Most years on Easter I am home making a copycat recipe of cinnabons. Most years I eat candy until I am ready to burst. This year is the first year I haven't spent it with my family. Today I went to church service held outside with the sun beaming down on me (not many can say they went to church on Easter Sunday and got a tan) our opening song was sung in Lugandan so we clapped our hands instead. We sat on the red benches and listened as this Pastor talked of that glorious day so many years ago. The translator spoke in Lugandan to the men and women around me. I serve the same God here that I do at home, but in a way I feel like I don't. At home God is used to fix my problems, but here I am dependent on His strength. I wake up every morning and grab my Bible because I know He will give me the perfect passage for that day. Before I fall asleep I do the same. And this God -this God I have served for years is showing me more of Himself. Whispering to my soul. Some moments are hard here, but the joy I have recieved and am continuing to recieve reminds me of how great His love is. At the end of the service we walked around to a wooden cross, we placed flowers upon it and suddenly this cross, this cross standing on the roadside in the middle of Africa, this cross standing in the midst of a street filled with dirt and garbage suddenly became beautiful. As I continue to learn about Him, I'm learning that's what He does, every time we are graced with His presence. He continues to bring His glory to our faces, He puts songs in our hearts and joy in our eyes, even though we stand in a world filled of dirt and sin. He makes us beautiful.