In June and July of 2012, I went to Uganda with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship students and staff.  It was a wonderful adventure.  To help me remember the lessons I've learned (read my trip summary here), and to help me pray for my new friends in Uganda, I wound up writing a poem about the red dust and red dirt of this land.  The soil of Uganda is so rich in iron and other minerals that it is red.  They make beautiful clay pottery out of this material.  At the same time, the red dust was really hard to keep out of my light colored shirts and khaki pants.  So I took that as a launching point for reflection about what God was showing me.  I hope this poem gives you a sense for what we experienced, what I continue to receive from the Lord through Uganda, and perhaps how to pray for the Ugandan church as well.

Red Dust

This red dust gets everywhere

On my white shirt, on Brian’s hair

It follows me in, it waits on the floor

To jump back on my feet outside the shower door

These red dirt roads wind on and on

Past Kampala’s slums and Murchison

Stretching farther than I can go

Calling out and saying, Slow

Go slowly over the bumps and holes

Eat matoke slowly from your bowls

Move slowly to conserve your strength

And hear these stories at greater length

Stories of hope along the red dirt road

Of mothers dreaming as their children grow

Like Irene, who studies while her little girl

Plays by the green river of sewage swirls

A church prays for change to flow

Like the integrity of martyrs bold

That corruption would one day be no more

And trust in promises might be restored

Hopes flower and bloom in the dusty red

From beneath the ground where the sandals tread

Their roots must draw from a secret store

Nourishment leaking from behind hope’s door

Yes, this red dust sings with whispering voice

In creation’s chorus since Adam’s choice

Groaning for God to one day extend

The abandoned garden that He alone now tends

The red earth bleeds hope into every fruit

Mouthfuls of longing sweet but mute

Hope hides in the flesh inside mango skins

It lingers on banana peels in garbage tins

And Eden’s soil flows in all our blood

Thick as the rain and the rich red mud

These red dirt roads point to Eden’s soil

Despite the dust and despite the toil

For rumors whisper from another land

That the Son of God did come and command

Our own red blood, in his body, like ours

To receive the Father’s cleansing power

So hope lives in the flesh inside his own skin

And lingers in an empty tomb in a small garden

The Spirit, with whispers sweet and slow

Says, Taste and eat, and renewed, go

Go down those red dirt roads and find

Those loved by the Father before all time

And the thick red dust will remind you still

Of all the places He longs to fill

This red dust gets everywhere

Though I wash my clothes, it stays right there

But if it follows me home, perhaps I won’t mind