For someone who has been obsessed with the idea of globe trotting for YEARS, travel wasn’t really at the forefront of my mind during the summer of 2017. I was still living in the aftermath of watching my mom succumb to to cancer and getting through the days after that was just survival. I grappled with the anger, pain and fear that comes with grieving.

But, towards the end of August I was at my desk at work when one of my best friends texted me.

 Now, I knew Lashae was serious about going – she’d already been twice and in the four and a half years that we’d known each other she talked about going back constantly. Her family went at least once a year and one of her sisters was adopted from there. For them, Uganda is a second home. 

For me though, it was just a country in Africa, a distant thought. But, I texted Tim and let him know about the invite.

What? I hadn’t expected such a serious response to such an offhanded remark. Tim and I talked about it together over the next few days and we talked with Lashae. Despite all my bravado about travel, I was nervous. I’d never traveled internationally – I hadn’t even been to Canada, despite living in Montana – and the thought of being half way across the globe without Tim was a little scary. 

Less than a week later I was at Lashae’s house booking my tickets.

But I was still struggling with why I was going on a mission trip right now. I’d never felt so spiritually weak and wasn’t sure how I could bring light when my day to day reality seemed dark.

The following months were a flurry of getting ready to go – buying gear, getting the vaccines I needed and trying to find comfy maxi skirts in Montana in the fall. One evening in the middle of these preparations, I was perched on the kitchen counter visiting with Tim about the trip and he said something that night stuck with me:

“I hope you find your joy.”

Outside the Entebbe airport a group of people stood waiting for the arrivals with arms full of bouquets. I leaned over and pointed this sweet gesture out to Lashae.

“Those are our people!” She grinned.

Sure enough we were greeted with hugs all around and someone handed me one of the bouquets.

After a long drive to our guest house in Kampala we were greeted by others who had a warm dinner waiting even though it was after one in the morning. When I finally settled into bed for the remainder of the night I couldn’t help but be amazed at how these people, whom I had never met, welcomed me as if I was a long lost friend.

In the days that followed we took part in so many celebrations. All the way from the Ugandan wedding that I was graciously invited to attend, to the elementary school graduation where we sat in front as honored guests. There was dancing, and shouting and joy at each and every event. That is just who Ugandans are. They know how to celebrate.

And they knew how to love a Montana girl with a broken heart. You see, even while these people were smiling and dancing around me, I saw their hurt and struggles too. At the orphanages that we visited, in the slums we walked through – I came eye to eye with the reality that gets lost amid grief: that I was not alone in my pain.

I tried to tap into that grief to understand the realities of the children who played around us at the orphanages, but what I felt came up short of their reality of losing parents at such a young age and I couldn’t wrap my mind around it.

A few days into our trip we were informed that Sunday morning everyone on our team would be be asked to speak for a few minutes. Everyone. Cue the stress as I tried to prepare a brief speech in the middle of busy days and jet lag.

My first thought was that I would share this story – about losing my mom and my search for joy – but I felt like it didn’t fit, it was dumb, and to be honest I didn’t really want to talk about it. I thought about it and prayed about it, but I felt like God was calling me to share this with the people I had been working alongside with.

So with a shaky and tear filled voice I did. I told them about how I lost my mom and about Tim’s wish for me. That I questioned why I was coming to serve others and be a light when I was struggling through the darkest time in my life, but I was reminded that God would show His strength through my weakness. I told them how the people that I had met blessed me beyond what my poor words could say. And I thanked them for the warm welcome to their country.

Before I stepped down from in front of the crowded church, Pastor Tucker – whom we had spent the week with – asked everyone who had lost a parent to raise their hand so that I could see – as hand after hand was raised – that I was not alone. After the service a woman I had never met before came up and gave me a hug and told me that I was loved.

As the service rounded out it was followed by a period of worship music – but unlike what I was accustomed to in the States the people around me began to dance. I was pulled onto the stage and we danced for hours, jumping and shaking our hips until I was exhausted and could hardly dance anymore. And while some people might feel like it was irreverent, after spending a week with these people I saw it as an extension of who they were.

While I was dripping sweat from dancing in the midst of the humid Uganda heat Jenay leaned over to Lashae and whispered:

“I think Jenna found her joy.”