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 This past year I took up running thanks to the encouragement of my wife, and since we arrived in Uganda almost 3 weeks ago now there have been several mornings that we set the alarm for about 6:30 with the intention to run. Some mornings our one thin yellow bed-sheet seems heavier than it does other mornings; sometimes we make it out for a run and sometimes we don't. It is important for us to run early, not because of a strong runner's ethic, nor because of a strong work ethic, but simply because the earlier we run the less of a spectacle we are. Emily and I have visited Uganda twice before moving here, and I think I can count the number of times I have seen a Ugandan run on one hand. There has not been a single road where we have not seen the local people walking or riding a bicycle, but rarely will one break into a jog even to get out of the way of a speeding car. Time goes a lot slower here, and they have all the time in the world. On almost every street corner the boda drivers are leaning on their bicycles. A boda is one of the primary means of transportation here- it is a bicycle with a padded seat on back and the driver will give you a lift up and down the rolling hills of Jinja to your desired destination for about 30 cents or less. I can only imagine the multitude of thoughts that flow through their minds when they see us running. "What is the big hurry?" or perhaps, "There is an easier way of getting to wherever it is you are going." Most just stare, but many shout out "Hey Muzungu (their term for white person' which I have heard literally means the one who runs in circles')!" usually in more of a tone of ridicule than as the encouragement I am wanting and needing to get me to the next mile here at about 4000 feet. The world here usually awakens and starts moving by about 7:30am, so if we can be out the door by 6:30 it is best.
One morning Em and I rolled out of bed around 7:30 (almost an hour after the alarm first emitted the melodious tone we have all grown to love). We decided to run anyway, and grabbed our garbage on our way out so we could throw it in the dumpster about 50 yards from our apartment. As we were approaching the dumpster, a group of children presumably between the ages of about eight and twelve walked up to it from the opposite side and started sifting through the garbage. At this point you might be asking "What did you do? Did you take them in and feed them? Did you let them in your home to clean up? Are they living in your apartment now?" There have been such stories that I respect more and more with each passing day, but the answer is that we greeted them awkwardly, placed our trash in the dumpster and then turned away to start our run. As we turned, however, Emily spotted a small puppy dog, obviously on the brink of death, skin tight to its ribs, panting with it's body hunched close against the red clay covered sidewalk. Our inclination was to find some food for the dog, but how in the world could we feed the dog with children not 20 feet away rummaging through the trash bin for something of value? We turned away once again for our run, offering up meager prayers for the children and for the effects of a seemingly ubiquitous poverty.  We ran up Bell Avenue, and when we reached the top of the hill we took a left on the road that provides a full open view of the Nile. The road is broken and cracked with potholes the size of a small car filled with red mud, which also lines the side of the road. Coconut trees line the side of the road opposite the grand river with a deep green explosion of magnificent leaves out of a light brown trunk. The sky is a rich blue with brilliant white thunderhead clouds scattered against its canvass. The early sun sparkles and dances on the Nile and on Lake Victoria in the distance. Thin green vines climb the fences, huts and houses, and it seems that everything growing is in bloom. It is as if every tree bears fruit, whether banana, Mango, Papaya, or Avocado. On this run we are surrounded by every color imaginable- red, pink, white, purple, orange and blue flowers, all seeming to sing out, "Life is triumphant!" But in the midst of this chorus God's most precious and beloved creation is digging through the dumpster for a morsel of food. What an enigmatic and paradoxical world this is. The roads are lined with grazing cows, goats and chickens, yet the need is greater than the resource. Or is it? Our inaction in this situation might raise some concern or question about our presence here, and I think that the concerns and questions are valid. For us it is a deeper question that we are and always will be facing here- "How do we go about working with limited resources in a place with unlimited need?" There are some that have resolved to live in a hut with the natives and give up all they had in an effort to love, embrace and identify with the people in developing world contexts. I honor and respect this kenotic sacrifice, though some of the people here would feel betrayed that one would give up their resources of assistance. We understand that we are not Christ and that our power is limited if anything at all, but we also believe that we are the body of Christ and that God can take our pitiful offerings and use them to transform the world around us. God is always creating and recreating, but the children at the dumpster are an ever present reminder that the gospel is not a mere triumphalistic proclamation that Jesus wins and the story is over, but that Christ is constantly calling us to be in community with this world that is yearning for redemption. These are the faces and the voices that protect the church from spending ninety percent of discussion and debate on what happens in the Sunday morning service. We have the opportunity to be voices of resurrection and we get to share in the work of the kingdom of heaven. This is truly an amazing concept for us. We are finding that this work is more enmeshed with the questions we are asking than the answers we are providing as we discover daily that what we truly know is so very little. It is our hope that God will use is here in our weakness.
Emily and I often carry little packages of crackers and "sweeties" now to hand out to the children as we walk down the street. It is a small offering, especially compared to the offerings that many of you who are reading this are making and have made. This is an experience that has drawn us to our knees, and we ask that you pray for us. Please pray that God will give us wisdom, insight and unlimited imagination as we wrestle with the issue "How do we go about working with limited resources in a place with unlimited need?" I wish that we could adequately express the gratitude we feel for the example that the team before us has provided in this area. *Many of the thoughts and ideas for this entry were developed in conversations with my teammate Ben Langford on the drive to and from Kampala yesterday.
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