Daily

Daily guidance to good works after and under loving Christ...

Conclusion to pondering life, purpose and lifestyle. 

If eternal life is knowing God in Jesus, and if Jesus brought God glory on earth by completing the work He was given to do, then it is fair to conclude that I have eternal life through knowing God in Christ and I will bring Him glory on earth by completing the work He is giving me to do (John 17:3-4, Ephesians 2:10).


His commands are to love Him and love my neighbour - but how can I love God if I don't know God? Without knowledge and intimacy, there is no appreciation, enthralment, praise and value. 

I want to know God - his works, words and HIM. Only through knowing Him can I love Him, or else my love is unfounded and blind. You do not love one you do not know, but hold in your heart's dearest place the people you know best. I want to know Christ, and treasure Him in my heart's deepest room of adoration, intimacy and life-long fascination.


I want to love my neighbour and know them - personality, loves and dislikes, their fears and dreams, and make all these things precious and protected for their sake. Love is listening. Love is responsive both in the presence of the Object and after. 


To love God first, and love others second, and to daily seek God's guidance towards the good works He planned in advance for me to do, this is purpose. 

Relying on the Vine

I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. John 15:5

I've never known what this verse means, and still wonder. If anyone has any wisdom, I'd love to hear it! Trailing through formerly reliable websites for sermons also have not yielded any fruit, 'scuse the pun. 

However, this verse has cropped up (there's another one) many times in the last week or 2, and this morning it is the verse for the day, and so I think God is bringing this verse to the fore for a reason. 

Today's reflection on this verse majors on the latter part... apart from Me you can do nothing. I know this so vividly, especially today when my mood is sour, my outlook is as grey as the drizzly sky, and in the pit of my being I wish I was in bed watching Brothers and Sisters. I know that today (as any day), I need Christ to work in and through me, for my offering today is very small. I can bring very little, I have little love to show, and my enthusiasm is barely a mustard seed. Good job the omnipotent Friend is on the case, and I pray He will take over my body, mind and spirit to make today valuable and meaningful. Not least because today is the final day of holiday club with 40-50 local girls whose lives are unimaginable to me. It is party day, of fun, gifts and special times. Dourness is not befitting.

Frankly, I find this verse encouraging today - if I am a branch living through the food, water and strength of the vine, that's fine with me! And today God's grace is teaching me very powerful that these words are true. On a good day, I am prone to forgetfulness, today it is clear I must depend on God. I can do, offer, give nothing of worth, but God will make good, and His Spirit will lift mine to fulfil the good works He has prepared for me to do today. 

And so... over to you God.

Does it pay to visit vermin?

“Pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.” (James 1:27) 

An article by John Piper

Local businessmen in Brazil call them “vermin.” Garbage. “If we let them grow up, they will be criminals, a blight on our society.” There are an estimated twelve million homeless children on the streets of Brazil. Their parents lost them in the crowds, put them out, died. However they got there, they are there. They beg, they steal, they sell their bodies. They eat garbage. They start scared and end scarred, hard, and dead.

Some policemen and others moonlight by contracting to kill street children so that they will not menace the city. In 1992 an average of four hundred of these children were killed monthly in Brazil. It’s the same in other big cities. The Philippine government estimates that there are fifteen thousand child prostitutes in Manila between the ages of nine and twelve. One estimate suggests that in Thailand there are eight hundred thousand girls between twelve and sixteen years old involved in prostitution.

Is your first thought merely human? Like, “If I can barely rear my own children to walk worthy of the gospel, what hope would there be to change the lives of these street kids?” Or, “If it takes ten thousand dollars’ worth of Christian counseling to stabilize a mature American Christian who was sexually abused, what in the world would we do with thousands of adolescents who knew nothing but abuse and lawlessness and violence on the streets?” Do you find yourself looking (in good American fashion) at the bottom line and saying, “The turnaround on this investment would not be good”? Or, “The growth potential in planting churches among street kids is not very great. There are too many obstacles.”

