PK’s Few Words

“God is in heaven. You are on earth. So let your words be few.” – Ecc. 5:2

What follows is my first newlsetter article after returning to the U.S.

“Did you have a good trip to Africa?”

It’s a straightforward question and one sincerely asked.  So why is it so difficult for me to answer?

Maybe it’s because we may not mean the same thing by “good.”  Normally, when someone asks if I’ve had a good trip, they are asking if it was pleasant or enjoyable, or at least uneventful.  But none of those words really fits with the experience we just encountered.  When in Africa, you see children with bellies distended from malnutrition, people who quite literally are slowly starving, people who live in filth and squalor that is unimaginable unless you’ve seen it for yourself, people who have lived with pain so intense and so prolonged that they are seemingly impervious to any more.  None of those things are “good.”  They are harsh and brutal realities, the kind of thing you want to shield your children from ever seeing.

And yet, I saw something else in Africa, too.  I saw God.

I saw God in the untiring labors of my missionary friend, Alissa Sande and her husband, Pastor Victor.  How do they do that work day after day and not break?  It can only be God.

I saw God in the broken hearts of Americans who refused to let their Ugandan brothers and sisters be ignored, who spent themselves in a furious fit of love, who came back exhausted.  I told them before we left that the price to be paid for going to Uganda would not be measured in dollars and cents.  The real price would be that God would utterly smash their hearts to pieces, and we would have to live the rest of our lives with no recovery.  That is all esoteric preacher-talk until it happens.  Now they understand.

I saw God in the moments – a Ugandan baby asleep in American arms, safe and secure if only for an hour; a patient receiving compassionate care in a world where tenderness was calloused over long ago; a child hearing “I love you” from someone who was yesterday a stranger.  Those moments were powerful.  And plentiful.  I tell you, I saw God.  And that is good.

We’ve scheduled time for TeamUGANDA to give you their thoughts on Aug. 14.  If they are like me, it may take until then just to give words to what they saw and heard and sensed, how they felt and how they are now feeling.  Maybe by then, we can try to answer the question.

We’re back.  The return trip was not easy, but it got us home.  The hardest leg of the flight was not the 17-hour flight from Addis Ababa, Ethiopia to Washington, D.C., but the 1-hour flight from D.C. to Columbia.  It came after a two-hour delay for repairing the aircraft, which did not exactly inspire confidence.  Then the flight was turbulent.  Laura was threatening to rip the armrests off the seat next to mine, so I tried to sound calm and reassuring, but it was a rough flight by all accounts, topped off by a hard and fast landing.  I was glad to make up some of the lost time, but don’t know that I wanted to make it up taxiing to the gate!

It was wonderful to see our families waiting for us.  I saw a few tears, but they were tears of joy.  We had a brief wait for our baggage, prayed together, and we were on our way home, utterly depleted and completely satisfied to have been used by God.

Once home, I took a long, hot bath before distributing a few gifts to the family.  I was determined to stay up until normal bedtime in order to circumvent jetlag, but that didn’t happen.  The fatigue was simply overhwelming.  And, of course, my eyes popped wide open at 3 a.m.  But that was alright with me, since I was preaching this morning and wanted the extra time to prepare myself.  I also had the joy of baptizing two new disciples at the 8:30 service.  One was Ashley Pritchard, whose father was the first convert I baptized here in Barnwell.  The other was my son Jeremy.  He had expressed his faith to me before the Uganda trip, and while I was gone had a moment at SummerSalt when he professed Christ as Lord openly and publicly.  I’m delighted for him.  In a way I had not anticipated, baptizing these new disciples provided a sense of closure for me.  After all, why go half-way around the world to fulfill Jesus’ command to make disciples if we negelct to do so at home?

Throughout the day, people asked me, “How was your trip?”  I cannot answer that in a word, but I try.  It was life-changing.  It was heart-wrenching.  Mind-blowing.  Eye-opening. 

