Surprised by grace

Saturday was Sarah Muhima's give-away (similar to an introduction; it can count as a cultural marriage, as the family is giving her away to her fiancé's family, but they will be wed properly in church this coming Saturday), and like all good African events, was lovely, and took a little while. I'll post pictures soon.

I asked Mark Muhima to come with me and be my Yoda so that I wouldn't get lost getting to the venue, and more importantly, getting home.  If he'd not been with me, I'd STILL be driving around Kampala. Since I had one of the bride's family with me, we got there early, left late, and I had to take him home - all of which points to getting back home late, which was fine.

Until I saw the text, at 10:00 pm, asking me to join the team at UCU for church, both services, to assist with distributing communion.  Despite being less than amused at the prospect, I agreed.

When I arrived at the vestry, I realized that the second service was confirmation, which meant that there was no way it would end in two hours (it ended up being about two and a half - not bad!).  I guess at this point you could call me the reluctant (and self-centered) priest.

The first service was fine; the chaplain asked me to celebrate, which is always a joy.  Then at the second service, there were just over 20 confirmands - not bad for a university chapel!

And then, God opened my eyes to show me what I would have missed had I declined to serve.  One of the confirmands was Mugisha Timothy, the young man who has been so sick.  To say that I was ecstatic to see him there would be an understatement!  Had he been in school, it's likely that he would have been confirmed there.  But since he's not been in school for some time, here he was.  Then I remembered that at the hospital, his mother mentioned that he would be confirmed soon.  I was thrilled that 1. he was out of the hospital, and 2. he was strong enough to walk up to the stage, kneel, and stand up (sans rail).

If that wasn't enough, at the end of the service, he came up at the end of the service for the bishop to pray for him.  The bishop started by telling the congregation that Mugisha's life hasn't been easy, and that understatement made the tears flow.  As the bishop prayed for him, I was asking God to either heal him or take him home.  The Vice Chancellor was sitting next to me, and hearing him agree with the bishops prayers only made the tears come faster and harder, and my demands for God to take care of Mugisha to become more fervent.

And to think that I had been inwardly whiny about serving that morning.  Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Friday's other events

Friday was quite the red-letter day, what with my niece's birth, and hearing the news while I was in lie at Shop Rite, squealing and attracting a lot of attention.

Exciting and memorable as that was, it wasn't the only thing that happened on Friday.  I had nothing to do (read: was pretty bored), and Mary Jane mentioned she had to go into Kampala, so I asked if I could tag along.  One of her errands was to go to the supermarket, which I also wanted to do but couldn't, as Amos had the car to at the hospital for his daughter's birth.

Mary Jane seems to be my Kampala Yoda, taking me to new parts of town and explaining how they connect.  I doubt I'll remember much, but it is still good to connect the dots.  Her older daughter had had a friend spend the night, so she had to take her home, go to the supermarket, and visit Mugisha in the hospital.

Mugisha Timothy is the son of one of Mary Jane's helpers, and he is in the late stages of leukemia.  I've listed him in the prayer request section of my newsletter for a couple months, and honestly, I'm happily surprised that he's still alive.  Things are not going well, however.  Please keep him and his family (especially his mother, Beatrice) in your prayers.

I've heard of the International Hospital in Kampala (IHK) with varying reports of its value, but had never been there.  Friday marked my first pastoral visit, as Mary Jane also wanted to visit Mugisha, and I was happy to go.

Obviously, hospitals in Uganda will bear little resemblance to hospitals in the US in terms of technology and snazziness.  IHK is fairly large, and like most buildings in Uganda, has lots of open areas (no air conditioning) and outside seating.  We met Beatrice outside, and she told us where to find Mugisha's bed.

We walked upstairs, and there was a gentleman with a Muslim cap sitting outside the door to the ward; I suppose he was supposed to stop and track visitors.  I told him we were looking for bed 25, and he directed us inside.  As we walked in, a man was telling him, "if you just give your life to Jesus..."  For some reason he didn't ask us to sign in; perhaps the evangelism distracted him?

We walked past several private rooms, and came to the semi-private area, which means that there are four beds to a large alcove, each separated with a curtain.  There is a television for the alcove, and there was a small balcony, as well as a tiny restroom.  We found Mugisha and talked with him a for a while and prayed with him.  He was hoping to be released before his birthday on Monday, which didn't happen.  I don't know whether he was released that day at all, though I certainly hope so.  Monday was his fifteenth birthday.

As we walked out, I saw a sign that listed visiting hours (which began at 6:00 am!!), and we were not within those hours.  The man at the door didn't challenge us, nor did any of the staff we met in the hallway.  I'm grateful for that.  I'm grateful we were able to visit for a little bit and pray with him; he's such a sweet boy/young man who is bearing this all with much grace.

Here she is!

Here she is!