Shift your thinking a minute (or a lifetime). What about the widow who put in her last two pennies? Jesus said she gave more than anyone (Luke 21:3). What about John the Baptist who lost his head on a dancer’s whim and never did a miracle? Jesus said, “Among those born of women there has arisen no one greater than John” (Matthew 11:11, RSV). What about the poor in spirit? Theirs is the kingdom of heaven. What about the meek? They inherit the earth. What about those who receive one child in the name of Jesus? At that moment they receive God (Mark 9:37). What effect does it have on your longings when you think that God says true religion is to visit orphans (James 1:27)?

The effect it has on me is to make me want to love like Jesus loved and not always be thinking of the earthly payoff. Face it. A few kids are cute, but most street kids will be thankless, rude, dirty, diseased, scar-faced, shifty-eyed, lice-infested, suspicious, smelly, and have rotten teeth. If we minister mainly for the earthly payoff, we will burn out in a year.

Jesus did not say, “True religion is converting orphans.” He did not say, “True religion is making orphans mature and successful adults.” He said, “True religion is visiting orphans.” Results are God’s business alone. Obedience is ours by His grace. More specifically, by faith in future grace. Perhaps when we grasp this, we will be freed from our earthbound way of thinking and released to minister to the ones who are least likely to thank us. 

Woman

I am not a single woman. I am just a girl loved by Christ, living for Him and enjoying my life. I am not waiting for ultimate fulfilment by getting married, but am living for Christ with Christ today.

I do not have girl-parts for my elusive, future husband, but because I am made a woman. I do not wish to dream of a day where I am somehow more than I am now. I will live today with God, obeying Him and doing all I can to fulfil His purpose for me now. Jesus did not say He gives fuller life to the married! In fact, 1 Corinthians 7 suggests that by not being married, you can be more committed to Him alone, a passage I once detested but now seems peacefully mine. I can venture with Christ without looking back or to the side. And this is ok, Christ is enough.

And so, I beg you, do not feel bad for me. Please do not box me in a sad and soggy container called ‘single’ and please appreciate that God’s calling for me may not be marriage and family, but maybe something different. Every time you look on with pity mixed with hope, and say ‘when you are married’, you belittle the day God has given me today. He does not necessarily intend for everyone to be married! History is littered with people who did something else and changed the face of the world. Missing God’s purpose would be far worse than missing out on marriage. 

I want to be a woman found in the throne room of God, arms outstretched and heart fully open to the Lover of my soul. And if a man comes looking and finds me there, and wants to join me, then God-willing, he may. 

Do not misunderstand me, there is a part of me which craves love, romance, marriage and children. I am not underestimating the joy and responsibility of creating a home and raising a family. It is an awesome, Godly and joy-filled calling from the Lord. But it is a responsibility for some not all. 

Thank God that He has made us unique, and through this blend of unique people, He will achieve His purposes in the world. I am glad to be a part. 

I love you... Amari

Friday night was extraordinary. I took a young friend called Joseph (one of the street kids I know through Frontline) to a concert called Amari in a REALLY nice theatre, where Calvary Chapel's choir were singing alongside some other Christian Ugandan music and dance acts. It was great, and we boogied with the best of them. AND the loos were the best I've seen so far here. 

Joseph thanked me for the ticket and said: ‘I will never forget this evening’. Ouch, my heart. 

On the way to the taxi, we passed some lone street-sleepers, including a small child well positioned in front of 2 armed guards outside a bank ATM (clever child), and a baby no more than 1 begging. At 10.30pm. Shame on the parent, if there is one, I suppose it could be a slightly older brother or sister heading the family.

And then again, a sight now branded on my memory. A line of 20 women getting ready for bed, sleeping side by side along the street, on cardboard. These are the women who beg each day. They do not go home after sitting on the street, they cross the pavement and huddle up for safety and company. The incredible thing was not only the number of women, but the amazing community they shared as they smiled and huddled.  I recognised some of the beggars there, or their wheelchairs at least. Oh God.

What happens when it rains?

All creatures great and small

Jinja is a town about an hour from Kampala and it sits on Lake Victoria which feeds into the River Nile. It is also the home of Adrift white water rafting, whose charitable nature provides one day per year for 20 Oasis girls and 2 staff to come and raft and have lunch. Guess who volunteered to accompany the girls?