And clarifying.  That may be the most difficult aspect as a pastor.  It’s hard enough to deal with day to day administrative issues or the little brushfires that pop up all the time when you’re in ministry.  But somehow, it is presently impossible for me to care about the temperature in our sanctuary or the weeds in the flower beds.

Which leads me to wonder …  I was curious to discover at the beginning of the trip how mcuh I had forgotten, how easily I had slipped back into my comfortable life and pushed the harsh day-to-day existence of my brothers and sisters into the corners of my mind.  I can’t help but wonder if that will happen again, despite my sincere determination to resist.

Our flight is on Friday, so we have to transition to Entebbe today.  We discovered this morning that there was water … but none that was hot.  I laughed and told Scott that I was glad this happened, so that everyone didn’t think I intentionally misled them about the scarcity of power and water.  We enjoyed a delicious breakfast, and everything ran extremely smoothly as we loaded the taxis to depart.  We got out about 9:30 a.m., only half an hour behind schedule.  That portended good things to come!

The trip was long and dusty.  None of those who had been here before remembered so many dirt roads between Entebbe and Kyenjojo.  There seems to be a lot of road construction, which I suppose is a good thing.  It fit with the reality that there has been so much development in just the last two years.

Originally, our plan was to go to the capital city of Kampala to shop and have lunch, then continue the extra hour to Entebbe.  So we were quite surprised when we reached Kampala and were informed that there had been a change of plans.  We we now going to make the trip all the way to Entebbe, where we had to be checked in to two separate guest houses, rendezvous with the others, eat lunch at 3 p.m., then come back to Kampala for shopping.  When we went to the new guest house, it was simply to spartan for most of the team.  We waited for yet another taxi to take us to the previous guest house for our common lunch.  Several of the Americans just didn’t have enough left in the tank, so passed on the shopping trip.

We left Entebbe about 4:30 and arrived around 6.  If you’ve never traveled in a major African metropolis, there is simply no way to convey the absolute chaos that is their traffic system.  Imagine a city the size of Atlanta, with no major thoroughfares, no traffic signals, and the only rule is that right of way belongs to whoever is first to occupy a space.  Then throw in thousands of pedestrians everywhere, mopeds zooming in and out of traffic wherever they could find a crease, and even a goat or two … well, you really do have to just experience this for yourself.  I-Max would not work to convey the idea, much less words.

When we finally did arrive at the open air market, we had roughly an hour to cram in a week’s worth of pent-up need to shop.  This is one of those markets where the seller tells you the dress you want to buy for your child is 40,000 shillings (c. $16) and your objective is to settle at 20,000 shillings.  I am not a shopper.  I’m the stereotypical male who goes into Wal-Mart because I need a particular item, and I emerge 3 minutes later with that item.  On their birthdays, I actually treat my children to a shopping trip where they choose their own gifts, and they know that 1-2 hours of shopping is a genuine sacrifice on my part, a torture I endure only because of my undying love for them.  But this is different.  I actually like this exchange.  There is some sport to the bargaining, and in the end, even if you get ripped off, you still spent less for a genuine African product than you would have spent in the U.S.  So it’s both fun and safe.

The trip back to our hotel was even more intense than the trip to Kampala.  I didn’t know rush hour lasted until 9 p.m., but then again, if you take all of the chaos I described above, then added the element of darkness, well, I suppose it makes sense.

We discovered that our new accommodations were very much like an American hotel.  Scott and I think that the Airport Guest House is the perfect transition into Africa and this site may be the ideal transition back to being American.

Today was our final day in the field.  Tomorrow morning the vans pull out for an excursion to Kampala before our 30 hour trek begins on Friday.

I hope that when those vans pull out, I am on one.  That would be unlike this morning.  We were getting ready to leave for the medical clinic, and I had possession of Alissa’s computer.  She asked me to leave it in my third floor room, so I took it back upstairs.  When I returned, both vans had pulled out, each of them thinking that I was on the other van.  We all had a good laugh about that at supper tonight, but I put a “buddy system” into effect to ensure it doesn’t happen again.

