On Wednesday we traveled to a very remote region of Kampala. A group of us walked about an eighth of a mile down the road from the Compassion project and walked through a village with one of the local Compassion workers.

I could not believe my eyes. In fact, I told some friends in an email that I would swear the village had been built as a movie set if I hadn’t seen it myself. Totally, completely surreal.

Just sit back and soak that in for a little while.

It’ll flat-out rock your world.

I have never been on an overseas trip in my life. And for the last couple of years, even though I’ve been confronted over and over again with the enormity of people’s needs in other parts of the world, my reaction – though I’m not proud of it – has been to cross my arms, shake my head, close my eyes, and say, NOPE, NOT ME, NOT GOING, HAVE A PRESCHOOLER, STAYING HOME, THANK YOU.

Honestly, I have no idea why I wrestled so mightily with the idea of serving overseas or why I felt like it was an issue I needed to address rightthatverysecondplease. I mean, I wasn’t picking apart sections of Proverbs 31 and then stressing that I wasn’t MAKING MY OWN FLAX, for crying out loud. But the “go / make disciples / all nations” stuff confounded me; somehow I had gotten all bound up in some freaky legalism of my own making.

For the record: I do not recommend the freaky legalism. Because it will WEAR YOU SLAP OUT.

But at some point – probably around the beginning of 2007 – some of that resistant worry in my heart began to give way. I started to pray that God would help me to not be so closed off (and dare I say BITTER) about what I was or was not willing to do. And regardless of where He wanted me, I prayed that I would serve out of obedience, not obligation.

And yes. There is a mighty big difference.

On August 7th of last year I checked my email email right before Alex and I headed out for round two of what had turned into an Errand Day Extravaganza, and I found a note from Brian Seay (who is totally one of my heroes now, just in case you were wondering) waiting in my inbox. Brian told me that he worked with Compassion International, was looking to put together a bloggers’ trip to Africa, and wanted to know if I’d be interested in going.

Suffice it to say that I bawled my eyes out.

And to my complete and utter surprise, I knew that I was supposed to go. I knew I had to go. My husband knew it, too.

And I tell you all of that to tell you this: yesterday, at a restaurant in the middle of Kampala, Uganda, all the spiritual wrestling of the last two years suddenly made perfect sense.

Internets, meet Derrick.

He’s 11 years old. My brother and sister-in-law are sponsoring him through Compassion. They will be able to directly impact his life through their sponsorship until he reaches adulthood – and even on through college.

Today he sat beside me at lunch and spent at least 15 minutes looking at their names on a sheet of paper. I showed him pictures of my nephews and told him all about their family. His extended family. Even though they’ve never met.

And this is Sharon, our family’s Compassion child. She’s three. And I absolutely fell apart the second I saw her.

Sharon lives with her mother and three siblings in one room. She is very shy, very reserved; in fact, she was reluctant to even let me hold her when we first met.

But by the end of our lunch? She was asleep in my lap. It was one of the sweetest, most unforgettable moments of my whole life.

And because she’s so young, our family will have the opportunity to invest in her life for many years to come.

Two years of wrestling. Two years of questioning. And God used two precious children I’d never met – in a country I never dreamed I’d visit – to answer every single one of my prayers about what “serving globally” can look like in my life, in my family’s life.

In fact, it looks a little bit like this:

And I think that’s a mighty cool thing indeed.

One of the great ironies about this Compassion blogging trip is that I haven’t been able to actually read any blogs. For one thing our internet connection here has been approximately the speed of Ye Olden Dial-Up Of Yore, and when you combine the slow internet speed with about fifteen bloggers who like to post LOTS AND LOTS OF PICTURES, you pretty much have a prize-winning recipe for How To Make Sure You Can’t Read The Blogs.

Which reminds me: have I mentioned that I haven’t been able to check my blog email for five days now? Well, I haven’t. I can’t even log on to the site. I’m hopeful that the twitching will subside before I arrive home.

I would also like to report that as far as I can tell, there is not a single diet Coke in all of Uganda. Nor is there any fried chicken.

Needless to say, it is only by the grace of God that I have not had to enter some sort of emergency 12-step program for my addictions to caffeine and hot peanut oil.

However, we have three days left, so we TOTALLY still have time for that to happen.

I may require some intercessory prayer, my friends.

