Ridiculously, Lavishly, Overwhelmingly Spoiled

                When I tell my American friends about life in a Ugandan village, I like feeling like a rugged, brave survivor-girl.  “No running water?  No flushing toilets?  No SHOWER?”  People are often incredulous.  “It’s not so bad,” I reply, trying to sound cool, while my chest puffs with pride.  Well, today I’m coming clean.  I haven’t been out in the wilderness suffering.  In fact, I feel like God spoils the heck out of me while I’m working out there.   I wasn’t kidding about the water.  Sometimes there’s no water at all, until we can send someone to another village.  It’s dusty.  It’s hot.  There are bugs.  And, I absolutely live like royalty.  Our God is not lacking.  He loves to pile His love on us, over us, through us.  Sometimes, His love is more tangible than other times.  My journey from the village back to Entebbe Airport is loaded with this brand of love.  It was ridiculously good.  Here’s the story.

Leg 1:  Kyakitanga village to the main road

                James, Kenny, Julie, Chris, Jill, Michael and I piled into the van, which had been baking in the sun all morning.  When James tells us it’s time to go, we’ve learned not to get inside the four-wheeled oven until there’s proof the engine will actually start.  With the old “roll down the hill and pop the clutch” trick, we were soon on our way.  The van bumped along the rutted road, with tree debris occasionally falling in through the sunroof onto my lap.  There was a near collision with a young, confused cow. 

                We made it to the main road, which requires the van to crest a little hill to get on the pavement.  The van decided it wanted to rest instead, so we sat patiently with trickles of sweat traversing routes under clingy, sweaty t-shirts.  Seeing that the van was out of fuel, James crossed the dirt road to buy a Mirimba bottle full of gas.  Still, the van wouldn’t start.  We’d need a Pepsi bottle of gas too, it seemed.  The two soda bottles of fuel did the trick, getting us up and over the main road, where we promptly parked and unfolded ourselves from the hot seats.

Leg 2:  Main road to Kampala  -no, Mityana

                From the main road, James, Michael, and I caught a taxi van and the others shopped for groceries before heading back to the village.  I was nervous about my first trip taking public transportation.  I’m used to an air-conditioned van with people I know.  When the taxi conductor climbed on the van’s roof and strapped my suitcase to the top, I thought, ‘Well, I’m committed to this adventure!’  James finagled a window seat for me, which was the beginning of God’s lavishness on this trip.

                As we sped along the road, stopping frequently to add passengers, I began to relax and enjoy my surroundings.  Uganda’s beautiful, lush, green hills whizzed by outside and the wind in my face was refreshing.  At one point, I counted 18 people in the van.  We got to the next major town and stopped at a gas station.  I noticed the conductor get on the roof and pass my suitcase and Michael’s belongings to a taxi parked parallel with us.  “James?,” I asked, “Shouldn’t we be with that stuff?”

                For reasons no one seems to understand, James included, our taxi was no longer taking the 3 hour trip to Kampala.  There was some bickering, then we moved and found seats on board the next taxi.  Again, I was spoiled with a window seat.

Leg 3:  Mityana to Kampala

                One woman who got on the taxi was wearing a knit hat and her baby girl was bundled in a down jacket.  In my t-shirt and long skirt, I was sweating enough for all three of us.  Another mother boarded and I noticed her nice, tailored dress was unzipped in the back.  You could see her bra band.  She was two rows up from me, but I wanted somehow to discreetly help her zip up before she was embarrassed.  Well, I think the zippage was intentional because as the conductor squeezed onto the seat next to her and pulled the door closed, she began feeding her baby.  I guess you can look professional and still care for your baby on the go.  I stand corrected.

Leg 4:  Kampala to Entebbe

                Once in Kampala, James and I said goodbye to Michael.  We waited for Pastor David to pick us up and take us to the airport.  Nicely dressed men and women passed, openly staring at me (for my white skin or my disheveled appearance, I’m not sure).  I looked at James and laughed at the difference between us.  After that long taxi ride, his button-down shirt somehow still managed to look freshly pressed and he wasn’t sweating a bit.   James wondered if people would stare at him in America because of his dark skin.  I said probably not.  After some time, we spotted the Yesu Akwagala (Jesus Saves) van in the traffic jam.  It was nice to see Pastor David and ride in the clean van. 

