In some ways, it has been a typical preparation for Thanksgiving: apple pies baking, Pilgrim-shaped cookies, guests coming, and lots of extra grocery shopping. Not everything is exactly part of the regular tradition, though.

Yesterday, we had to pick some sweet corn and set it aside so that the monkeys wouldn’t eat the rest of it. This morning, since we don’t have a fridge, I got up at 5:00 A.M. to drive into Kampala to buy chickens (turkey is EXPENSIVE here) from a supermarket that is open 24 hours. I know we live in Africa, but before you get any National Geographic type images in your mind, know that we are talking about a Walmart kind of place and chickens that are already plucked, cleaned and packaged.

When I went out to my car to leave, though, I noticed that my front driver’s side tire was flat. So I got out my spare tire and jack, and in the rain, flashlight in hand, I tried to get the tire changed. My jack wasn’t working, though, so all I managed to do was to get wet and dirty. I won’t give you the details, but let’s just say at this point I wasn’t exactly in the mood to sit down and go around the table sharing with one another what we are most thankful for!!

Thankfully, we are not alone here, and were able to call our ministry teammates, the Mills, and get a ride to town (they were sharing our Thanksgiving meal with us, anyways, so we didn’t feel too bad waking them up). We drove through a downpour in the dark, got the chickens, and were back home by 8.

Just before lunch, I got an email that really disturbed me, the latest in a relationship that has really confused us and been difficult and hurtful as of late. Now I really wasn’t in the mood to go around the table and share what we are most thankful for!!

I simply prayed what I knew to be absolutely true: “Father, I thank You, that, in the midst of a world that is going crazy, where people do all kinds of things that don’t make sense, YOU never change. You are always good, You are always faithful, You are always love, and You are always with us.”

I didn’t feel thankful. But I was thankful based on what I know to be true. The Bible tells us to BE thankful in all circumstances, not to feel thankful. And I am thankful that I have an anchor which runs much deeper than the yo-yo of our day-to-day situations, something which holds steady even when our emotions do not.

At the time, trivial things like an early morning flat tire seem to be such a big deal. At the time, a relational slight can make it seem like the whole world is crashing in on you.

But then I think about the fact that I even have a car to get a flat tire on. I think about the fact that the ability to be hurt deeply means that I have been given a global “family” full of people whom I love deeply.

I think about the very real pain that people are living in. I think about the Bible college student who asked me in class I was teaching yesterday morning, “Most people here come from abusive, broken families. Is there any hope for healing in this nation?”

I think about the pastors I was teaching the other day who in their adulthood are still nursing deep wounds in their hearts that were inflicted on them at home in their childhood.

And then I think about HIM. I look to the cross. And there is Jesus, who deserved nothing but worship, yet He took every bit of hurt, every disappointment, and every sin in all of human history onto Himself and offers complete joy, a peace that comes when it doesn’t make sense to have peace, a love that never fails, and a hope that cannot be taken away.

And I am thankful….

I am thankful for my wife, my true partner in ministry and best friend, who has an infinite amount of love, patience and grace for me.

I am thankful for my kids, for their love for Jesus, their exuberant love for people, and for the deep joy which they bring to my life and to the lives of many.

I am thankful for the many beautiful people whom God has put in our lives on this side of the ocean: our many Ugandan sons and daughters like Max, Gloria, Paul and Susan; our partners in ministry like Pastor Micah Rwothmio, Pastor Gerald Mwebe and Francis Mugwanya; our many dear friends; and our team members, Micah & Kara Mills and Rebecca Meyers.  The Lord has really made good on His promise that for those who leave fathers, mothers, houses, lands, etc. for His sake, He will multiply them many times over. We have family wherever we turn!

I am thankful for the many beautiful people whom God has put in our lives on the other side of the ocean – our parents; our families; our many friends whom we miss dearly; and our faithful team of ministry partners whose prayers strengthen and sustain us and whose generous and joyful giving enables us to live and minister here.

I am thankful that the love and grace of Christ which transformed my life 21 years ago is still just as powerful and real today.

I am thankful that God is love, that He sees the brokenness around us and that He is in the business of bringing hope, life, and healing to weary souls.

