No Camera

P1260942 cropped and compressedThe most profound moments of my trip to Uganda in November of 2011, are not caught by camera.

There is no record of taking medicines to the elderly. No snap-shots of squatting alongside the beautiful old folk on their mats, grasping their hands in mine, and often the other way around.

No photo of looking deeply into their eyes, and even though I could not understand their language, understanding the various emotions and beauty and strength that flashed across their faces and through their eyes.

To one elderly lady, wrinkled and yet with this stunning presence I said, “You are beautiful.” To which she replied with deep wisdom, “I know.”

Moments that can never be taken away from me.

I need no pictures to keep these memories.

Dance is stunning in Africa, and was one of the favorite things. One crusade evening, as the music stayed on and on and then some more, I found myself alongside an older lady.

The rhythm of our dance grew in sync and though I could not speak her language and she could not speak mine, our bodies spoke “I am enjoying your presence” as we moved in time to each other and the music. To the youngsters who drew near and moved along with us; all simply magical.

I wouldn’t spoil moments like that with a photo!

Moments that will stay in my heart forever.

To the men who drove me around, by bike and by car, who went to the markets with me, who traveled with me, toured the source of the Nile with me, ate with me and I with them, who prayed with me, I for them and they for me, who preached alongside me, who interpreted my heart and words, who shared their personal stories and spoke of God’s faithfulness, who collaborated towards future things we might accomplish together…

No camera can capture such richness.

The children who dared to love on me, who shyly shook my hand, and delighted me with their smiles and exuberance. My hosts ladies, two beautiful women and their homes, where I was welcomed, embraced, cared for, spoiled, loved on and cried with when I left.

To the women who quickly became friends; hardworking, passionate about health and education, their families and the movements of God.

There is no way to record such strength and beauty, transparency and authenticity.

I simply soaked it in and gave thanks.

It is the magic of Africa

It’s Not Okay

P1220657 compressedIt was Saturday evening in Madudu, Uganda. I’d been in the village since Tuesday simply basking in the beauty of the people and the land.

Sitting that evening on a bench at a wedding reception, a young girl came up to me to say hello and to shake my hand. Nothing out of the ordinary, I shook more hands and looked into more eyes that week than the previous months.

It is custom in Uganda to give respect and honour by kneeling before one to whom you want to show respect. And more than this, I suspect, one to whom deference is due.

I don’t know where this custom first took root. Whether it comes out of the colonization of the country or was there beforehand, I simply do not know. (And it should be noted that it is a sign of respect not only towards whites, but anyone of significance.)

Needless to say, there were a number of women who would kneel when they met me or shook my hand. I did not create any scenes, made no drama even when in my head I was screaming, “NO! do not kneel before me!”

Until the night of the wedding.

As the young girl and I shook hands a gentleman near me instructed, “Kneel down in front of the white woman.”

He spoke this in the local language, but I could pick out ‘white woman’, and I could tell by the tone that a command had just been given, and from the immediate kneeling of this little one before me I knew exactly what had been said.

I immediately countered, “Do NOT tell her that!”

And just as quickly my own and a few other hands to my side, reached out to lift her to her feet.

This all happened within seconds. I was horrified. To teach this to the next generation simply made me enraged.

The next morning was Sunday, and I was preaching at church. Now I preached quite a bit on this trip, averaged out it would have been at least once per day. But this day was a bit different.

I woke in the morning with the heaviness of that little girl being told to kneel before me simply because I was white, crushing my heart and mind with grief.

Colonization of countries is the same evil in the hearts of white folk that led to slavery in untold proportions around the world.

My heart has been breaking over this for some time already. Most recently, the movie The Help has me simply weeping, with no other adequate response, each time I see it.

And so to find myself in a country that had once been colonized. To be on the receiving end of this… idolatry of whites, was simply not okay.

That Sunday morning I could not stop crying. My heart broke further.

And so as part of my message that day, I apologized.

“On behalf of white folk the world over, I am so sorry”

Quite frankly, the many many things that have gone wrong in times gone by, from one people group to another, continue to have profound effect and carry on strongholds within the lives of people and communities and nations.

And it takes someone to stand in the gap and to say, “That was not okay!”

“I am so very sorry”

And then, in the authority that God gives, to declare that the poison of these tragedies and of this evil be removed from the people, from the communities and from the nations.

Amen and amen.

Something I am profoundly glad to do.

In a Nutshell

P1230460 compressedThirty years ago I was given a picture in my mind’s eye of speaking the heart of God and praying freedom for people in Africa.

It’s been thirty years of preparation,

Thirty years of lessons, deep heart-aches, experiencing deep poverty of my own heart and soul and finding through it all a deep knowledge of God’s heart and of provision that supersedes anything I could figure out on my own.

God is alive and well and deeply interested in our realities and in entering into the mix of our lives with deep encouragements and touches from his heart to ours, and through our hearts to others and back again.

This is the knowing, and the message, that I took to Uganda.

Simply put: touched by God we are transformed forever.

It constantly amazes me how easy it is to bless each other. If I had never opened my mouth, there would have still been a profound ministry of God to the people of Madudu and Jinja and Inganga simply because a white woman came (alone) and stayed awhile.

This simple act of getting on a plane and flying half-way around the world spoke its own message. I don’t completely get it, may never fully understand it, but I saw it, was told it, and am humbled that my simple obedience can be such an empowering thing for those I met and stayed with.

One of my first days we took some simple medicines and prayer to the elderly in the outlying areas of Madudu, and in one humble home, lying on his bed unable to get up any longer, was one beautiful old man.

I could not speak his language, and he could not speak mine, but I prayed over him, blessing his strength and beauty of soul that poured through his eyes and countenance.

He then spoke to my companion, the translation:

“If a white woman has come to Madudu then God must be real, and I am ready to accept Jesus Christ now.”

I simply had to show up and in this a message of God was spoken to him.

And isn’t that simply it, really and all the time,

We show up,

We engage,

We honour,

We bless,

By our very manner, we say ‘Thank-you for living and for your contribution to the world’,

Simply by the space we hold for others,

The common places of joy and pain where we meet heart to heart, regardless of age, regardless of gender, regardless of space and time, of circumstance or surroundings…

We are simply all the same, and as we get into each others spaces we bless and are blessed.

This, in a nutshell, is our ministry around the world.