While sifting through some files, I found an unposted blog from my brief visit in Uganda last April with Joy Robertson before our month-long journey together in South Sudan. Reading my reflection on this visit brought tears to my eyes and joy to my heart. I hope you enjoy this, even if it ten months late.
*Originally written 4/30/12
**All photo credit goes to Joy Robertson
***
I saw an incomparable picture of Heaven yesterday.
I woke up in Uganda. The long journey on planes and taxis ending in a breathtaking display of rolling green hills and exotic birds singing to one another. Everything in my heart leaping, we dressed and readied for church with Joy’s Ugandan parents.
After what is only able to be described as an African situation, we were finding our way across the city on different buses. Another uniquely African experience was having the employees at the guesthouse loan us their own money so we wouldn’t have to worry about exchanging cash in town, and also one of them volunteering to escort us until we found our final bus.
I boarded the taxi near the road. So many memories assailed me as my eyes refreshed everything my memory had lost. The smell of exhaust, the shredded upholstery of a matatu, and the iron bar that runs the length of the windows inside. I forgot the inconvenience of having to unboard every time someone at the back of the bus reached their stop.
After nearly two hours of travel, we reach the spot where we are supposed to meet Joy’s World Race contatcs, Diefus and his children, Praise and Adonai. As I struggle to make change with the matatu cashier and some local boda drivers, I see two small children running towards Joy and then jump into her arms.
I walk over to where they are. As beautiful and thrilling as if we had a shared chapter of our lives written together, they lept into my arms, too. After Diefus took care of the change issue, buying Joy and I much-needed bottles of water, we were headed to the church. I was overwhelmed with unspeakable joy.
But this was only the beginning.
What happened at the church I am at a loss to convey. I find a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes as I think back to it.
Diefus turned down a beautiful road, emerald grass and red dirt, pulling up to the land he owned. On this land is the partial culmination of a vision God gave him years ago. Here, a school he has built for the community, to help children who came from terrible homes to get free education. And a church, to inspire all people of the congregation to launch into ministry. One week a month, he preaches. The next week, one of the women of the congregation preaches. The next week, one of the men. The next week, one of the youth. His vision is for his entire community to enter the ministry by having the chance to start at church.
And, out of place in this haven, at the far corner of the land, there is a very small, broken shipping container.
Diefus, his wife, and his three children, live in it.
Because when they had the funds, building a house for God was more important than building a house for themselves. When they had the opportunity to help themselves, helping the less fortunate was their priority.
They pray daily for the funds to come so that they can live in a real house. But they do not hold their homeless status against God. Rather, they praise Him for entrusting them with the job of building His Kingdom in a small community called Seeta, outside Mukono.
The church doors are open and the distinct sound of Africa worship is bringing the land to life. Mable and some of Joy’s friends from the church are waiting for us to arrive. Once we pull up and step out of the car, the little dirt road is filled with the sound of shouting.
In a moment, in a whirling blaze, I’m surrounded. And then I’m enveloped. Arms from bodies I’ve never seen capture me. A child around my stomach, a woman collapses on my shoulders, covering my face with kisses. Beside her, another woman cries, her finger flicking her mouth in distinctive ululation, wailing joy in my ear. The women dance, the children cling, and everyone shouts their welcome.
I’m so overwhelmed my heart catches in my throat and I can hardly speak. My smile splits my face, and I try feebly to return the abundance of joy spoiled on me. I wonder if they’ve forgotten that I’ve never even met them? That I know no one’s name at all? I wonder if they have mistaken me as one of Joy’s teammates, one of her squadmates, one who has been branded by their names and stories? Before I can entertain much thought, Joy and I are being whisked away, led by our fingers and elbows and full-on body hugs towards the small church.
The land pulses with praise and pulls all of creation into it’s dance. As I near the open iron door, the sun shines so brightly I can see nothing inside, but the contents are the beating heart of what animates this land, making it sing and twirl in glory.
I squint my eyes as the dirt fades to concrete and we enter the building.
In the middle of the worship, in the middle of praising God, in the middle of the dance, all eyes turn to us. Every child, every adult, upon seeing Joy and I enter the building, hit us with the same response:
They scream.
And Heaven crashes through the ceiling, and my heart falls on the floor.
They rush into my arms, holding me, kissing me, blessing me, thanking me. The little kids don’t stop screaming. It sounds like the kind of scream I’ll have when I see Jesus. Pure, filterless, undignified joy. I have never felt so honored in all my life.
Today, I had a reunion with people I have never met that was every bit as precious as any I’ve ever had with my family, and not one hug, one tear, one “I love you” was wasted or misunderstood or unappreciated. Today, my heart was fuller than maybe it has ever been, and every touch, smile, and kiss squared that, cubed that, increased it to the 100th power. My body was so weary of holding the weight of my bursting heart, I felt like I held all of Heaven within it’s depths. Every yearning to release this beautiful burden fell upon me, and I understood what it meant when the Roman church first heard that all creation waits patiently for the Sons and Daughters of God to be revealed upon the earth.
And in a way I can’t explain, my heart broke open and I saw Heaven in it’s purest form. The entire worship service, I cried. Through the sermon, I wept. By the dim, flickering florescent light in a dark, concrete room, I saw the most ethereal lights. Blazing smiles, hearts on fire, blaring voices mended into Lugandan harmony. The smell of sweat churned for God was a fragrant offering to Him, their stained clothes more precious than the finest Sunday best. And I saw Heaven come to earth. Perfect, perfect joy high enough to never touch the earth, sweet enough to set every aspect of my whole being into complete peace.
Today, I saw heaven in the arms of God’s children in a place called Mukono.