Actually, I saw a very kind providence in this morning’s departure from the norm.  I wasn’t essential personnel at the medical clinic, and so I had the benefit of returning to the hospital.  I found Brian, the young man burned so severely, sitting up on the side of his bed, sipping at a box of mango juice and eating a handful of dried pineapple.  Someone had successfully connected an IV.  His face lit up to see me, and he was quite talkative for someone in his condition.  I prayed again for our Father to raise him up so that he might tell others of the kindness and mercy of God.  Again, I was requested to pray for others, and happily obliged. It was a great start to the day.  I needed that, since the close of yesterday was so difficult that it robbed me of sleep.  I spent much of the night in prayer for Brian and Ronald.

After the hospital visit, I got to ride around with Pastor Victor and his posse, other workers at God’s Care Ministries.  This was the real Kyenjojo.  Our hotel is sort of a luxury compound that was designed for Ugandan government officials, but occasionally accommodates Americans who just could not function in a typical hotel (think dirt floors and outhouses, and you’ll have the picture).  So we’re a bit sheltered from real life in Kyenjojo.  But being out with Pastor Victor, I got to experience an hour in the marketplace.  There are dozens of small booths that function as stores, and any one of them may sell anything from 50-lb. sacks of flour to concrete, depending on what is available for resell on any given day, I suppose.  So if you are looking for a particular item you have to stop at a number of “stores” to find it.  When the shopping trip was done, we headed for the medical clinic, but there was still one more surprise in store.  Pastor Victor pulled over in front of a small house along a dirt road in the middle of nowhere and beeped his horn.  A woman came to the door and they exchanged a few words.  Then she came out to the car and sold him minutes for his cellphone.

We were happy to wrap up today.  I think we’re all on empty.  The question was whether we even had enough in the tank to cruise to the finish line.  By God’s grace, we made it.  Before we finished, I took the opportunity to just walk around one last time and observe everyone working.  What a sight.  I’m so proud of Team Carolina I could burst.  I’ve had several other members of the team pull me aside to tell me how remarkable they have been.  I beam like a proud papa, even though I have nothing to do with how good they are.

After the medical clinic was wrapped up, I had one more treat in store.  Alissa took us to the home that Gene Kifer had built (with Kirsten and Valerie’s capable assistance, of course).  This was an unbelievable experience.  We drove in a Rav-4 (that has at times on this trip accommodated 11 people) 8.8 kilometers down a dirt road that literally turned into a bike path.  We found a small mud house with a mother and four children.  One of them was a “sponsored” child, who we found walking home from school.  She was dressed in her school uniform.  Her smaller brother and two sisters, however, were not so blessed.  Their clothes were old and tattered.  But people from PA had sent shoes and socks, and a tub full of other treats.  And a member from SC had donated mosquito nets.  The family was stunned.  As we stood there handing out these gifts, two other children walked by wearing nothing but T-shirts that were not fit for grease rags.  We invited them to come, too, and I had the joy of giving these two girls some second hand clothes from my own daughters.  Five of the seven children standing there had distended bellies from malnutrition.  It took everything in me not to weep.  But again, I see God’s kindness.  A church member in SC, a senior saint on a fixed income, has asked to sponsor a child, and now she had just walked right up to us as if led there by God’s own hand.

So, it has been a perfectly fitting conclusion to this trip.  God’s goodness seen even in the midst of an epic struggle, joy found in the midst of misery like a flower growing through asphalt.

As we sit here after supper, completely spent, I’m already looking forward to 2013.

At devotions this morning, Pastor Scott said he thought this might be the toughest day.  The initial adrenaline is depleted.  Monday came after a Sabbath refreshing.  Wednesday will be our last day in the field, and so it’s easy to see the finish line.  Tuesday, he said, would be the day when we might really struggle and be more keenly aware of our need to rely on God’s strength.

