Ugandan Trip Journal, May 13, 2013
Monday, May 13, 2013
After being woken up from 4:00-5:30 by the ministry group leaving the guest house, we set out for the passport office by 9:00 am.
On Friday, we had been told to come pick up our passports for our children Monday. So, like Americans, we all set out with the impression that we would pick them up after maybe an hour or so of waiting. Rashid led us back to the tent we saw last week when we first dropped off our papers at the passport office. It is the only shade in the large courtyard, where when the sun is unencumbered by clouds, it is quite intense. There was also the large shade tree, but anyone who stopped there was shooed away by angry officials. So, we squeezed into the shadows by the edge of the large tent. Under the tent were rows of wooden benches, crowded with Africans waiting for their various documents.
We waited with the expectation that it would soon be our turn to receive our prized passports. But after a half hour or so, with no update, and people finally making room under the tent, Lisa and I and our kids found a seat on the back row. The rows were tighter than airplane seats, without the cushion, and with people passing in between every time their names were called. With each passing, we had to move our backpacks and our children out of the way.
W--, then, found it easiest to sit on my lap, as there was no room for standing on the ground in front of me. But he'd elbow my ribs, rub his skull into my collar bone, wiggle and squirm like the two-year-old that he is. My body would get tired from the abuse, I'd set him down on the ground, only to have to pick him up again when the next person went by. And so this happened hour after hour. And soon W-- and I were covered in dirt, as was our backpack. One Ugandan even wanted to point out that I had W--'s dirty footprints all over my skirt. "Yes, yes, I know."
We ate snacks from our backpacks all day, to pass the time, to fill our lunch void. The Ugandans gave us questioning stares each time we would pull out another. I struggled with a frustrated attitude and short temper toward W--.
After almost five hours, we were called into a line that felt more like a mob, to take our papers into an office for an officer to process. That done, they assured us that the next steps would be done Tuesday, and we'd be able to take the passports home then.
W-- and I returned to the guest house, me barely having the energy to carry him up the stairs. My dirt-coated skirt and shirt stuck to my sweaty limbs. I knew what I wanted: a shower. Even without a nap or a hot meal, that shower revived me in a way I couldn't have imagined. Washing away the layers of soot, God gave me the image of what He had done for me the night before (and so many other times I've needed to confess my sins). "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be as wool." (Isaiah 1:18)
That understanding was worth it -- worth those hours of discomfort for the sake of understanding more fully what the Gospel of Jesus Christ is... The washing of the filth -- my filth of sin -- by the blood of the spotless Lamb. Amen and amen.
After being woken up from 4:00-5:30 by the ministry group leaving the guest house, we set out for the passport office by 9:00 am.
On Friday, we had been told to come pick up our passports for our children Monday. So, like Americans, we all set out with the impression that we would pick them up after maybe an hour or so of waiting. Rashid led us back to the tent we saw last week when we first dropped off our papers at the passport office. It is the only shade in the large courtyard, where when the sun is unencumbered by clouds, it is quite intense. There was also the large shade tree, but anyone who stopped there was shooed away by angry officials. So, we squeezed into the shadows by the edge of the large tent. Under the tent were rows of wooden benches, crowded with Africans waiting for their various documents.
We waited with the expectation that it would soon be our turn to receive our prized passports. But after a half hour or so, with no update, and people finally making room under the tent, Lisa and I and our kids found a seat on the back row. The rows were tighter than airplane seats, without the cushion, and with people passing in between every time their names were called. With each passing, we had to move our backpacks and our children out of the way.
W--, then, found it easiest to sit on my lap, as there was no room for standing on the ground in front of me. But he'd elbow my ribs, rub his skull into my collar bone, wiggle and squirm like the two-year-old that he is. My body would get tired from the abuse, I'd set him down on the ground, only to have to pick him up again when the next person went by. And so this happened hour after hour. And soon W-- and I were covered in dirt, as was our backpack. One Ugandan even wanted to point out that I had W--'s dirty footprints all over my skirt. "Yes, yes, I know."
We ate snacks from our backpacks all day, to pass the time, to fill our lunch void. The Ugandans gave us questioning stares each time we would pull out another. I struggled with a frustrated attitude and short temper toward W--.
After almost five hours, we were called into a line that felt more like a mob, to take our papers into an office for an officer to process. That done, they assured us that the next steps would be done Tuesday, and we'd be able to take the passports home then.
W-- and I returned to the guest house, me barely having the energy to carry him up the stairs. My dirt-coated skirt and shirt stuck to my sweaty limbs. I knew what I wanted: a shower. Even without a nap or a hot meal, that shower revived me in a way I couldn't have imagined. Washing away the layers of soot, God gave me the image of what He had done for me the night before (and so many other times I've needed to confess my sins). "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be as wool." (Isaiah 1:18)
That understanding was worth it -- worth those hours of discomfort for the sake of understanding more fully what the Gospel of Jesus Christ is... The washing of the filth -- my filth of sin -- by the blood of the spotless Lamb. Amen and amen.
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