She called it Divine destiny

Loving the Little Children of the World

Part Two

I arrived in Uganda and was greeted by a gentle soul – the one who opted for the title ‘team leader’. He humbly led the people serving in the ministry and walked in kindness with them – guiding and serving them and the surrounding community. I watched him behind closed doors as I figured out his quiet and nonchalant ways and discovered my own disposition in Uganda.

He was reserved and respectful. We traveled to and fro from the city to the village and to the city again and again. I watched as he and Mathias, the director of the organization, teamed up with their contrasting strengths and created beauty. He was dedicated and committed to goodness. He had been a part of the organization for seven years and continued to be faithful to his work but, more than that, to the people and to the children he was serving.

Friendship grew organically with time as he graciously guided me through the various differences in culture and lifestyle and often was the one to stand for me as people called and beckoned and heckled.

I wrote down the stories he told – the ones of his mother and his grandmother; of him as a boy and a teen in secondary school. He had no documentation of his life – the only photos, a mere memory etched in his mind and the stories, a collection of words stored in his heart. I wrote the stories; I thought his story ought to be told: an inspiration to many.

He was a dreamer behind his quiet demeaner – he saw vision and sparks of lasting change. He desired to empower, to serve, to love and to walk alongside. He desired to document, tell stories, write testimonies, speak of redemption throughout years and generations.

He carried his camera with him everywhere he went – inspired by his own life and story. He wanted the children to have documentation of the way life was growing up, a way to testify in the years to come. For in the days of his young life when there was no sugar for tea and no beans for posho, only salt on the sticky bland cornmeal, he had no photos. He wished for just one, a moment captured in time, to speak as a testimony of the places God had raised him from.

We sat in the car together, side by side, with the rumble of the old engine and I asked him my list of lengthy get-to-know-you questions: dreams, aspirations, history, personality, preferences. The questions ranging from, “how did you meet Jesus” to “do you prefer soft or crunchy cookies” and he kindly answered them all. My questions came to a dead stop when I asked, “would you ever live somewhere else?” and he, confidently and without hesitation, responded: “no, I am going to stay and serve my people.”

For a culture that dreams of America, his answer shook me. Every person I had met up to that point had shared their dreams of going to America – why they wanted to go, how they hoped to get there, and what they expected life would be like once they arrived. And maybe, the most beautiful point of any dream is not the dream itself, but the way it characterizes us – the dreamers.

What do your dreams say about where your heart is? Where does your treasure lie?[1]

I wondered at his words. They, too, spoke like words engraved on the heart – stored in the core with warmth and curiosity. We continued in friendship – walking with one another as we walked alongside others in our community and at the place we called home.

I spent a few of the summer months away and as I prayed for my long-awaited return to Uganda, the words of a relative sunk deeply and spoke to my spirit:

Divine destiny.

They were words clearly orated to her as she prayed for my return; words clearly felt by me, as I anticipated the coming back. I had felt these words before, although in a different phrase spoken:

It will be more impactful to go and return than it would be for you to stay.

The words carried freedom. A freedom to go, a freedom to return, a freedom to follow, and a freedom to be.

I wondered at these words. I stored them in my heart. I prayed for them – the places that they had come from and the places they would lead me by the guiding hands of the One which spoke through them.

I returned to Uganda alone and grieved at transition and change and loss. It was always a curious thought that you can have many homes in many places with many people and at each corner and every goodbye there is equal sorrow and joy. Surely, we know, with each passing grief and every place we feel as a home, it mirrors a truer Home – one our souls so rightly crave.

It was October and we sat side by side again driving down the main road, windows down. We went about our work – the places we had been called to serve and the purposes we sought to fulfill. He spoke shyly of a common likeness – hearts to serve and similar interests. In the following weeks after prayer and fasting – seeking the Lord in wisdom and guidance, we began courtship.

In January the following year, he knelt and asked the words sweeter than honey,

"Will you marry me?"

I answered with a nod.

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On the second of June, we will say yes and enter a holy covenant of marriage made before man through God and for His glory. My parents and brother in tow, we will journey across Uganda by the great Lake Victoria and the headwaters of the Nile to step into ‘I do’.

And those words, all those many months ago, that spoke of Divine destiny arose in my spirit. The story which I tell certainly is one eternally ordained and lavished in heavenly favor.

Our hearts remain oriented to serve and love the people and children of Uganda.

Welcome to the next step - part two.

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[1] Matthew 6:2