I took his words to heart, though I felt at first that he may be proven wrong.  I seemed to breeze through the first of the day.  Things at the medical and dental clinic were humming right along.  Yet again, each team was working well together.  And yet again, they were a model of efficiency and competence, seeing extraordinary numbers of people and accomplishing more good than anyone could ever have hoped for.  Both Pastor Scott and myself added to our resumes with a new position – traffic cop.  We had to prioritize those people who had arrived yesterday but could not be seen, and still keep those who had come today in some semblance of order.  But all in all, even that went well.  When lunch arrived at 2, we were actually ahead of schedule, and even wrapped up a few minutes early.

Laura had expressed an interest in visiting again with Brian, the young man who was burned so badly.  We arrived at the medical center around 6.  If possible, the place was even filthier than yesterday.  The air was rancid with the smell of urine and feces.  I said yesterday that it was more like a garage than a hospital, but that’s really too kind.  Perhaps a barn better captures the feel of it.  And if it were a barn, the stalls needed mucking out.

We went to Brian’s bed to discover that not one thing had changed in the 24 hours since we had been there previously.  Juice that had been provided for him was missing.  The water that had been left was untouched.  His wounds were still untreated.  He was still lying on a filthy rubber mattress that was unfit for a doghouse, much less a hospital.  He was a truly wretched sight.

Thank God for the depth of Laura’s compassion for this man.  Through her persistence, his bed and his body were washed.  He received fresh bed linens, a new blanket and clean clothes.  And what of his care?  Well, it turns out that in Uganda, a patient has to have a “caretaker,” someone to feed him, clothe him, change his bed and clothes, etc.  We consider that part of health care, an obligation upon the hospital to provide for the patient.  In Uganda, that is not the case.  Usually, the caretaker is a relative.  So we made arrangements to run radio advertisements in his home village, seeking a relative.  But for tonight, Laura was his caretaker.  She obtained permission to clean and dress his wounds.  She gave him painkillers and antibiotics.  And she attempted an IV, but Brian was so dehydrated that this proved impossible.  Laura took that very hard, and I understand.  But I hope she will not let our adversary take the one thing she was unable to do and rob her of the satisfaction that she did ten things no one else would do.  Laura may not know why God sent her to Africa, but Brian knows.

I again had the opportunity to pray with other patients.  As I stood by Brian’s bedside, praying for the success of the third and final IV attempt, Peter said that I had been requested to come to the children’s ward.  I went, and was invited to the bedside of a one year old who was malnourished and frail.  His name is Ronald.  He is dying of AIDS.  I assumed the lady at the bedside was his mother, but was told she was his grandmother.  Ronald’s mother had “left him.”  I do not know if that means she abandoned him or died of AIDS herself.  As I prayed for him, he looked at me with large eyes deeply recessed into his skull.  It was not the look of a one-year-old.  It was the haunting look of a weatherbeaten old man.  I will never forget it.

And so, at the end of the day, I confess that I do not understand.

I do not understand the ways of man.  I do not understand the depths of depravity that would allow a mob to attempt burning a 17-year-old boy to death.

I do not understand the ways of Uganda.  How can he lie in a “hospital” unattended?

And I do not understand the ways of God.  Why does He not intervene on behalf of these multitudes who are suffering?  Why would He not grant my plea that the IV would be successful?  Why would a baby spend the entire span of his brief life in the process of dying?  I truly do not understand.  His thoughts are not my thoughts, and His ways are not my ways.  They are beyond my comprehension.

And yet, though I do not understand, I am certain at the core of my being that these things cannot be void of purpose and meaning.  And though I do not understand my Father’s purposes, I am completely certain that they are good.  I know that He will, in a way that only He can do and in a way that only He may understand, bring good out of all this wretchedness.  I do not understand.  But I do trust.

