Sunday morning rain threw our day’s plan up in the air; rain delays services (walking parishioners don’t venture out) and rain on tin roofs drowns out the sounds of preaching and praying.
Taking the chance for a lazy Sunday morning, we curled up together with books and games and hot tea. By mid-morning the sky was looking hopeful so we decided to head to service. We had been invited by one of the women in my bible study to a special baby dedication service in the village of Kuka. We started off, stopping to pick up a Ugandan family who was traveling there with us, and showing us the way. All we had been able to gather by asking for directions was that Kuka church is quite near Kuka Primary School which is located directly in the village of Kuka. Hmmm . . . Still not helping us.
We wrapped around in our trust Land Cruiser, heading down one rutted, muddy road and then another and back deeper into jungly villages until we came to the top of a hill and David slammed on the brakes. The nice steep hill had a three foot deep ditch running down one side and as we started very slowly down the hill aiming to keep that ditch between our wheels, the mud began working it’s magic as we slid inexorably towards the ravine. David stopped the car mid-slide, mid-hill and with the emergency brake locked in he and our Ugandan friend got out to assess the situation. I sat in the front seat with the kids; Naomi wishing for us to go home, Quinn wanting to get on the roof rack to better enjoy the view and the hopeful slidey ride down the hill!
Nearly an hour later, after many hard looks at car, mud, hill, ruts and lots of advice from the locals who appeared out of nowhere - ” you try! It can be okay!” - along with a healthy dose of hoeing to fill in the ruts with mud and pull off the topmost layer of sticky, slidey mud; we finally made it down the hill.
We arrived at church around 12, feeling like pilgrims. Sometimes the effort hardly seems worthwhile. David and our friend were both a bit muddy from their work on the hill but we headed in to what promised to be a celebratory service.
How could we tell, you ask?? It was the toilet paper strung ceremoniously up all over the building that really told us. In addition, in typical fashion, the church had a number of visiting pastors and bigwigs but no real parishioners yet. Now that we had arrived, they too would come. The front of the church was filled with the best seats of the locals, cushioned local chairs and couches. We were all seated along one side of the church in these special seats and within minutes the service began.
The first announcement was the program of the day, which was when we realized that we were in it for the long haul; Sunday School, down to the river for a baptism, back for worship songs, then the special baby dedication service, then the special message (”Madame Annelise will be our special guest preacher” What? I will?!) then communion, then the feast.
It really was quite a cultural adventure; we sat near a lovely spunky baby who kept us amused through many of the long parts of the service. We know many of the Ugandan worship songs now so we are able to sing along pretty well and the whole service was translated so when one pastor decided to air a family’s dirty laundry as part of the morning we got to understand the whole story. (!) My biggest thanksgiving was the near proximity of the river; and that I didn’t have to climb down into or through it to watch the baptism. Around four pm I decided my children had to eat something and smuggled them a small tupperware of roasted g-nuts and their water bottles, which they partook from as discretely as possible. They held up absolutely beautifully through the long, hot service and even listened attentively to my message. ( I talked about children; they are a gift and a responsibility from God.)
When the service finally ended we walked out into what was now bright sunshine, hopeful that the road was drying enough to let us go home. We headed to my friend’s family home for the feast prepared for us; rice, beans, chicken and bottles of soda - a real treat. The greeting room where we were seated and fed was beautifully clean and had only one decoration; a great big shiny Ebola poster on the wall. Naomi and Quinn tucked into the food with gusto; participating in the typical basin hand washing and eating with hands (where else do kids get to eat with their hands when eating at friends homes?)
Then it was back towards home; taking a longer way back but missing the most exciting hills and rivers of our first journey. We arrived into the Myhre’s driveway at 6:30, only a few minutes late for our monthly team worship led by Michael. What a treat to enter this service of a different kind and worship in our own language and traditions. We ended the day tired but happy.