And in addition to all the sort of trivial stuff, the fact that any of us has any presence of mind at all is nothing short of a miracle. We are all operating on an average of 3-4 hours of sleep, not to mention some completely jacked up emotions. Right now it’s about 1:45 AM Uganda time, and Shannon and I are sitting here typing on our computers like we’re a couple of college girls who have nothing to do and nowhere to be. Neveryoumind that we have to wake up at 6 AM. We’re in total denial about that whole sleep deprivation thing.

After all, there’s plenty of time to sleep when we get home. Personally, I’m thinking of sleeping through the rest of February. And perhaps into March. I will be sure to let you know when I finalize my sleeping goals.

Because the truth of the matter is that this week has had an emotional and spiritual impact on me like I could have never imagined. I feel like someone has taken my safe little suburban world, turned it upside down, shaken it like crazy, and then spun it around two or fourteen times for good measure.

So my safe little suburban world and I, we are reeling. I think it will take me months to process everything we’ve seen and experienced. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell all the stories.

But I want to make sure to tell you this: your comments and your prayers have ABSOLUTELY helped sustain us this week. Really, you have no idea how much.

Earlier tonight I sat in the lobby of the hotel with Brian, Anne and Shaun, and I read them a lot of your comments from the last couple of days.

We celebrated every single time one of you mentioned that you had decided to sponsor a child. I even did some clapping.

Or maybe I was just slapping the mosquitoes off of my legs.

But still, we were absolutely delighted.

And here’s a really cool thing that happened.

Anne was trying to find out if there were any children in Uganda who had been waiting for a sponsor for more than six months so that she could post about those specific kids on her blog. She found three kids. She resumed writing her post, and when she went back to the Compassion site to copy the link, one child’s picture was no longer there.

Because during that ten minute time span when Anne was working on her post, somebody stepped in and stepped up for a precious Ugandan girl. She has a sponsor now.

In a word: awesome.

And get this. I just went to that same page because I wanted to link to those remaining two children who have been waiting so long. And now? Only one child is left. In all of Uganda, there is only ONE CHILD who has been waiting longer than six months on a sponsor. You can see her information right here.

And if you click over and that little girl’s picture is missing, that’s great news. Because it means that someone has stepped up and stepped in for her as well. In two words: super-awesome.

(I have never uttered that expression in my life. I am somewhat ashamed. But I’m going to go with it because, as you know, I like to roll with the cheesy from time to time.)

So thank you, thank you, thank you. A million times. For what you’ve done – and what you’re going to do.

Thank you, sweet internets.

I can never say it enough.

Internets, today I played Throw The Ball And Run AGAIN.

ME! PLAYING SPORTS! TWO DAYS IN A ROW.

I’m telling y’all: somebody needs to read Ephesians 3:20 out loud for the class. Because if I am throwing and catching and running and whathaveyou IN THE MIDDLE OF UGANDAN FIELDS, we need somebody to TESTIFY to the Lord’s faithfulness up in this interweb right now. God can do anything, oh yes He can.

Hallelujah.

We spent most of today in a village about ten miles outside of Kampala. To say that the ride was bumpy would be a huge understatement; in fact, at one point I looked over at Shannon and Anne and said, “Funny. I didn’t know that my calves could jiggle.”

But let me assure you: they most certainly can.

We visited a Compassion project that’s run through a local church, and the children there absolutely made my day. In fact, we had no sooner parked the bus than this little fellow ran over to us and reached up toward the window for my hand.

Just try to look at his sweet face and NOT smile. You can’t do it.

There’s a remarkable difference between the children we’ve seen who are sponsored through Compassion and those who don’t have a sponsor yet. The Compassion kids have light in their eyes; they have hope. They have adults who love them and disciple them; they have a support network for their families; they have food and medical care and clothing – all provided through their sponsorship.

These kids live in unimaginable conditions, but I’m telling you, when you see their faces? It’s like God turns up the sunshine to full blast.

We were able to play with the kids for most of the afternoon. Shannon and I actually sang “Jesus Loves Me” three or four times with a group of about ten kids, and they knew every single word. Then I showed them how I like to say “YAYYYYY” once I finish singing a song and how I sometimes take the “YAYYYYY” to new heights by clapping for myself.

Needless to say, they thought I was absolutely insane. But for whatever reason, I think this particular group of Ugandan children appreciated my crazy. So obviously I will be moving here in the near future, just as soon as I can get home and round up my people to come back with me.

And by the way, we yayyyyed and clapped like nobody’s business.

