When you're traveling, you value your unwinding time. In Africa, that time is hard to come by. First of all, its not like you can go to the local coffee shop and blend in. Plus, walking to the local coffee shop, if there was indeed one, would be fraught with danger as your chances of getting hit by an overzealous taxi driver are pretty high. A white person walking down the road is likely to cause an impromptu parade which the local coffee shop doesn't really appreciate. More importantly, Ugandans don't really see the need for “alone” time. If you're alone, you must be in a need of a companion, and they will do everything within their power to fix that problem for you. Brooke Vincent and I were savoring some much needed unwinding time one day, when some students from the local high school spotted us as they were walking by. Seeing our need for companionship, they made their way over to greet us. We had met these two boys, Andrew and Joseph, in a bible study that a local American missionary was running at the school. After chatting for a couple minutes, Andrew began telling us about a friend from school that they were planning on visiting the next day. Unlike the majority of the students at the high school, Andrew's friend was a day student who was renting a room in another village. He alluded to the fact that he wanted us to go, but he feared that we would be unable to handle the walk down the road. Brooke and I chafed under the assumption that we were fragile flowers, so we asked if we could accompany them. The entire week Brooke and I had been complaining about how no one would allow us to do anything physical for fear that we would faint or wither away. What was indeed hospitality on the part of the Ugandans had become a source of irritation to our pride. We accepted the invitation not primarily as a chance to show compassion, but as a chance to prove that we would not faint under a little physical exertion. We felt that the reputation of American stamina and endurance rested upon our shoulders, and we had a duty to correct this very wrong stereotype. The mosquitoes began an intense assault upon our persons, so we agreed to call it a night and meet the next day after church.
The following day, we strapped tennis shoes onto our feet and put our game faces on. Mamma Payne had decided to accompany us and aid our selfless efforts to correct the stereotype of American females. “Exactly how far is it, Andrew?” Mamma Payne inquired. “Oh, just down the road,” said Andrew in the typical vague African manner. Us women raised our eyebrows at each other, and gave each other a confident smile that said “We'll show these kids what we're made of.” Well, nearly four miles, one mammoth hill, a couple of heart attacks, and three very red, sweaty faces later, we had made it “down the road.”Our pride had suffered its death blow when the boys had humbly helped us down the mammoth hill and pulled us up off the ground when we had fallen more than once. Now that the issue of our pride was a moot point, we were able to focus on listening to the life stories of our three high school escorts. As we limped down the road, I had the honor of Andrew as my partner. Andrew revealed to me that he had been raised in an orphanage although his mother was still alive. He had spent most of his childhood moving around to various relatives until he had reached a point where he was forced to be on his own. He begin to recount to me how he had providentially been introduced to the sponsor of the orphanage by his cousin, and had been taken in by this gracious man. I have heard many moving stories from the youth of Uganda, but Andrew's story stood out to me more than any other. Most would say Andrew had been saved by his own fierce determination, but Andrew did not see it that way. He treated his story as a testimony. It was not a testimony of grief or sorrow, but of God's abundant grace and goodness to him! Andrew's witness to God's provision and mercy was the context for his friendship with the boy we were going to visit. Several months prior, an 18 year old student had arrived at the school, and word had been circulating about the student's inability to purchase a school uniform or the basic supplies. He had moved by himself to the area from Northern Uganda, and had left behind his younger siblings, all under the age of 16. With no parents or job, he had somehow gotten himself enrolled at Bethel Covenant, the high school we were working at. Everyday, he had to walk four miles to school. This left little time to study, and no time for a job with which he could pay for rent and food. Recently, he had been missing a lot of school due to the fact that he was too weak to make the hike, for he had no food. It was truly remarkable that students were talking about his situation, because nearly every student at the high school had difficulty paying the school fees. This student had to be in dire need if it was big news on the school gossip chain. What was even more significant than the fact that others were talking about this student was Andrew's response to the news. Most students were shrugging their shoulders at the news. Who could blame them? They were all in the same boat themselves, and everybody had some pressing need. In Uganda, life is about daily survival, and daily survival often means that you look out for yourself alone. Andrew defied this with his response to the boy's plight. Andrew sought the boy out, and provided him with the necessary school supplies. Then, Andrew not only paid the boys school fees out of his own pocket, but he also approached the school director and convinced him to lower the fees for this particular boy. With a quiet leadership, Andrew begin to rally other students around the boy, and more by his example than his words others began to give to the boy out of their own meager resources. Andrew did not tell me the story of the friendship in its entirety, for he shied away from talking about himself. The only parts he told me about his friendship with this boy were the ones where was able to give glory to God about being able to provide for another's needs. Andrew lived his life solely based on the belief that you give mercy, because that is what you yourself live by every single day; the mercy of an almighty Father God. In the following week, we were able to piece together more of the story as we talked to various staff and students. In addition to everything else he had already done for the boy, Andrew had given him his own school trousers and the foam mattress from his own bed. His reason for giving the mattress away was enlightening and simple, “I was too comfortable.” In Andrew's mind, he was doing nothing extraordinary. Andrew was simply living as life is meant to be lived, and he was simply giving of the divine mercy that had already been given to him. Andrew functioned on the fundamental belief that he did not deserve any of the blessings that had been given to him, and that is why he was able to give mercy and compassion so freely to others.