Following a bus ride from Kampala (all courtesy of Adrift, thanks very much) we spent 3 hours on the water; paddling, swimming and rafting the (calmer) rapids. It was fabulous, especially because our raft-leader, Roberto, pointed out some animals along the way, including 2 types of kingfisher. And during a solitary moment while the girls swam, I caught sight of some red-tailed monkeys playing on a cliff face. Bliss.

God was good, and took consideration of my recent and unprecedented fear of rafting, and hiding behind the guise of ‘helping the small children’ I was introduced to the rapids of the Nile in a very gentle way! It was fun.

One of the best bits was enjoying a warm shower and then traipsing out clean and dry to the dining area only to find all the ingredients necessary too make a fantastic sandwich! I had no idea just how much I had been missing sandwiches and I prepared and consumed one with gusto, much to the confusion (and, I fear, disinterest) of the girls whose table I shared. Cold coke + cheese, ham and salad sandwich = a very happy Lindsay.

The bus ride home was warm and sleepy, and I became aware of the redness of my face and arms, but avoiding the sun on the ride home was impossible without moving, and that was FAR too energetic. So, roast and sleep I did, before walking slowly through Kalerwe market via pineapple and mango sellers to go and meet some post-Romford-ites by the name of Dug and Deb, living in Kampala since August and working with BMS.

I anticipated an easy and enjoyable evening and was not disappointed; they are wonderful people with a gift for hospitality and chatter. 8.30pm rolled around, and it was time to go home, especially following the 5am wake up.

What a great day. The kingfishers were breath-taking, and evoked a deep and genuine ‘wow’ especially when the blue one landed on a branch mere feet away from my face. I love Jinja. It is my favourite place in Uganda (so far).

Thank you, God, for making creation functional and beautiful. Thank you for making people interesting as well as informative. Thank you for giving us a life to enjoy, not just get through.

It's difficult to say goodbye

This morning, there are tears. Not because of unsightly mosquito bites or watching more beloved friends consume grasshoppers, or the lack of food in the house (again) but because of loving and losing. 


The first to jump ship was Dennis and Karen, my neighbours whose door is always open, and who normally has something on the stove. D&K have offered parental support and friendship over 3 months, and although they have only gone home to the States for 2 months over Christmas, Sunday was a day of mourning for me! Remember: I feel like every person in my life prior to Aug 2010 has been stripped away, so finding people who care and laugh and open their home is a mega big deal. 


And now the second departure is imminent... Jon, Charlotte and Zach Temple who came to work with Oasis for 3 months are nearing the end and heading back to Blighty next week. When you meet visitors at the airport and try to help bridge the gap between the UK and the shock of Africa, you have NO idea these jet-lagged people will become friends. Temple time has gone fast, and I will miss them very deeply. Not only are they friends for coffee, but they are excellent bloggers whose instalments have evoked praise and love for God, mingled with laughter and tears. It is right to go home and live a life under different principles and with different goals - heck, I'll be doing the same in a year, BUT it is still sad to wave goodbye. My loss is Leamington's almighty gain.


And so, to quote some of Plankeye's best lyrics:


It's difficult to say goodbye after only one life. The rain will fall down replenishing all of our broken dreams, and this burning tree that's withering will bloom again...


Goodbye, walk away it's time to say goodbye
I never took the time to stop and realize that death takes many forms even while alive. 

1 from 6

… the amount of time I have spent in Uganda. 3 months from 18 months. To be honest, it’s gone slowly! 3 months ago seems a LIFETIME ago, and the initial rabbit-in-headlights feeling of moving here has passed. Having said that, everything British is still vividly etched on my mind, and seems much more like home than Kampala. Maybe when it’s 5 from 6, the balance will have shifted.

For all the post-weekend blues of a Monday, it does tend to go quickly and it’s pleasant to pick up where the previous Friday left off. Emails, to do lists,  plotting the week. Especially good this week since tomorrow is a public holiday (we think… these things are left to the last minute) and so Monday is immediately followed by another 'Saturday', hoorah.

