An Identity in Steadfast Love

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good.
For his steadfast love endures forever
Give thanks to the God of gods
For his steadfast love endures forever
Give thanks to the Lord of lords
For his steadfast love endures forever
Psalm 136:1-3

We are six months into corona in Uganda, but the first case in our district was only confirmed over the weekend. We are on the cusp of finishing the harvest, and the locusts that were swarming before the planting season have not yet returned or affected any crops in our area. The Lord has been merciful to Nakaale. Now we pray that the rains will reduce so that people can dry their recently harvested sorghum, maize, peanuts and beans. Without the sun to dry the harvest, it will spoil. It won’t matter how much was brought in if it all goes to rot. But we have already seen the Lord’s mercy.

Recently I invited a friend to tea. We sat outside under an open-air grass-thatched banda. We merely waved in greeting and I eyed the laden clouds suspiciously. She’s Kenyan but has worked for the mission off and on for many years. In the more recent past, her husband and children have been living in Kenya while she works here. With corona, the borders have been closed and she hasn’t been able to see her family since December last year. I asked how she was handling the distance and loneliness, which is practically a cuss word here, something anathema and feared. She boldly shared how the Lord was working in her heart and giving her peace, “but the most important thing is who am I? I am a child of the Most High God.”

Another friend and I were chatting about the trials of too much rain this year, the demands of motherhood and the pains of broken relationships. I asked her what she does on those mornings when you simply don’t want to get out of bed. She smiled, almost incredulous that I would ask the question. “You pray!” she said and laughed. “You pray for strength, for people and He is always there waiting to give.”

The girls and I went on a walk. Getting off the compound is essential to my sanity. I had hoped to help a friend harvest their peanut field that day, but turns out there weren’t enough people to help so it got delayed. I had already told the girls we were going for an adventure, so we continued on our way open to what the Lord had for us. Somewhere between a muddy puddle, a sorghum field and exquisite purple trumpet flowers, I got a call from our lawyer regarding a matter about our NGO – real technical and exciting I assure you! While we were talking we passed a field filled with harvesters. I waved. I always wave, at everyone. I don’t need to know their face or name. It’s common courtesy. We proceeded until a swelling stream told us to stop. We picked up some friends on the way, three children who decided we were better entertainment than whatever errand they had been sent on. They saw my children were collecting flowers and took it upon themselves to gather as many flowers as they could find. We sat and colored in the shade. They asked for their own pictures and I obliged with a medley of garish simplistic flowers. We shared our coconut sugared biscuits and they taught me the name of some of the plants. They showed me a tree nearby where you can pick a fruit the size of an orange with sour fruit inside, encasing smooth, bulky seeds they expect you to swallow. They laughed as I choked and coughed at the pebble sized seed. On our way back we passed the field again and I looked more closely at the harvesters to recognize a good friend. She told me to sit down and help with pulling the peanuts off the plants that had already been uprooted. My girls made themselves at home in the middle of the field taking out their notebooks and color pencils again, completely at peace just sitting there in the burning sun. We settled into the comfortable rhythm of work in community. They chatted and laughed, teased and fell silent. My friend told me she had decided to harvest even though they weren’t all ready because someone had been stealing her peanuts saying, “If they would only ask, I would give. What to do if they just take? But God is there. He will make a way.” She has a brother with a serious condition and a husband in another district who she routinely sends money to. Her youngest boy is almost perpetually fighting malaria, and now thieves are in her field yet, “God is there. He will make a way.”

I have often marveled at the amount of suffering people here endure, with such acceptance and grace. I’ve wondered what their advice would be to the church in the US as its people are enduring systemic, pervasive and enduring trials. Here is their wisdom. My identity is found in a powerful God who is my Father. I find my daily strength in my relationship with Him. He is faithful and present. For his steadfast love endures forever.