Every time we go to internet I feel compelled to blog, simply because I don’t know when we’ll be back again. I didn’t have anything prepared this time around, so please enjoy a chunk of my journal….
It’s raining. A hard, beating rain that relents just long enough to make you think it may be letting up, but then comes crashing down again. An assembly line of kids and people we’ve been working with washed our clothes this afternoon. I don’t think they trust us to do it correctly, and they’re probably right. Now the clothes are hanging on the line, getting a second washing as water pours from the sky. Somebody’s something fell off the line and is lying in a stream of mud. I watched it happen, but I’m not sure anything can be done about it. I wish I could put on my swimsuit and take a shower in the rain, because I’m one hundred percent sure I would get cleaner and certainly wetter than I do with the shower I take in the morning.
We’re waiting for the rain to stop so we can go to the evening church service, which they have every night. January is a month of prayer and fasting, this year for the Kingdom of God to come here on earth. We had our first day of ministry today, walking from shop to shop talking to people, telling them about the church we go to, and telling them about Jesus. I’m awkward at this sort of thing, but the voice inside of me keeps telling me that I am fully equipped to do every good work. Cassie says that if after only one day of ministry I have realized my utter dependence on God, I’m doing okay.
The power has been off for nearly 24 hours, but I’ve hardly noticed because I haven’t needed to charge anything. I barely use any devices because there’s nothing to use them with. I’m blissfully internet free at the moment. The only time on the Race that I really notice the power going out is when fans stop working. In India the power went out every morning at 7am. The exact moment the power went out was the exact moment I woke up, because fans are the difference between suffering and sufferable. But I have not seen a single fan in this house. The weather in Uganda is splendid. It’s been raining almost every day, keeping us cool. Every now and then a sweet breeze flows through the house. When the sun comes out it gets a little hot, but not unbearably so. The weather can completely change how I feel each month, so I am especially blessed to be surrounded by such a comfortable temperature most of the time.
I spend most of my time in the living room. The home reminds me of an old farmhouse in South Dakota, with cement floors and dim lighting. The living room walls are lined with two couches and four armchairs, plus a china cabinet filled with books and dishes. A coffee table and two small benches sit in the middle of the room. My favorite part is the red and cream colored area rug that covers the entire floor. My team and I like to sit on the carpet and play cards. It’s the first time since leaving home that I’ve had a carpet to sit on. I’d forgotten how much of a difference that can make.
We eat all of our meals in the living room. We sit around an oblong wooden table with six wooden chairs. Last month I ate most of my meals on a hotel bed, and before that it was on metal tables sitting on plastic chairs or with a plate balanced on my lap while I sat in a plastic chair. But here it’s like being at home, sitting around the table. I peek into red pots and pans with little grape designs painted on them to see what variety of rice and beans we’re having. This morning we woke up to a special treat. Our hosts bought us a jar of peanut butter. Next to it was cocoa powder and a thermos of hot milk to make hot chocolate, my favorite drink in the whole world. The family, pastor and his wife and nine children, eat outside. We hate that, but don’t quite know how to make it stop.
The backyard is surrounded on one side by the house, on another by the kitchen, another by a large chicken house, and on the other side by the building where the boys sleep. Several clotheslines are strung between the house and the chicken house. Off to the right, in the corner, not far from the pit where we spit our toothpaste, is the outhouse squattie pottie. Other than when I’m taking a shower, this is the only time that I really remember that I’m in Uganda. It’s a cement floor with a hole in it, with two raised cement platforms for your feet. There are little flies covering the walls. They weird me out but I try to pretend they don’t exist.
The girls brought us notes today telling us how much they love us and thanking us for everything we have done, but they have blessed us way more than we’ve blessed them, that’s for sure. We’re being so well taken care of.
My heart is so happy here.
