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Joining The Celebration

This post was written by our friend Tiffany Talen who teaches at an international school here in Kampala. Recently she and her sister, Nikita, joined our team on one of our twice-weekly visits to M1.

As you may have read on our Facebook page, there were 190 kids recently brought in by the police and we have been trying to provide some extra support, thanks to your generous donations.

Life for me has been a million miles from easy. I was born into an extremely poor family in Northern Uganda which has suffered for decades from periods of war and famine. I was just a few years old when that man with the smile dressed up so nicely came and convinced my desperate mother that he would provide for me a future that only existed in her dreams, dreams which had nearly faded completely away. I cried when we drove away.

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Come Thou Long Expected Jesus

“The world waits for a miracle. The heart longs for a little bit of hope. Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel. He is the song for the suffering. He is Messiah. “
– Lauren Daigle

During this advent season, we wait in anticipation for the God who promises to come and wipe away every tear, defeat death, mourning, crying, and pain. But, just as Israel was waiting for their King, we too are waiting for Jesus to come again. Because, one step into M1 and we know that, while He is shining and while there is hope and joy and love, His promise of restoration is not complete.

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Recycled Fun

OwensThis post is written by Shelly Owens, who together with her husband, Dan, and 5 children, moved to Kampala back in August of this year.

One thing that has really struck Dan and me in the time we’ve been living in Uganda: nothing here is wasted.

We Americans like to think of ourselves as environmentally-conscious recyclers. We burn energy efficient lightbulbs, we build low-flow toilets and showers in our houses, and we recycle our morning cereal boxes. But let me tell you… in this regard, us Americans have nothing on the Ugandans. They are light years ahead of us.

Literally nothing in this culture is wasted. An item is used and re-used and re-used and re-used for its original purpose far beyond the point that most Americans would consider it trash. When something really is worn out beyond usage, rather than throwing it away, its function changes. Basically, it’s recycled into something else.

Avocado pits become soccer balls. Old magazine pages become necklaces. Milk cartons become toy cars. Car and motorcycle gears become dumbells. Scrap metal becomes a roof for a family’s home. Nothing is wasted.

Recently, Dan and I had to replace the tires on our family’s car. We contacted Daniel, who works as the SixtyFeet transportation coordinator, and asked for his help. He came the next morning to pick up our car and promptly returned it that afternoon with four shiny new tires. There was only one problem:

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Light Broke In

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This post was written by Maggie Utsey, one of our international staff who has been serving with us in Uganda for the better part of the year. Her heart and primary focus has been to work with the Karamojong children who frequently find themselves in the facilities where we work after the police round them up off the streets of Kampala where they often are begging or are lost.

This week has revealed to us the Lord’s faithfulness in a new depth of light.

He is the God of breakthrough.

Yes after yes, open door after open door, lifts our eyes to the Giver of good things as He paves the way for children to return home.

Some of the mamas and babies we have been working with this year have returned home to Karamoja after years of being displaced in the city. They are starting businesses and finding joy in their empowerment. They are rising above what people said about them, grabbing hold of the promise God has for their lives.

Their children, once on the street and once living in government facilities, are happy, healthy, and schooling. They spend time each week with our Karamojong staff member, who teaches them their language and culture, as many of them were infants when separated from their mothers and have learned Luganda as their first language. They dance and sing in Luganda and Nga’Karimojong, and bridges are being built between tribes who were historically taught to distrust each other. Parents are reunited with children and relationships grow.

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