Today I played with the neighbor boys for most of the day. Before we went to Kenya the boys asked if we could make a pigeon house together, naturally I agreed. In Lira the boys raise pigeons (called “amam”) for both eating and selling. We gathered some scrap metal, stripped an electrical cord for binding wire, and began making the birdhouse. Our backyard had a constant stream of boys who wanted to help with the project, or just hang out and play. Their resourcefulness never ceases to surprise me. They make games out of rocks, and slip-n-slides out of torn up cardboard boxes.
This evening Holly and I attended a worship service for a friend who was involved in a serious car accident three years ago. Every year he calls his friends and family together to celebrate God’s goodness in keeping him alive. After a lengthy sermon we gathered around the vehicles present and prayed for them. The prayer session ended in starting the car and making the sign of the cross over the hood.
It had just gotten dark when we left to go home. As we rode our bicycles home, a girl ran past me in the tall grass on the side of the road. A couple hundred meters later, she was still running and Holly heard her sobbing. Holly asked her if she was okay. The man accompanying us home spoke with her and found out that her father had just beaten her, and she was running away from home. She was about 14 years old. The man we were with advised her to go home, and assured us that it was the best thing for her. I wish I knew if he was right. The risks of being on the street for a girl her age are tremendous, but her home is no longer a safe place. During this time of year so many men celebrate the holidays by drinking together and come home thoroughly drunk. When we got home we did all that we knew how—we prayed.