Dear one,
An apwoya matek … Obanga mi gum … kop tek … kop yot … ibutura ber … momot
These are phrases I am beginning to learn in Lango, a language emerging as “common” in northern Uganda. The first phrase means: “thank you very much”; the second: “God bless you”; the third and fourth: “very difficult” and “very easy”; the fifth: “did you sleep well?”; and the last: “very slowly.”
I share these with you—certainly not to impress you—but rather to indicate: I am learning Lango very slowly (momot), as my life is being wed together with those whose lives differ greatly from mine. Thus it is not difficult (kop yot) to project my return trips to Uganda. I have been blessed (gum) to encourage a select group of fifty pastors.
It remains true: I bring certain knowledge and experience that my Ugandan sisters and brothers do not possess. And yet, because our moments together have centered upon those verities central to our common faith—those near-imponderables concerning Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection, and His grace and forgiveness—a true reciprocity exists. As I share with them, I hear both my words and theirs, and in that hearing I am challenged to seek genuine change.
Regarding my return, last night I learned that my scheduled flight from South Africa to Atlanta had been canceled. After several thoughtful moments (momot?), and several emails—particularly with our truly skilled travel agent—we have been able to rebook my flights, so that I will return on Saturday as planned (although adding twelve more hours of transit). However, what remains uncertain is my Missionary Aviation Flight from Lira to Entebbe: I’m still in Africa, where plans are made and life …
Well, life happened. At 10:45 this morning, as we pastors focused upon Peter’s denials and failure, mid-sentence I received a call:
“There is no flight tomorrow. Can you be ready at 11:45 for the MAF flight to Kajjansi? We can arrange for your overnight stay.”
I turned to Rev. Dickens: “This is not how I intended to leave you all.”
“We prayed this morning about your travel,” he said, and then smiled. “This is our answer, my brother.”
All twenty-five pastors rose, great broad smiles, clapping—a lump in my throat, tears welling.
I am now watching the sun set across Lake Victoria.
Blessed to share with fifty pastors,
Stan
Ps. It takes many to launch Stan on his return; it takes a loving wife throughout.
Returning ...