You're never going to say it all, but if you want to say most of what moved you and why, it helps to say it soon.
The pearl of Africa is an allusion used by many to define Uganda. I often wonder what Jesus meant when he used a similar allusion, "don't throw your pearls before pigs." I have a hunch suggesting pearls and pigs, like light and darkness or good and evil, can't associate with one another. Reflecting on two moments in Uganda, I can't help but recognize what it's like to eat the food of pigs when pearls have been set before me, suggesting this hunch could be somewhat noteworthy.
For starters, in Uganda, we stayed in the suburban areas of Kampala for some eight days. Wilson, our contact host, gave us his background story and insight surrounding their church planting ministry for two of these days. After being divided into five groups we readied ourselves with the story of the prodigal son and practiced sharing it before heading to the streets, outskirts, ghettos and refugees. Up until this point our team had been starved of fulfillment in the sense that ministry starts by evangelizing, so once the stage was set we were psyched to go.
On three occasions, Esther, a close friend of Wilson, led five of us to an area where Sudanese refugees stay. Our first encounter was valuable because we discovered how not to share—by overwhelming people. As global challengers tend to do, we adjusted; splitting up and reaching out in groups of two, instead. Silent praises shone on our faces as doors opened and some of the residents staying in a certain compound warmed up to us. One particular connection was made with two teenage lads from South Sudan who fled with their immediate families to Uganda because of the crisis in their homeland. They welcomed us to join them again before our time in Uganda was done and we did.
Some five days later we got the feeling we were once again strangers as we struggled to communicate with the non-English speaking family of the teenage lads. We were about to leave when, one after the other Peter and Roni arrived home from school. Relieved, Louw and I asked and freely they shared what it's like in Sudan, how they got to Uganda, what their dreams are and about their faith. We also shared the parable of the treasure in the field. Their feedback didn't and couldn't prepare us for what would happen as our visit drew to a close. Standing up, Roni prayed over his and our lives with one arm on his heart and the other raised in the air. It was momentous. From what I can remember his prayer went something like, "Heavenly Father, thank you for sparing all of our lives. Not one of us is righteous."
I realized in that moment how little I thank God for my life, and how our lives and dreams—mine and that of a refugee's—are one and the same. Perhaps I've had better chances of surviving up until now and fewer tough decisions to make due to less near death experiences, but my life is no more vulnerable than Peter's or Roni's. Life is but a breath. Similarly, dreams aren't luxuries any more than refugees are like us. Both Peter and Roni attest that whether or not their dreams materialize matters little, because their eternal dream is something they already have in spirit, something immortal, even intimidating: a genuine pearl.
Earlier one morning while Michal led the team, he had it on his heart to pray for the persecuted church. This was before Louw and I caught up with Roni and Peter for the last time, as mentioned above. At the time I didn't know how to pray or who to pray for, but Peter and Roni and the realities of their extended family living in the refugee camp in Juba, South Sudan, make this more obvious. Still, considering what the book of Revelation says about the persecuted church, Smyrna, their temporary tribulation and poverty is met with the crown of life. Knowing their end is certain and good, gives me peace. Conversely, a certain fear is compatible with the lukewarm church, Laodecia. It would seem they have an easy life now and know little about trials when it comes to Christianity and holding on to the faith. After all, "they say they are rich, prosperous and in need of nothing", and unless they repent of this state of indifference, they "won't sit with Jesus on His throne". (Rev 3:17, 21)
It was undeniable. If the likes of Roni and Peter represent Smyrna, surely Laodecia represents the likes of me. I asked God for clarity on this and received it through an all too familiar story. For a moment, when the prodigal son was feeding husks to pigs and longed to eat their food, he came to his senses. Remembering how well his father provided for his servants, heart set on repenting he returned to his father, choosing in that moment to pursue a pearl rather than toil meaninglessly for the husks of pigs.