what home looks like

Posted by ronnerock on Sat 04-28-2012
Posted in Adoption, Advocacy, Care for the Discarded, Musings and Thoughts, Orphan Care

There are days when I’m simply homesick. It’s a homesick that isn’t really about a specific physical destination at all – but about a place where I feel most “normal.” A place where my heart feels most settled. I know that, truth be told, I’ll never really feel truly home outside of Heaven. But there is a “place” here on earth where all that the Lord has created me to be is poured out and used up and spent fully. It’s a feeling that conflicts with the “but isn’t home here?” and “but you already have a family” and “but think of all you’d miss if…” logic. It’s a feeling that sets my heart dreaming of what might be, of a family that just keeps expanding and growing, of a home that’s not defined by borders, of my grandson playing soccer with kids on a dusty road or my husband teaching men how to grow crops.

Today is one of those days. I woke up with homesick in my heart. I woke up longing to breathe in the comfort of discomfort, the familiarity of the unfamiliar, the community that exists when the common things are grace and mercy and love and laughter and tears.

And today, the Lord gave me a little gift. He whispered to a friend in Uganda. And she whispered to her friends at Arise Africa International. And the home that’s not defined by borders – the family that just keeps expanding and growing – came to visit for a while, to tell me about a day of swimming, to let me see some smiles. And to sing a little song.

“Home wasn’t a set house, or a single town on a map. It was wherever the people who loved you were, whenever you were together. Not a place, but a moment, and then another, building on each other like bricks to create a solid shelter that you take with you for your entire life, wherever you may go.” ~Sarah Dessen

So, what does home look like for you? Is it a place? Is it people? And do you ever feel homesick?

~Ronne

5 minutes. project 30.

Posted by ronnerock on Wed 04-18-2012
Posted in Advocacy, Care for the Discarded, Funding, Orphan Care

Five minutes.

I pray about what I’ll say to several hundred teenagers tomorrow night. I’ve got 5 minutes to share a little bit about my recent trip to Uganda – 5 minutes to inspire each of them to get involved in an incredible effort called Project30.

300 Students. 30 Days. $1 per Day. Providing support for 10 Pastors in Uganda for one year and buying 300 Bibles for the churches of Arise Africa!

Story after story fills my mind. The sentences form in Uganda but then the words connect with other words in other countries – Guatemala and Romania and Argentina and Russia. Five countries on four continents. Different languages, different people groups, different lifestyles, different ministries. But I’ve found there is a common thread in them all. A thread of unity in worship, in prayer, in purpose. And in justice for the discarded, the marginalized, the oppressed.

Lena with Orphan Outreach works with orphans who have “aged out” in Russia – helping with education, housing, and life skills. Her love and care offers hope and a sense of worth to teens who have been told they are worthless.

In Romania, Ovidiu and his team with House of Joy and Red Page Ministries are building a safe place for children living in the poorest rural communities to come and play, learn, and grow in their faith.

Alisha and David, working with the International Mission Board, start house churches in barrios in Argentina, creating missional community for those who have never had the opportunity to be part of a congregation.

And in Guatemala, two families in two villages are transforming the lives of discarded children. The names of their homes define the beauty and healing that lives inside – Pequeno Refugio (Little Refuge) and Mi Especial Tesoro (My Special Treasure).

In Uganda, there is justice and mercy poured out like rain on parched souls. Pastors receive support to care for their villages. Orphans are offered sanctuary and healing. New moms are taught how to care for their families. Students are provided a quality education and safe place to live. Crops are grown to feed the needy. So many individuals at Arise Africa, working in so many villages – all for one purpose. A common purpose that is footnoted on every sentence of every story in every country.

If just one life is changed, history is changed.

Tomorrow, I have 5 minutes. For one purpose. To change history.

So they’ll have one purpose. To change history.

…the Lord has told us what is good. What he requires of us is this: to do what is just, to show constant love, and to live in humble fellowship with our God. ~Micah 6:8

we are all the same.

Posted by ronnerock on Sat 03-10-2012
Posted in Advocacy, Care for the Discarded, Mission Trips, Musings and Thoughts

We sat quietly as the dawn began to break, the landscape around us shifting from grayscale to color. Jim was reviewing the images he had captured while I organized notes and listened to a dove measure time with a drum-beat song.

As he sat, cropping and adjusting contrast on the pictures, he said, “We are all the same. It really is true.”

