Imagine, if you will, a sprawling city of perhaps 2 million people (though it’s really impossible to tell) beset by poverty, disease, congestion, and chaos, with vehicles – and especially people – everywhere you turn, for miles and miles. You might ask yourself, where could God be in a place like this?  Imagine in the midst of this city a rickety looking church, consisting of tree limbs driven into the soil with boards nailed partway up the sides and a corrugated aluminum roof. And, hanging within, a banner welcoming their American brothers – the only white faces there – with open arms and hearts. A reminder that a church is not a building, but rather a group of believers joined together in faith.

Imagine worship – in music, dance, and preaching – so powerful that it brings tears to your eyes. Imagine young children kneeling at your feet in gratitude that you would journey so far just to visit them.

Imagine an orphanage located in the middle of nowhere, where 100 or so children – the victims of AIDS, malaria, and other diseases – who haven’t had a good meal in who knows how long and likely have never even seen a white person before, are singing and dancing just for you.

Imagine a lovely 22-year old woman requesting your daughter’s photo and giving you hers in return, and then asking if you will be her American dad, she having lost her own father when she was a little girl.

Imagine the most loving, gentle, faith-filled people you have ever met embracing you, looking into your eyes, and telling you what a blessing you have been and how much they love you.

Can you imagine this?  If so, then you will have some idea of the incredible blessing that was bestowed upon us.  As for me, there is one thing I cannot imagine: ever being the same again.  And I cannot wait to see my new brothers and sisters – and, yes, my new Ugandan daughter – again.