John Piper has challenged me with more musings on life... seriously, get involved, if you are inspired through the mind, www.desiringgod.org and check out the epic (free, downloadable) sermon library. ANYWAY, his recent offering from 1 Peter boldly declared that 'the world is passionately committed to the utterly inconsequential'. 

Whack. Bam. Lie there for a few minutes. He continues: 'if image is nothing and substance is everything, how much work is there for us to do before we become something'. Wow. Passionately committed to the utterly inconsequential? Yep, that's me. Substance is everything? Like, really everything? So, my body really means nothing to God? Then why do I spend so long thinking about it!

It's what every girl needs to hear - for sure, people care about the physical here and now but it is UTTERLY INCONSEQUENTIAL. That's kinda freeing. And I feel like about 90% of my brain has just been released to think about other stuff. 

I found a really satisfying way of reading the Gospel of Mark yesterday - I copied and pasted chapter 1 from biblegateway into Word and then found pictures online of all the places and references made in the passage. It was awesome. And, just for the record, leprosy is totally gross, and I realise now that a lot of the crippled people I see here in Kampala have it. It made Jesus real... baptised in the River Jordan... walking along the beach... 

Christmas creeps closer, and yet it's signs are few and hidden here. There are no fir trees in sight, you have to keep an eye out for decorations in the shops, and the heat belies the time of year which should be chilly and snowing. Gifts are hardly mentioned, and I'm actually glad, because the festive season being less of a big deal here will help the fact that I'm not in the thick of it at home. Enjoying the best meal of the year, pulling crackers, crying through Hark the Herald, going for a walk along the beach before presents, and laughing hysterically through the unwrapping of generous gifts from certain relatives. Sigh.

And so, to pinch Oasis' brand new slogan, I challenge you as I challenge myself: take and make opportunities... TODAY.

This is Africa (TIA)

This Is Africa; a phrase known and used by many on days that just seem to defeat you. It's not one particular frustration, just many small elements that come together to make you sigh and close your eyes and imagine being somewhere else, just for  a second or two. I've experienced some TIA moments this week. Like when the power went off again. And I was forced to walk through stinking market rubbish because of the crowd. And the rain flooded the kitchen again. And another man grabbed my arm and shouted 'mzungu, I love you'. And my food went off because the fridge has been on and off with the power cuts. Nothing major, and nothing really to complain about, just mini-annoyances that cause a sigh!

There are also good TIAs, like this morning walking up the hill in the sunshine, admiring the blue sky and green banana trees and red roads and sighing for an entirely different reason: this is wonderful Africa. Diving into a cool pool and swimming beneath palm trees. Playing tickle with local children. Listening to a John Piper sermon and knowing life will be slightly different from now on. Having a laugh with the bodda driver you have just entrusted your life to. Eating a rolex (chapatti rolled around an omelette - rolled eggs / rolex). There are many moments of bliss, and many sighs to be had in pure, indulgent enjoyment.

And what is God saying through all this? The same as He has always been saying. Delight in salvation, allow God's peace and hope to go so deep into your heart it changes your foundations and behaviour, make the most of each for yourself and for others. Is it different here than in Brentwood? Nope. Although the faces look different, and the roads are incredibly bad. 

I was reminded of an old poem this morning:

My life is but a weaving between my Lord and me;
I cannot choose the colors, He worketh steadily.
Oft times He weaveth sorrow, and I, in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper, and I the under side.

Not 'til the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly,
Shall God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful in the Weaver's skillful hand,
As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.

He knows, He loves, He cares, nothing this truth can dim.
He gives His very best to those who leave the choice with Him.

Time is but a breath, so we'd better breathe it

If I find in myself desires nothing in this world can satisfy, I can only conclude that I was not made for here. If the flesh that I fight is at best only light and momentary, then of course I’ll feel nude when to where I’m destined I’m compared.

Am I lost or just less found? On the straight or on the roundabout of the wrong way?

Is this a soul that stirs in me, is it breaking free, wanting to come alive?

‘Cause my comfort would prefer for me to be numb and avoid the impending birth of who I want born to become.

Speak to me; in the light of the dawn, mercy comes with the morning.