He shared with me that, when viewed through a vectorscope, our differences fade. Color washes away. Melanin and blood blend together to create one shade: flesh. We are unique in hue, but what makes us the same eclipses what makes us different.

Perhaps that’s why smiles always look good on everyone, why love always complements the one who is wearing it, why things like forgiveness and belonging and kindness are as meaningful in a mud hut as they are in a mansion. Perhaps that’s why Good News is truly good.

We. are. all. the. same.

Every item of your new way of life is custom-made by the Creator, with his label on it. All the old fashions are now obsolete. Words like Jewish and non-Jewish, religious and irreligious, insider and outsider, uncivilized and uncouth, slave and free, mean nothing. From now on everyone is defined by Christ, everyone is included in Christ.

So, chosen by God for this new life of love, dress in the wardrobe God picked out for you: compassion, kindness, humility, quiet strength, discipline. Be even-tempered, content with second place, quick to forgive an offense. Forgive as quickly and completely as the Master forgave you. And regardless of what else you put on, wear love. It’s your basic, all-purpose garment. Never be without it. (Colossians 3)

what love does

Posted by ronnerock on Thu 03-01-2012
Posted in Advocacy, Care for the Discarded, Mission Trips, Musings and Thoughts, Orphan Care

If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate. If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing. If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love.

Love never gives up. Love cares more for others than for self. Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have. Love doesn’t strut, doesn’t have a swelled head, doesn’t force itself on others, isn’t always “me first,” doesn’t fly off the handle, doesn’t keep score of the sins of others, doesn’t revel when others grovel, takes pleasure in the flowering of truth, puts up with anything, trusts God always, always looks for the best, never looks back, but keeps going to the end. Love never dies.

Love restores

Noah attends the Arise Africa Secondary School. His father passed away years ago, and it is unclear where his mother is. His uncle encouraged him to attend school, noting his gift for math and science. He wants to be a doctor or a veterinarian. He says the school has changed his life, and is thankful for the sponsor who thought enough to help him.

Love heals

He couldn't walk. He couldn't talk. But now, through the tender love of caregivers at Arise Africa Baby Home, little Marvin is taking his first steps. He is a miracle dressed in plaid.

Love embraces

Damion witnessed atrocities no child should ever see. When he came to Arise Africa Baby Home, he was withdrawn, hurt, and angry. Now he smiles and says this is his home. He says he feels cared for, and he has so many friends. He laughs all the time.

Love responds

Joseph tells us about all the crops and livestock Arise Africa grows. Children are fed. The poor in neighboring villages are served. God has given them 5 square miles. It is their prayer that every square inch can be used for ministry.

Love protects

The mosquito nets in the dorms at the Arise Africa Secondary School are so much more than colorful. They save the lives of the children there. Sponsorships pay for more than books and school supplies - they also pay for beds, nets, and clothing.

Love gives

Martha Judith has never met her parents. She was told they practiced witchcraft and both died. And auntie found Arise Africa Secondary School. Martha Judith wants to be a nurse. She thanks her sponsor as she shares her story in a library full of donated books.

Love makes all things new

Esther is a bundle of life. She's so smart, with eyes that take in everything around her. When she was brought to the Baby Home, she was extremely malnourished.

Love fills all the empty spaces with its brilliant light. It is alive and active. It transforms. It warms the hearts of everyone it touches. And in Uganda, it has touched mine.

Thank you Africa. Thank you Arise Africa. Thank you, Austin Christian Fellowship.

Thank You, Jesus.

Thank you, love.

we belong to each other.

Posted by ronnerock on Wed 02-29-2012
Posted in Advocacy, Care for the Discarded, Mission Trips, Musings and Thoughts

I wish sometimes that I could be a bird, like the eagles that soar effortlessly in the skies here in Uganda, flying in circles over a moment to see how all the pieces of it weave together like a brilliant piece of cloth.

Or perhaps I could be a painter, could pick up a brush and paint what I see – just sit tucked away in some quiet corner of an experience to depict every motion and emotion. Now, some would argue that words can do that too, but there’s something about the stroke of the brush against a canvas that can create a moment you could step inside.

Today, if I was a bird, I would see so many colorful threads. Today, if I was a painter, it would have been a lovely “sometime.”

