’t be able to go. At last, the riots calmed down and it was deemed safe enough for me to travel. The trip was cut down considerably. We drove down on a Saturday and would head back on Sunday morning.

My “business” in Masaka was an exciting one. My friend’s Gloria and Maria had some leftover money from their previous trip here that they wanted to go to the families of Beatrice and Madina. There was enough money that Beatrice’s mom and Madina could either start a small business or take some courses. I’ve already talked in detail about my beloved Beatrice. I was so anxious to see her again. Madina is one of the mentors for Hope Alive! in Masaka who has struggled considerably. Her husband has another wife and comes back to Madina’s home only to use and abuse her and their five children. Her health has taken a turn for the worse and a few weeks prior, we weren’t sure if she was going to make it through. By the grace of God, she was feeling much better when we arrived. Her and her children ran from their small mud house to where our car was when we pulled up. The joy of the Lord literally bursts out of her and her face was just shining.

We spent time in their home catching up. Hannah (friend and fellow WorldVenture missionary) and Wendy (visitor from States to Hope Alive!) both came with me to Masaka and it was great to introduce them to Madina and her great family. Their strength in the Lord has always left me in awe. I often wonder when I meet people who live in such circumstances if I could have the faith and strength that they do. Would I have the joy of the Lord shining through me if this was my life? I admire Madina and all that she does for her kids but mostly, for her overwhelming love for the Lord.

After we met with Madina, we headed back to the Hope Alive! site to hopefully meet up with Beatrice before Saturday club. Beatrice and her mentor, Justice, met up with us for lunch. I wanted to cry as I saw her coming toward me. We had a fun lunch together. Justice is actually the principal of Beatrice’s school. I was relieved to know that her mentor was so involved in her life. At last, someone to love and care for my girl! I didn’t realize how important that was until later that day.

After lunch, we headed over to Saturday Club where I was to teach the high school girls there. I was honored that Rose, the site director, had asked me to speak to these girls and was excited to share with them. We had a great discussion about how God sees us and how that effects how we are to live our lives for Him.

We headed to Beatrice’s home after Saturday Club. She lives with her mom far out of Masaka, down and around dirt roads in the middle of nowhere.

Sidenote: The middle of nowhere is perhaps my favorite part of Africa. I just love being out in the middle of the bush visiting families.

Justice had updated us over lunch about Beatrice’s mom. In looking for her mom to tell her that we were coming, Justice discovered that the mom had been staying with different men, leaving her small children to fend for themselves for days. My heart was broken. We got Beatrice out of her dad’s place because of how he abused and neglected her. To find out that her mom was doing the same…it was too much. I felt so helpless. Here I had come with dreams and hopes that the mom would be able to start a small business to support her family only to find out that she was neglecting and starving her children. I cried out to God, “who will love this girl!? “. I love Beatrice so deeply and am baffled at why her parents don’t seem to care for her or her brothers. God’s answer? “Me”. His love for Beatrice remains constant. HE is her Provider. He has provided sweet Justice, a mentor for Beatrice who cares for her. We had brought food for Beatrice and her family. Justice kept it at her place and cooked for the kids for the next few days as they waited for their mom to at last return. When the mom returned, she was ashamed. She hid herself for some time from Justice but eventually came to her. From what Justice says, things are going better. Beatrice’s mom is staying home and actually caring for her children. Please pray with me that if she’s not a believer, that she comes to accept Jesus as her Savior and that through that, His love will flow through her to her children. May they all experience the great love of our God.

Hugging Beatrice goodbye was surreal. My heart didn’t want to begin to contemplate that this was the last hug that we would have for a very long time. I saw Justice a few weeks later in Kampala. She told me that she had never seen Beatrice as happy as when she was with me. Oh, my sweet Beatrice…may you understand how God loves you much more than I ever could.