June 27

Today’s blog will be difficult, and probably brief.  That’s not due to a lack of material about which to write, but because there is so much to say I hardy know where to begin, and because I’ve found today impossible to process.  It may take some time to sort out all that happened and how I feel about it.  I think that’s the case for all of us.  But I can at least make a beginning.

First, I am truly grateful that yesterday was a day of worship and rest.  We needed both to be able to accomplish what was done today.  We arrived at the medical clinic shortly after 8 a.m.  A crowd had already assembled.  Interestingly, I remembered some of the people from two years ago.  We tried to conduct an orderly registration process, but that proved impossible.  People would not wait in line to receive a number.  Instead they all rushed the registration table and jockeyed and clamored for position.  I felt perturbed at first, for it seemed that they were acting like unruly children.  Then I realized that it was something else – they were acting like completely desperate people, some of whom had walked for hours, who wanted to be sure they saw a doctor.  I felt ashamed of my harsh judgment and the spirit behind it.

Pastor Scott and I again prayed for those waiting to be seen.  I have had many opportunities to share the good news about Jesus.  I tell the people that I am willing to pray for them individually, and that it was our hope that God would use the medical care to bring health to their bodies.  But I tell them we also came to provide spiritual care, and that it was my greatest hope that they would be made whole in spirit, because health for our bodies lasts for this life only, but health for our souls is eternal.  Some receive the message eagerly.  Others seem, not disinterested, but perhaps numb.  Their suffering is so pervasive, so intense, they can focus on nothing but the prospect of relief.  This time, I managed to stave off my judgmental inclinations.

The medical clinic was a marvel.  Laura did triage, Debby and Greg saw patients, Carol, Brenda and Coni dispensed whatever drugs were prescribed.  I’m completely out of my element, and I’m drawn to each individual case.  I’m bewildered by cases of AIDS, syphilis, tuberculosis …  Debby and Greg are medical professionals.  They move with efficiency and don’t get bogged down.  Two years ago, they broke ground on the Albert and Mary McFarland Memorial Medical Center.  Now Greg and Debby are the first to actually practice in the medical center funded by and named in memory of Debby’s parents.  To be part of that is really special.

We had one of those moments today that brought home the reality that we are in a different world.  After providing an injection to a young lady, Laura was accidentally stuck by the dirty needle.  We prayed.  She was taken to the hospital where the young lady was tested for HIV, and the results were negative.  We thank God for this, but will continue praying until we’re back in the States and she has a full infectious disease screening.

A dentist came today, too, paid for by God’s Care Ministries.  Cindy and Keli have done a wonderful job as dental hygienists, but the problems are too extensive in many cases.  Belinda has been tireless and invaluable as their assistant, and Katie, Steph, Kirsten and Valerie are truly remarkable.   In fact, when a torrential rain came with gusting winds that made us wonder if Uganda had monsoons, the dentist wanted to leave, but our volunteers were stalwarts.

The hardest part of the day came toward the end.  Two days ago, Alissa discovered a man by the side of the road, badly burned over his upper torso.  He was the victim of an attempted murder after having been accused of stealing food.  We had taken him to the local medical center.  Laura had helped provide triage care for him, and provided water and juice for him until he could be transported to a larger hospital to receive adequate care.  This afternoon, she learned that the man was still at the medical center.  So she packed up bandages and ointments for his wounds.  She wanted to take them to him as we returned to the hotel.  I went too, concerned that she not go alone.  When we arrived, I saw the reason for her concern.

The medical center was a dark and dirty bunker of a building, more like a garage with filthy stalls.  There was no doctor on site.  There were two nurses who led us to the man’s bed.  No one had even bothered to give him the water and juice.  Essentially, they were leaving him alone to die.  Laura was outraged and justifiably so, but she did a good job of containing her emotions as she insisted that the man be cared for.  A doctor in a nearby town was called, who said he would receive treatment tomorrow.  What a stark contrast – this trained nurse from America who cares deeply for this stranger, and the Ugandans who seem to have dealt with this kind of situation so long that they have lost their compassion.  I simply felt helpless.  I did all I know to do – I prayed.