I am thankful that He has called us to walk with Him in this beautiful country filled with beautiful people whom He wants to fill with His love.

Our prayer is that today we will all be much more than glad about our good situations, that we will be much more than just satisfied with our holiday feast, and that we will hunger and thirst after the only One who can satisfy the deepest desires of our souls.

Good circumstances will come and go. But HE remains, and does not change, and so today we thank Him from the depths of our hearts. “Give thanks to the Lord, FOR HE IS GOOD.” Always, no matter what.

** While the food settles and the football game gets boring, feel free to check out a couple of thoughts from Thanksgivings past:

http://carrollsuganda.com/2010/11/the-grinch-cant-steal-thanksgiving-either/

http://carrollsuganda.com/2010/11/floating-barneys-and-paper-turkeys/

My 5-year old daughter, Sarah, wrote this poem the other day, called I Will Come to God:

I love it, not because it is cute, but because it is evidence that the security, the peace, and the hope that comes with understanding the love of God is sinking deep into her heart and soul. I didn’t tell her to write it. It came from within her own heart.

If only everyone could understand what Sarah is just beginning to understand.

Two nights before Sarah wrote her poem, I spoke with a young lady who said, “You always preach about love….and when you do, it HURTS.”

A couple of weeks ago, a young man told me a bit about his background, mostly in terms of his education and work up to this point. Then at the end, as almost a by-the-way, he said, “But my real problem is that I don’t understand what love is.”

Another young man was told by his father that he is no longer his son. Another never knew his father at all. A young lady was either ignored or beaten by her father, but never loved by him. Another was abused in ways that no little girl (or big girl) should ever have to endure.

The stories are endless. Underneath a layer of seemingly happy church folk, there lies a whole world full of hurt. And that pain is keeping them from really getting to the heart of God that is offered so freely and perfectly in Jesus.

My heart longs to see them get there, to know the pure hope that Sarah is able to express so simply….because she understands the heart of the Father:

I will come to God

I will be with Him

I will be there forever

He will hold me in His arms TIGHT

I got out of bed this morning and my hamstrings were really sore. I thought, “Yesterday was Sunday. I can’t be sore from going to church!”

I didn’t go running on Saturday or Sunday. I hadn’t done any strenuous work over on the new site we are developing. It didn’t make sense.

Then it hit me. I washed the car. That is why my legs are sore. Then it really hit me. “My legs are sore because I WASHED THE CAR?”

Wow. Is this middle age?

I took my thyroid pill, went for a short walk/run with my daughter Hannah, and then came to the breakfast table. Right in front of me was the vitamin container. I dutifully took my B-12 and then my gout medication.

Is this middle age?

After breakfast, I got to work on preparing some teaching for later in the week. I opened my Bible and my notebook and wondered who had translated all of my notes into Indonesian. Grab the reading glasses. Much better.

No question about it. This IS middle age.

I couldn’t help but think that it will be only a matter of months before I get up at 5 A.M., put on a pair of plaid shorts, a green polyester shirt and some black knee socks and ask my son to drive me to Bob Evans for breakfast, making sure, of course, that my AARP card and pictures of my grandchildren are in my wallet (in case the waitress forgot what they looked like since I was there for breakfast the day before).

OK, it isn’t all that bad. But being 47 does make me think. It makes me realize that since it seems like only yesterday that I was 17, it will only seem like tomorrow before I am 77.

The Bible is right. Our lives are fast – like a “vapor,” a “breath,” “like the flowers of the field that flourish and then fade away.”

I’m not being morbid. Just realistic.

One day, it seems like I am a permanent fixture on this planet. The next day, I am standing face to face with the One who put me here.

And I want to be ready to meet Him. I want to be able to present Him with a gift fitting for a King…something that matters for all of eternity…the fruit of a life invested in HIS purposes!

Not because I think I need to earn His favor. But joyfully because by His grace, I already have His favor. I want to present Him with a life that belonged fully to Him, not in order to receive honor from Him, but to GIVE honor to Him….not because I am afraid of Him, but because I love Him…because He deserves it…because He’s my God…because He’s my Father.

