The Next Yes

Before I went to Uganda, I heard at least three stories of people who had traveled to Africa and were overcome by this sense that they were now at home.  Like, they were always meant to be connected with Africa and now their hearts could release a long-held sigh.  I couldn't help but wonder if I'd have my own experience of finding home.  


One thing I knew for sure - God had very clearly opened the door for me to go on this trip.  Ever since praying with my friend Tembi in October, all I'd had to do was say yes to each opportunity God placed before me.  Someone wants to teach me more about teacher training?  Yes!  Someone wants to hold a dinner so I can meet others with connections to Uganda?  Yes!  Someone wants to connect me with another school over there?  Yes!  God's yes for me was clear, and I was a willing echo back to Him.  


My first few days in Kampala were beautiful and interesting.  I kept my eyes and heart wide open, taking in this place that was unlike any other.  The dirt in Uganda is this amazing deep red color, and it covers all unsuspecting surfaces - namely, my feet and legs.  Red roads are rutted (say that ten times quickly), and driving up the steep road to our guest house was like an off-road adventure in my uncle's Jeep, only we were in a regular van.  We woke every morning, hot and sticky under mosquito nets that were imperfect in thwarting the little whiny bugs' determination to nibble on us.  


I was traveling on a team with three other women - Julie, Cheri, and Barb - who had meetings and accounting work to tackle during our time in the main city.  My main purpose for being on the trip was to support teachers when we headed out to Julie's village school.  So, the Kampala days were wide open for me.  I spent time with God in the morning and just asked Him how to spend my time.  You'd think He'd lay out the whole day for me, but He only gave me the next step.  The next yes.


There was a Baby House next door, a ministry for little ones who'd been abandoned or their mothers were currently unable to care for them.  I spent some afternoons over there, feeding and cuddling children.  I laughed at their antics and told them, "You are loved.  You are wanted."  One little girl was named Hope.  She sat on my lap, both of us shiny with sweat from the hot afternoon sun, and asked in her cute African accent, "Do you have bread at your house?"  I thought a minute.  "Um, yes.  I have bread at my house."  Hope let out a sigh, leaned against my chest, and said, "I want to go to your house!"


I wanted to learn more about Ugandan schools and education, so one of Julie's friends, James, set it up so I could observe classes at a school down the road.  They held a morning assembly and the kids sang worship songs with beautiful hilly scenery behind them and interesting tropical birds joining in.  I felt so grateful to be in that spot in the world at that time.  They invited me to give a speech, so I encouraged the kids to keep valuing their education and I believed they were world changers.  (ps, kids - I've never given an impromptu speech to a school full of African students and teachers before.)


Another afternoon, I was feeling bored at the guest house, so I asked God again, "What do you have for me here?"  He reminded me that part of why I came to Africa was to write.  I reminded Him that I didn't have transportation that day, so what was I supposed to write about?  The guest house porch and its mosquitoes?  The rooster on the dusty red path down to the church?  "Look up," God nudged.  Esther, the woman who runs the guest house, was sitting across the room, resting with her feet up, fanning herself.  "Hey, Esther, I'm a writer.  Could I record your life story?  Would you let me hear it and write it?" She was thrilled.  She shared, she cried, I wrote, we prayed.  


In my initial days in Kampala, I never found that special feeling of home.  I was never overtaken by grand revelations of a life purpose.  My heart wasn't a gushy mess, nor was it hardened.  I just simply went from hour to hour, asking God what He was doing.  I ate dinner, put my plate by the sink, and asked again.  "Help with the dishes," He nudged.  So I did.  I took a water-conserving shower, organized my suitcase, and asked again.  "Talk with the missionary staying here," I felt.  So I did.  I followed Him from one yes to another.


I didn't realize it then, but learning to listen to God and obey from moment to moment was what I needed more than any confirmation of purpose.  I already knew God wanted me in Uganda.  There was no room to debate whether or not I had purpose there.  That was a given.  What that purpose looked like unfolded from one section of the day to the next.  I only knew the next step.  Really, sometimes I didn't even understand the step I was taking until I was in the middle of it.  


This is life, friends.  Who are we to command our days, our notion of plans?  Yes, God has given us wisdom and the sense to move forward well on our own.  I went back to my job this week, and I know how to be an elementary teacher.  It's not like my days in Kampala, but the cry of my heart is that it needs to be.  I need God's voice, His Holy Spirit nudges, to inform my life.  Because I don't want to live a Brooke-life.  I want to live a God-in-Brooke supernatural, powerful, heavenly-invested life.  Moment by moment.  Yes by yes.

Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.  

- Jeremiah 33:3

morning view from the guest house porch

red roads

Hope