Father, I pray again for Brian.  Please move upon the hearts of those who can provide care for him to do all that they can do to relieve his suffering.  And please provide comfort and care for Moses, for Patrick, and for Steven.  They seem so alone here.  Please be present with them.  Draw near to them, and draw them near to you.

June 25

Today at the medical clinic, Belinda asked if I had a moment to talk to Kirsten.  She pointed to where I could find her, beside the clinic shielded from the crowd by the generator.  She was crying so hard she shook.  Her hands trembled as she tried to wipe away the tears.  For a moment, I just stood beside her, put my arm over her shoulder and shared her tears.  When we were sufficiently composed, we prayed.  We talked, but only briefly, because there really wasn’t much to say.  Even if you aren’t crushed by the individual needs – the man with severe burns, the woman with a dying child – eventually you’re overwhelmed by the relentless stream of people who are sick, wounded, hurting, in pain of every kind.  Sooner or later the dam breaks.  A strangely, God lives in that moment.

June 26

At 10:30, we were transported to the aqua blue church which we can see from our hotel.  It is God’s Care Ministries Church, pastored by our host, Victor Sande.  The early service was supposed to be finished, but this is Uganda, so it continued after our arrival for 45 minutes.  We were warmly welcomed, escorted to our front row seats, recognized and greeted with applause.  It was far more fanfare than any of us desired, but this is Uganda, and that is how they show hospitality.

Pastor Scott and I each brought greetings from the U.S.  We have both been treated as dignitaries here.  The title of pastor may have lost its shine back home, but this is Uganda.  Here, we are compelled to sit in the front seat.  Pastor Scott piled into the back of the Rav4 and almost caused an international incident!  And everyone uses the title when addressing us.  Even Alissa does not refer to her husband as Vistor, but as “Pastor.”

At the services, Valerie represented TeamUGANDA (here, I suppose, it’s TeamCAROLINA).  She spoke briefly, but beautifully.  She told the people of Kyenjojo that although everyone had said what a great blessing we were to them, in truth they were the greatest blessing to us.  She closed with these words: “I am proud to say I now have two homes.”  As apples of gold set in frames of silver, so are words fitly spoken.  Those words were perfect.  I was proud, too.  Proud of this young lady.

This afternoon, we had some down time.  We drove 45 minutes to a place where we saw baboons.  We saw the alpha male, several females carrying babies on their backs, and others that walked right up to the vehicle hoping we had bananas.  Now that’s a first – a car dodging monkeys in the street.  But … this is Uganda.

June 23

In his heart, a man makes his plans, but it is the LORD who directs his path.

I know these words are universally true, but somehow they seem truer in Africa, where people are not encumbered in the slightest by the American ideals of efficiency and punctuality.

Take today, for instance.  Here was the plan we made in our hearts:  eat an early breakfast, transition from Entebbe to Kyenjojo by 1 p.m., eat a light lunch, meet with local health officials, organize supplies and set up for the medical clinic that begins tomorrow, return to the hotel for supper, and have some down time with other members of God’s Care Ministries like Pastor Victor, Alissa, Peter, Godfrey and Moses.

That was the plan.  This is the path God unfolded: Get to Kyenjojo.

The taxi vans that Alissa ordered for 7:30 a.m. to insure they arrived by 9 actually arrived around noon.  The 4 hours it normally takes to make the 170 mile trip then took closer to 7 hours.  One of the vans broke down and required repair, so they took an hour longer.  We stopped twice along the way for restroom breaks, but the ladies just could not warm themselves to using the men’s facility – a wall with a drainage trough.  So, supper came around 8:30, an hour after it was already dark, and the decision was made to try again bright and early tomorrow.

And so we made more plans in our hearts.

