As part of my summer abroad, learning and ministering in Uganda, Duke has asked me to report back with short "Reflection Papers"... this is the first of many more to come...
Home Sweet Uganda
I knew exactly what I wanted to write in this reflection paper until I sat down to actually write. Now I feel lost in the layers of details, memories and experiences that have flooded my heart during this month of ministry. From the moment I walked through the gate to Christopher House, something felt familiar—something felt like home. This place became part of my life in 2005 when I ventured out to Africa after graduating college. It was an adventure that will forever have a grip on my life. I think God knew what great companions Africa and I would be. This summer ministry placement, while familiar and comforting, has opened a new chapter in my book of Ugandan experiences. I have come to see what kind of ministry I might do in the future. Since my first trip to this country I have been energized at the possibility of returning to work and live here. Exploring why I fit here and why here fits with me has been dominating my prayers, thoughts and conversations. And so, this question of calling and gifts of ministry seems to cast this bizarre but beautiful light on all the work I am doing this summer. Teaching creative drama, facilitating a teenage girls’ Bible study and being with members of the community during moments of grief have been such essential elements of the ways I see God’s presence in this place.
Creative drama—it is an odd way of ministering, but it has been a precious addition to my time here. I work to encourage school students to get creative, expressive and silly. In our class, there is this invitation to freedom and comfort. Students cheer one another on. They clap. They cheer. They laugh. It’s a strange concept to the school system of Uganda. Life here is about perfecting skills and performance on exams, so to insert an aspect of fun and unity, love and full acceptance—it’s just so new to them. For the first few weeks, they were reluctant to receive my hugs and affection. But slowly, they began to sneak a hug or two, and now there is a line for hugs as they leave the compound. My prayer is that God will use me as a channel of God’s love, and connecting with these kids has been such a great reminder that God’s work is all about love. I feel it in every hug I give, and every hug I receive. It means something—and somewhere in the middle of it, God is there.
Another place where I see God peeking through is on Tuesday evenings from 6:30PM to sundown. I sit with 7 teenagers and we talk about women in the Scriptures, their lives, their struggles, their courage, their fame, their demise. We try to see how God saw them and how God loved them. Then we think about how God might see us and love us too. Last week we talked about the tragedy of Tamar’s rape. We lit candles for women around the world who have survived abuse. One participant quietly lit a candle and said, “This candle is for me, and the sexual abuse I have survived.” And when she broke through the silence, God was there. We wrote prayers and read them aloud. We told God how angry and confused we were about such hate in the world. We looked for God in those places. We are still searching together to see God in our lives, but for me I do not have to look very far. In each of those young women I see God. In their strength, their survival, their faith—God is there.
It was a scorching hot afternoon when we were told to rush up the road. There had been a fire in the house where eight of our Christopher House kids lived and one of the children had died. In a haze of disbelief we hurried up the red clay road to find a crowd and the faint sounds of wailing. As I approached the house I could smell the burning, and as I knelt down in the living room of a small concrete walled house the smell of burnt flesh invaded my nostrils and made me sick. Just two years old, taking a nap, and within a few minutes the fire had spread and there was no way to save her. Aisha’s body lay exposed, and people crowded in to see. I found her sister Joan and pulled her near me. And then I let her cry, “Auntie Alisha! Auntie Alisha! Auntie Alisha!” And with each of her cries I responded, “Oh God, why? Oh God, hear us!” And in those moments, I felt like I was with them, part of them, not simply a visitor or a missionary, but a family member, a friend. There was nothing magical about my presence. There was nothing I could do but hold Joan and let her cry, but there was such beautiful power in that afternoon. And while that day remains a dark memory from my time here, I will never forget holding Joan and the gift it was to be with her, to pray with her and cry with her. And I must also believe that somewhere, God was there, heartbroken but present.
In the simplicity of hugging a school kid from the city or talking about biblical women with a handful of teenagers or weeping with a friend, God continues to show up, gently guiding me down paths of ministry. Being here this summer continues to affirm that my gifts for mentoring and teaching as well as my passion for the ministry of Christopher House and the work of loving the children of Uganda is something that I desire to spend part of my life doing. I do not know what this next month has in store (or the next few years for that matter) for me or the tasks that I will encounter, but I trust that God will be with me, going before me, and lingering long after I am gone.
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