Will wonders never cease? Pastor Hummer is on time! He said to come at 8:30 and lo and behold, 8:30 on the dot he comes marching in hugging everyone with that big infectious lovable smile plastered on his face.
Today will be a good day.
I simply love mornings here in Uganda. It’s bright and breezy, and the birds are singing quietly from the treetops, and today I’m not pukey. It’s a fabulous morning.
There is a couple here who appear to be adopting two children, and watching them is making me jealous. I want to take home some children too.
I have 44 mosquito bites. I counted.
I can’t do this day. I simply do not know how on earth I am going to get through this day. I don’t know how to handle it. I am very daunted and not ready for it.
I told this to Sue and she said, “You know what? What’s exactly where a missionary should be.” I guess that’s true, because it is when I can’t do it that I am forced to rely fully on God. But that doesn’t change the fact that I want to close my eyes and only open them when today is over.
I love it here in Africa. I love it to death. But I’m just struggling. You can probably tell from reading this how conflicted my emotions are right now. It’s turmoil.
Everything will be okay. Mambo sawa sawa. I can rest when I get to heaven. But for the time being…here we go again.
This is how you do church. This is a shelter the size of my living room, with only half a roof, and 20 members, out here in the middle of nowhere where there is no electricity and the sheep wander just outside the church building, if you could call it that. The breeze blows through and the sun shines in, and here come the children to sing for Jesus. This is how it’s done.
I never want to forget the sound of their little feet shuffling about in the dirt as they dance. That sound is so beautiful, so small, so sweet.
I love this.
Today I scared a baby. She’d never seen a white person before. So I crouched down a couple of metres away from her and waved, and she immediately began to scream. She took off and sprinted down the path, screaming and flailing her arms, and kept running till she was out of sight, and even then I could hear her screaming. Her mother just sat there laughing. It really was hilarious.
I absolutely hate when my children are sick. I hate it. It simply breaks my heart. There was a little girl with the most terrible cough, and with every painful, wet hack her body shook and she would cry quietly to herself. I just wanted to take her in my arms and make it all better. And a little boy with the worst case of worms I’ve seen in a long time, maybe even ever. His little belly stuck out so far. I hate being so helpless. I want to see my children feeling healthy. It truly tears me apart, all of the sick people I see here. I long for the day when I am equipped to treat them and make them well.
Anyway, today at the glasses clinic there was a woman called Nafuta Maria who must have been nearly a million years old and completely blind. I knew from the start that I couldn’t help her, but I tested her anyway, and sure enough her eyes were so bad that even our best glasses wouldn’t fix them. So I told her, “I can’t give you glasses. But I can pray for you.” She agreed, so I prayed for healing in her eyes, and when we opened out eyes after praying she could see partially out of one eye! I was thrilled. So I told her that I’d keep praying for her even when I come home. Maybe one day God will give her the rest of her sight too…who knows?
Not I go to bed. Tomorrow we are going to Pastor Paul’s orphanage to visit and I can’t wait to see how my babies have grown since I last saw them!
Oh, one more thing. Today we painted nails for the women and girls like we did last year, and once again I was blown away by how such a simple gesture can mean so much. I just love to sit down and take their brown hands in my white ones and colour their nails bright and girly and just love on them.
Tomorrow we go back to Kampala, which I am hugely looking forward to. I miss Ray of Hope and my people there. Maybe I will give Derrick the guitar on Tuesday.
Today I thought about leaving Uganda, and I cried. We only have five more days here, and I can’t bear to think of it. I just can’t.