Goodbye to those lush green rolling hills that brought me a sense of home.
Goodbye to Rose, the most wonderful and efficient site director. You did your work for God’s glory and it was clear in all that you did.
Goodbye to Shammah, Rose’s son. Oh buddy, you know your Auntie Sarah will love you, your cute cheeks and sweet smiles forever.
Goodbye 10 Tables for your great taste of Western food in that small town.
Goodbye to all the fabulous Hope Alive! mentors. You all inspired me. Most of you are widows and a mother to so many children. Your love for Christ astounds me.
Goodbye to Madina. Your love for Christ and joy in Him humbles me.
Goodbye to all the Hope Alive! kids. You showed me that Christ can be seen even in the most difficult circumstances.
Goodbye to Shakirah. My sweet girl, you’ve had such a hard life. May you find your strength in the Lord.

And, at last…goodbye to my sweet Beatrice. Tears stream down my face as I think of you and the pain you’ve experienced in your young life. Your precious smile remains even as you search for love from your parents. My sweet girl, your Heavenly Father loves you so deeply. May you find your hope and salvation in Him.

Goodbye, Masaka. You are filled with so many that I love deeply. I look forward to returning to you some day as you hold a most special place in my heart.

Gulu: The Last Visit

My time in Uganda is coming soon to an end. Has two years really gone by? I can’t believe it. I feel as though I’m grasping to make the most of every moment and yet, I’m living in denial of my departure. I can’t imagine not being here…and I don’t want to.

This next month of my life will be filled with a lot of traveling and a lot of goodbyes. It has officially started as I went to Gulu for my last trip here here. Crazy. My roommates spend March in Gulu as they both had things that they needed to be here for an extended time for. Though I begged and pleaded, I was much more needed in Kampala than Gulu. I came up on a Thursday to spend my last trip here with them during their last days here.

The coming here part was an adventure in and of itself as I took the public bus. Take away all pictures in your mind of an American school bus or a fancy charter bus. It is neither of these. The goal of these buses is to fit as many passengers (and animals, if need be) in as possible. I had take buses to another town as well as Rwanda before so I had an idea in my mind of what to expect. However, it was my first trip alone. And this bus was not as nice as the one to Rwanda. The bus was scheduled to take off at 6:30am but I was to be there 30 minutes early. My driver was 20 minutes late and I was in panic sweat mode. If there were even a slight bit of traffic, there would be no way that I was making my bus. Luckily, my driver busted it into town and I got there just in time. Just in time to go through security, that is. I was the only white person around and the security guard took great pleasure in selecting my bag (and only my bag) to open up and go through. I think he just wanted to see what was inside. I got on the bus and was directed to my seat. It was then that I realized the difference between this and the Rwanda bus: space. I’m a short girl and thus, can fit pretty easily in most spaces. It was a tight squeeze in my seat and the guy next to me was pressed closely.

Oh yes, my seat buddy. Keep in mind, this is 6:30am. This is not chatty happy time for Sarah. I wanted to slouch in my seat, iPod on and sleep. Seat Buddy wanted nothing of that, as there was a white girl next to him that he could get to know. This white girl did not want to get knowed. That didn’t stop him. Besides invading my personal space for the next five hours, he decided that he needed to make some demands of me. Whenever I would open my eyes, take an earbud out of my ear or any other indication that he would be heard, he’d start to tell me some of the following:

“When you get to Gulu, I am going to stay with you.”
“When you get to Gulu, you are going to buy me a soda. One in a glass bottle.”

Those were the two main one that he repeated over…and over…and over again. Especially about the soda. For the entirety of my five hour bus ride. He then decided that instead of one sentence demands, he would give me a 10 minute “cultural lesson” on why I was culturally required to do this for him. His main point was that since I was sitting next to him, I was to show my appreciation of this by buying him his list of demands. I clearly did not agree.

After arriving in Gulu, I tagged along with what Kate and Kacie had been doing for the past three weeks. I visited schools with Kate, taking pictures of our kids for their sponsors. We visited vocational schools to see where our kids would best fit. That night, we had dinner with all of our Hope Alive! staff in Gulu. It was great seeing the mentors again and catching up with them. I’ve always felt so honored working alongside such people.

