Of Injustice, Broken French Presses, and the Fourth of July. . .

So I arrived in Uganda yesterday morning after a long flight. Uganda has the most indescribably beautiful smell in the morning. It's like a heavy dampness mixed with earth and a hint a burning rubber. I forgot how much I missed it.

Soon I was surrounded by a bunch of people that I had forgotten how much I forgotten about. They were joyous and welcoming, yelling "Deitrich, Dietrich," and reminding me of some stories that drifted out of my memory like the time I unknowingly offended someone by calling him "Dogg." Then having to explain what an American means when he says "Dogg" and the difference between "dog" "Dogg" and "Dawg." But underlying all the joy of reuniting with old friends was a deep sadness.

All of these people are in the exact same place that I left them. If you don't know, I am staying at Makerere Community Church (MCC), which primarily targets students from Makerere University, the best university in East Africa (Uganda, Kenya and Tanzania). Many of my friends from two summers ago have graduated from the University but have been unable to move on. They just spent the last 3-6 years of their lives working towards getting a degree. Many of them are legitimately skilled and very exceptionally smart. But there are no jobs for these students in Uganda. They can't go back to their home village because they are too ashamed to go back because the entire village has pooled together for them to get an education. Also, they still have hope that they will get a job in their field and change the world. Lord may that be.

They continue to love and serve and welcome without complaint.

I was struck with the unbelievable of injustice of it all. By simple virtue of where I popped out on this planet has determined so much. Absolutely nothing is fair about it.

Then I opened my bag and realized that my brand new French press was broken and I moped about it for about ten minutes. Unbelievable selfishness.

Coupled with the typical feelings of bleeding heart guilt was a strange feeling of thankfulness. I am a citizen of a country that is built upon the ideals that every person is equal and everybody should have a shot. Now I understand that America is a pretty messed up place, but it is wonderful. (It’s the 4^th of July, indulge me.) America is a place where we have the ability to vote and have it count, where we can shout or blog about anything and no one knocks down your door, where we don’t have to live in constant fear a rebel army or dehydration or AIDS, and where we everyone can get an education for free. I am thankful at least 300 million or so people in the world get a shot like this.

Lord, may we use what we have been given to give.

This is not charity. It's justice.

Well I’m off to try and find something to burn or explode on this Fourth of July evening. There are no real fireworks displays Uganda obviously so I’ll have to settle for waiting for twenty minutes to watch my favorite fireworks display of all time.

Peace love and the Man above,

Dave

P.S. We'll be living at an orphanage for the next few days so I won't be around the internet. Pray pray that we would be light to these people or that we would receive the light from them.