I looked down at my legs and thought, “Wow, I’m super tan . . .” And then I took a bucket shower and my tan washed right down the drain.
Uganda is leaving its mark on me. This mark is deeper than just the red dirt that blows and leaves me filthy whenever I walk outside. It is a mark that is piercing my heart. My heart is pierced each time I pick up a crying child and they bury their dirty head in my shoulder. My heart is pierced each time the Auntie’s bring in a meal that I would stick my tongue out at in America but that I am so grateful for because I know that it has been prepared with so much love and generosity. My heart is pierced each time the heat of the hot African day is relieved by the cool breeze of a crystal clear sky that has more stars than you can ever imagine. My heart is pierced each time I am welcomed into a tiny hut and the owners do not apologize for having so little, but praise God for how much they do have.
I don’t know how I can feel so at home in a country that I had never been to up until 24 days ago. I don’t know how I can feel like this is where God created me to be, but I know it is. How I can feel more at home in a country I’ve only been in for three weeks than a country I have lived in for 20 years, I have no idea. But this is becoming my home. My heart beats stronger on this continent. As someone told me back home, Africa is in my blood; it is piercing my heart.