I will sigh and with all creation groan as I wait for hope to come for me.

For we are not long here, our time is but a breath, so we’d better breathe it.

And I was made to live, I was made to love, I was made to know You.

Hope is coming for me… He’s coming.

Brooke Fraser’s musings on CS Lewis' thoughts as expressed in ‘Mere Christianity’. 

I love this song, it plunges down to the depth of my soul and stirs in me a deep longing for God. This song helps me bow down low and elevate Christ to the throne, because He reminds me through these words that life is not long, and it is not our ultimate reality: Heaven is, and Jesus is coming to take me by the hand and walk with me into eternity. This song helps me picture my Lover; a gentle and personal smile in His eyes. He is the one who knows me, who chooses me, and who steps into the role of Man that my heart has carved out.

And what a Man! Jesus is the most wonderful man, and He is mysteriously mine in some way. I have had glimpses of Him through my life, and I know that I will recognise Him when I meet Him, for His likeness is familiar to me.

And yet… here comes the self-centeredness again… how I struggle! I am not the centre of Christ’s world, even though He uses language of love to draw me in, but He must be the centre of mine, seated on the throne of my heart, and my constant source of wonder and enjoyment. Such problems arise when I forget God’s Sovereignty and honour my own desires above His own. They are so poor in comparison; so earthy and selfish leaving me cold and dissatisfied. Quite rightly so, because God is changing my desires to fit His purposes for my life, and so it is obvious that they do not cater for my comfort-seeking routine anymore!

Such a battle. From the profound to the mundane… do I choose to check Facebook, or do I feed my Spirit with the truth of God’s Word, soaking my soul with Christ’s Living Water and satisfying my inner self? It is a difficult, subtle decision! The benefits of both contrast in depth and eternal significance, and yet it is still a daily battle to choose right! And most of the time I fail. God reminds me frequently that I am a wretch when I live one day without reference to Him – I recognise the filth of my own selfishness and bitterness. Only when I constantly acknowledge His presence and ask Him for help can these human, fallen characteristics bow the knee to the purity of Christ.

I feel like David in Psalm 51, crying out to God for the sin that runs through his veins since conception. I am so aware of my imperfection, and see it clearly as I walk through this strange culture of unfamiliarity, which assaults my reason and challenges my patience. God, create in me a clean heart.

Thank God for Jesus. Without Him, I would be scuppered… God sees Jesus’ sacrifice covering my sin, and He accepts me as the pure and righteous child that Christ is. He happily exchanges my sin, filth and disobedience with the perfection of Jesus because He loves me and is creating for Himself a Bride with whom to share heaven. I am nothing without Christ – even a good life well lived ends in nothing if the soul is not redeemed by Jesus. Thank God for His initiation! I would not have come had He not called. I am grateful for eternal hope, and also for purification in this life, for it is the pathway of peace; the only way to find meaning and purpose on earth.

For we are not long here, our time is but a breath, so we’d better breathe it.

And I was made to live, I was made to love, I was made to know You.

Hope is coming for me… He’s coming.

So here I am... to blog

Thursday, 4.25pm, the sky was dark and the birds were beginning to chirrup again following the rain. Miss Norton sat at her writing desk pondering the next line plodding away on a mini-laptop (courtesy of work, thanks very much) wondering when the power would switch back on so she could continue with Hustle series 5...

In sickness and in health

Illness Uganda-style part 1 has been and gone, and the 'infection' which plagued my poor digestive system appears to be have been led-away by handy antiboitics. Hoorah, victory for health! But not without a cost - oh yes, I'd say at least 4 lbs and 6 packets of yoghurt were among those lost. Alas, life goes on. Packets of yoghurt - yes - because it comes in a small bag, which one cuts at the corner, pokes an extra-long straw in and sips away. It is the most wonderful snack. Otherwise, I find almost daily that my kitchen really does not have anything too appetising in it. There are good elements, like chocolate milk, but nothing that would make a nice meal. Cue: Dennis and Karen next door and their frequent dinner-provision for their poor, helpless British neighbour. 

