“And he said to them, ‘The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few. Therefore pray earnestly to the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.'”
— Luke 10:2
Ten years ago, when we first moved to Uganda, I thought I understood what was needed to build something meaningful.
Like most people starting a school or a ministry, I was looking for good people. Qualified people. People with training, experience, and the skills needed to do the job well.
So whenever a position opened, I would sit down with stacks of CVs.
Some were impressive.
Teachers with diplomas. Social workers with degrees. People with years of experience and glowing references. Some arrived carrying neat folders filled with certificates. Others spoke passionately about serving God, helping children, and making a difference.
I remember leaving many of those interviews feeling hopeful.
“This person is exactly what we need,” I would think.
Sometimes I was right.
Sometimes I was completely wrong.
Over the years, I started noticing a pattern.
The people who looked strongest on paper weren’t always the people who stayed.
And the people who stayed weren’t always the ones I expected.
At first, everything usually looked promising. The interviews went well. The vision made sense. The excitement was genuine.
Then reality arrived.
Reality always arrives eventually.
The reality of living far from family.
The reality of rough roads and long days.
The reality of power cuts that arrive without warning.
The reality of serving in places that don’t always fit the picture people had imagined for themselves.
I remember conversations changing over time.
They would begin with enthusiasm and vision.
Then gradually the questions would come.
“What will life actually be like?”
“How often can I travel home?”
“What happens if I struggle to adjust?”
The questions themselves were never wrong. In fact, they were honest questions.
Questions I have asked myself at different times.
Because if ten years in Uganda has taught me anything, it is that obedience sounds beautiful until it becomes practical.
It’s easy to say yes to an idea.
It’s much harder to say yes to a life.
And sometimes the life God calls us into looks very different from the one we would have designed for ourselves.
Over the years, I have worked alongside highly qualified teachers, social workers, administrators, and ministry workers who have served faithfully and sacrificially. Many of them have become dear friends and have played a huge role in shaping Change Tomorrow into what it is today.
I have also met wonderful people with strong qualifications who discovered that the reality of the work was not what they expected, and eventually chose a different path.
What I came to realise is that qualifications and willingness are not competing qualities.
We need both.
The best teachers are not simply caring; they are skilled.
The best social workers are not simply compassionate; they are well trained.
The best leaders are not simply available; they are constantly learning and growing.
Yet alongside all of these things, there is another quality that cannot be taught in a classroom or printed on a certificate.
A willing heart.
Because knowledge teaches us how to do the work.
But willingness helps us remain faithful when the work becomes difficult.
One of the things I love most about Uganda is that people often invite you into their lives long before they invite you into their houses.
I have sat with families during storms while rain hammered on tin roofs.
I have shared meals with people who had very little but somehow still insisted on giving me the best portion.
I have listened to stories by lantern light when the electricity disappeared again.
And in those moments, I have often been struck by the same thought.
What makes a person ready?
Because readiness looks different than I once imagined.
When I was younger, I thought readiness was mostly about preparation.
Now I think it has much more to do with surrender.
Education matters deeply to me.
Perhaps that is one reason this lesson surprised me.
For the last decade, we have devoted ourselves to building a school, training staff, improving teaching, and helping children receive an excellent education. I believe learning is a gift from God and that we should pursue excellence in whatever He has called us to do.
Qualifications matter because people matter.
Children deserve capable teachers.
Families deserve skilled support.
Communities deserve leaders who are prepared for the responsibilities they carry.
But over the years I have learned that competence alone is not enough.
Knowledge tells us what to do.
Character shapes how we do it.
And willingness is often what keeps us going when the path becomes difficult.
Perhaps that is why I find myself returning often to Jesus’ words: “The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few.”
For years I read that verse and assumed it was talking about numbers.
Now I wonder if it is talking about something deeper.
Maybe the challenge isn’t finding people who care.
Maybe it is finding people who are willing to trust God wherever He places them.
People willing to put down roots.
People willing to love a place long enough to belong to it.
People willing to serve even when the work becomes ordinary.
As I write this, I realise this lesson wasn’t really about hiring at all.
It was about me.
Because the longer I live here, the more I recognise the same struggles in my own heart.
I still miss home.
I still miss familiar places and familiar people.
I still find myself wanting certainty about the future.
There are days when obedience feels joyful and natural, and there are days when it feels costly.
So when I think about willingness, I am not thinking about something I have mastered. I am thinking about something God continues to teach me.
Perhaps that is why I am so grateful for the people I have met here in Uganda. So many have shown me what faithfulness looks like—not through grand achievements, but through daily perseverance, generosity, and trust in God despite difficult circumstances.
They have taught me lessons I could never have learned in a classroom.
And somewhere along the way, I started asking myself a simple question:
What does God actually require from us?
Certainly, He calls us to grow, to learn, and to use our gifts well. He calls us to pursue excellence and wisdom in whatever work He places before us.
But before any of those things, He asks for our hearts.
He asks whether we are willing.
Willing to trust Him.
Willing to serve.
Willing to remain faithful in the place He has assigned us today.
Because calling is not always found somewhere far away.
Sometimes it is in the classroom you already teach in.
The children you already care for.
The neighbours you already know.
The responsibilities already sitting in front of you.
Looking back, the people who have inspired me most over these ten years were not necessarily the most impressive people in the room.
They were the people who kept showing up.
The teachers who loved children year after year.
The parents who sacrificed quietly for their families.
The staff members who remained faithful when nobody was watching.
The neighbours who shared what little they had.
The friends who chose commitment over convenience.
Their lives have reminded me that God’s kingdom often grows through ordinary faithfulness.
Education matters.
Experience matters.
Excellence matters.
But alongside all of those things, there is something deeply beautiful about a heart that is simply available to God.
A heart willing to say, “Here I am, Lord. Use me.”
And perhaps that willingness is one of the greatest gifts we can offer Him.
With Love from Lusanja