This is my third trip to Uganda and I am so impressed with all three teams who came.  I am particularly proud of the three women I am working alongside this trip.  Two are young enough to be my daughter and one looks like she could be, so I am now “father” to all three.  More than one person along the way has asked about Leslie, DeAndra and Danielle assuming they are daughters of mine.  One man told another in my hearing that I needed special courtesy since I was traveling with my three daughters.  I think it was a compliment, but I am not for sure.

These women have undergone some interesting travel for long hours with joy.  They are interacting with a culture we have no connection to in our home.  They are sharing the hope that resides in their hearts without reservation.  On the flight from Dulles to Addis Ababa, Danielle and DeAndra were occupied attending to an ancient woman who could not speak English, but who needed consistent help or attention during the twelve-hour flight.  It was humbling to witness to collegiates so naturally step up to serve a stranger, on a strange airline, en route to a strange land.

[Fact break:  On Ethiopia Airlines after the meal is served, ambulatory individuals are invited to the galley to serve themselves whatever they wish.  If some water is needed, get up and retrieve it.  Beer, wine, sandwich?  The same; you may ask for directions, but the flight attendants are only expected to point and verbally direct.  It was kind of fun to have the run of the kitchen on a Boeing 777]

We visited a friend today in Namuwongo, a poor neighborhood in Kampala.  Most of the town is a slum beyond description.  Not even pictures or video do justice to the poverty.  The confluence of open sewage, homemade alcohol (“hooch”), burning garbage and charcoal braziers is not an awful smell, it is just a completely unfamiliar and often confusing odor.

We were privileged to go out into the neighborhood, weaving our way through the narrow alleyways and sharing the love of God through Jesus with those who would allow us to speak to them.  We had the privilege of witnessing Esther, Edison and Betty become  followers of Jesus and we had two more first-time additions to the Namuwongo congregation.

We were especially encouraged that our dear Pastor Thomas is moved out of the slum area.  His family now lives in a modest three room apartment that most Americans would consider a poor excuse for a garage.  He pays his rent in full and on time, but his landlord often does not pay the electric bill so Pastor Thomas’ family goes without the three lights and two outlets in the home.  Yet Pastor Thomas is happy to be away from the constant bacteria transmitted by the open sewer and the malaria transmitted by the mosquitoes breeding literally less than 50 feet away from his old apartment.

John, who I believe to be Pastor Thomas’ youngest son, sang for us all when we went to visit.  He performed several sacred selections and then sang a song about food.

Without food we can not grow,

Without food we can not sleep,

Without food we can not play,

Without food we can not sing,

Without food we can not stand,

Without food we can not learn…

It was beautifully done, complete with supporting song-motions.  These are the moments when I am barely able to be present.  He was a five-year old child, small by American standards, a discarded infant “onesie” for his shirt singing earnestly about the simple importance of food.  I know for a fact this child has experienced hunger even though his father is a righteous man, working two jobs.

I was also challenged by Pastor Thomas’ welcome into his home.  He introduced himself as if we all didn’t already know him.  He insisted we each introduce ourselves, then he proceeded to welcome us in a prayer-song, then a prayer.  If we did not already know he was a servant of Jesus, we knew it after “hello” was said.  It got me to wondering if anyone would ever visit me at my home if I did the same.  I asked the team, they agreed such behavior would seem crazy in America.  I think they are correct, yet my heart wants my guest to be equally warmly received and challenged by the magnificent love of Jesus.

Tomorrow is worship in Namuwongo again followed by a love-feast.*  This ought to be good!

*The love feast is an ancient Christian practice of celebrating the Lord’s table in the context of a meal.  It would be during the regular partaking of something akin to a “potluck” that the pastor or elder or bishop of the church would celebrate “communion” with the parishioners and all would go home well-fed.  We will be doing something vaguely resembling that practice.