...Simply Love...

Will you risk to love?

2012-02-09T16:02:00.001+03:00

This is the question buzzing around my head today, and my flesh is screaming ‘NO!’ Don’t risk it!! Don’t allow your heart to hurt again.

Rejection, pain, lonliness are the dark shadows threatening to creep in.

Past memories rush in reminding that it’s cost too much to try it again.

Lies echo around me, screaming to play it safe, tuck my heart away, share it with nobody.

But then I see Him.

Hanging there.

My poured out one.

Giving it all.

Risking everything that mattered.

I see Him and I know. I will risk. I will pour out my life, my heart, my being. I will give myself again. To HIM and to the one standing in front of me. I will pour all I am into chocolate brown faces. I will embrace those of fairer skin struggling down this journey with me. I will give until it hurts, until my hands feel empty and my heart feels crushed. I will abandon myself for a generation, for a nation. For a King.

It’s worth the risk.

And even when it feels like it’s not, I give anyway, because HE is worth the cost.

13

2012-01-18T15:59:00.001+03:00

Innocence lost.
Stolen
Fragility broken.
For what purpose?
For whose gain?
Destinies smashed under foot of vile men
Hope lost
Swept away in the fierce wind
13 girls. 13 kids.

Ages 11-20. Their innocence ripped from them again to another degree. Thrown in prison for a crime that wasn’t their own. Child prostitutes now serving 2 1/2 years in prison for trying to survive in the only way they’ve been taught.

The article says little else. No photos. No descriptions. Not even much of a story. So my mind is left to wonder. Is one of these the hand I held as she was called out to offer her services? The one I watched disappear into the darkness with another ‘customer’? The one I prayed with, desperately hoping her destiny would be different?

I long to go. To rescue these precious ones from slums and brothels and prisons, wherever the enemy has them captured. To enter the heart of the newest nation on earth and watch it rise up into destiny. I long to be there. To love the most broken. To give myself to another nation. But I wait. Full of longing, I wait for his mouth to utter the words I long to hear. ‘Yes,’ ‘Go’, ‘Now’, ‘Rescue my broken ones’. As He fills my heart with a deeper awareness of the pain on this earth. I wait. I wait, and I cry, and I beg him to do something. And I give myself here because it’s all I know to do.

I give myself to this one. This thirteen year old whose innocence was also stripped too young. Who gave herself into the hands of another, into the hands of promised love, protection, acceptance. To this child-mother of a baby too frail. Too delicate. Too small. I look into her eyes, bloodshot from pushing life from her under-developed body. I look deep into her heart until I see His love written there. I encourage her to breastfeed, doubtful that her unformed breasts will produce what this tiny one needs. But I beg her anyway. Desperate for her to rise up. To leave childhood behind and be a mother. Desperate for this one newly formed to know the love the world is missing. Desperate for it to be different for her.

I give myself today. To the thirteen that run towards me shouting my name. To thirteen lives too broken to smile. To thirteen destinies yet to be revealed. To thirteen, too precious to pass by.

Love your enemies…

2012-01-16T21:00:00.001+03:00

‎"Now there is a final reason I think that Jesus says, 'Love your enemies.' It is this: that love has within it a redemptive power. And there is a power there that eventually transforms individuals. Just keep being friendly to that person. Just keep loving them, and they can’t stand it too long. Oh, they react in many ways in the beginning. They react with guilt feelings, and sometimes they’ll hate you a little more at that transition period, but just keep loving them. And by the power of your love they will break down under the load. That’s love, you see. It is redemptive, and this is why Jesus says love. There’s something about love that builds up and is creative. There is something about hate that tears down and is destructive. So love your enemies." —Martin Luther King, Jr.

Fragile

2012-01-13T00:40:00.001+03:00

Life…
Here one moment and gone the next.

I think being from the West brings with it a feeling of invincibility. We’re not exposed to death. We hide our children from it by telling them their animals went back to the farm. We disassociate by flipping the channel when news of disasters carries on too long. In my 25 years in America, I attended maybe 5 funerals. Knew only a couple friends who’d lost their parents. Fewer parents who’d lost their children.

Here. Death surrounds me. I hear about it almost weekly. Experience it often with those close to me. Here one minute. Gone the next. Their lives are too fragile. This week has brought close to home the fragility of life here, reminding me why I fight to change things for them.

Chanelle is baby with more personality than her tiny frame can hold, but she’s lived her entire life in constant pain. The opening where her urine should pass is covered by a piece of skin leaving the tiniest hole. But being from a slum means no money which means medical treatment is a luxury. So she cries every time she has to go to the bathroom. Her father sends her away because he “doesn’t give birth to such children”. A piece of skin. Smaller than the amount that covers my pinkie causes this precious girl to be rejected by the one who should adore her the most. A piece of skin causes her to know only pain. A piece of skin could cost her her life. BUT NOT TODAY! We took Chanelle to the doctor and she is now fine!!

Junior might possibly be the cutest baby in the world. He is 8 months, but far too small for his size, weighing what an average 3 month old weighs. His father has left, his mother has four mouths to feed, but makes $2 a week collecting grocery bags. It’s not enough. Breastfeeding is the cheap option, but because of her status could cost him his life. The doctors have told her to stop. To protect him from getting the deadly disease so often transferred from mother to baby. In order to save his life, she must risk his life. Something she is unable to do. So he sucks, desperate for something to fill his aching stomach. Blissfully unaware that the milk he enjoys for a moment could cause him years of pain.

