Yesterday, we spoke at a new church. As I was sitting in the car, looking out the window, it started to hit me. In 3 weeks, we'll be headed for Uganda.
In 3 weeks, we'll exchange the rolling hills of Western New York for the hills of Kampala. Instead of looking out at freshly farmed, brown dirt, we'll see red dirt, packed down by millions of feet walking along the paths. I'll swap my new apartment for my Ugandan home. The sounds of cars passing by my window, will be replaced with the sound of crickets chirping and dogs howling in the night. Instead of order on the roads, we will find ourselves among barely controlled chaos. My usual lunch of chicken salad and fresh veggies will be replaced with beans and rice. We'll trade in our quick American English, filled with slang for a more descriptive, slower version of English. Instead of tap water, we'll drink bottled. With our daily regimen of vitamins, we'll add in anti-malaria pills and the side-effects they bring. Our now clean, nice smelling hair will be full of sweat and grease. Our feet, once clean and white, will be brown and dusty. Hot showers will be a thing of the past, as cold water brings refreshment each morning. My heart will experience that feeling of being completely at home, and peaceful, while at the same time feeling broken and at times ripped apart.
I've waited 5 long months. My parents have waited for almost a year. And in just 21 days, we'll be on our way to hearing the pilot say the words we love so much:
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Uganda.