I've always loved to travel. There's something so magical to me about being in a new place, surrounded by people and sights I've never witnessed before. I've had the privilege of being able to visit so many incredible places and make precious memories. I've been on mission trips to Guatemala with my grandparents' compassion ministry, and seeing the severe poverty prepared me for my recent journey to Uganda this last May. Even though I've had mission trip experience, nothing could have prepared me for not only the intense poverty and suffering I witnessed in Africa, but also the abundance of joy, hope, and kindness I witnessed. From the moment my team arrived in Entebbe, we were shown such hospitality and generosity that we immediately felt at home. Today I'm missing the red dirt that caked my shoes and the bottom of my long skirts I had to wear. I'm missing the bumpy, frightening van rides, our hut and mosquito nets, and the food. More than anything, I miss the people. I miss their absolutely beautiful, black faces, and their luminous smiles. I miss the way the children chased after us in their bare feet, begging for their picture to be taken. I miss hearing their life stories, and how they persevered through trial after trial. Their English was slow, enunciated, and quiet. It was like a soothing murmur against our loud, jumbled American voices. I miss hearing their laughs as tried to speak their language. I miss the way the people worshiped God with humility and reckless abandon. We heard stories of children dying, parents dying, siblings dying, whether from war, HIV, or any other number of tragedies. Still, these people had the faith to move mountains. I love this place and these people more than I can explain. I went to Africa to serve and to give my all to be a blessing to the people I encountered. I immediately felt overwhelmed when I arrived, because I found myself being served and blessed beyond what I could comprehend. I hope one day God brings me back :)
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