And finally a baby who has yet to be named. Her life too precious to just pass by even at the end of a long hot morning in the slums. An older lady calls out, ‘come see my tiny baby’. So I stop. I enter her house. And she hands me a bundle of blankets. It weighs nothing. There can’t be a child inside. But there is. A precious fragile life. Weighing just 3.5 lbs. Too small to survive life in this slum. This home full of garbage so there’s no room to enter. Bottles of alcohol littering the floor. A child of 13 years who this baby will call Mama. Her frame too small to carry to full term. Her body not developed enough to feed her child. So he fights to survive.

Life is fragile. It’s obvious here as I walk through some of the poorest places in the world. But it’s just as true for all of us. We don’t know when life will end. Another hour or several more decades. We have no idea. Even if we make it to old age, the Bible says over and over and over that our life is nothing, a blade of grass, a vapour, a breathe. Compared with eternity, what we suffer during out 90 years is NOTHING.

My only hope is that I will live well today so that others can live. That I will give myself as an offering to the one who offered Himself to me. That I will love Him more today by loving the ones He loves. That at the end, he would look at me and say ‘well done my faithful one’.

Holy God

2012-01-12T23:59:00.002+03:00

I spent this evening hanging out with my amazing housemates. We chatted for awhile then all sat behind our computers. One looked up wedding decorations for her upcoming wedding. (eekkk!!) One edited photos taken today of our beautiful kids. I read about trafficking. All the while Gilmore Girls played quietly in the background. Quite the paradox.

I can’t stop reading about it. Thinking about it. Millions in slavery. More slaves than any other time in the history of the world. Every minute two girls are bought and sold. Rape the same as a bullet – being used to destroy villages, people every single day. The deadliest war since World War II. Children forced to kill their own parents. Parents helplessly watching their children be raped. Families burned alive together in their tiny homes.

And I feel completely overwhelmed. By the statistics, the horror, the reality of it happening in the world I live in. Just a few hours away from my home. In this continent that I’ve grown to love even more than my own.

But as I take a break from all the reading. To give my mind a second to take it all in. My heart a second to grieve. My eyes a second to cry tears others aren’t allowed to cry. The words that run through my head surprise me. ‘Holy, Holy, Holy God, it’s who you are…’ (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQjjX7Lgwyo)

I can’t make sense of it all. I can’t understand the evil that exists that causes a man to rape a small child. A women to sell the child she once nursed at her breast. I don’t know how to process it. I don’t know how to respond.

But I KNOW that in the midst of it, in the midst of more evil than I could ever imagine, HE IS THE SAME. He is GOOD. He is Holy. He is Love. It doesn’t take away their pain. It doesn’t mean we don’t respond. It doesn’t make what’s happening around the world any less horrible. But it means there is HOPE. Because it’s who HE is.

Here’s some of the stuff I’ve been reading tonight if you’re interested in knowing more about what’s happening around the world and how it is connected to you. It’s hard stuff, but we need to be aware. We are responsible. Read if you dare!

http://www.youtube.com/enoughproject#p/a/u/1/k4o2lElFzM0 --great video about how we’re responsible for the war in Congo

http://bloodinthemobile.org/ --another video on Congo…this one made me feel sick

http://www.the-star.co.ke/lifestyle/128-lifestyle/57316-kenyan-call-girls-exporting-sex-tojuba --article on brothels in South Sudan, one of which I visited last month

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/13/opinion/sunday/kristof-fighting-back-one-brothel-raid-at-a-time.html?_r=3 –sold for sex and now rescuing others

That’s enough for now. Let’s do something about all this!

Helper of the afflicted...

2012-01-05T20:23:00.005+03:00

GOD'S HEART

But you, God, see the trouble of the afflicted;
you consider their grief and take it in hand.
The victims commit themselves to you;
you are the helper of the fatherless (orphan).
Psalm 10:14

OUR RESPONSE

Learn to do good.
Seek justice.
Help the oppressed.
Defend the cause of orphans.
Fight for the rights of widows.
Isaiah 1:17

Changing Seasons...

2011-12-31T02:29:00.001+03:00

(I wrote this in September, but just found it again now…)

Things are constantly changing all around me, and I don’t always cope with it very well. Goodbyes to ones I’ve loved deeply. Seasons coming to an end. Changes that I know are good but leave me questioning how things will unfold. It’s so easy to feel unsettled here because there’s very little to hold on to. It’s amazing because Jesus is becoming my everything, but still a hard refining process.

But I’m learning...

I was reading Joshua as I sat along the Nile River last week and it starts by stating that Moses had died. This was Joshua’s close friend, his mentor, the one he’d shared years of life with, looked up to, encountered God with. Now he’s dead. And God speaks to him. I’d expect some words of comfort. Some encouragement. But God says to Moses, “Arise! Get on with the task at hand. Move forward. Go for it.”

Well that seems rude! Insensitive. Harsh.

But that’s what I hear God whispering to me. Although not as tragic of a loss, two of my close friends who I’ve shared the amazing highs and lows of life in Africa with for months have just moved back to England and I want to wallow in that a bit. Our first mission school which I’ve poured my heart and soul into for months and loved every second of has ended. It was a taste of destiny for me as something in me longs to speak into the lives of young people, but now it’s back to the mundane. (Not that life in Africa can every be truly mundane, but it does feel like it a little.)I want to sink into the valley that often follows mountain top experiences.