YOU can do it

I think anyone would have a good shot at surviving in Kampala. If you need a taste of home, there are plenty of white-people places to go and foods to eat, conveniently provided at cost by Uchumi supermarket in the mini-America mall of Garden City. One can buy marmite, nutella, cheese (rarely found elsewhere), Nescafe decaf coffee (at an extortionate price, quite rightly) and washing up liquid which doesn't feel like oil. 

The key to exploring a new culture is remembering that countless other human beings, not so different, live and survive within the ‘weirdness’ now attacking your senses. Uganda has 32 million people not unlike you or I who manage here - the UK way of living is not the only way or the 'right' way. God forgive our Westernising.

Back to food, Ugandan cuisine really is incredibly tasty and very inexpensive, and I would recommend sampling the flavours. Ugandans eat a LOT of carbohydrates, and a meal is often 3-4 piled up on a plate covered in some sort of sauce to assist swallowing. For a pricey 25p, one can purchase a bowl full of rice, posho (maize meal), potatoes and matoke (plantains) smothered in groundnut sauce (kinda purple satay). If one wants to live like a native, one can and it's cheap. It's the constant battle of a missionary - wanting to live like a local, experiencing life through their eyes whilst also knowing that as a Brit, occasionally one does enjoy a taste of home. Where is the balance? I dunno. I know that my infrequent 'meal out' (which I deserve, right?) costs the same amount of money that a family would spend in a week on food. Hmmmph, this is so hard!

Taxi for … um … 18?

So... I will end this pointless post with a typical image of Kampala. Picture with me: clambering onto a 15-seater minibus, finding the middle seat on the back row and sinking into it thankful for a space. Then surveying the state of the matatu - some are tatty, old, sweaty and the chairs are rickety. Today, I was delighted with a much newer model, where the ceiling was high enough to ride the bumps without a head-smacking, and the fabric (although unattractive) was not dirty and sweat-hardened. Enjoyable. The matatu to town can take 2-3 routes: today it went the main road way; early in the morning it goes through a muddy slum which is my daily reminder of why I'm here.  

It's a God-given eyeful! 

And there is NO less dignity as a slum-dweller than as a king - both are made in God's image, for a purpose, with likes and dislikes, with skills and weaknesses. Awesome. And all people offer us the opportunity to serve Christ, for he accepts the kindness of people offered to 'brothers and sisters'. What a life! 

Miss Norton looked up from the page, dissatisfied for her heart was filled with so much more and yet she felt unable to express it all on paper. 'Oh well', she sighed, 'there's always tomorrow.'

So this is... Thursday

Thursday 28th October, nearly Halloween, but Africa doesn't spend too much time on it. Nearly Thanksgiving for American-readers. And only 8 weeks until Christmas! Yep, that's right folks, time to start making lists, buying things from John Lewis, and thinking about whether to buy a real or fake tree. 

Christmas in Uganda will be different this year. Much less fluff and over-indulgence, a day for family, which means Kampala will empty out as inhabitants return to their villages to eat goat and splash out on a Fanta. For me, I am dreaming of a hot and sunny Christmas with my neighbour Lizzie, watching a boxset, eating trad Christmas dinner and celebrating with family over the internet. There maybe a mulled wine thrown in there too... My first Christmas away from the family - gulp - it's gonna be tough, but I am ever thankful to Mr Skype who has made my life better. 

I am suffering with a few unpleasant symptoms, and was alarmed to read about malaria and check off 5 of the 7 symptoms. I think I terrified my mother a bit, but I'm not gonna stop her hopping on a plane and coming to feed me chicken soup, or whatever the Ugandan equivalent is.

Oh, and the possible initiator of this new and un-exciting illness, I've joined an American fitness club complete with outdoor pool and gym etc, to whip this butt into shape. Problem here is water - you swallow ANY and you will know about it. I'm a fairly flouncy swimmer, and a good pint is swallowed with each encounter... maybe a snorkel would help.

No deep thoughts this week, instead my mind has been on vacation with Agatha Christie, rather than delving into the depths of big, fat books. And it's great - there's a time for everything, even a juicy murder mystery cloaked in the gentleness of Miss Marple.