We stopped for fuel and I bought dinner for us.  Earlier that day, in the taxi, I was daydreaming about what I’d eat first when I got home.  Meat is more of a luxury item in the village, so I imagined eating a piece of chicken.  It turns out, the only gluten-free item on the menu was chicken and chips.  Back in the van, I opened up the take out container lid and found one big, hot piece of chicken.  As I bit into a hunk of it, I remembered my daydream from earlier.  Ha!  I didn’t even have to leave Uganda for my wish to come true!  God had it all ready, with samosas and Mountain Dew for James too.

                After eating, I saw my shiny face in the rear view mirror.  I took some toilet paper, got it damp with my water bottle, and wiped my face.  The paper was brown with dust.  That’s how my clothes, hair, and body felt:  dusty, stinky, sweaty, and tired.  Which leads us to daydream #2:  water.  I thought of the nice restrooms in the Amsterdam airport.  ‘At least I can change my clothes there,’ I thought.  I really, really wanted a shower though.  It would be funky to travel all the way home to Seattle this dirty.  However, it would probably be off-putting to others if I tried to wash my hair in the Amsterdam sink.  ‘What about the toilet?’ I mused, ‘I could give myself a swirlie.’  No, something about that wasn’t right either.  I’d have to go dirty.

                

              James and David dropped me off at the airport and said goodbye.  I was quite early for my 11:30pm flight, so I stayed outside and walked back and forth in the deliciously balmy breeze for about 30 minutes.  The armed guards and taxi drivers were puzzled for the first 10-15 minutes and kept asking me what I needed.  “I need to be outside and I need to move my legs!,” I smiled and repeated any time a new one approached.  Finally, the guards informed each other.  I overheard one say, “The muzungu (white person) wants air and movement.  Let her be.”

             Eventually, I reluctantly went inside and checked in.  I bought some dried mango in the gift shop and paced back and forth between the four gates.  In the bathroom, God had the ultimate spoiling waiting.  I stopped in my tracks and said out loud, “You have got to be kidding me.  No way.”  Showers.

                I asked an attendant to make sure.  “Anyone can use one?  For free?”  She laughed, “Yes!”  If I knew how to do a cartwheel, I would have turned a few on that freshly mopped tiled floor.  I went into a stall and broke out into a crazy happy dance.  I had three hours left before departure and I was going to get CLEAN!  I was going to take my sweet time too.  It was a dribbly trickle of cold water and it was the highest and best God-gift I could imagine in that moment.  The window seat on the taxi, the chicken dinner, and now this?  All the luxury I could dream of and more, without even leaving Uganda!  Brown suds testified to the grime I’d felt.  I kept grinning, dancing, and squeaking out little exclamations to God, “Are You flipping kidding me?!”

                Now in fresh clothes with clean, lavender-scented hair and skin, I brushed my teeth and headed for the waiting room as a new woman.  I even stopped at the Duty Free to spritz on some favorite perfume from a tester bottle.  Oh yeah.  Totally above and way beyond anything I could’ve asked or imagined.

                In the Message, Hosea 14:4 reads, “I will love them lavishly.”  I know this to be true.  Sometimes in the lack of things, you find the most beautiful expressions of having your needs met.  God loves to love you.  He really, truly does.  Your Heavenly Father rejoices in not just meeting your need, but in exceeding your every expectation.  Sometimes, that happens very tangibly, while other times, it’s that quiet trust in your spirit, believing He’s always present and will never, never forsake you.  There is sweet communion waiting as we celebrate and praise God for all the many, many, many ways He loves us.  The next time I tell you a Uganda story, remember – I haven’t been roughing it.  I’ve been living it up.

                

That Happened

                I am a woman who loves to contain things.  Baskets, boxes, bins, I love them all.  Once, at Safeco Field, the security guard checking my purse noticed how many sub-purses I had.  One for my lip gloss and lip balm, another for pens and a paper pad, a third for coins.  He asked, “Do you have a purse for your purses?”  “No, but I have a nice bin for them at home,” I said.  This need to categorize and contain spills over into how I process daily events.  When something happens, it’s boxed as “good” or “bad”.  I dropped and broke a plate = bad.  A friend sent me a funny card in the mail = good.  Traffic = obviously bad.  Jelly beans = good.  Jelly beans in large quantities = bad.  Everything has a concrete place. 