But God says to me, “Arise! Receive the things I’ve promised you. Go and take the land.” And as I process this new season, I’m learning. How different must God see change than the way I see it. To me change is so often negative. Good things ending. Desires being left unsatisfied. Pain. Loneliness. But in Jesus there is no end. Because He’s moving us from glory to glory to glory to glory to glory....to glory to glory. It’s always up. It’s always better. There’s always something new, another promise to be broken open. Another land to be inhabited. Another nation to be redeemed.
And so I enter this new season with hope. Believing the promises He’s whispered in my ear and believing that he’s enough to satisfy everything inside of me.

Heroism

2011-12-31T02:19:00.001+03:00

The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet." - Frederick Buechner

When I’m home, meeting new people, sharing about my life…people often tell me how amazing I am. How they could never do what I do, how selfless, loving, incredible I am. One lady I met when I was in Texas last told me over and over what a hero I was…If she only knew!! I try to receive it with grace. To return the compliment. To smile sweetly. To laugh it off and explain that anyone could do what I do. But if I’m honest, it’s really hard to receive compliments like this because they just sound ridiculous!

How could I be considered great for doing what I LOVE most in the world? What’s so heroic about that? I love adventure! I thrive on change, new things. Making something beautiful out of what could easily be tossed aside. Stepping out in faith makes me come alive. Trusting, hoping then seeing the glory of God. I love culture. Being with people different than me. Each day being different than the one before. Freedom. Laughs. Seeing God work. Lives transformed. Children. Hearing a little one call my name or wrap their tiny fingers around mine. And I get all these things wrapped up into one beautiful job. How can this in any way be heroic?

But it’s got me thinking…maybe that’s what life is all about, answering God’s call, doing good. Maybe we should all just be doing what we love, but for the benefit of someone else. Maybe that’s what would make a dent on all the global injustices . Maybe if we would stop trying to walk this tight rope between right and wrong and just do what we love, what makes us come alive, maybe then we would leave our mark on the world.

So this is for all the heroes out there. The people who feel small. Who have no qualifications, no elegant words. To the ones who feel passion brewing within them and a longing to make difference, but have no idea how to cause passion to materialize into something real. Let’s do what we love and watch God make it into something remarkable!

Will they even know it’s Christmas?

2011-12-23T13:10:00.001+03:00

Early December I spent walking the streets of Sudan, experiencing poverty like I’ve never seen, dreaming for a nation. Crying for the pain that’s so real there. Holding precious broken children in my arms. Hearing stories I hesitate to repeat. Stirring my spirit to believe for something greater, clinging to the truth that with Jesus, there’s ALWAYS hope.

I arrived home, excited to see me housemates, desperate to visit my babies, but sad and burdened at the same time. As I walked in my front door, my eyes went to the Christmas tree that had been put up while I was away. A tiny scrap of a thing. Needing branches to fill the barren spaces, tacky décor wrapped around the small plastic trunk, nothing spectacular, but representing 26 years of Christmas traditions in my life.

The contrast from where I’d just been to what I was walking into was almost too much. Tomorrow is Christmas eve and the evidence is everywhere. Lights, Santas, displays in every window, cold air causing us to wrap up tight. The child in me is alive, wanting to celebrate, excited for Christmas morning to arrive and to eat and celebrate with amazing friends.

But I can’t forget, and over and over I’m drawn back to the ones who remain. I sat with them for just a few moments offering them the little I had to give, then walked away. They’ve lived in the same place for years, unable to escape the hell life has become.

A mosquito net as a ‘house’, a broken piece of foam as a bed, scraps of food for days worth of meals. Being intentionally burned by parents for stealing food so maybe she wouldn’t go to bed hungry. Hiding under your bed pretending not to hear as her mother sells herself again so that you can survive. At 17 years, putting your precious daughter in the grave when after 4 years she loses the fight for survival and dies of malnutrition. Innocence lost at six years of age as an older man forces he to do things no child should ever experience.

And as I sit here, watching the lights brighten and dim on my Christmas tree, I wonder, will they even know? After three years of surviving on street corner, giving birth in the dirt, eating scraps, will my precious friend know it’s Christmas? As I open gifts and eat more food than should be allowed will they remember what day it is? Will they have any reason to celebrate? Will they know that the creator of everything eye can see, gave up eternity, perfection, relationship with His Father to come and live with me, with them? Will they know that He gave everything, entrusted Himself into the arms of a teenage girl?

And will they know why He did it? Will they know of His incomparable love that led Him to the cross to be beaten, shamed, and killed? Will they know the pain of separation when their sin, our sin landed on Him and the Father looked away? Will they know that they are desperately longed for by the God of love? Do they know it’s Christmas?

“Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.” But how can they call on him to save them unless they believe in him? And how can they believe in him if they have never heard about him? And how can they hear about him unless someone tells them? –Romans 10

Remembering from Afar

2011-11-23T20:34:00.001+03:00

I’m thousands of miles away from the hundreds that hold my heart. I’m in a house much nicer than the place I call home, sitting on a comfortable bed, full fridge a few steps away, my favorite stores just down the road. And I’m trying to enjoy it. To soak it all up because I know in a few weeks I’ll be back where I long to be and without so many external comforts. But in the midst of American pleasures, I think I’ve shut off my heart to forget the pain that waits for me on the other side of the world. It’s too painful to remember here.

My computer background is of one of my favorite babies. But each time I open my computer I cringe a little. I miss her. The way she clings to me like a frog whenever I pick her up. Her laugh and quirky ways. Her dynamic personality that reminds me she’s older than her tiny body would say. My friends emailed me and said she looks for me in the car whenever they come. And I long to be there. To see her boney little arms reach for me. To hold her and kiss her beautiful brown skin. But as much as I miss her, my heart wants to forget.