It was the last day of a week-long pastors conference hosted by Arise Africa. The teaching team had traveled every day to a different zone to share biblical truth with local pastors and church leaders in Uganda. New Valley Baptist Church was already in full swing when we arrived. There was hug after hug from the women as they grabbed us and ushered us to the front of the sanctuary to dance. A scarf was tied around my waist, giving me permission to shake my hips (clearly they must have noticed those hips can’t NOT move). We jumped and danced and spun around and attempted to sing the words that were a mixture of Luganda and English. The Casio keyboard played in the corner of the rough-hewn clay brick church that Pastor Joseph says has now grown too small for the village. On Sundays, more than 100 people attend, plus their children. And during the week, a primary school has been launched to educate a large number of orphans who live with other family members. He says he’s had a vision of a team coming from the United States to help build an addition to the church. Certainly, every square inch of the sanctuary was filled with people ready to worship and take detailed notes of each session. But there were threads all around the little church in the dusty village of Palisa.

In front of the church, a small child was cradled by his mother – a dignified woman who was now pregnant with twins. No larger than a toddler, the child named Eric was almost 6. A long period of time without oxygen at birth had rendered him unable to walk or talk. She and her husband did what they could to nurture Eric, but they had six other children to care for and two more within months of arrival. Eric had never been tested to see that options of treatment might be available. Today, Arise Africa stepped in. Once Eric is tested, partner organizations will be sought to provide the care he deserves.

Beside the church, Pastor Edward shared his story with tears in his eyes. He lost his wife in October, and struggles to be both mom and dad to his children. Rainy season is coming, and he worries about the thatched roof in his home. It leaks. But his heart hurts for more than his children – it hurts for all the children of his country. “I pray more people will come to Africa, that they will not be afraid of our people. Our children need to know they are not forgotten. I know it is difficult for those in America to lock up their homes and leave their possessions to come – it is a long journey and it is hard – but when they come they see we are the same people.” He asks me if I am going to move here and bring my husband, and says he would show me how to make a garden so there would be fruits and flowers. Fruit is expensive and rare in Palisa – it could save lives.

Behind the church, near the outdoor kitchen where his wife Agnes was preparing a lunch of beans and posho, Pastor Joseph asked for prayer for her. She is sick and has not gotten well. Arise Africa paid for a visit to the doctor, and the course of treatment included a prescription and dietary change. That change includes fruit – again, the one thing that is difficult to purchase. We prayed for supernatural healing and for people who might provide help in any way.

Under a grove of trees, Pastor Nelson, pastor of Wakitaka Baptist Church and an Arise Africa leader, shared his heart and their vision for planting churches in Uganda. Currently there are 158 – and they feel 400 more should be planted. He passionately spoke of the “Timothys” that he knows are already in villages, just waiting to be trained and supported as they preach and teach and serve. The churches may be made of brick, or mud and cow dung, or sticks and thatch – or simply use the shade of a tree as their roof. But their divine purpose is the same.

In the front of the church, children ran and played with team members willing to simply run and skip and be silly for the sake of the Gospel. They sang songs about bottles of soda and shouting and how big God is. And they loved seeing their faces in pictures.

And inside the church, the loom that weaves the threads was shared. Inside that church, the palette with every color imaginable was held up for the brush. Five simple words echoed off the clay and dirt and trees:

We belong to each other. ~Romans 12:5

The birds know it. Those who paint know it. And on days like this, with each person serving – teaching, praying, caring, feeding, holding each other up and loving each other – those threads weave and those colors blend and flow into stories with new threads and new colors. Pastor Edward’s prayer is that they will become part of your story. Today, if I was a bird, I would fly the threads to you. If I was a painter, I would bring a canvas home to you.

So since we find ourselves fashioned into all these excellently formed and marvelously functioning parts in Christ’s body, let’s just go ahead and be what we were made to be, without enviously or pridefully comparing ourselves with each other, or trying to be something we aren’t.

If you preach, just preach God’s Message, nothing else; if you help, just help, don’t take over; if you teach, stick to your teaching; if you give encouraging guidance, be careful that you don’t get bossy; if you’re put in charge, don’t manipulate; if you’re called to give aid to people in distress, keep your eyes open and be quick to respond; if you work with the disadvantaged, don’t let yourself get irritated with them or depressed by them. Keep a smile on your face.

Love from the center of who you are; don’t fake it. Run for dear life from evil; hold on for dear life to good. Be good friends who love deeply; practice playing second fiddle.

Don’t burn out; keep yourselves fueled and aflame. Be alert servants of the Master, cheerfully expectant. Don’t quit in hard times; pray all the harder. Help needy Christians; be inventive in hospitality.

Bless your enemies; no cursing under your breath. Laugh with your happy friends when they’re happy; share tears when they’re down. Get along with each other; don’t be stuck-up. Make friends with nobodies; don’t be the great somebody.