                At a certain point, this system became crazy-making.  When the day’s tally was too heavy in the bad column, I felt awful and wondered why I was so mired in badness.  When things were good, I was expecting more bad to come at any minute.  I was going through counseling for some tough stuff and categorizing past pain through the good/bad lens was excruciating.  I’ve never liked the phrase “It is what it is” because it feels so passive, but I desperately needed room for gray between my black and white boxes. 

                Out of this came the phrase, “That happened.”  My roommate and I started using it liberally.  From burning dinner to getting unexpected money to forgiving someone – it happened.  Once, we were walking and a total downpour started.  We turned our faces upward, smiled, and my roommate said, “Well, this is happening!”  There was no more need to understand whether an event was good or bad – usually things are a big, jumbly mix of both those labels, plus a lot more.   When I classified everything before, there was an underlying push to take action, to turn the bad into good.  It’s scary to take action on painful things and usually our human action is not the answer anyway, so they often stay buried.  Saying, “that happened,” is akin to opening a closet full of boxes, bicycles, old toys, pictures, and shining a light in the back corner.  You see what is there, and you’re not hiding it anymore.  It’s there.  It exists.   It matters.  Maybe you’ll do something about it today, maybe tomorrow, maybe never.  The point is, it’s in the light now.

                This past February, I traveled to Uganda for the third time.  Before this trip, I researched story-telling and how it helps people heal and reconcile from their past.  I have a heart for reconciliation and I love, love, love to hear women tell their life stories.  I was so excited to try this idea, along with checking in on teachers at the school where I’d worked in the past.

                I spent two weeks in Kyakitanga, a small village where God led my friend Julie to begin a school several years ago.  During my past two trips, I focused solely on training teachers.  This time, I worked with teachers in the afternoon and spent the mornings listening to village women’s life stories.  With the help of two young ladies as translators and my friend Jill, we visited homes and listened.

                It was a powerful experience to record stories.  The women have had difficult lives.  I prayed that they’d feel safe sharing, and was interested in happy memories as well as sad.  As Jill, Brenda, Mabel, and I asked and listened, ladies opened up.  Tears flowed freely as that light reached the back of the closet where grief had hidden for so long.  At one home, we sat on the floor, just quietly letting the moment exist.  The mother and grandmother cried, and Jill put her arms around them.  It is a rare and beautiful privilege to be let into the rawness of another woman’s sorrow.  After some time of silence, I asked if I could pray for them.  I asked God’s healing and blessing and favor over their lives.  Then, we began singing.  The song was in Luganda, but it was simple enough for Jill and I to join in.  “Weebale Yesu, weebale Yesu, weebale Yesu…”  which means, “Thank You Jesus, Thank You Jesus, Thank You Jesus….”  The two naked bottomed babies crawled amidst us, and got up on their knees to clap with the music.  They squealed with delight, ignorant of the traumas their mother and aunt had just recounted.

                I don’t have answers for the stories I heard and wrote down.  Suffering is difficult to understand sometimes.  I didn’t go to those homes to put these ladies’ life events into boxes and bins.  I went to bear witness.  To say, with my presence and pen, “That happened.”  The pain doesn’t have to be forgotten, or hidden, or manipulated.  Your life happened.  It matters.  You matter. 

While I can contain most everything in my life, one thing I can never contain is the love of God.  It’s bigger and better than any of us could dream up.  It’s one of the few things I don’t want to contain.  I hope and pray that God’s love explodes into every crevice of life.  There will be no limits to the wholeness God brings.  Amen!

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. For those who lived in a land of deep shadows— light! sunbursts of light! You repopulated the nation, you expanded its joy. Oh, they’re so glad in your presence! Festival joy! The joy of a great celebration, sharing rich gifts and warm greetings. The abuse of oppressors and cruelty of tyrants— all their whips and cudgels and curses— Is gone, done away with, a deliverance as surprising and sudden as Gideon’s old victory over Midian. The boots of all those invading troops, along with their shirts soaked with innocent blood, Will be piled in a heap and burned, a fire that will burn for days! For a child has been born—for us! the gift of a son—for us! He’ll take over the running of the world. His names will be: Amazing Counselor, Strong God, Eternal Father, Prince of Wholeness. His ruling authority will grow, and there’ll be no limits to the wholeness he brings. He’ll rule from the historic David throne over that promised kingdom.  – from Isaiah 9 (MSG)