Friday, July 25, 2014

Friday: Significant

Today I have a 7:00 am Skype date with Presley and Ashley!

These girls are my tribe. I cannot speak highly enough of them. They love The Lord and love people so well. Praying with two of my best friends from oceans and time zones away is too beautiful to describe.

In desperate need of coffee, I drag myself to the kitchen and boil some water for the French press. Pushing the press thing down is one of the most fulfilling things in the world, am I right?! I love it!

Every Friday I read Ezekiel 37, the valley of dry bones, and pray these words over my lost friends.

“Then he said to me, “Prophesy over these bones, and say to them, O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus says the Lord God to these bones: Behold, I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live.” -Ezekiel 37:4-5

Long sleeves on a Friday…there’s only one place I could be going.

As I walk down to the main road to catch a taxi to town, I lift my eyes just in time to see a purple petal fall from its tree ahead. I praise God for allowing me to be a part of this moment. He knew this would make me smile and consider the beauty in the seemingly insignificant , and so He let me see it. Isn’t God good like that? I believe He is highly involved in every single moment of our lives, even the ones that don’t seem to matter. It’s all part of the story He’s writing, and it all leads to His glory.

I climb into the back of the taxi and I’m overcome with relief that I didn’t get stuck in the seat where the conductor sits on you. I am not a fan of that seat. I greet the woman next to me, and quickly realize she’s in a hurry. I have never heard so many sassy tongue clicks in one hour. She is not happy with how often we’re stopping to pick up more passengers. 

We finally arrive in town, and I walk until I can find a boda who won’t charge a ridiculous amount. Here is the conversation I had (partially in Luganda…yeah!!!) with the boda man.

Me: I’m going to ______

Him: You give me 3000

Me: No, I have 1000

Him: That’s little money, at least add 1000. It’s very far.

Me: Ssebo, I can see the place from here. It’s not very far.

Him: You can see the place? Uh huh, where?

Me: Okay, it’s behind that building!

Him: You add.

Me: You want to charge me mzungu price. I don’t want.

Him: 2000, that is the price. That is the price for white people, for Bugandas, for Acholis, for Mtorros… (this part was all in Luganda! Score for understanding his sassy joke!!)

Me: (Laughing) Okay, we go.

After arriving at my destination, I meet up with some friends and practice greeting them in their traditional words, of “Peace be upon you.” We catch up and laugh as we wait for time to pass.

The next hour is spent praying Ezekiel 37 over a mass of women who are desperate for new life.

I grab a banana and some pumpkin seeds for lunch on my way to Namuwongo.

Silvester and I make the trek to Oliver’s house, Uniquely Woven contract in hand. They are knocking down all the homes within a certain distance of the railroad tracks in Namuwongo and displacing so many people, Oliver’s family included. Uniquely Woven is taking 8 months pregnant Oliver into our program and helping her move to a new home.

Now we head down the tracks to the bar where Sarah lives. Sarah and her six year old daughter will also be moving into the new home with Oliver. (For more information on how to help us provide a fresh start to these mamas, visit Official stuff like this is not my favorite, but luckily Silvester likes it. He explains the contract in Luganda, while I play with Sheila, Sarah’s daughter.

Sheila thinks I’m fluent in Luganda, and talks 100 mph. She doesn’t even realize I’m only responding to 1 out of 50 things she says.

Silvester and I spend the next two hours walking around trying to find this rental house we had been to once, and we were really lost. He asks me to carry his maize (basically crunchier corn on the cob!) in my backpack, and that is just really funny to me. I wish I had a picture of that corn on top of all my books.

At 6:00, I roll up to church on a boda for prayer night. I sit on a hard wooden pew and thank God for this place. Pastor Jameson calls the five of us to gather together to spend time in prayer before everyone else arrives. When Mama Pastor (how precious is it that they call Pastor Jameson’s wife Mama Pastor?) comes in, we are all served rice and cabbage, with tea and bananas. This is communion, I think. I am sitting in a concrete church building with strangers-become-family, sharing in a meal and prayer. In moments like these, my eyes are wide. I look at the bowl of cabbage in my lap, and my Ugandan family gathered around, and my mind races with all the seemingly insignificant moments that have brought me to this point. I think of how I was in second grade when some missionary I will probably never meet started Muyenga Baptist Church. I think of my thirteen year old self deciding I wanted to go to Uganda. I look at the church members around me, and wonder at their stories. Some of them are from other parts of Uganda, and some from Congo. I think of my sixteenth birthday and my brand new passport in hand. I look at Pastor Jameson and thank God for saving him not so many years ago, when he was in the midst of darkness. I think of being on the phone with my mom at eighteen, purchasing a ticket to Uganda. I look at The Lord and thank Him for the way He works all things together for good.

No comments:

Post a Comment