*thanks to Jim Shields and Cordel Robinson for the photo love today…

broken road.

Posted by ronnerock on Mon 02-27-2012
Posted in Advocacy, Care for the Discarded, Mission Trips, Musings and Thoughts, Uncategorized

Today’s journey took 11-1/2 hours, and left me weary and worn and covered in dirt. It was caked around my nose, had congregated on my forehead in a misshapen heart, and had even found its way into my ears. I knew the wind stung as we traveled today along pitted and gnarled rural roads. Now I know why. I don’t know any no one at dinner had the heart to tell me. But in a way, I wish I could wear it a bit longer – it is a beautiful reminder of how beautiful broken roads can be.

Our goal was to visit three villages, three pastors, three communities of faith. Those were the destinations. But the total time at those destinations was less than 3 hours. The rest of the time was spent in the back seat of a jeep with no air conditioning and no radio. The roads varied from well-paved highways to paths no wider than a yardstick. We dodged cattle, goats, chickens – and even a baboon – to get to our destinations. As we passed through village after village that emerged from the dust and smoke like ghosts of a time gone by, we were met with waves, smiles and “jambo!” God blessed us with a cooler day and windows that sometimes rolled down to let in a cool (but dirt-filled) breeze. And a pair of small speakers and a flipflop transformed my iPod into a beautiful dashboard stereo.

I tried to remember the names of each village we passed. Akowabi. Kimimbi. Bimuni. Busesa. The list grew too long and the villages began to blur. Whether on a paved road or on a trail, there was a familiarity to them. Homes in the distance. Town Center with wooden sheds selling fresh meat, vegetables, cell phone minutes, or plastic shoes. At least one place where the men would congregate outside to talk under the shade of a tree. And women sitting on mats with babies.

I tried to take pictures of the ever-changing landscape but the roads were too rough to get anything beyond a blurred square of color. Rice paddies and marshland gave way to forests of pine and eucalyptus that were then were pushed aside by mountains that seemed to simply erupt from the plain.

Life wafted in and out of the windows of the car. The sweet fragrance of coffee tree flowers, the loudspeakers calling for prayer in the mosques, the laughter of children playing at boarding school after boarding school. And the comfort of freshly cooked chapati bread that Pastor Nelson (our kind translator and journeyman) was willing to purchase for me at a local restaurant in Mbale.

I prayed for the people I saw as the songs of Robbie Seay Band, Gungor, Jesus Culture, and Red Mountain Music provided a soundtrack of lament, praise, and hope. “Come all ye pining, hungry, poor. The Savior’s bounty taste…”

The broken road moments made the destinations even more precious. In Sironko, a village in the Mbale Zone that now has a church built with funds from faithful folks at Austin Christian Fellowship, I learned cooking tips from from beautiful women who were making lunch for those attending the pastors conference.

As they stirred the huge pots of posho, pinto beans, and meat, they told me to caramelize onions until they are a deep caramel before adding water and rice to give the rice a rich flavor and a beautiful golden hue. The darker the better, according to the women who were fearless in moving huge metal pots over roaring flames. I wanted to linger there, to talk about motherhood and meals and serving.

In Sibona, a tiny village in the Busia Zone, I was brought to tears when Pastor Juma and his wife Jessica served us a meal of posho, cassava, rice, and “local chicken” (meaning it lived outside their hut before it became a savory dish for us). They put out fine purple cloth on the table and chairs to protect our (dust-covered) clothes from the red dirt that covered everything, and their daughter knelt in front of us as we washed our hands in a small bowl. The pastor and his wife have little to feed their nine children and growing number of grandchildren – let alone the village they serve – but caring for us was their top priority as we learned of his past 20 years in ministry.

And in Nakigunju, an even smaller and more rugged village in the Bugeri Zone, 80-year old Pastor Fester welcomed us with open arms as he shared the story of Arise Africa, how life as a minister has changed over the past 50 years of preaching, and how he is now training up three young men in the village to “share the saving love of Jesus Christ for the next 50 years.”

As we returned to Jinja on roads illuminated only by the glow of headlights, I saw a word on a truck.

Ndhigakweya.

It means “I will dry the tears.”

