We drove down the red clay road no wider than the tires of local boda bodas (motorcycle taxi) in a fourteen passenger van. The rain clouds were rolling in faster than we made our way down the makeshift road. My mom, friend from the States named Lura, Ugandan friend Lisa, and I all prayed the rain would hold off long enough for God to do something in the hearts of Lisa's Muslim family. I once visited this family, and was able to share the scene of the Throne Room of God with them. Because of the rain, I needed to leave before I was stuck in the village. Lisa faithfully ministered to her family, and used her trials in life to teach them the hope of Christ. We did not want to be chased away by the rain again. We pulled up to their twenty by thirty foot home, and as the children swarmed us with hugs and love, rain began to fall on our faces. We were already there, and could not leave the moment we arrived. So we crowded into the smallest sitting room imaginable. Ten women and count...