“To love another person is to see the face of God” Victor Hugo, Les Miserables
I can still hear my Dad’s voice say “Come on Lizzie. Let’s go pack the car.” And there I would stand next to the beige RAM 150 van buried in bags, wondering how they were all going to fit. He would meticulously size up the pile on the driveway then carefully place each bag in the van. He was vigilant to leave the most needed items on top, wedge the smallest under seats, and leave the perfect amount of space so that my sister Lori’s wheelchair could still slide in.
This is how I traveled most of my childhood until my teen years. Hours logged in a hot van with no air conditioning and sticky pleather seats, and I loved it. The open road, the unknowns, the new places, and the excitement of something different would keep me awake through the early hours of the morning as my Dad drove.
The passion to travel started on those hot summer nights driving down I-75. It continued into my teens with my first trip to Europe. Pandora’s Box burst open somewhere over the Atlantic. I was 15 and my sister Jill was 17, and we explored this unknown land with enthusiasm and typical teenage stupidity. I came home ruined for the ordinary and with an unquenchable zeal to “live the adventure.”
My 20’s took me to Latin America, Asia, and Europe again. My 30’s have allowed me to travel to Africa (a lifelong dream) Latin America, and the Caribbean. While on the surface it may seem my passion is for collecting passport stamps, the real reason this obsession exists is something much deeper. Each time I jump in the car for a trip or the tires tuck up into the plane for takeoff, I fall more in love with Jesus.
Though Jesus’ life was documented in The Bible, it was He lived out among the people. Through travelling, meeting, and discovering His children, I find Him and fall in love with Him again and again. The greatest highlight of any trip, big or small, is the people I meet and get to love on. The more different they are from me, the better.
Recently on my trip to Uganda I met pieces of Jesus. They imitated back to me who my God is, and I got to discover Jesus more. They changed me. In their reflection of Him, they healed parts of my heart. They told me of His servant’s heart, His love, and His gift of family.
I want to tell you about them.
The man with the kind eyes: Solomon.
He stood against the wall by the dining room at the hotel. His shirt was perfectly pressed, and his eyes studied everything around him. He was tall, dignified, and kind. He was deeply respected among his co workers. In America, he would give Morgan Freeman a run for his career. In Uganda, he served with precision. I suspected he was the first to arrive every day and the last to leave every night.
I saw Jesus in him. It was not in his perfected service that I saw God; it was in the kindness that flowed out of his eyes. He told me about his wife and children. His eyes revealed his heart as they danced with pride. He works hard, so they may have better. He is a man to be honored because he has found the true key to leadership, service. Solomon showed me the highest position is often the lowest. Jesus smiles at Solomon.
The woman who lost almost everything and gave the rest: Catherine.
She sat with her legs propped up over a jerry can to relieve the pain of crippling arthritis in her knees. She was smart, and she was sassy. Her skin was wrinkled, and her hands were hard with calluses. But her laughter revealed her heart; she was full of love. With her leaky mud hut as the backdrop, she told me about her life. She cried as she described Kony’s war. In a moment’s notice it took her from her home, took her husband’s life, took her daughter’s life, and left her and her only granddaughter homeless and hungry living in a refugee camp.
Knowing she was poor and aging, she consented to the adoption of her only living relative, her 13 year old granddaughter, Stella. I saw Jesus in her. To love another enough to let them go forever, was real, raw, and unconditional. Catherine did it with a heart full of joy and hope. Catherine demonstrated to me just how unconditional His love is for me. Jesus is building Catherine a mansion in heaven.
The woman who was wearing my shirt: Joy.
We met months prior via phone conversation. Yet, we met for the first time face-to-face somewhere between row 20 and 24 on a plane bound for Africa. She was wearing a shirt that I owned and packed for myself to wear while on the trip. I knew we would be fast friends. She had great taste. We jumped in with both feet and hopped on a boda (a motorcycle taxi) fresh off the plane.
Joy is confident. Joy is witty. Joy is full of the love Jesus. She showed me how to love Uganda well. We cared for the people of Uganda by day and laughed until we cried by night. She guided me through the small town and taught me the culture. She was gracious and gave me space to process when all I could do was cry. She shared Tootsie Roll pops with me into the late hours of the night, and she introduced me to Ugandan street food. After 10 straight days together, we parted ways in the Newark airport. I saw Jesus in her. I expected to gain a friend and I gained a sister. When we love Jesus our family is large. It is a gift. She was a gift to me from Him. Jesus delights in Joy.
What I didn’t know as a little girl standing and watching my Dad pack the van, was this hunger for travel was only the instrument Jesus used to take me further on the quest of knowing Him. While travel satisfies my deep hunger for adventure, it only fuels my greatest passion: to know Jesus and make Him known. Whether it is in a village 10,000 miles away or the elderly lady next door, reflections of God are waiting to be discovered. He is all around us. He is revealing Himself through His children. Do you see Him?
