Today in Kampala, it feels like a spring day--but with the sapphire sky of fall. There is a firm but gentle breeze that keeps rustling the banana trees before it rolls over and over through our house, where we keep the doors open all day, every day. Outside on the clothesline are large, billowing bedsheets that match the sky, flanked by the small patches of red dishtowels. There is also one of John's shirts, whose yellow reminds me of the daffodils in Little Rock when spring is persistent about arriving. (I would photograph it for you if our camera charger hadn't blown out from the 220 volt current! Oops.) And it's the little things: The kids aren't fighting today, but rather chasing each other through the house in bare feet. The compound hums with school (W. reading One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish) and cooking (fish tacos and cornbread!) and squeals as I clutch the scuffed back of C.'s bike seat and run behind it (confirmed: marathon runner I am not).
Lately, cuddled up on oversized cushions in the garage-turned-school-room, I have been reading to the kids from Little Pilgrim's Progress for our school devotional time. It's intriguing to all of us, and they ask me to read chapter after chapter. Maybe one of my favorite aspects is the constant presence of the King on Little Christian's journey to the Celestial City as Little Christian encounters all variety of daunting challenges. Today and yesterday, I feel as if the King has given us one of His arbors or meadows as we plod along over here. I see Psalm 23 materialize before me more than ever here, and so often, its verses come to mind. Could it be the green and blue everywhere? He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul.
Today--yet again--I am thankful for God's careful, complex, and compassionate orchestration of our journeys.