The next day, I went to some more schools with Kate. I then got to meet up with Irene! Irene was one of our students in Kampala. She had been staying with an aunt there but trouble began with her side of the family and her aunt’s. Irene was in the middle and thus became the example. Her aunt kicked her out of the house. We sat in our office with Irene and her father, both sobbing and not knowing what to do. Her father lived in Gulu but moving Irene to Gulu would uproot her from her school, friends and all that she had known. There was no other option and Gulu was seen as the best option for her. I hadn’t seen Irene since that tear filled day in our office and I was dying to see how she was doing. It ended up turning into quite the scene. I took a boda to her school, as I couldn’t remember how to get there. When I arrived, there were in the midst of an all school assembly…and my boda had arrived at the front of it. I made my way behind the school as to not cause a further scene. I found a teacher and asked if Irene could come. Tears came to my eyes when I saw her walking towards me. I had missed her so much. We hugged for awhile…that is, until another teacher came up to us and asked us to move inside as we were distracting the students. In my excitement, I hadn’t realized that the entire school population had turned to watch our little reunion. I looked beyond Irene and saw hundreds of little faces staring and giggling our way. We moved into the office and I got caught up on her life in Gulu. She misses Kampala terribly but likes her school and has made many friends. That day, she was actually campaigning for a leadership position in her class. I was so proud of her.

On Saturday, we went to a lot of homes. Caroline works at the hotel that Kate and Kacie had stayed at for that month. They had gotten to know her well and she invited us all over to her house. We got to meet her adorable daughter (who was scared out of her mind that white people were in her house) and were served an incredible meal. We then headed to the Feeding Centre to meet up with a mentor and visit some of our kids’ homes. The mentor asked us if we were ready to “foot” for a long time. We were ready…or so we thought. It was about 45 minutes later that we arrived at the first house, deep in the African bush. They welcomed us with smiles and an entire meal, chicken included. Meat is such a precious treat here and it was incredibly humbling to receive this from them. We went to about four other homes. At one, they brought out a chicken as a gift for us, squawking, and handed it straight to Kacie, the only vegetarian. I got much humor out of this. Kate carried it the rest of the way and named her Sal. She said it was for Salvadora but I thought it was for Salmonella. Sal would squawk at the most awkward times, mainly during prayer or other such serious moments. We were out for four hours, three of which were spent walking on little dirt paths in the middle of nowhere. I love it. I love walking so deep in the village and meeting these families; so hidden off of small dirt paths.

We went to a church in the bush that Kate and Kacie had been going to. It was mostly women and children, with very few men. I got emotional during praise and worship. I’m going to miss worshipping God, Ugandan style. After church, we began our journey back to Kampala. It was a considerably more comfortable ride back than the one up.

The memories of Gulu, however, will remain:
-My roach (and every other kind of bug) filled hotel room on my first trip
-Getting lost trying to find the UN offices.
-The ridiculous sunburn that followed getting lost trying to find the UN offices.
-Listening to the local instruments play during worship.
-Mary leaving her hand outside her mosquito net and getting 500 bites.
-Buying cold water bottles and putting them on our necks to cool us down on hot days.
-Watching Shem and Kate play basketball.
-Watching Shem dunk on Kate.
-Getting asked for our phone numbers at the Chinese restaurant and having Kacie tell them to google us.
-Attempting to speak Acholi...and getting laughed at.
-Being a part of enrolling new kids and hearing their stories.
-Going to my first village burial.
-Walking through the bush on home visits; my favorite thing.
-The family handing the live chicken straight to Kacie, the only vegetarian.
-Walking arm in arm with Charles on the way to the hut that he shared with his two sisters.
-So many sweat filled nights…and days…

Goodbye to the Hope Alive! staff.
Goodbye to the Hope Alive! kids.
Goodbye to the intense heat.
Goodbye to the 50600399903724 NGO’s.
Goodbye to the dusty roads.
Goodbye to the familiar roads.
Goodbye to the random Chinese restaurant who has no lighting.
Goodbye to sweet Daffine and her family.
Goodbye to the small market.
Goodbye to the feeding centre.

