They are marching for the martyrs.  Do you know what that is?

She asks me and I just nod, I watch the men, women and children marching along the road.

They come from all over, see that woman?  She's coming from Kenya.  Those people are from Tanzania.  They come from all over Africa and they all march to Kampala in memory of all those killed for the gospel. 


I used to flip through "Voice of the Martyr's" magazine, intrigued by the fact that so many people suffer for the gospel, and dreaming of the day when I would walk those dirt roads, hold those chocolate colored little hands and be near to the persecution.

Today, I call Uganda home.

A place almost destroyed by a man who thought himself God.  Killing thousands, brainwashing soldiers and hurting so many lives.

A place with 12 % Muslims- where I hear the the call to prayer as I walk down the main street.

A place were pastors have been attacked with acid, leaving them to deal with pain, but giving them more strength than ever.

A place with so much beauty despite the despair they have seen.

They keep marching.

And I wonder- if the United States of America faced persecution like those in Africa would we still be marching?

Would you? 

I've noticed something about American Christians after being in Africa.  We are lukewarm.  We do not feel the weight of 147 million orphans or 27 million slaves or 200 million Christians who suffer persecution in some degree for their faith.  We've built walls around ourselves and allowed ourselves not to feel anymore.  We've become lazy.  Yes, we go on mission trips and take pictures of things that make us feel for a moment.  But once we are back to our country with our walls pulled up around us, we don't have to feel anymore.  We convince ourselves that that is not our responsibility.  We don't need to go clothe those half-naked children, we don't have need to feed those starving families, we don't need to walk along side that persecuted church. We convince ourselves that it's a missionary's job- not realizing that we all should be on mission for Christ. We convince ourselves that we don't need to do anything for Christ to love us, because He'll love us if we only believe in Him.

And that's true.

Jesus holds a promise that he will always love us, no matter what may come.

And that's beautiful.

But with something so beautiful and with Someone who did so much for us shouldn't we long to go far and beyond and feel more than we ever have?

Shouldn't we see that child and say "I cannot leave you as an orphan."?

Shouldn't we see that persecuted church and say "I'll stand beside you no matter what comes."? 

Shouldn't we see that starving family and say "I'll stop at nothing to see you fed and healthy."? 

Shouldn't that be natural?

It was natural to Jesus-it was Who He was- love and grace and goodness.

He walked the dirty and broken road.  He chose to love the prostitutes and thieves, instead of gaining popularity and wealth with the teachers.

I'd rather be popular with the sinners than with the Christians, because that would mean I was doing something right.

I'm not saying I have all this figured out.  But I'm trying.  Not everything comes natural, but I'm striving for the day that it will.


"Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.  Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you." -Matthew 5:11- 12 

I see them marching on and on with their umbrellas blocking the African sun, babies tied to backs, water jugs empty and bouncing against their hips, their feet pound upon the hard African ground, bundles tied on their heads, they still have a long way to go- but their burdens fell upon the cross miles and miles ago. 

I see them marching on and on and on, and they have it figured out.  They have felt the pain, but they have heard the news that they are blessed because of it, so, they keep on marching. 

Then, I hear it.  

Their voices lifted high for a King who sees every pain, every heartbreaks and every fear.

And if they who have lost and lived far more than I have, keep marching, than so will I... until I see His face.

Will you?

That Time I House Hunted in Africa.

For anyone wondering how we found our home in the middle of Uganda, Africa... it was no easy task!

We went to Soroti with Tom (my friend, Susan's brother) already searching for a house for us to rent.  He had found 2 and was excited to show them to us, and so were we.  We arrived in Soroti at 11:30am, after a 6 hour car ride.  We pulled into the neighborhood that Tom had in mind for us and then went to see if the owners of the homes were there.

The first house was a duplex, it was all locked up so we peered through the windows and decided that it seemed much too small.  The real thing that turned me off was the occupants of the other home had a terrifying looking dog and much of their stuff was overflowing into the other side of the yard.  So we walked to the next house, it was tiny.  But it was more than enough for me, Susan and Amy. AND it was a extremely low price, with a very safe neighborhood. We decided to call the owner and ask a couple questions and then see when we could meet with him.  A worker there told us "Someone came yesterday to pay."  We called the owner to double check, and someone had come the day before and paid.  We were bummed.

