It’s every home that we go to during door-to-door evangelism whose number one prayer request is that they come up with school fees to allow their children to attend school.
It’s the fact that many believers don’t have Bibles, because in order to buy a Bible, their family would go without food for at least a week.
It’s the times of fellowship and worship. Hearing where other people are at. Worshiping the Lord together for the good, and coming together in prayer over the hard.
It’s the arms of the women here. So incredibly strong and toned. They work their arms carrying their kids, bringing extremely heavy jugs of water to their homes, and chopping fire wood for their families.
It’s the laughter of the kids in Sunday school watching their friends act out Bible stories.
It’s the face of the woman I met in the hospital. The face of hunger.
It’s the way rain affects the daily lives of the people here. Rain is needed for water supply and to water their crops, but when it rains, church gets pushed back, assemblies get canceled, and people can’t get to where they are supposed to be.
It’s being sick for a week, not able to do ministry. Just wanting to go home and get better, but being loved on so well by our hosts and the nurses and doctors at this hospital.
It’s the hospitality. I have never felt so welcomed and taken care of. And I have also never struggled so much with trying to find a balance between getting to know people and taking the time I need to refuel for ministry. We have been loved on by more people than I can count. They are willing to sacrifice their own time to love us and care for us. They serve with Christ-like love.
It’s the days we have gone without power and/or water. No rain means limited power. Limited power means limited water.
It’s the 15 cent bags of popcorn that we could walk down the hill and buy.
It’s the roads. The hours of driving on dirt roads bouncing around in the car. Knowing that some people use these roads every single day.
It’s being asked by a family to name their dog. We decided on Buddy.
It’s watching all of the little boys beat the drums, keeping in rhythm to the music. A skill I wish I had.
It’s the day that we spent at the refugee settlement. Seeing the faces of these children who have been displaced from their home.
It’s the snake in our house. Here I am freaking out when this is something the locals have to deal with regularly.
It’s the monkeys that would hang out at our house.
It’s being around so many kids every single day. Watching them sing, dance, and play. Hearing their laughs.
It’s the man who saw me carrying a broken flip flop and chased after me and offered to fix it.
It’s hearing the testimonies of fellow believers. Hearing how God has worked in incredible ways in their lives.
It’s going to church and watching the locals dance their heart out for Jesus. A form of worship that we don’t use very often back in North America.
It’s putting on a skit for schools of 1,000 + kids and making fools of ourselves to hear them laugh.
It’s meeting the nurses and doctors who work in the hospital on the base we are staying at. They give so much to take care of others.
It’s the children who run up to us and give us big hugs as we walk by their homes.
It’s the little boy in the hospital who has a broken leg. Seeing him laugh watching the movie Madagascar.
It’s hearing how many families struggle with unity. Families full of hurt, tension, and fighting asking us for prayer.
It’s my team. Even though we are getting near the end of this journey, we aren’t letting each other settle. We push each other to continually step out of our comfort zones and go to Jesus when we are struggling.
It’s the safari we went on. This country is more beautiful than I can put into words.
It’s all of these little things that made this month one of the hardest, but also one of the best. My heart has been deeply broken. But I have seen Jesus doing some pretty incredible things.
Thank you Uganda. I will miss you.
