I am amazed at how laid back things are here, at least in some sense. In some ways it reminds me a little bit of the camping trips my family took when I was a kid. For example, it takes a bit of time each day just to transfer water from our 20 liter jugs into individual water bottles that we use throughout the day. Meal prep also takes more time. Simple things that can be done quickly at home consume a lot more time here in Uganda. It's even more so for most of the neighbors who do not live in our little neighborhood, as most people around here still cook on charcoal fires in their yard or on the street, and carry water from community sources.

Yet, as slow as the pace can seem, the people here also seem to be hard workers. Whether it's the guys up the street at the metalworks shop or the men and women who are constantly sweeping their homes or shops (there is so much dust here from the red dirt that is everywhere) the people seem to have a strong work ethic. Yet they seem to do their work at a comfortable pace, not breakneck speed rushing to get the job done and move on to the next thing. What they are doing IS the next thing, and stopping to visit with a neighbor or passerby is in no way a waste of their time while,they're working.

And that leads me to my next impression: we feel so welcome here. Most days the only white people we see are each other and Mark and Cindy next door, so I wouldn't be surprised if some of the friendliness is due to our novelty. Rose and I take lots of walks, and people call out to us from their little shops to say hello. I don't imagine they do that to everyone walking by, as the street can often be very busy. Other times, though, the interactions are more than just a token hi to the Americans. There's this young man-20 something- in our neighborhood. Spontaneously one evening recently he and I and his little boy began kicking a soccer ball around. No real reason, just because we were in the same place at the same time. (Basketball was always my game, not soccer. I might have had skills comparable to his five year old son.)

Then, This afternoon Rose and I again brought some juggling balls out to the dirt road and interacted with the kids and adults. The guy we buy fruit from, who is probably about Rose's age, came out of his shop and tried to learn juggling. Meanwhile, Rose entertained the kids on the street, and - watching from not much farther away - several of the adults, too. They really seemed pleased that we would take our time to interact with them.

Our mornings with the children are wonderful and wearying. I used to think it was so sweet when Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me". But He was in an Eastern culture, impoverished, a subsistence economy like here. And the kids, no doubt were as dirty, wet, demanding, sick, and 'in the way' as these kids here can be. There is nothing Norman Rockwell or Precious Moments about Jesus calling the kids to Him. Instead he was calling the lowest and neediest of the population. It was messy, chaotic and noisy when He called them so that He could bless them. And He still calls to them. Isn't that just like God!