I want to forget that while I’m here, they’re still in pain. While I enjoy holding my beautiful baby niece they’re praying over theirs. Begging God for a miracle so their babies don’t die. While I chase my niece and nephew around their house, they’re wondering what to feed their children that day. Hoping that hunger pains won’t keep them up another night. While I laugh with my sisters and spend days hanging out with them because they have the pleasure of being stay at home moms, my Mamas fight hard to provide even one small meal for their children. Everything in me wishes it wasn’t real. So as part of me longs to go back, another part of me wants to shut off to all of it.

I’ll take a break from Africa. I’ll spend time surrounded by family. I’ll stuff my face with Tex-Mex. I’ll buy some nice things. Because I know my heart needs a break from it all so that I can love better when I go back in 2 weeks. But I’m guessing that’s not what your heart needs. Maybe your heart needs to feel the pain. To become uncomfortable with the reality of our world. To hurt just a little for the broken.

So I ask, remember the ones who although very far away, are very much the same as you. Remember their pain and do what you can to lessen it for them.

Here’s a song that says it better than me. You can watch the video here or read the words below.

I have a name.
You can know it.
It’s been awhile since anybody asked.
I love to laugh just like you do.
And my family also means the world to me.
So as you choose what to wear, remember I fight to stay warm.
As you decide where to eat, it’s my children who mourn.

Think of me.
Let me live in your mind.
Keep loving me while others play blind.
Show true religion, ’cause words don’t relieve.
Your actions – they heal me.
Show that you believe.
Think of me.

You have a life.
I understand.
God has blessed you, so enjoy what he has given.
Your hurts are real, as mine are.
Possessions never shield a life from earthly pain.
As you consider your life, would you think about mine?
As you remember my tears, maybe yours disappear…

Think of me.

Miracles !

2011-11-22T23:02:00.001+03:00

When I left Uganda 6 weeks ago, baby Bashil was blind. His eyes were foggy and he couldn’t see anything. Yesterday, I knelt down beside him as he sat on his Mama’s lap. When he saw me he got the biggest smile on his face! I held him for close to an hour, his beautiful brown eyes looking deep into mine, responsive, clear...FULLY healed!!

It’s amazing what we're seeing God do in the communities we work in! Lame walking, witchdoctors asking about Jesus, those who doctors said would die now laughing and playing, surgeries cancelled after prayer. It’s amazing. But at the same time it’s easy to forget. Or to question.

I know it’s ridiculous! A few years ago I would have expected my whole world to stop if a blind person I prayed for saw, but today I almost missed it. Almost excused it as something other than a complete miracle. When transformation happens slowly, unfolding over weeks or months, it’s easy to forget how bad it once was. When surrounded by poverty every day, it’s easy to forget the pain.

But the truth is, nothing operates outside of Jesus. He is in everything, holds everything together. He has taken my life from darkness and filled me with His amazing love. And He is doing the same over and over again all around me.

So in an attempt to remember and to glorify God for the amazing things I see Him do all the time, I’m going to start writing these testimonies down. My goal is at least once a week. But if it doesn’t happen please don’t blame it on God not doing anything (because that’s not true) or my own ability to remember to write it down (because that’s probably true), but blame it on the power that’s off more than on or on the fact that God and I are too busy saving the world to write about it on the internet…

But to start off on the right foot….Here’s an amazing testimony to brighten your day…

I met Junior over 6 months ago when a friend asked us to visit this very sick boy to see what we could do. He lives right across the street from my house. Less than a hundred steps from my front door.

Before I met him, he was a perfectly normal five year old boy. Laughing, playing, walking, talking. But out of no where he began falling over. He could no longer walk, would seize every few seconds, and couldn’t communicate. When I met him, he sat lifeless in his mothers arms, unable to even keep the saliva in his own mouth. So we prayed for him. We declared life, hope, and healing into his tiny sick body, gave him medical care to treat the wounds he had from falling over and left him.

Every few weeks I would see him. The improvements each time slow but obvious. First he was seizing less. Then he began to speak a few words. Then he began to walk. The last time I saw him, you would never have known anything was ever wrong with him. He laughs, he plays, he talks with his friends. He is healthy, strong and beautiful!! Jesus has completely healed him!!

So there’s your story for the week…We have many more! We shared this morning as a team all that we’ve seen God do, all the lives radically transformed, all the supernatural miracles. After dozens of testimonies, we had to stop, but I think we could have sat there sharing for a very very long time. God is ALIVE! He’s doing amazing things and when we say YES to Him, He allows us to be a part of it.

Jesus in the Dust

2011-11-19T23:41:00.001+03:00

Jesus is everywhere.

I think most would agree to that.

He’s in everything. In everyone. Active. Alive.

But maybe we don’t actually believe that. Maybe we only find Him where we look for Him. And maybe we only look for Him in certain places. In church buildings. Bible studies. Nature. Worship.

This week I sat in a place where Jesus seemed absent. I sat in the home of a 26-year old man. TB has eaten away everything he was. Once a beautiful, strong man. Now a skeleton. Bones protrude from his lifeless body. Strength gone. Dying.

I sat in his home trying to ignore the puke that was next to him. The smell of his soiled bed. The fact that he wore no clothes. I sat on his dirt floor. In his home with no possessions except the piece of foam he spends his days sleeping on.