June 24

We had a wonderful supper last night, followed by a good night’s sleep and a breakfast of boiled eggs, fruit, sausage, toast and tea.  So far we’ve had consistent electricity and water, even hot water!  Those who were here two years ago can’t believe the improvements in utilities.  Those who weren’t here two years ago think we were just playing with them when we described bathing with a gallon of warm water from a jerry can.  The ladies joke that they want to be pampered when they get home, so I should not let their families know they’ve been so pampered here.

We’re headed off in different directions today.  One crew left early this morning to organize the medical clinic.  We are to see sponsored children today and tomorrow before the clinic is opened to the public on Monday.  Belinda, Laura and I will be at the clinic today.

Valerie and Kirsten are working with Gene Kifer building a mud house.  I can tell they’re a little tired of all the parental admonitions (“Stay close to Gene.” “Don’t go exploring.” “Wear sunblock.”).  But these are such sweet and good young ladies, they simply smile and say yes to humor us, then give each other that knowing look.

1 p.m.

I was doing so well.  I was strong, I was confident that I knew the score in Uganda and it would not get to me this time.  Then I came to the clinic and God brought it all back to me like opening a floodgate.  I see again, as I saw before, the kind of poverty and despair that boggles the mind.  It’s such a paradox.  How can this land be so rich and these people so poor, so destitute.

Speaking of paradoxes, how can my heart be so broken and so full at the same time?  How can I feel such overwhelming compassion for the plight of these people and be so full of joy?

The brokenness is easy to understand.  I have so much.  They do not have little, they have nothing.  How can that be?  Three times today, I had to step away and find a moment of solitude because I couldn’t keep the tears back any longer and I didn’t want them to think the muzungu had lost his mind.  How in the name of all that’s decent and humane did I manage to push these gut-wrenching scenes somewhere into the shadows of my heart?

The joy?

Part of it is personal.  As I tell the good news to those in our makeshift “waiting room” (a tarp stretched over small poles hacked from the woods), as I pray for the sick and anoint them with oil, as I touch heads with a child and pray for his well-being, I feel so complete, so centered in the very purpose for which I know God deigned me.  As I work my way through the crowds of people, simply blessing them in the name of the Lord or being playful with a child, I have never been more certain that I am, in that moment, doing the will of God.  I am one with the Father and one with my brothers and sisters.

And part of my joy is pastoral.  God allowed me to witness what I believe was a holy moment today.  Greg Chambers looked up between patients and asked Laura, who is doing triage, “Are we making a difference?”  She responded, “Actually, Greg, I’ve never felt so ….”  When her voice just trailed off, he finished her sentence: “Helpless?”  “Yes,” she said, “helpless.”  It may seem strange that this would bring me joy, but the pastor in me rejoices to see God at work, and I am never more sure that God is at work than when He reveals our helplessness to us, when He breaks our hearts so that He can then truly shape us into the image of Christ.  When our hearts are broken by what breaks the heart of God, the potential for good is unlimited.  It is only when we realize our helplessness that we find our help in God, only when we know we are weak that we know His strength is made perfect on our weakness.  “Where does my help come from?  My help comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth.”

And part of that joy is … well, I suppose it’s pride.  But it’s at least the right kind of pride, I hope.  Watching Pastor Scott speak to children in the prayer tent; watching people pitch in and serve wherever they are needed (cleaning teeth, dispensing drugs, running registration, interacting with children, sweeping floors, moving boxes … whatever) with no sense of self at all, but only a sense of just being happy to serve — that brings me joy.  I do so love seeing the body of Christ be the body of Christ.

9 p.m.

Complete exhaustion and complete happiness.  The clinic today was supposed to be for sponsored children, but others heard and came from miles around.  How do you turn away someone who walked four hours so that a baby with malaria could be treated?  So we stayed late until it was close to sunset.  Even then, we had to take the names of those we could not see and put them in the que for first treatment tomorrow.