We headed to the taxi park where there was supposedly some brokers who knew of some homes for rent.  After waiting in the hot car for a couple hours we found a broker who said for a fee of $15 he would help us find a home.  We went to a small cafe got some lunch and waited for him to call with houses.  Of course he called as soon as we sat down to eat.  We rushed our lunch and went to pick up the broker and he was going to show us a couple houses. The first house was all locked up, but it looked very promising.  Problem was the owner wouldn't be back until later that day.  The second house was a duplex (which we had told the broker we didn't want), it was nice, but there was a single man living next door, and I wasn't especially  fond of that idea.  The last house he took us to was an apartment.  It was gorgeous, but I wasn't convinced that it was what we wanted.  Onward we went.

We dropped off the broker and picked up another guy who said he knew of a house.  We went with him to an older lady's home.  Let's just say one of the "bedrooms" was too small for a mattress.  We ended the day, tired and grumpy and went to a hotel in town.  It was so refreshing.

The next morning we went to find internet while we waited for the broker to show us the first house (the one that looked promising). He told us the owners would be there in a couple hours.  We'd call again after a couple hours past.  He said they were on their way... they'd be there in a couple hours.  Susan and I took a long walk and looked for the spray painted "house for rent" on the walls.  We found a couple only to call the number and find out they were already taken. After 2 hours of wondering, we went back and then headed to dinner.

At 7:30pm the owners finally pulled into town.  It was pouring rain and thundering... I think it reflected how we were all feeling at that point.  We pulled into the house, and it still seemed so promising.  Until we opened the door, and realized the inside was basically complete concrete and need so much work.  The electricity and power were not connected yet and there was a wheelbarrow and tools sitting in the living room.  We headed back to the hotel.  Simply exhausted and on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Next morning we visited a house, it was a good house, but the amount they wanted was too much, and I felt very uneasy about it.  We decided to go back to the apartment and see if we could possibly rent it.  It would work for us for the time being and then we could move out in a couple months.  Seeing it a second time made us realize how gorgeous it was.  We went into town to meet the owner and he told us he wasn't sure he trusted the "whites" to pay, he had a European man move out without paying his bills.  But, if we could get the money to him before the other interested family we could have the apartment.  We made a wild dash to the ATM, only to realize I had a cap on my account and couldn't withdraw the money needed.  We borrowed money from a good friend and then made a dash back to the owner... we got there just as the other family was walking out- they had beat us to it.   To say we were frustrated would be an understatement.

We decided to go back and meet with the duplex owner (the one with the single man next door) and see what he said and if we could look at it again. The way he talked to us automatically turned Susan and I off.  He basically told me that because I was white I would be in danger, unless I made a 6 month payment, then he would build a concrete fence and all would be good. Already not fond of the house we decided it was a no go.  We dropped off the broker and told him we didn't need him anymore.  We had began to realize that he was taking up more of our time than needed, and he simply wasn't showing us what we had asked for.  So, we began the search on our own.  We knocked on gates, looked at couple houses for rent, and then walked down the road, and knocked on more gates. We finally found a gorgeous duplex, and asked if we could meet with owner in the morning.  After that we went back to the hotel, got a delicious dinner and went to bed hopeful.

The next morning we met the owner and he told us he wanted $700 US dollars for one month rental- which is completely outrageous there. We told him no thanks and went back to knocking on gates.  We had called a missionary family (who I had met by chance earlier on when I was volunteering at the babies home) and they told us to go to a shop where a lady worked and ask her if she knew of any houses- because usually she did.  We tried one last neighborhood.  That's when we found it.

We pulled into a little pink house, kinda in the middle of nowhere- houses spread out a bit with a couple grass roofed huts here and there. The yard was stunning with 2 HUGE mango trees, 3 orange trees, a papya tree, several matoke trees, and passion fruit. The house was gorgeous and perfect, but still a humble. It wasn't too big, or too small.  It wasn't too far from town, but it was more in the direction of the village. Oh, and it was within our budget.  We also found out that the missionary family we called earlier on is renting our landlords other house in town! We stumbled upon this house by ourselves! AND there are many children in the neighborhood, which is exciting because that will bring yet another way to minister in our own neighborhood as well as the village.  I'm glad we didn't settle for anything less.  So blessed by a God who knows exactly what we need, He loves and provides for His children!

I am looking forward to all the adventures that are to be had in this home.