Ugandan Trip Journal, May 5, 2013
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Most buildings in Uganda are made of the bricks from the beautiful red clay. Those vibrant red bricks contrast so beautifully with the lush green of the surroundings. Everywhere I turn in Uganda, it looks like a screen with the colors adjusted incorrectly -- there seems to be no way that the natural colors could be as alive as they are here.
Joy, Rashid's wife, blessed us by taking her church. There it was, in its red brick -- not entirely finished -- but so lovely in its natural essence. Sunlight filtering through the open bricks in the walls. Plastic, stackable chairs arrayed in semi-circle around the pulpit. The children's section full of little children on the right side.
The service felt like home, and spoken seamlessly with a speaker and translator, English then Luganda. Most of the songs were ones we knew, but with voices unlike those we know. The choir was made up of about ten women and men with the powerful, angelic voices of African timbre. And not the overpowering timbre so common to those we see in popular culture, but the pure, rich voices amplified be the cement and brick acoustics of the large auditorium.
The children's sermon was precious, with adults and children acting out the story of Elijah praying for rain after the three years he told the king it would not rain. And then the pastor transitioned into James 5:13-18, where we are given instructions on prayer and the example of Elijah's faithfulness. The pastor did a wonderful job exhorting on prayer and expanding on Elijah's faith. My heart burned within me to share of God's faithfulness in healing by back through prayer. We'll see if God wants to have that testimony shared in that arena.
After church, Joy took us to the "rich neighborhood" grocery store to buy supplies to help her make chocolate chip cookies. I enjoyed buying Ugandan tea, gelatin without corn syrup (for Adrianna!), and products for my African boys' hair that cost only $1-2, rather than the $10 we pay in the U.S.
That afternoon, we three American moms and our kids trekked from the guest house to Joy's house next door, and girl-talked as we instructed Joy on American cooking. Ugandans do not have measuring cups and spoons, so we did our best guesses to follow the recipe on the back of the Costco bag of chocolate chips.
What a pleasant afternoon, enjoying what felt like a genuine Ugandan experience, relaxing, fellowshipping, sharing tea (and American-style cookies), while watching our children play. We later allowed the dads to join us for the cookies, which they said did turn out well.
We asked Joy for a further check in on W--'s ankle. It is looking better, but the Band-Aids we've had to put on him to allow him to wear shoes without rubbing have not helped it. Joy's relative brought out little pink sandals for W-- to try, but one of the straps was worn out, so they would not stay on well. We asked Joy if she'd take us out shopping to look for some for him, as well as for some thread to use for the hair of Melissa's daughter.
As we went to the all purpose store above the "rich neighborhood" grocery store, W-- protested trying on shoes. He feared that it would hurt his ankle. I was richly blessed as Joy got down on the floor with W--, explaining to him in Luganda that we were looking for shoes for him that wouldn't hurt his foot, and that we would try it on his foot without the sore. She helped me look for probably 20 minutes, kindly, patiently. What warmth in my heart, for another to care so dearly about my son, to help with something that could easily have been overlooked.
Ironically, we found a pair of little brown moccasins that looked like they'd be comfortable on W--'s sore ankle. To buy a southwestern style shoe -- made in China -- at a store in Uganda seems like something to smile about. And probably says something about our very small world.
W-- fell asleep in the car in my lap on our way home. We got him a quick dinner and then W-- went to bed much more easily, with much less protest about getting ready for bed. (On Saturday, we had a toothbrush showdown, and had to wait for 45 minutes for him to be willing to brush his teeth without a tantrum.)
Most buildings in Uganda are made of the bricks from the beautiful red clay. Those vibrant red bricks contrast so beautifully with the lush green of the surroundings. Everywhere I turn in Uganda, it looks like a screen with the colors adjusted incorrectly -- there seems to be no way that the natural colors could be as alive as they are here.
Joy, Rashid's wife, blessed us by taking her church. There it was, in its red brick -- not entirely finished -- but so lovely in its natural essence. Sunlight filtering through the open bricks in the walls. Plastic, stackable chairs arrayed in semi-circle around the pulpit. The children's section full of little children on the right side.
The service felt like home, and spoken seamlessly with a speaker and translator, English then Luganda. Most of the songs were ones we knew, but with voices unlike those we know. The choir was made up of about ten women and men with the powerful, angelic voices of African timbre. And not the overpowering timbre so common to those we see in popular culture, but the pure, rich voices amplified be the cement and brick acoustics of the large auditorium.
The children's sermon was precious, with adults and children acting out the story of Elijah praying for rain after the three years he told the king it would not rain. And then the pastor transitioned into James 5:13-18, where we are given instructions on prayer and the example of Elijah's faithfulness. The pastor did a wonderful job exhorting on prayer and expanding on Elijah's faith. My heart burned within me to share of God's faithfulness in healing by back through prayer. We'll see if God wants to have that testimony shared in that arena.
After church, Joy took us to the "rich neighborhood" grocery store to buy supplies to help her make chocolate chip cookies. I enjoyed buying Ugandan tea, gelatin without corn syrup (for Adrianna!), and products for my African boys' hair that cost only $1-2, rather than the $10 we pay in the U.S.
That afternoon, we three American moms and our kids trekked from the guest house to Joy's house next door, and girl-talked as we instructed Joy on American cooking. Ugandans do not have measuring cups and spoons, so we did our best guesses to follow the recipe on the back of the Costco bag of chocolate chips.
What a pleasant afternoon, enjoying what felt like a genuine Ugandan experience, relaxing, fellowshipping, sharing tea (and American-style cookies), while watching our children play. We later allowed the dads to join us for the cookies, which they said did turn out well.
We asked Joy for a further check in on W--'s ankle. It is looking better, but the Band-Aids we've had to put on him to allow him to wear shoes without rubbing have not helped it. Joy's relative brought out little pink sandals for W-- to try, but one of the straps was worn out, so they would not stay on well. We asked Joy if she'd take us out shopping to look for some for him, as well as for some thread to use for the hair of Melissa's daughter.
As we went to the all purpose store above the "rich neighborhood" grocery store, W-- protested trying on shoes. He feared that it would hurt his ankle. I was richly blessed as Joy got down on the floor with W--, explaining to him in Luganda that we were looking for shoes for him that wouldn't hurt his foot, and that we would try it on his foot without the sore. She helped me look for probably 20 minutes, kindly, patiently. What warmth in my heart, for another to care so dearly about my son, to help with something that could easily have been overlooked.
Ironically, we found a pair of little brown moccasins that looked like they'd be comfortable on W--'s sore ankle. To buy a southwestern style shoe -- made in China -- at a store in Uganda seems like something to smile about. And probably says something about our very small world.
W-- fell asleep in the car in my lap on our way home. We got him a quick dinner and then W-- went to bed much more easily, with much less protest about getting ready for bed. (On Saturday, we had a toothbrush showdown, and had to wait for 45 minutes for him to be willing to brush his teeth without a tantrum.)
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