Olive Andromeda, born August 16 at 7:40am, 3.5 kg But I am like an olive tree flourishing in the house of God;I trust in God’s unfailing love for ever and ever.–Psalm 52:8 The realities of our life recently have felt quite surreal, like we’re plagiarizing from the
Lord, why have we found such favor in your eyes? In the swirling dust following the recent tumultuous community meeting, we have been reminded that the loudest voices are not always the majority or the most true. We received texts, phone calls, even visits from
Lord, the Lord Almighty, may those who hope in you not be disgraced because of me;God of Israel, may those who seek you not be put to shame because of me. I have been trying to compile a collection of psalm recordings that spans the
The humid, still heat presses down upon the earth taunting the parched fields. Thunder sounds high above. Clouds roll and gather all around us, heavy with empty promise, like a bud that never blooms or a pregnant woman who never gives birth. A weeklong deluge
The days skitter along on feet of their own, driven by the needs of each. June has reached and I’m still acclimatizing myself to the idea of 2021. So many plans begun, half-baked and left to the unknown, now picked up again and only in
My thoughts are as unsettled as a sunbirdThey flit from problem to dilemmaAttempting to solve eachBut flits again, unresolvedAnd fearful they will miss oneSimply too many flowers to tasteAnd drink dryMy thoughts are as unsettled as a sunbird Life is never stagnate. It is dynamic,
Christopher caught me by surprise one day and announced that covid vaccines had been donated to Uganda and would arrive in March. Previous predictions had them arriving in June or so. After a few weeks of calls, following the news, which included a conspiracy regarding
“Thank you for what you’ve been doing. Please keep doing it.” This has become a regular prayer of Carmel’s. It makes me smile every time – such truth, so simply put. The adult version would include an outline of the gospel’s power and its work
Akisyon a Yesu, the name of our clinic, translates to “The Compassion of Jesus.” It’s the name on the roadside sign, the first thing you notice when you come to the gate. It’s also at the heart of the tension that I have felt ever
When we closed the clinic a month ago, the local leaders, in our first meeting on the subject, said “You have to open the clinic, otherwise people are going to die.” It’s easy to dismiss this as a rhetorical flourish, a hallmark of Karimojong oratorical