And if I’m honest…I didn’t see Jesus.

I saw a man dying. I saw hopelessness. I saw pain.

But I didn’t see Jesus.

I looked deep into his eyes hoping to find Him there. I smiled as he looked back at me in a vain attempt to pass on hope. I said a formulated prayer of healing, full of confidence in words, but lacking faith. And then I stopped. I looked into his eyes again and asked Charles if he felt anything.

And he did. He’d found Jesus in the midst of his fatal sickness. In the midst of unbearable pain. In hopelessness he found the God who is hope. He said as we prayed, he felt like he was in another place. He experienced God’s Presence. In death he found life. In pain he found love.

Jesus is everywhere. He’s in the pain. In the dust. In sickness. In poverty. In death. He’s everywhere we are because He so longs to have our hearts. Sometimes it just takes opening our eyes a little wider to see Him.

Back to my home

2011-11-19T23:39:00.001+03:00

Back to red dust coating every surface

Thunderstorms reminding me how very small I am

Constant noise as the lives of those around me mix with mine to form a beautiful melody

Back to sacrifice filled with joy as I lay all that I am at the feet of my Beloved

Laughter, delight, rejoicing from the mouths of the ones the world says have nothing

Back to dependence as God’s glory, His precious Presence is everything that is life

Beautiful simplicity

Late night chats with friends who understand

Back to smiles reminding why I persevere

Darkness, pain, hopelessness proving hope is a choice

Patience learned in power cuts and cold showers

Simple radical love transforming darkness

Back to my home

The people I love

The place I belong

Home Sweet Home

2011-11-19T16:17:00.001+03:00

I may seem slightly bi-polar for posting this after the last couple posts, but it’s so nice to be back home!

Kissing these scrumptious faces.

Holding their hands and hearts in mine…

God’s glory shines brightly here!

Longing for Home

2011-11-14T17:17:00.001+03:00

Being home is making me see the best and worst of both worlds. It’s amazing hanging out with my family. Chasing my niece and nephew around the house and listening to their joyous laughs. Holding baby Riley as she rests her head on my chest. Connecting with friends who after years of distance and miles of separation still love and believe in me. Enjoying more good food than I could possibly stuff my face with. Biscuits and gravy. Chips and salsa. Breakfast tacos. Can almost make me wonder why I ever left Texas. But only for a moment until my heart once again yearns for my home thousands of miles away.

I long to hold my babies and tell them how loved they are. The joy of simple community with people who seem to have nothing but really have everything. I long to be there. To see lives transformed. Smiles replace hopelessness. God worshiped amidst the suffering that’s so real. That’s my home and there’s no where else I’d rather be.

But as much as I love both these worlds, I equally hate them. The materialism.The hopelessness. The blinders that make self indulgence seem ok. The pain. The war. The abuse. The wealth that could feed millions but rests in the hands of a few. I hate what exists in both places. For ten years I waited impatiently for the day I would be able to leave America and live with the poor. And now that’s my daily reality. But when it seems like too much I count the months until I can return ‘home’. Always longing, never satisfied. Because what I’m really longing for isn’t of this world.

What the deepest parts of me truly crave is HIS KINGDOM. I long to be where He lives and rules. Where His presence fills my surroundings until that’s all that’s evident. I want to know Him. For him to be as real to me as the material things I can see with my eyes, as the dust that covers my skin as I walk the dirt road to my house. I want His Kingdom to overtake everything I know until that familiar materialism becomes satisfaction in His embrace. Until wars are silenced, poverty ended, joy restored to places that once reeked of darkness. I want Him. All that He stands for. All that He is.

I don’t want to go back to Uganda.

2011-11-14T16:40:00.001+03:00

There…I said it.

I’ve lied about it every time somebody has asked me for over three weeks now. Tried to lie to myself because it makes me feel like a bad missionary.

I don’t want to go back to a land of disease. Of pain. I don’t want to hold another dying baby and allow them to hold my heart. I don’t want to shed another tear for the broken. To walk the slum streets. To hear another person beg for help. I don’t want to give up again the nice things that surround me. I don’t want to go back to power cuts and bland food. I don’t want to leave my best friends. So much in me is terrified to do it all again.

But as people ask me over and over if I’m ready to go back to Uganda, I lie. It’s easier to cover up this ugly truth. To hide the fact that it’s hard and that I’m terrified to do what I do every day. But I thought for a few minutes, I’d share the truth.

Because I think we spend our whole lives running from what’s hard and living for our own comfort. And we begin to believe that if it’s hard it’s wrong and not where God wants us. We believe that His will for our lives is butterflies and roses. Ease and comfort. So when hard times come. We bail. We give up. We search somewhere else for God’s will, never pushing through enough to find Him.

He longs to bless us. To pour good things into our lives. But maybe it looks a little different than we imagine. Maybe He’s asking us to drink the cup of joy and suffering all mixed together as one. Maybe there’s a deeper level of life that comes when we allow Him to break us open. When we pour our lives out as a love offering on the altar of sacrifice. Maybe we only encounter more of Him as we surrender everything we believe is important. Maybe we can only know Him as our everything and experience all that He is as we walk with Him through the darkest seasons.

So my emotions everywhere. One moment I feel like I can’t wait another second to step back on Ugandan soil. The next I’m terrified of what this next season will bring…But I choose to look to Him and know that whatever this next season brings, at the end of it I will be more dependant, more satisfied, and more in love with Him.

