A dusty day with the Potter and clay
by Marsha Campbell
Our full first day in Uganda, we embark upon our trusty Coaster, which will transport us nearly 1,000 miles traversing the Pearl of Africa, as Winston Churchill deemed Uganda. Today, we will travel to the north leaving the capital, Kampala, miles away. Hours into our journey, the terrain changes, becoming more arid. Bumping along, our driver Seguya maneuvers as he skillfully chooses which pothole to fall into and which crater to avoid…ah, the “roads” of Uganda. Away from the capital city of Kampala, the primitive, native huts and village scenes give life to a simple and meager existence. We drive through a town and watch as women, about their daily ritual, hang their meager hand-scrubbed clothes to dry. Almost as soon as they are hung, the unavoidable, ubiquitous dust colors their garments with a thin layer of red brown silt.
As we arrive and begin to unload, it envelops us. DUST…it is everywhere. My eyes burn and my throat chokes as we walk along the road. I feel it on my skin, it seeps through my Keens, cakes between my toes as my feet take on a red-brown matte finish.
Dust in the soft breeze—colorful, clay soil, crumbled and cracked—it defines Uganda’s dry season. During rainy season the road will be a muddy, impassable pit. But now, so much DUST. I am covered in it, I can feel it, taste it, I am a living part of it. And the LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul. Genesis 2:7
I began to look at Dust a bit differently. In reality, it is our commonality…we are all, but dust. What bonds us as people together is that breath of life that makes us each a living soul, created in the image of God. It is good, so very good to see and celebrate our likeness with each other, amidst the dust.
Soon we are ushered in to a hearty welcome by the Management committee and children of The Father’s House in Lira Towne. African hospitality is nothing short of amazing—it often takes hours of sustained hand gripping greeting, welcoming remarks, smiling, singing and of course sharing, several slowly savored cups of African tea, tasty courses and at least one of the over twenty-five varieties of bananas. One simply can not rush greeting. We are made MOST WELCOME.
Our hope is to introduce activities and crafts that will be sustainable with the Mamas and children. Sustainable in the sense that they can utilize local resources rather than rely on “stuff” brought from their American/western visitors.
We share in celebration and in a few stories. We learn of the struggles and strength of these people who have suffered generations of conflict and oppression. The Chair of the management committee is a living saint named Tamali Okowe. This regal septuagenarian witnessed the machete mutilation and abduction of her young husband at the hands of Idi Amin’s henchmen decades ago. As a young widow she grew strong and persistent in achieving education for herself and her many children. She has and is serving her community and country in training and empowering educators to develop the next generation of children into faithful leaders for the future of Eastern Africa. Her extended family, her clan, have emerged well-educated and thriving in service to their people. We learn that her young brother, Peter, lives nearby and is a professional artist, a Master Potter. His local studio is filled with beautiful sculptures and ceramic works of art. Upon our request, he agrees to come this very afternoon to facilitate an art workshop with the children of the Father’s House.
The children sit quietly, mesmerized by what Peter, the potter shares with them. He models a bit of clay. In his hands he fashions a bit of clay into a small pot. Transforming, dust to clay…in the potter’s hand, it takes creative shape by the one who envisions and molds it. The children wait eagerly as Peter gives each their own mound of clay. Now, they are the potter, with the soft clay malleable in their little hands. Smiles, giggles and gasps are the backdrop of this therapeutic, creative experience. Some are thoughtful, some changeable as they mold their clay into different shapes. Soon, there are little pots of every size and shape, boda bodas (motorcycle taxis), cell phones, many animals, buses and other fanciful creations.
A large bench is cleared to display all their clay creations—The First Inaugural, Father’s House Art Fair!
This is the word that came to Jeremiah from the LORD: “Go down to the potter’s house, and there I will give you my message.” So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him. Then the word of the LORD came to me. He said, “Can I not do with you, Israel, as this potter does?” declares the LORD. “Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand…” Jeremiah 18:1-6
Tenderly, my heart envisioned the parable fleshed out by these beloved orphaned children so close to the Father’s heart. Some in the world may look at them as the clay that was marred, but I know this day they are simple works of art, living epistles being formed and shaped as seems best, in the hand of the Potter…each in His image a masterpiece in the making.
We are God’s workmanship, (“Poiema” — His masterpiece) Ephesians 2:10
You are the potter,
I am the clay,
Mold me and make me,
This is what I pray.
Change my heart oh God,
Make it ever true.
Change my heart oh God,
May I be like You.
You are the potter,
I am the clay,
Mold me and make me,
This is what I pray.
Watch this as a video HERE>>
In His hand,
Marsha Campbell