Traveling the broken road today, I know He will. Again, today’s song resonates in my heart. “Come all ye pining, hungry, poor…” He will make all things new.

goodnewsi (the smile and the blue book)

Posted by ronnerock on Sun 02-26-2012
Posted in Care for the Discarded, Funding, Mission Trips

There was something about her smile that told me we were sisters. As I walked through the doorway of the church made of mud and sticks and into the dancing, jumping, twirling joy of unabashed, unfettered praise, she turned and our eyes met. The smile said, “I’ve been waiting for you. I have a story to tell.”

Her actual name was six names – long enough to fill an entire line in my notebook, but being a mom in Uganda is much like being a mom in the US. While I may be Ronne Rock, I will forever be “Ian’s Mom.” And so it is with her. Her name was Mama S. She was tall and slender and beautiful, with a dress of Texas sky blue.

My teammate Jim and I did our best to blend into the blur of dance, and two grandmothers hugged me and twirled me as I stepped in time to the beautiful a capella worship that filled the room. There were no hymnals, no projection screen with the latest praise and worship hit from Hillsong, no electricity. The only instrument being played was a drum. The richness of the moment was awe-inspiring. And when it was time to pray, the voices of the saints in the room exchanged their songs for words – each person on their knees in reverence to the Creator of the universe Who showers His kindness and good affection on each one. Their voices transported me to another room and other voices heard only weeks before. Heaven will sound like those voices.

Mama S motioned for me to come near, and pulled out a blue book – the same books used for exams in college. She carried several with her in a bag, filled with notes that she seemed to cherish as much as her with threadworn bible. She turned to a page and pointed to an inscription – then pointed to me. The inscription read “a woman is coming who is a good branch” with scripture references to God calling His people together. Next to it was written “goodnewsi.” I was humbled that she would consider me worthy of such a promise given to her by God. I fought back tears as we continued to dance in time to the divine rhythm of the music.

Several people stood to give testimonies of the Lord’s goodness, and Mama was one of them. Some praised Him for healing, some praised Him for strength. Mama praised Him for saving her and praised Him for His divinity. Others spoke in Lugandan, but Mama read words she had carefully crafted in English. It’s as if she knew strangers would be mixed with family today, and wanted to ensure they felt included in the moment. That smile flashed again.

As the message began, I moved to a bench at the back corner of the room to avoid distracting others or getting in the video we were shooting. The village children gathered around me, fascinated by my skin and hair and iPhone and YouVersion and every letter of every note I was taking about the morning and the message Pastor Aroni was preaching. Mama S passed her blue book back to me, and nodded to tell me to open it and read it. In the subject line was written “Good News.” Inside, the pages were filled with bible studies from Ephesians, Corinthians, Galatians, and Acts. And something else was in the book. Her story.

It was a different testimony from the one she read earlier in the service – this one was entitled “The Year of Salvation.”

She said God first began showing her His power and His love as she was fasting during the month of Ramadan. He revealed to her during that Muslim high holiday that Jesus Christ was truly Lord. In her eagerness to share whet the had heard and learned from a God she thought was distant, she was accused by friends and family of being crazy or under attack by a bad spirit. So she continued to be faithful to reading her Koran and praying to Allah – all the practices she knew to be right. But through it all, God kept revealing Himself to her. He brought people into her life who helped her understand scripture. And she fell in love with Jesus.

We held each other as the service ended and people streamed out into the golden African sunlight. “You are my sister,” I said. “Yes, God has given you here to me in this time,” she smiled.

Mama S walked away from all that was familiar. She walked into a world of faith, hope, and love. She left family. She found family. She found freedom. She found that smile. It’s a smile she shared with me. And it’s a smile she wants to share with you. It’s the story of goodnewsi – the Good News of God’s rich grace. The blue book is ready.

see myself in there.

Posted by ronnerock on Sat 02-25-2012
Posted in Advocacy, Care for the Discarded, Mission Trips, Musings and Thoughts

“I want to see myself in there.” He pointed to my iPhone as I stooped to get photos of family at a water well.

We had walked some distance from the team who had gathered under the shade of trees in front of a primary school in Kyani, Uganda. Even on Saturday, the excitement of visitors from Texas coming to this remote village meant almost 200 children had come to school to participate in the teaching and games. My purpose was different than that of the rest of the team; working with a videographer, I was to disappear into the background and find moments and stories that would encourage other churches in the United States to support the work of Arise Africa.

We saw a rugged man herding several cattle to the water well that has offered liquid life to the village since 1992, and quickly walked to the pump where a grand woman held two large yellow containers. The family watered the cattle first – milk is a precious scarcity so those who have any livestock at all care for it like gold. Then they filled the containers that would provide clean safe water for drinking and cooking. The woman smiled and said they were blessed – they only had to travel 1/2 mile to get to the well. Others have to travel much further. The next well is more than a mile away.