Child Sacrifice not so far from home

2011-10-20T04:10:00.001+03:00

I was reading this article on child sacrifice today. It’s impossible to put into words the atrocity that is happening to countless numbers of children in Uganda. Murdered. Mutilated. Dismembered. And to what purpose? So the rich can become richer. Anger boils within me as I read the article and imagine it happening to my helpless babies. A couple times we’ve had children go missing and the unspoken question is, have they been abducted for child sacrifice? All but one of these children have returned home.

It’s so easy to be angry. To judge the witchdoctors, the police, the nation. But as I read the article I began to wonder if we’re that much different than these witchdoctors. How often our desire for wealth allows us to exploit the weak. It might not be our machetes murdering children. We might never see their blood. But how many objects do we own that are ours because someone else paid the cost? The laptop you’re reading this on contains coltan which was likely dug from the earth by a child slave held at gun point in Congo. Your cell phone has the same story. The coffee you drink, the chocolate you eat, probably the shirt that you’re wearing are all covered in the blood of another. Someone else has died so that you can enjoy your wealth.

So doesn’t that make us the same? The same as the ones who hold the machette? As the murderers and rapists? If they’re doing it for us -- so we can have nice things -- then isn’t it really our fault?

Just some light food for thought….

Ziwa

2011-10-02T21:19:00.001+03:00

If you told me a year ago the things I’d be encountering here, I would have never believed you, never thought I would have it in me to fight the battles I encounter. To hold children so broken. Face the most hopeless circumstances. But then days like today happen. I hold a child who to his family is nothing more than a pawn in a drunken game. An attempt to cause the argument to lean in their favour.

A child who nobody has chosen to see but only to use and abuse. I hold him in my arms and beg God for some form of justice. I kiss his little sunken in cheeks covered in some unknown infection, desperate for him to know just a little piece of the love he deserves. I hold his drunken mother as tears run down her face and she begs me to save her dying child and a moment later hold her back from fighting her husband. I drive away fighting back tears and leaving this precious soul in the arms of another because the parents can’t pull it together long enough to allow him the medical care he needs.

This is Ziwa, and his story isn’t a happy one yet. The youngest of 10 children, mostly from different fathers. All neglected and abused. Both parents constantly drunk even during pregnancy. Severely malnourished. At seven months given soda more than milk. Covered in a fungal infection from not being bathed. Tossed from one home to the next.

Sometimes I think being in Africa has grown my faith to ridiculous measures. It’s almost like a game I play with God. I believe Him for something crazy and then he gives me more than I’ve ever imagined. My friends here have given me the name Kukidiza which means faith because I always believe God can work in the most impossible places.

But then days like today happen and I see how far I have to go in this journey to trust the One I love. Everything in me wants to take Ziwa into my home. To give him everything he deserves. To protect him from the pain that surrounds him. To hold him and kiss him and sing him sweet songs as he falls asleep. To speak life into him and tell him how very loved he is. It seems like the best option, the only option.

But God’s saying something different, something far more challenging than raising a baby. He’s asking me if I’ll believe him for another family. If I’ll believe that He can change the heart of a drunken Mama. If I’ll trust Him to change abusers into lovers. If I’ll trust Him to transform another broken family like I’ve seen Him do over and over again. He’s asking me if I’ll believe that He’s still the God of hope, of restoration, of life. And if I’ll continue to believe Him until I see this family restored, this child loved and cared for.

So I’m asking you to believe with me. To look to the God of restoration and believe that He’ll transform this broken family and make them into something remarkable. And I’m asking you to look at the brokenness that surrounds your own life and trust that God will break in and transform it all for His glory!

From one land to the next

2011-09-28T15:11:00.001+03:00

In 14 days I fly to America after 15 months without touching home soil. There’s SOOO much I’m excited for. Holding my niece for the first time and kissing her chubby little cheeks. Spending quality time with my sisters. Laughs. Games. Catching up with close friends and celebrating with one of my best friends on her wedding day. Mexican food. Shopping. Coffee with real creamer. Electricity every night...a seemingly endless list.

But mixed in with the excitement is fear and uncertainty. The land that was once all I knew now feels so foreign to the place I call home, and I don’t know how to make sense of both realities.

Early in the morning I will leave a land of poverty, disease, death, war, rape, and hopelessness. A land where I’ve found Jesus shining brightly. Where I’ve seen HIM in the smiles of children who once knew only sadness. Where His presence has been my greatest reality. A land where impossibilities fade and the power of God is evident. Where material objects seem insignificant as I sit in tiny empty rooms that house the ones I love. The ones who teach me every day about joy, trust, and generosity.

And after 33 hours, I’ll enter a very different place. A land consumed with its own pleasures, comforts, security. Where people live for one thing – self. Where children have abundance and are taught everyday that it’s what they need to be happy. A land of opportunities. A land that offers hope, that allows people to dream. A land that all but ignores anyone outside of its own.

Dozens of questions buzzing in my brain as I prepare to leave this culture and go to another. Confused by the differing strengths and weaknesses of both cultures… But there’s a constant in it all. One who loves each the same. Who holds my heart in the midst of all the change.

So I prepare. I pack my bags. I leave this land that I love. I kiss the cheeks of the babies whose tiny fingers hold my heart strings. I hold them close and hope they don’t change too much while I’m gone. Pray their vulnerable existence can hold them until I return. And I go to a land of Starbucks and good food. I go to sit in the homes of the ones I love and share stories, dreams, struggles that have gone too long without sharing. And through it all, through the thousands of miles, I remain in His heart. The One who is the same.

