The Salt of the Earth

Our days in Uganda are coming to a close. The last day before we leave, Dan and I are guided through the bush villages nestled behind the Hands of Love Orphanage in Namadhi (located about 4 hours from Kampala.) The residents of this neighborhood live in huts similar to the 8 structures built by Pastors Elijah and Ruth Sebuchu in 1994 when God called them to be His Hands of Love to the HIV/AIDS orphans of Uganda.

Our purpose for a short visit to these dusty palm roofed dwellings is to hand deliver some basic necessities: a few bags of salt, bars of soap and boxes of matches. We make our rounds with Faustine, the body guard --whose sharp eyes steadily scan the bush --and Mercy, a HOL teacher who makes regular visits here. As Mercy guides us, mercy compels us. God's mercy heart begs us to reach out, shake hands and love those who kneel before us with hands extended.

Feeling altogether unworthy of their humble posture towards us (maybe it's we who should kneel before them?) we bring salt to add a measure of taste to their bland diets of corn, posho and bananas. We might as well have been bringing them flat screen TV's by the looks of joy on their faces.

One man struck with illness lies listless on a mat in the first hut we come to. Swallowing hard to choke back tears, I pray for him. Mercy translates my pleas to God for hope and healing. This work of being salt and light shreds my heart to pieces. But then we move on around the bend of the dirt road and are ambushed by 20 dancing eyes and 10 beautiful smiles. Giggles abound as they see their first mzungus (white people). High fives and hand shakes ignite a wave of excitement stirring another dozen from the bush. (Lord, is there an end to the need here? From where do all these children come?)

As our rounds come to a close, we make our way back to the car to begin the long drive "home." Steven, our driver, rolls his window to shoo away hoards of kids intent on running along side for as long as their skin-and-bones legs will carry them. This car feels heavier to me. My heart is loaded down, and the soap, salt and matches we just gave are an eye dropper. It's as though we sucked one drop of water from the ocean of poverty that haunts Uganda.

I wrestle with the question "does it even matter?" and then I'm reminded of a cup of water. To God, even a cup of water given in His name matters. It may not make a dent in this nation's Titanic poverty but today it brought a smile to handful of His precious kids. And tonight, frail hands will strike matches and light will pierce the darkness of Uganda.


13“You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot. You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.