Goodbye, Gulu. You remain in my heart and memories forever. I will see you again...

First Class: Part 2

Back in 2007, I went on a trip to Kenya, We flew with Virgin Atlantic. Our first flight from DC was canceled due to a hole in the plane (encouraging, right?) and they gave us a LOT of miles due to that plus the miles we got from our journey. Those miles were expiring this December and were enough to get me a flight to Nairobi. Sweet.

Ever since I had planned this trip to the States, I had no idea what I was going to do about my 16 hour layover in London. I knew that I didn’t want to spend 16 hours in the main insane area of Heathrow. Due to it being December, I also knew that I didn’t want to spend 16 hours out in the frigid cold. Virgin Atlantic has a lounge in Heathrow for their first class passengers. I had looked at the possibility of buying miles to upgrade to first class purely for the lounge. Clearly, that wasn’t going to happen. When I got to the airport in DC, I asked what the cost would be to upgrade to first class. When she quoted $1300, I knew that I was in for a long layover in the crazy main area of Heathrow. She told me to check with the lounge in London to see if I could get a day pass. A day pass!? I didn’t even know those existed. When I landed in London, I went to their counter to ask about a day pass. They directed me to the lounge who told me that I could come four hours before my flight. Um, and what about the next 12 hours? They then directed me to the American Airlines lounge directly below for the meantime. The American Airlines lounge was surprisingly pretty cheap, had great showers, free food, drinks and WiFi. Since I had a bazillion tests to finish for WorldVenture, I settled in and got everything done.

When it was four hours before my flight, I debated on whether to go up to the Virgin Atlantic lounge since I was already so comfortable in the American Airlines lounge. Knowing that I’d never get this chance again, I headed up to the VA lounge.

My first thought upon entering the VA lounge: Oh, so this is what first class people experience.
My second thought: I stick out like a sore thumb. It's like they know my shoes are from Payless and I got my Gap jeans on sale. I shrugged my shoulders and sat down to enjoy an amazing meal. In the lounge, they offered free services to their spa so I got a good manicure. It was incredible. Once my layover ended, I was feeling so blessed. Beginning that day, I had no idea if I’d have a quiet place to get things done and God provided above and beyond. I headed toward my gate feeling productive and relaxed.

When I arrived at my gate, the agent took my ticket and put it under the scanner. It beeped kinda weird and he looked at it again. He then looked up at me and said, “Congratulations, you’re now in upper class”. Um, say what? No. Way. Again? I thanked him and walked into the gate. It was extremely hot, crowded and stuffy but all I could do was marvel. For months, I had been wondering how everything would work out. I’m such a planner and I was worried what would happen in those 16 hours. I had looked at all sorts of options but none worked out. Instead, it all worked out far better than what I had imagined and BONUS, I got first class. Again. How the heck?

I knew from my time searching VA’s website before that their first class was unlike any other. I was right. The “seats” are more like your own little cubicle.

When you want to sleep, the flight attendant comes, flips the seat around and down and boom, you have an entire bed. I slept for most of the flight (thank you Ambien, for all you’ve done in my life) and was for some reason crazy nauseous throughout. I barely touched the meals they gave me and sipped gingerale throughout. Despite that, it was definitely amazing.

I still can’t believe it, really. I mean, this stuff never happens to me…and twice? However, really, God’s hands were all over this. I was checking BBC after I returned and saw that the same day that I was in London, there were crazy protests and riots. They were in all of the areas that I would have headed. I had some tests sent to me from WorldVenture right before I left the States and had been wondering when on earth I’d have the time to complete them. He gave me the perfect time and place to do so. It was also fascinating to people watch. Many people find their identity in that crazy lifestyle.

God is a God of details, as I’ve said many times and again and again, He shows it to me. I don’t deserve His love, His grace, His mercy, His forgiveness…or random blessings like a quiet relaxing place to get things done or even first class.