Community

2011-09-27T15:47:00.001+03:00

I decided to write a discipleship course for our beautiful Mamas in Kasubi. It’s been awhile since I taught and I was excited to sit with them again. I decided we should look at the book of Acts and talk about what it means to live in community. But today I sat down to write out some teaching notes and the decision to teach this concept seems ridiculous.

How can I teach these women about community?

Women who give away their last bit of food to someone more poor than themselves, knowing they could have nothing to feed their children the next day when I’m so often tempted to be stingy with my abundance…

Women who earn $1 a week yet offer me porridge when I enter their homes because they are desperate to thank me for treating their sick children…when I so often utter a simple thank you in response to a kind gesture but soon forget about the sacrifice made…

Women who care for their neighbor’s children day after day with no appreciation other than the simple joy of loving a child when I go home at night relieved not to have to hold another child until the next day…

Women who come and bow at my feet to thank me for a gift I’ve given to their friend’s children that will in no way benefit them, when I so often feel jealousy rising in my heart when my friends receive blessings.

Women who laugh together, share together, pause from the business of life to spend time hanging out. Women who’s ‘homes’ are too small and dark to hang out in forcing them to hang out together in the narrow passage ways that become their social gatherings.

So maybe I’ll put aside my messy, fruitless teaching notes and go sit with my friends. Maybe instead of trying to teach them something today, I’ll sit with them and watch how they love. Maybe I’ll learn something, and perhaps tomorrow I’ll love a little better because of it.

His Delight

2011-09-25T15:45:00.002+03:00

“I will rescue them because they are my delight” (Psalm 18:19)

What does love look like?

2011-09-21T17:35:00.002+03:00

When you sit in the home of a deathly sick woman and hear she’s tested positive for AIDs. When encouragement and a prayer feels like nothing in the midst of her desperate situation. What does love look like?

When you visit a young lady, a child herself, who is constantly drunk and she tells you somebody has stolen her baby, but you know that she’s the one who’s abandoned this precious life. As you wonder if the child you love and once held in your arms is even still alive, what does love look like?

When you hold a toddler who feels like a baby in your arms, unable to even lift her head or eat the candy you’ve given her because her body is too weak. When you hear she’s positive for HIV. What does love look like?

When you sit with your friend who’s been abandoned by her husband and left to care for three children without any income. When she shows you the pile of belongings lying on the side of the road because she’s been kicked out of her home, what does love look like?

As you hear of a war in another nation and weep at the stories of children as young as three being raped as a weapon in this war. As you try to associate with unimaginable pain, what does love look like?

And for you...as you sit at Starbucks across from your broken friend whose pain blinds her from the love of the Father. As she pours out her heart, what does love look like?

To the homeless man dressed in dirty rags and smelling of the garbage he just found his lunch in. Even if he smells of alcohol, what does love look like?Maybe we should stop asking ourselves how we can make a difference

When you see their faces flash across the television, another race, another culture, more pain than your western self fully understands. As you look into your eyes and see that they’re not so different than you, what does love look like?

Maybe we should stop asking ourselves how we can ever have an impact on the major world issues and injustices happening everywhere and start by loving the one who stands in front of us. Maybe what matters to that one isn’t the solution to global poverty or the economic crisis, but a warm lunch, a listening ear, a hand to hold as they walk through the pain that surrounds us all.

What does love look like for you today?

Loved

2011-09-14T21:01:00.001+03:00

............ Baby Sandra with Mama Joshua ............

Sometimes my job is so ridiculously humbling!

2011-09-14T16:07:00.004+03:00

It's a transition season for our team and I don't always cope with that very well. Mission school has ended and two of my close friends have moved back to England and I want to wallow. God's challenging me every day to pick myself up and go after what I'm really here for, but it's not always easy if I'm honest. Just yesterday in our team soaking time I was struggling to engage and feeling emotional about all the change. I began reading Acts where right after Jesus was taken into heaven angels came and told the disciples to stop looking to heaven and go grab hold of what Jesus had promised them!

OK JESUS! I get it!!

So I spent the morning hanging out with the amazing new team that's around me and then went to Kasubi for discipleship. As I invited the women to come, the mother of one of our sponsored kids asked me to sit next to her and began to tell me about her situation. They haven't paid rent in six months and when the landlord started threatening to throw them out, her husband feld to his other wife leaving Mama Katibu with three young children to feed. That day the landlord had moved all of her stuff out of the house and told her they couldn't sleep there that night. So she begged me for help so her 3 little ones didn't have to sleep outside in the cold.

But then she came down to worship and sang her heart out to Jesus, singing "When the Lord is on our side, things are already better, things are already better," and "I am so happy because Jesus saved me."

Eight months ago, I had the opportunity to lead Mama Katibu to Jesus and baptize her in water. (You can read that story here) Today Mama Katibu helped me move miles ahead in my faith as she worshipped her heart out in the midst of her pain and worry.

At the end of discipleship Mama Nantayi arrived completely drunk. She threw herself into me and hugged me at least 40 times over the next hour. She told me she loved me over and over and nestled her face into my neck, way closer than I wanted her to be. I hugged her over and over and told her I loved her and I would come see her soon while at the same time desperately hoping she would give me some personal space. But she didn't. Instead she stayed close for the next hour as I tried to have personal conversations with other women. But as she listened in as I tried to come up with a solution for Mama Katibu being kicked out of her house, she offered her spare room to her.

