I didn’t realize the full weight of burden that I was
carrying on behalf of all the young girls I met in Isebania,
Kenya until I came to Uganda and
faced with the same ministry of one-to-one counseling with students, I
absolutely broke down. I couldn’t carry another load. I couldn’t shoulder
another burden. I couldn’t do any of
these things.
Uganda
was a strange month. Our ministry never looked the same two days in a row. We
never knew what to expect. Ugandan time is very different than any other
concept of time I have ever functioned under in that, they simply didn’t have
one- a concept of time that is. So often times when things were “set” at a
certain time, they were inevitably subject to change.
I cannot really quantify or describe the “ministry” we did
last month in Uganda. But what I can say is that my team developed a deeper and sincere
love for one another in Uganda.
We laughed more last month that we did the previous month. We were flexible. We
did what was asked of us by our contacts without grumbling or complaining. We
learned patience on a deeper level. We developed memories that will not easily
be forgotten. We celebrated my 27th birthday as a family; the way I
would celebrate with my family at home- eating Mexican food! We thoroughly
enjoyed our relationship with our contact, Rev. Samuel and his family, mutually
blessing one another.
One of my favorite days on the World Race also occurred
while we were in Africa. . . .
It was cooler this morning than previous ones. The clouds
were billowing and dark gray. Thunder pounded in the distance. We pulled our
work trousers and tennis shoes. The van came to pick us; only one hour late
today! We would still be “on time”. We drove to a tiny village on the outskirts
of Budo (the area of Kampala
we were in). When we got there members of the village had already started to
gather. A patch of dirt on a hill had been cleared of its vegetation. They were
ready for us. Grandmothers in their traditional dresses with conventional hoes,
hoisted them over their heads and brought them crashing onto the soft dirt. We
began by digging deep, narrow holes. Several times we had to halt our work and
take cover as the rain clouds billowed in and rolled through the valley.
After twelve holes were dug in three rows of four, we began
chopping tree trunks into posts with our machetes. Once all the posts were
uniform in length the burying and packing of dirt began. We worked side by side
with the people of the village. By now even larger crowds had begun to gather;
children and adults; the strong and the very old. We could not speak the same
tongue but there was a common language between us, most often communicated
through our laughs and smiles. The posts were planted firmly and cross beams
were being laid. Tied and nailed into place on top of the posts. At this point,
I removed myself from the work. An ill, but beautiful African girl about 2
years old found her way into my arms. She wouldn’t let me put her down. So I
observed the construction from the sidelines as I played hand clapping games
and sang songs and prayers over this little one. Finally, the last step; the
roof- a tarp was being laid across the cross beams and tied into place. This
was to act as a roof and make-shift protection from the elements. Before the
last corner was even tightly secured, the village people began to bring from
seemingly no where, benches, plastic chairs and tables. We gathered under the
tarp as singing and worship broke loose. The pastor came and spoke a blessing
over this land. One of my team members prayed and consecrated this area to the
Lord. And we, the church, had church. We had a church. This is how Light of the
Valley Church was born.
photos by Jeanne Bensch