The talk with Andrew made me forget about my own physical discomfort for the time being, and he pointed out his friend walking towards us on the long, red dirt road. We were shyly greeted by a tall, graceful boy who introduced himself as, Stephen. Andrew had sent a message that only he was coming, and Stephen was not prepared for the entourage now consisting of six people and half a dozen local children who had designated themselves as our traveling parade. Our entourage made quite a scene as we ambled into Stephen's village. Heads popped out of doorways, children gawked, and all work seemed to cease. The only one's unperturbed by our grand entrance were the chickens and roosters who continued to ruthlessly hunt down insects and pieces of floating cardboard. In Africa, if you want alone time, it can best be found among the animals, for they could care less about the color of your skin or the fact that you speak with an unintelligible, Yankee accent. They only understand one language, the language of food. As the local wildlife went about their business, we crammed ourselves into Stephen's rented room in a mud hut condo. With my knees and arms folded and tucked into narrow spaces, I found myself once again distracted by my physical discomfort. I couldn't feel my feet, I was trying to keep my skirt tucked in, and I was desperately trying not to let my mind dwell on the inevitable presence of creepy crawly African insects on that floor. Andrew's soft voice broke through my inner struggle, “Stephen, we've come to encourage you brother.” Stephen acknowledged Andrew's remark with a smile and a small bow of the head. Then, grasping his forearm with his hand in the traditional manner, he kneeled before each of us and offered his hand in gratitude to each of us. I think, its safe to say that all of us women, felt like weeping in that moment, for Stephen in his own way was showing us mercy as he tenderly greeted each one of us. For the next hour, we read Scripture, told Stephen how God's promises applied to Him, listened to his story, and prayed over him. I had come into that room with something to prove. I was strong, I was capable, I was a good person, I was the one who could fix everything. God knows we probably all had an agenda coming into that home. Sitting in that room, I finally begin to realize the truth of a statement I had read over a year ago, “All we will get is mercy...the fullest obedience and the smallest faith obtain the same thing from God: mercy.” Mercy does not have an agenda. Mercy does not need to prove itself. Lamentations 3:22-23 provides one of the best summaries of mercy, “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. 'The Lord is my portion,' says my soul, 'therefore I will hope in him.” Mercy knows that its ultimate source is divine, and mercy also understands that it is undeserving. I had come to prove among other things that I was merciful person, but Andrew and his friends had come in humility to rejoice in the divine mercy that allowed them to be with Stephen both in his time of need and in his time of plenty. I had come to prove that I was worthy of the label of a good missionary, but this pride can not exist alongside pure mercy. I walked into that room with empty hands and an even emptier heart, because of this false mercy that I cherished in my heart. In order to give the purest form of mercy, you have to acknowledge and function off of the belief that you only live because of divine mercy. True mercy can not be given until one acknowledges the divine mercy that is the foundation for everything that we are and do. “So then it depends not on human will or exertion, but on God, who has mercy.” (Romans 9:16)
Picture 1- Our Bible Study group at Bethel Covenant led by the tall white man, Scott Brinkerhoff
Picture 2- me, Andrew, and Brooke Vincent
Picture 3- Dad Payne, Stephen, and Mamma Payne