The young man in blue spied us as we walked to the well. His name was Joel (pronounced Jo-Elle); he and two other friends on a bicycle met us as we set up our camera and had our translator explain our intent. They were curious about our equipment and very interested in our smartphones. “I want my picture in there,” he said again. I smiled and quickly took a picture of him as he stood next to my two partners. I explained that through Instagram, that picture would be seen by my friends in the United States. It was difficult for him to fathom. But he smiled.

We finished our work at the well and returned to the grove of trees where the children were learning about miracles of Christ. Joel and a growing group of teenage boys followed us. They stood near the group of students, their interest torn between the lesson and our cameras. They laughed and commented as they stood behind Jim to see every frame captured, and they asked about words in English and how many days we were serving and if my skin would eventually be as dark as theirs if I stayed in their country long enough.

Under the trees, the lesson ended. Bibles were given to the village pastor (another precious scarcity that is cared for like gold here). Goodbyes were shared. And the team moved to the van to return to the church where pastors were being taught about true love. I told Joel I would pray for him. And his response was jarring:

“You are my friend. So, perhaps you will give me a gift so I remember you.” He pointed to the phone. When I explained that we had given other things to the village, he smiled and walked away. Without an iPhone, our friendship ended.

My heart ached. It would have been easy to run after him and say “Here, here is money or some chewing gum or two tickets to a Rangers game…” to prove I was a friend. I mean, friendship is often reduced to just that in the United States. It becomes more an act of what we do rather than who we are. And I realized that, in this particular village, we have imported that definition.

You see, Joel wasn’t the only one who wanted things. A mother handed me her baby and told me I could purchase him since I was a friend. “The baby wants your money,” she said. Children danced around us and asked for “sweeties,” candy that has been tossed about carelessly in droves by past mission teams. And a dozen times, beautiful eyes stared into mine and said, “We are friends? Then give me your money. Give me that phone.”

Joel, like you “I want to see myself in there” as I serve here in Uganda. But the best gift I can give this village is one they may not appreciate immediately. It’s the gift of another water well, or more cattle, or a plot of sugar cane or beans or maize or cassava. It’s irrigation. It’s education. It’s the Gospel. Certainly, meeting immediate needs is important. But our kindness needs to reach further than a piece of candy. Our generosity needs to provide more value than a smartphone. If we are here to serve, we need to serve well.

And that’s why we are serving with Arise Africa, working alongside Ugandan Christians who want to see transformation happen in their country. Through them, immediate needs can be met. Through them, life-changing gifts can be shared. Our hands hold their hands as they hold each village. We become true friends. We “see ourselves in there.”

sing along.

Posted by ronnerock on Fri 02-24-2012
Posted in Mission Trips, Musings and Thoughts

Those who live at the ends of the earth
stand in awe of your wonders.
From where the sun rises to where it sets,
you inspire shouts of joy. ~ Psalm 65:8

Words and images fail this morning as I awaken to Uganda. I can write of the kindness of the people here – the warm embraces and the smiles that are like sunlight. I can take pictures of the blinding brilliance of color – the green and orange and pink and purple that are woven into every vista.

But I can’t capture the divine music here. Try as I might, I can’t paint the rustling of the leaves in the breeze or the birdsong that is the inspiration for a million scores and a million dances. For the first time, I feel as if descriptions degrade the beauty. I am reduced to tears as my heart tries to sing along. My feet are moving to the rhythm of a song that needs no instruments, of a chorus that needs no words.

Let me hear good tidings of great joy – and hearing, believe, rejoice, praise, adore, my conscience bathed in an ocean of repose, my eyes uplifts to a reconciled Father… ~Valley of Vision

and. then. uganda.

Posted by ronnerock on Wed 02-22-2012
Posted in Advocacy, Care for the Discarded

Blessed are they who see beautiful things in humble places where other people see nothing. ~Pissarro

Today, we journey 21 hours by plane to paint words of hope and life through the ministry of Arise Africa. I pray to have eyes to see every beautiful thing, no matter how small. I pray to find words that go deeper than words. I pray for images that speak in chapters and volumes. Our hope is that our stories will be woven into the stories of those who see them – and the people in the stories will be bonded with the people who then learn the stories. Beauty begets beauty. Story begets story. Life begets life.

In Jesus’ name.

~Ronne