Ok, just one semi-thought then I'll be off. The dual concepts of affection and passion. The kindness, loving sideward glances, hugs - of affection mixed with the fiery, determined commitment of passion. I love it. And this is how God loves us. And just for the record, lads, this is how a woman wants to be loved.

Au revoir for now...

Eye to Eye with Love

Thanks for reading this blog! The title of this post (and blog) comes from a line in Vicky Beeching’s song: 'one day we will see You shining like the sun, face to face with beauty, eye to eye with Love.’ I love to imagine being eye to eye with Jesus – a physical, spiritual and emotional balance which He stoops to create, so life with my Companion is intimate.

This blog starts 2½ months into my time in Uganda. The lead up to this big move came after a year of slowing down, stopping ‘ministry’, and moving on from a job in a Christian organisation. During this year of being personally emptied and refilled with God’s passion for the poor, a lot changed in my heart and mind, and expectations for life took a turn. The conclusion: 18 months in Kampala working for Oasis Uganda, taking time to reflect, serve the poor eye-to-eye, and watch God reveal the next step in His time.

So, a lot has happened in Uganda so far, and I have found many questions have not only entered my mind but filled my entire being! They are not questions which are easy to jot down on paper, but are rambling and unanswerable... it takes time to formulate a satisfactory-ish accommodation of the complexities of poverty and my God-given responsibility. A lot of experiences are personal and shared only with my Lord. But some can be outed and will hopefully give you an inside peek at life in Kampala.   

There is a lot of humour to be had when travelling cross-culturally, since norms are battered against different norms creating frustrations and amusement. It is easy to feel like the white princess here, adored by local children, but also arrogantly self-appointed; considered to be somehow superior in education, understanding, experience and wealth. As a mzungu (white person), I am immediately different from the majority of people, and am treated as such; sometimes with respect, sometimes with spite and sometimes with declarations of ‘mzungu, I love you’ by local men hoping for a free pass to the UK. Amusement arises but not without a tinge of guilt, since my enjoyment is often basically a judgement of ‘silly little Ugandans’. Misspelt signs and declarations of greatness by poor locals do raise a smile, but also tug at my heart, since every person is dignified and holds within them the likeness of God. Even the deep annoyance of road construction (or destruction) and applying for a visa at immigration with all the short-sightedness of bad bureaucracy should NOT actually invoke my mzungu judgement on inefficiency but should really draw out my love and patience for individuals who have been brought up differently from me: not right, not wrong, just different. 

The UK is like the promised land of happiness and wealth in the eyes of most Ugandans, and I’ve not yet met anyone who does not wish to visit the UK. They are baffled to hear that the general happiness-o-meter swings dramatically down compared to the general optimism and contentedness I’ve found in Uganda where life is genuinely harder. It just goes to show, that having more money and stuff does NOT make you happier, and is in fact likely to deepen your roots in the earth, and make it much harder to find peace and satisfaction with your lot. Jesus weren’t stupid when he talked about money and a camel.

Ugandans generally live hand-to-mouth, one day at a time, and trust God for His provision. And He comes through. They do not have gadgets, cars, matching furniture or a career path, but they are genuinely more content with life than the average Brit.

What does this mean?

·    We can over value money and feel guilty about buying basic essentials, because it could have a ‘greater purpose’ than bread OR we can under value money and consider its expenditure as unimportant. A nice house, a car that works, good education etc., God’s provision for us, right? Right. Maybe. Both are imbalanced. It doesn’t matter what your pay cheque says, but it does matter if you don’t commit it first to God and ask Him how He wants it distributed.

I have met... um... nobody to date who has taken the call to ‘sell your possessions and give to the poor’ seriously. Sure, Jesus was talking to one individual, but perhaps also He challenges us to do the same? He was also only talking to one person when He said 'God so loved the world...'. It’s important to ask Him. If somebody did sell all and give, they would rock my world, challenge me to the core, force me to my knees, and burn upon my heart the desire to do likewise.