Because the children, they need to know these things.

A few hours after all the yayyyying, when we were just about to leave the project, a little boy – he was about 11, I’m guessing – ran up to me and started saying a name over and over.

At first I thought he was introducing himself to me, so I smiled and told him my name.

He shook his head – and then continued repeating the name.

I finally realized what he was saying, so I looked at him and asked, “Troy? Are you saying ‘Troy’?”

He nodded like crazy – with a smile so wide that I wondered if his face could even contain it – and as he looked me straight in the eyes, he said, “Yes. TROY. USA. Is my sponsor.”

And in that moment, it hit me.

Troy – whoever he is, wherever he is – is that boy’s link to the world. Through his sponsorship, Troy bridges a gulf of human indifference that separates those of us with the means to help from the kids who so desperately need it.

And while Troy has no idea, make no mistake: there was a child in a remote village of Uganda today who was shouting his name in gratitude.

I just think that’s extraordinary.

Every child needs a Troy. Every child deserves that.

Every single one.

This afternoon we went to another Compassion project solely for the purpose of playing with the kids. Since I usually do not excel at activities where there are 1) lots of strangers and 2) the possibility of participation in any sort of athletic activity, I was more than a little hesitant when we stepped off of the bus.

There were about eight girls playing a game I’ve come to refer to as Throw The Soccer Ball And Run, and Heather immediately joined in. Anne and I followed her lead, and for about 45 minutes, we all played Throw The Soccer Ball And Run with great abandon. We had a blast.

Look! I’m participating in a physical activity! On concrete! Without breaking any of my bones!

Jesus is alive and still in the business of miracles, my friends.

There were probably 50 kids at the project this afternoon, and their joy was absolutely contagious. Truth be told, they did my hurting heart a world of good.

The poverty here in Uganda is so profound that it’s almost impossible to process rationally, and this morning there was one point in particular when I thought the only proper response to what I’d seen was to get back on our bus and bawl my eyes out. It all seemed indescribably hopeless – more desolation than any person or community or state or country could possibly overcome.

But the good news is that there is a very practical way to help, and I saw that help firsthand this afternoon. Thanks to the work that Compassion is doing throughout the world, the kids we saw today – and so many others – can be released from poverty. You can help to release a child from poverty in Uganda or any other country you choose – just click on the picture of the little boy in my sidebar or go here to find out how.

And you know what else?

These kids? They rock.

I’m forever grateful for the privilege of meeting them. They don’t know it, but they changed my life today.

So here’s to hoping – and praying – that we can change their lives, too.

I guess on some level I tried to prepare myself for what I was going to see once we got to Uganda. I’ve never been overseas before, and truth be told I’ve probably never seen real poverty up close and personal, though I thought I had.

But all I can think about right now is how I have managed to live my whole life without any idea at all about what real poverty looks like.

Earlier today we visited one of Compassion’s partner churches (Compassion does all of its work through local churches), and I was deeply touched by the kindness and the faith of the people there. They told us about their ministry in the community, introduced us to some of the children involved in their programs, and answered every single question we had with absolute grace and candor.

Then we walked outside the building.

And I’m telling you: there is nothing aside from Divine Revelation that could have prepared me for what I saw. I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.

These are the rooms behind the church where the kids have what we would call Sunday School. And compared to what we saw next, those Sunday School rooms were the absolute lap of luxury.

We split into groups and walked just across the street to visit with some families who live in the area. We made our way up a short hill, and as we rounded the corner I saw something that I will never, ever forget. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

You have no idea what this little girl has done to my heart. No idea at all.

She’s an orphan who lives with her aunt. Her aunt is HIV-positive and struggles to provide for the two of them. And they live in a room that is no bigger than the half bath in my house. It has a straw floor, cardboard walls, and a sheet for a door.

I cry just thinking about it.

And yet she was just one of many children all around us – children who live in a level of poverty that is absolutely incomprehensible, even when you’re so close that you can see it and touch it and smell it.

For about twenty minutes I took pictures of the kids and then let them look at the screen on the back of my camera. It was evident that several of them had never seen their own faces before.

And I just keep thinking that we have to see these kids’ faces. We have to see these kids’ faces. They are not statistics, they are not case studies, they are not random images on public service announcements.

They are precious, sweet, loving faces. Just like your children. Just like mine. And we have to – WE HAVE TO – see them.

We have to.

Because if we don’t, who will?