It reminds me of a saying that was written on a plaque that used to hang on my grandmother’s wall:

“Only one life, ’twill soon be past

only what’s done for Christ will last.”

Middle age isn’t so bad after all. An extra nap here and there. A few extra pills. Soreness in muscles that I wasn’t even aware that I had. A few gray hairs. A little bit more on the waistline.

But it reminds me that I am not invincible and that my time here is limited (though in Christ, the Invincible One, my life beyond here and now will have no limits). Middle age helps me to keep my heart focused on what really matters.

I don’t want to waste my few years here on mindless hobbies, playing around on the internet, or trying to build a reputation and lifestyle for myself that will be here and gone in a blink of an eye. I want to do something that matters, something that will last forever.

There are people who are broken and don’t know that wholeness is possible. We need to go to them. There are people who have been abandoned and abused, and don’t know that love is a reality meant for them. We need to love them. There are people who don’t know there is a Savior. We need to tell them.

Keeping that at the forefront of my mind makes middle age worthwhile - sore muscles, extra pills, gray hair and all….because in the end, the only thing that matters is the only thing that really matters.

“The deeper the need, the bitterer the extremity, the greater the opportunity for God to show forth  His mighty power in our lives, if we but give Him a chance by unswerving obedience at any cost.”  - Rosalind Goforth
 

The need is deep, and it seems to get deeper every day.
 
On a mass level, it is overwhelming. Jen read a heart-breaking article last week that gave a report of a World Bank study in 17 districts of Uganda, the finding being that 4 out of 10 upper primary school girls have had sexual relationships with their teachers. Twelve and thirteen year old girls coerced into relationship for a few shillings or some educational favors….or just plain rape.
 
A whole generation of girls is growing up with a completely twisted view of life and of themselves. A whole generation of hearts that are so broken and hurt that they harden themselves to the possibility of real love.
 
And each week, we come face to face, not with statistics, but with the real people behind the statistics. Real people with faces and names.
 
We met a young lady this past week, an orphan who was manipulated into sex by the promise of school fees (a very common thing here), was kicked out of the man’s house and left pregnant, with no money, no family, and no place to stay. Weeks after giving birth, she went back to the man, who promptly raped her and sent her away once again.
 
She met Gloria, who was one of our missions disciples and now part of our Sunday house fellowship, and Gloria has taken her in at her parents’ house temporarily. We are looking into how we can give her some work and bring her and her beautiful 2 month old baby boy to stay with us, to have an income and more important, to find family and healing in the love of Christ.
 
The closer we get to students at the campus church we are a part of, and the more we get to know students from Bible colleges and other campuses, the more brokenness we come face to face with, much of it originating in the physically and verbally abusive family environments that are so common that it often isn’t even recognized as abusive.
 
What Floyd McClung once said is so true: “We have an epidemic of pain in the world.”
 
But what Corrie Ten Boom said years earlier is just as true: “There is no pit that is so deep that His love is not deeper still.”
 
And so where the need is deep, there is wonderful opportunity for God to do what He does best: to take broken hearts and make them whole, to take the most hopeless and fill them with hope, to take the worst of people and turn them into the best of people.
 
We believe the Lord wants to start a revolution here. Not the kind of revolution Uganda has seen in the past, but a revolution of LOVE.

The cry of our heart for Uganda is expressed beautifully in a poem that my daughter Hannah wrote last week:
 

We Cry “Father”
 
We cry “Abba, Father.” We call out to You.
Break the chains of our pain that still bind us.
We are lost in a world of shattered hope
But You’re our Father, Lord.  Come find us.
 
We cry “Abba, Father.” We call out to You.
“There’s no hope. Just give up,” the world told us.
We are crushed underneath an army of fear.
But You’re our Father, Lord.  Come hold us.
 
We cry “Abba, Father.” We call out to You.
Do You care, somewhere there up above us?
We are trapped in a world that has thrown us away.
But You’re our Father, Lord.  Come love us.
 
And the Father says:
“Don’t be afraid
For I bear your pain
I’ll give you My peace
I’ll show you the way
I’ll always be here
So My children, don’t fear
I’m your Father. And I love you.”