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

Put Your Net Into Deep Waters

Proverbs 3:5-6
Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight. 

A lot has happened in the last two months.  I've been feeling tired, sad, and weighed down.  My friend Anne and I go for a walk every Saturday morning, and she's been a sweet voice of encouragement.  Yesterday, after my Anne-walk, I met my friend Jesica at The Flying Apron to celebrate her recent birthday with a gluten-free, vegan lunch.  As we caught up on each other's lives, I was unable to hold back my sadness.  Jesica talked with me about releasing all these burdens to God.  Whatever I did or didn't do up until that moment, I could leave those things behind.  Today was going to hold something precious and good - because God loves us.  He loves us SO very much.

After lunch, I went downtown and used an REI gift card to buy a few more things for my Uganda trip.  As I perused some clearance bins, I kind of wanted someone to strike up conversation with me about what I was shopping for.  "Oh, I'm going to Africa next week..."  Maybe there's some bragging in there, but it's more that I barely believe it myself.  Dang.

(ps - There are a few gluten-free freeze-dried meals available now.  Hooray!  That should work well for dinner on the plane.  Do you think they'll let me heat some water on a little campstove propped on my tray table?  Just kidding.)

I went home, dropped off my REI items, and headed to Bartell's on foot to get a few things Jesica suggested.  Jesica has been to Uganda and she said a pack of baby wipes will feel like a luxury after a day with dust-covered legs and feet.  

It was drizzling on the return walk.  I juggled my purse, purchases, umbrella, and the Popchips I was munching on.  As I crossed a major intersection, I noticed someone in the street a little farther up.  A blind woman was in the middle of the busy street, tapping her walking stick, and tentatively making her way across as cars did their best to avoid her.  A woman in an SUV stopped, rolled down her window, and was calling out for the blind woman to stay put.  "Don't move, Sweetie!  Stop!"  The blind woman called back, "I'm looking for St. John's!  79th and Greenwood!  It should be right here!"

I ran out into the street and took the blind woman by the arm, shoving my chips into my purse so I could signal for the oncoming cars to stop.  The blind woman continued, "We must be almost there.  79th and Greenwood."  

"Well, we were literally in the middle of 80th and Greenwood.  Let's see if I can find your church."

I didn't see the church, so I asked her to wait while I jogged a block down the side street to see the name of the church down there.  It was St. John's.  I jogged back to the woman, and we walked arm in arm to the church.

Her name was Joy and boy, does she love the Lord!  The minute we started walking, she began talking about how good the Lord is.  She isn't Catholic and doesn't attend St. John's, but she went to a concert there recently and wanted to come back for Saturday night mass.  Joy invited me to join her for the mass.  I thought, Why not?  We must have been a sight, with me balancing my bags and umbrella, and Joy clutching her walking stick, two stuffed animals, and a Walkman cassette player.   

We were late, and stumbled our way into a back pew.  I was going to ask where she wanted to sit, but then thought better of it.  A good view of the priest wasn't necessary in this case, right?  A sense of a divine appointment didn't occur to me until I began to listen to the message.  The priest was Kenyan.  He had a deep, booming, beautifully accented voice.  He spoke of fishing in Lake Victoria (also a part of Uganda!) when he was a child.  Joy added, "Oh, I love fish too!  Salmon is my favorite!"  It didn't seem like a spontaneous participation kind of church, but Joy sprinkled affirmative comments throughout.  It blessed me to see her freedom.  

The message was about the disciples' miraculous catch of fish.  They fished unsuccessfully for a full night, and then Jesus told them to put their nets out again.  The priest talked about areas of life where we feel defeated.  "Put your net into deep waters," he boomed, "Put your net into deep waters.  Trust the One who tells you to try again.  Don't think about what an expert fisherman you are or what happened the last time you tried.  Put your net into deep waters.  Put your net into deep waters."

After the message, a children's choir sang, and we all said the Apostle's Creed.  In this spiritually dry time I've been having, it was food for my soul to affirm what I believe.  I had memorized the Creed in college, and my memory was shaky, but I followed along as best as I could.

I believe in God the Father, Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth:

And in Jesus Christ, his only begotten Son, our Lord:

Who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary:

Suffered under Pontius Pilate; was crucified, dead and buried: He descended into hell:

The third day he rose again from the dead:

He ascended into heaven, and sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty:

From thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead:

I believe in the Holy Ghost:

I believe in the holy catholic church: the communion of saints:

The forgiveness of sins:

The resurrection of the body:

And the life everlasting. Amen.

At the end, we met a few folks in the foyer.  "I'm Joy.  I'm not a Catholic, but God bless you anyway!"

I told Joy how cool it was to listen to an African priest because I was going to Africa soon.  She loves the African Children's choir, so we walked back to the bus stop, arm in arm again, singing one of their signature songs.

"The Name of the Lord is, a strong tower.  The righteous run into it, and they are saved!  Blessed be the Name of the Lord.....Blessed be the Name of the Lord....Blessed be the Name of the Lord, Most High...."

Joy prayed blessings over me and I prayed for her too.  My prayers were interrupted by more of her prayers for me, but I'm sure God understood us both through the mish-mash of words.

I've had day after day after day where I've felt alone and in the dark.  I haven't expected positive things to happen.  After the Jesica lunch, I put my net out again.  I didn't expect the catch of fish would come in the form of a blind woman crossing a busy street, but it was a wonderful catch.  

What have you been trying, over and over again?  What have you hoped for, trusted for, without result?  Are you willing to put your net into deep waters?  To put your abilities and understanding aside, and open yourself up to receive... again?

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