Uganda-Part 1

On the morning of Friday, February 4, I hugged my husband and 3 year old son and set off for my first trip to Africa. I didn't have much time to prepare. Two weeks at most? I think the last minute nature of the trip was God's way of protecting me from over processing about what being in Africa would be like. After traveling from LA to Chicago, to Turkey, my co-worker and I finally landed in Entebbe, Uganda on Sunday morning, February 6. Culture shock had found a new victim to infect.

The reality that I was half-way around the world and not within arms reach of my husband, my protector, began to settle in. I wasn't immune to that feeling of desperation. I had experienced it before in the middle east. But that same sinking feeling began to settle in and so began my conversations with God.

God calmed my anxieties immediately and filled my spirit with excitement, anticipation, and a yearning to see his spirit move in the country he had brought me to. Since I was a little girl, I had felt this connection in my heart with Africa. I can't tell you why. But I know that I was right where God had wanted me. I was here to

represent his name, his kingdom, and experience his heart for the people of Uganda.

After spending our first two days in Kampala, I began to feel ill. I had flu-like symptoms, but something was wrong. I began to wonder if the illness that had come over me was not just physical, but an aggressive spiritual attack to weaken my body.

By our 3rd day in Kampala the illness had peaked. It was not a coincidence that I was so violently ill on what was the most important day of our business trip. A battle was raging in the spiritual realms and I was caught somewhere in between in at all.

Walking through the streets of Kampala, God showed me through his eyes what he wanted me to see. I thought I knew what poverty looked like. I had never come face to face with it before, and here I was in a country that seemed to be over taken by it.

I kept my sunglasses on but could not fight back the tears that came. Then a child about 4 years old who was holding the hand of a small toddler, pulled on my skirt crying. It was an experience that lasted seconds, but left my heart broken.

I am a Christian. How do I just walk away from them? Isn't that the definition of a hypocrite?

There was more hurting people just around the corner. A man missing both of his legs sat on the side of the rode crying for someone to stop and help him. And still...we walked by, because that's what you were supposed to do. That was Africa and this was everywhere.

I was confused. My faith was challenged. I began to feel guilty for the life I had been blessed with in America. I began to talk to God and ask him a lot of questions. He answered some of them and some he left for me to answer. I kept hearing him ask me "what ARE YOU going to do about what you are seeing?"