I'm
sipping a cold Stoney ginger-ale sitting in the back seat of a well used, beat
up Toyota Prado. As we bounce happily over seemingly thousands of speed bumps,
Sam Kisolo is driving Wick Nease, his wife, Jan, Manny Delgado, Marlene Abbey
and me back to the airport after our week-long journey to celebrate a new
school building that our church funded for an orphanage named Siita Nest. It
was my second time in this amazing country of Africa and I am once again
overwhelmed. 96% of the people are at or below the poverty level, and the
remaining 4 percent are dignitaries and Kings. 
The Kisolo family is like
nothing I've ever seen or heard of. There really are no words to describe how
wonderful they are. Sam and Irene have such a heart for children, orphans, and
widows. God has placed within them a very special anointing to ache for these
special people groups. Sam's sister, Alice, is the founder of the Sitta Nest
orphanage, so love clearly runs deeply in the Kisolo family. Our team had the
rare privilege to enjoy the Kisolo family celebration yesterday, where God's
word was shared by each of us, testimonies from a dozen of the older Kisolo
adopted young adults - some are veterans in the family of 17 years or more, and
there are more than 40 young people that identify as Kisolo family children.
They call Sam "Daddy" and Irene "Mama" or "Mommy." It is precious and
their genuine honor and respect is felt as they mention their parents.
God has truly
and literally plucked these people as children from the streets, from
orphanages, from a life of extreme poverty and lack, and He has graciously laid
them into the loving arms of Sam and Irene. By no means are any of them rich
with finances, but God has faithfully provided for them in ways unimaginable
over the years. He has shown His love and His caring hand of provision in so
many ways and their testimonies point directly to Jesus and His unending love.
The Kisolo family represents a love that is so rare in our world today.
Each of
the members is grateful for the family and especially to God. It warms my heart
to be surrounded by the younger children, wearing torn, dirty cutoff sweats,
old over-sized t-shirts with tiny threadbare holes riddling the faded, once-dark
or vibrant colors. I squat down to get some photos from a low angle with the
digital camera I'm carrying, and the kids surround and swarm me to see their
microscopic faces displayed on the display at the back. I slowly scroll through
the fresh photos and look around at their amazed faces. As we are glancing at
the photographs one by one, I feel small hands on my back, my shoulders, and my
head as their precious fingers are feeling the unfamiliar and bizarre texture
of my hair. I count it a joy and begin to feel my eyes fill with tears. This is
a special moment for me. 
I realize that a young boy of 7 years old, Patrick, is
next to me holding my arm and touching my fingers. This is the same boy that
crawled into my lap as a 4-year-old on my previous trip that was so heartwarming
and memorable for me. His face simply melts my heart. His smile is beyond
precious. If I could take him home to my family, I would be the happiest person
alive. I briefly imagine how radically different his life would be. As I'm
crouched there with the hoard of children around me, I dream of an education
and future for him. I envision for a moment how my own life would be so
enriched by that precious smile every day.
I realize that he is part of this
family, however. He is part of the amazing love and joy in this incredible
collection of people. His absence would surely be felt and he would likely not
know how to adjust to a new life in the United States. My heart weeps upon this
reality. I love every individual I see as I look around within these ivy-filled
chain link fences and back walls of the house. This is, indeed, a place where
God lives.