Supper was sumptuous.  How do you process working all day with people who are on the verge of starvation and then come back to a buffet of beef, chicken, and fish?  We shared the highlights of our day.  I spoke of two: praying with the sick and taking time hear and there to watch God at work in and through others.  It is so sweet to see Jesus at work in His people.  I love them for it.  I love him for it.

June 25

Today is my grandson’s fourth birthday.  On this same day four years ago, we met our four newest children for the first time (becoming parents and grandparents on the same day!).  Yet here I am, half a world away.  How do I feel about that.  The truth is, I’m fine with it.  I hope they will be, too.  I’m fine with it because I see these children of Uganda as my children.  I want to raise my children to see them as their brothers and sisters.  I don’t want them to think of me as absent from them, but rather present with the rest of our family.

You should have seen them today.  Somehow, they seem to know how I love them.  They come up to me, take my hand, put an arm around me, sit on my lap, make funny faces … they act like my kids.  And it’s not just m, of course.  It’s all of us.  I know we’ve all had that moment when a child (or several of them) seemingly appeared out of thin air and shyly made eye contact.  Then, with the least little encouragement – a smile, a wave, a nod, a look – pressed their way into our arms or laps.  Would that they had stopped there, but they seem discontent until they have squirmed their way into our hearts.

My favorite sight today?  I took a little boy by both hands and danced with him just for a second to some music that was playing in the background.  When I stopped, he kept going.  He caught the eye of Katie Port, who was working with the dental clinic.  She started dancing on the porch of the medical clinic where she was stationed, and he was on the ground below matching her move for move.  She raised her hands, he raised his.  She made a face, he made it, too.  It was sheer joy right smack in the middle of such serious and heart-rending work.  I laughed until I cried.

There are other scenes here that have nothing to do with the children or our work here.  Seeing the clouds before dawn that were not varying shades of midnight blue, but rather deep black and gray with pink highlights; a man transporting a full-sized coffin balanced on the back of his bicycle; four cars in two lanes (and four coming from the other direction!); the black dirt, the green hills … it really is stunningly beautiful.  And there are the smells – the smells of people who have different standards than we do, the fish in the marketplace, the constant oaky smell of burning.  And there are the sounds – children singing in the early morning, roosters crowing, cows mooing.  All of this is a reminder.  This is Africa.

We landed in Entebbe.  I can’t describe the sense of excitement and anticipation.  I’m wondering how those feel who are setting foot on African soil for the very first time.

We were wondering if we would have to pay a duty on the mosquito nets we brought.  Instead, an airport official approached me, asked what was in the tubs, then asked if I was with a group, and he whisked us away without ever passing through the lines and scanners.

In the main area of the airport, we found the smiling faces of Victor and Alissa.  How wonderful to see them again.  We loaded all of our cases onto the roof rack of a van, and were on our way within minutes.  We returned to the Airport Guest House, the same place we stayed two years ago.  I love this place.  It is so African, and yet so accommodating to Americans.  We enjoyed a wonderful supper of squash soup and barbecued fish, beef and pork.  Those who thought we might lose a pound or two were quickly disabused of such a notion.

I’m rooming with Scott Hauser, the pastor of Clarion First Presbyterian Church.  He’s a gifted and dedicated man of God.  We both woke up at 6 a.m., and spent several hours in conversation.  I’m really looking forward to spending more time with him, and know already that this will be one of the highlights of this trip for me.

Today we will move from Entebbe to Kyenjojo.  We’re all ready to get to work after a good night of rest.

8:10 p.m., Addis Ababa

It feels magnificent to be in Africa again.  I’ve spent the last 13 hours sitting next to Mary and her daughter Leah.  They live in Las Vegas.  Mary is returning to see her parents in Ethiopia for the first time in 6 years.  It will be the first time that Leah and her grandparents have actually met.

When we landed, all of the Africans on the plane applauded.  I asked Mary if this was an African custom.  “Yes,”she said, “We are giving thanks to God for safe travel and for returning us home.”  And so I applauded, too.