Money ramblings are likely to be frequent in this blog, because it is a major area of life God is challenging me to get right. I lean towards over valuing money one day, and under valuing it the next. I do not have it sussed. On one hand I wish I had NO money and lived hand to mouth, trusting God each day, knowing my responsibility to give is very little. On the other hand, I wish I earned millions, so as to channel it to the poor and fund some life-saving work. Every day, neither is real, and it is a case of asking God for wisdom in spending and giving.

From the profound to the ridiculous: knickers are a BIG taboo here. One does not display them outside one’s house, e.g. on the washing line. My first week, I proudly hung out my smalls on the washing line and nobody said anything. Clearly my new neighbours didn’t want to embarrass me, but I wish they had: temporary blushing instead of delayed humiliation after 2 weeks of shaming myself. Oh well. Live and learn. 

Transport here is an obvious difference. Whereas you must be standing at the bus stop in England, here minibuses stop along their route whenever they see people who may want to board, and they even wait if they see you coming. Instead of reluctantly admitting people and dashing off before one has found a seat, the ‘taxis’ here actually want your business, and squash people up so as to fit you in. This can create discomfort when a row of seats built for 3 bottoms actually seats about 8 (3-4 children piled onto the lap of a parent), but still, if I was the last one in, I’d be grateful to be on my way, so move on over and thank God, it won’t take too long. All for the princely sum of 20-30p. And then there are bodda boddas, for when you want to get there quickly. Considered by some as death traps to be avoided at all costs, they are motorbike/mopeds which buzz through traffic and take you anywhere for a negotiated fee. As for me, I braved it one day then woke up 3 weeks later realising I’d taken no other form of transport since... But they are expensive, at 1500-5000 shillings (50p - £1.50) depending on traffic, distance, and stinginess of the driver/me.

An unexpected frustration here is mzungus. I have met a few who want to serve the poor, but I’ve met many more who are enjoying the high life of low living expenses, basking in the sun and driving 4x4s, ignoring their initial reasons for moving here. I find it harder to love these people than to love smelly 14 year old street kids. God forgive me and change me.

Uganda has a lot of beauty – landscape, animals, climate. It has a lot of deep problems which plunge to the sewage of politics and corruption. It provides great opportunity to practically love ‘the least of these my brothers’. And it is a long way from the UK but shares exactly the same fundamental needs, perhaps this is a training ground for returning to the UK and doing likewise there. 

And the purpose for being here? An adventure? Time to travel? Escaping the UK? Not really. Looking into the eyes of people who need my help, smiling at them and passing on money or food, shaking their hands and asking how they are, stooping down to the crippled and engaging in conversation, playing with street kids and learning 1-10 in Luganda from them.

3 deep experiences:

1.    I was sitting for 20 minutes with a crippled beggar one day, waiting for friends to go off for a day of fun. Some conversation, a lot of companionable silence, but sitting on the ground watching people walk by, sometimes looking in disgust, sometimes looking guilty, often just not looking, I had a glimpse of daily life for this man. He didn’t seem to feel the sting of rejection from hundreds of people, but casually continued holding out his hand, thanking the odd few who put small change into it. He didn’t seem to be praying frantically for a change in circumstances or for God to meet his needs. Years of begging seemed to have eroded away his desperation. And yet it must have been real. He is a man, with all the dignity of humanity, living his life sitting on the street, nursing his crippled legs, trusting in the small generosity of others.

2.    

    On Saturday, I helped Frontline for the second time: a ministry which seeks to befriend and help children living on the streets. I met a number of boys, played a type of Uno, chatted and joked and let them touch my hair. One boy, small and smelly, aged 14, sat by me and was content to sit close and hold my hand. Once he took my fingers and brought them to his cheek to stroke him.

3.    I fell in love with a man. I don’t know his name, because he cannot speak, but man, can he smile! Our first encounter was weeks ago: I gave him some bananas. The second, he wasn’t begging but selling posters. I bought one and talked to him, as he beamed at me, shook my hand slowly, and moved his disabled body to proudly show me his stock of Man U team posters, maps of Africa, and alphabet charts. I have visited him quite a lot since, he is handily on the way home, and do not be surprised if my Ugandan gift to you is a poster of something you have no interest in – it is from my man.

    Thanks for reading, it is a LONG first instalment!