My niece's official name is Makayla (who is like our God) Mwebaza (I thank him), but I think we may be calling her Jessica. 

When Amos and I were in seminary, he said that his father was named for an Englishman who had been around before he was born (Evans), and so he was going to name his first child in the same way-Hughes. I told him that was not a good idea since so few people say Hughes properly, so he settled on Jessica. 

I have a niece!

Sweet baby girl Kimera born this afternoon! Thank you for praying; I'll post more information as I get it. When I talked with Amos, he hadn't been in to see them yet, but I think all is well. Hallelujah!

Baby watch!

Please join me in praying for my little brother Amos and his wife Florence in these last hours of the baby watch. Florence is doing well; Amos is the anxious one!

At this morning's appointment, the doctor determined that 'the level of fluid has reduced,' and he decided to induce Florence tonight. 

When I sake why he sent her home rather than admitting her on the spot, Amos said that the doctor wanted to be there when the baby was born, so she has to be on the drip overnight.

This only illustrates that childbirth here is so much more different from in the US; no doctor on call. I'm grateful that she's being monitored, and that she's full-term. 

Please pray for a safe delivery, healthy baby, and peace for all. 

I'll post news of my niece or nephew tomorrow!

Third-world technology

When I'm using my modem at home, I can't use my other USB port, like for my wireless mouse (first-world problems in the third world, I know). 

So I picked up this USB port expander. Am I the only one who thinks this looks like a teething ring?

Hypocrisy

I'm noticing a not-so-subtle hypocritical streak of late.  Sunday night I attended a surprise bridal shower for a Ugandan friend, and I wore a purple African top that my tailor made.  Yesterday I wore a fairly new dress from African fabric that my tailor also made.  I recently picked up my mwenda (cultural dress from western Uganda) that I will wear at the bride's introduction on the 23rd.  At both the shower and chapel yesterday, my African wear made quite a splash; when I came home yesterday, Helen (my househelp) thanked me for being so smart.

Yet when I'm out and about, and I see another mzungu (white person) decked out in cultural wear, I generally think wow, he/she's trying too hard.  When it's my friends in their kitenge (African fabric), they look smart.  Mary Jane has beautiful African fabrics, and she looks great in them.  The Western men here don't wear African fabrics as often as the women, but they look great too.  My friends and students tell me I look smart; one friend told me to put away my Western clothes and only wear the bitenge (plural).

Really, though.  How on earth can the Westerners at UCU be smart and snazzy in their bitenge, yet no other Westerner can be?  If people love me in my bitenge in my context, I bet others love the bazungu (plural) in their contexts.  Lord, soften my heart!

Side note about the mwenda - it's lovely, with light ivory and fuchsia on the top, and black with fuchsia for the trim of the skirt.  Unfortunately, the top was constructed so that the ivory is next to my shoulders and neck, and since I am the fairest [palest] of God's creatures, it completely washes out on me, and I've been laying out like a 15-year old, to try to get a tan.  It's the rainy season; that is no easy feat.  I freaked out poor Helen yesterday with my chasing the sun and how my skin was "turning."

The message that made me cry

I've been trading Facebook messages with my little brother Amos because he's in the office directly behind me (we share a common wall), and clearly, this is how we communicate in the 21st century, regardless of continent.

So, we've been going back and forth (when is the baby coming (hopefully this weekend; I can't go visit my students until this kid shows), do you have a mosquito net for him/her (yes)), and then he drops this on me:

yaa. I keep thinking about how you took me in to be you brother and accepted me. Today I was think the far we have come and I kept looking at your photos.

And this just about reduced me to a puddle. It has been quite a road since I arrived at UCU in May 2009, the bewildered American seminarian.  Amos told me later that he thought I was in class as an observer - no one knew I was a student.  Through time and bumping along the masters of divinity road, the Lord gave me a little brother, and eventually a sister-in-law, and soon, a niece or nephew.

As much as I love being here, it's hard to be gone from everyone who knows me.  Yes, I have some friends here, the closest of whom are probably going back to the US in 18 months.  It's hard to live in another culture, no matter how well I've been adopted.  It's hard to know that you will never exactly fit in, and definitely never blend in.  It's hard to be single in a marriage-obsessed culture.  It's hard to live in a place where the people are transitory, like a university.

And yet, God's grace abounds - Amos took me in to be his "big sis," as he calls me.  Never mind that in his biological family, he's the seventh out of eight.  Never mind that his father has eight biological children; when he sees me, he booms out, "Daughter!" 

As a song says, I'm grateful that we're bound with cords that cannot be broken.

Graduation checklist

Robe and hood: check (recovered in the US)

Mortarboard hat: MIA

Sunglasses: check

Phone: check

iPad with Kindle app: check

Water: check

Program: check

Bring on nearly 1,700 graduands.