Wow, a women who I so often judge for her abuse and neglect of her 10 children as she spends most days completely drunk, just offered up the little she has to a woman in need. Jesus, please make me more like that.

More willing to give. More desperate for you. Always worshipping. Teach me through these broken ones what it means to live through you. Through these humble ones, what it means to lay my life down. Let me be more like them in their hunger, selflessness, and love.

Response to the Jealousy of His heart

2011-09-11T23:35:00.005+03:00

I want only to respond to the jealousy of His heart. He wants her. I find her and bring her home. He longs for a nation. I go and sow love until they know the one who calls them by name. He burns for a cause, I fight for it.

It’s the only thing worth fighting for. Jesus what do you want? What do you burn for?

It’s the thing that spurs me. It’s the only way I can live in poverty, pain, and hopelessness. His burning love sets my heart on fire. So I go. I look through the rubbish dumps, the sewage, the brokenness. And I find them.

And I love them back to life. Whoever they are. Some covered in white skin, education, outward confidence, but broken on the outside. Others small children who have seen more than little eyes should see. Older ones with babies of their own but still wounded children on the inside. The external fades as all I can see is His deep longing for every one of them.

He’s yearning for them, desperate for each one. And I get to place them at His feet. I didn’t come to Africa for souls. I never knew I was passionate about ‘evangelism’. But there’s nothing better than laying a precious one at the feet of Jesus. Giving Him the very thing He longs for. Introducing others to my very best friend who can satisfy every part of them.

I had this opportunity again this week. I was in a hurry. Worried I’d had our visitors out for too long in the blazing African sun. Rushing to return the car I’d borrowed. One more stop to drop off food then back to the car. Until a lady stopped us and asked us to come pray for someone she knows who is sick.

So we went and found a man laying in bed, almost unable to speak because of the amount of pain he was in. We asked for the story and learned he has HIV and hasn’t been able to walk for 2 months. The lady who brought us to him is the one who cares for him, but she often can’t afford food when he asks for it. We prayed for healing and could feel the presence of God in the room. The Kingdom of Heaven touched earth for a few moments in this tiny broken room. His love came a touched a desperate man. And Godfrey gave His life to Jesus.

There's nothing better than this. So I go out again. Searching for those who are ready. Searching for the ones whose names are on His lips. Grabbing hold of hearts and bringing them back to the one who loves them.

What cost will you pay?

2011-09-07T20:05:00.003+03:00

People tell me all the time that they could never do what I do, and I never really get it. I guess there is a cost to being a missionary. Days without electricity. Standing out wherever you go. Miles from home comforts (AKA salsa and Doritos!). Missing milestones in the lives of family. But the truth is there’s a cost to every way of life…

If I’d chosen to stay in my own culture, I would have missed so many things this past couple years. In just the space of a month I would have missed the joy of bringing a smile to hundreds of kids’ faces. Being a part of a dozen women falling in love with Jesus, a girl dying of HIV and TB smiling again. I wouldn’t have seen a baby dying of a brain condition given a second chance at life, being the answer to her mother’s desperate cries. Holding my friend after she was beat up by her husband because she was too tired to have sex with him, and sitting with another as she mourns the loss of her husbands and tries to figure out how she will raise her kids without him. I would have missed too many hugs, cheers of excitement when people see me, giving myself to Jesus as I lay my life down for them.

Yes, the cost of giving up these things would be FAR too great. And the cost I’ve paid in order to be a part of this seems so very small. So if you’ve ever looked at the life of a missionary and claimed you could never do that, maybe take a look at your own life. What is it that you’re clinging to that is maybe worth giving up? And what are you giving up so you can surround yourself by what is temporary?

What's normal??

2011-09-05T16:14:00.001+03:00

Sometimes ‘normal’ life seems so foreign to me. What would my life look like if I’d never seen poverty? Never felt the ache of another? What if I had normal dreams? You know, not saving a nation from war or relieving the world from the burden of poverty, but getting married, owning my own home, having children, pursuing a career.

Sometimes I crave it. I don’t crave American life. Nothing in me wants that anymore. But I crave home. Family. The smell of a newborn baby cuddled against my chest. Children who look like me playing at my feet in the comfort of a house. Traditional holidays with the ones I love. A friend I can share every moment with for the rest of my life. Comfort. Normality. Security...

Some days I long for what once was normal. But most days I can’t imagine life looking like anything else. As I walk down my street hand in hand with a precious one who has so little. As I scoop my babies in my arms and pour in the love their heart’s long for. As I ask them who loves them and who’s beautiful and they immediately respond that they are beautiful and I love them. As I cry with ones going through loss and fight for them so they can know hope again. As I laugh with women my heart has grown so fond of, neither of us really sure why the other is laughing, but sharing in joy none the less.

This is ‘normal’ life now, and I don’t want it any other way!

Nothing

2011-09-02T09:26:00.003+03:00

How do you carry something that is bigger than you are? How do you lead people into a place you’ve never been? These are the questions on my heart this week as God whispers to us about a new season we’re entering into. We’re seeing things I’ve heard about in books on revival, but never seen with my own eyes. Salvations happening all around us even among drunkards and prostitutes. People approaching us and asking how they can be saved. Salvation that includes physical healing and deliverance from the demonic—the fullness of what Jesus died for. It’s humbling and overwhelming to be a part of, yet Jesus is whispering in our ears, “this is just the start; there’s so much more!”

And so we push in. We ask everyone we know if they want Jesus. We pray for everyone we see who is sick or going through hard things. We press in for more of Him because He’s the only One who can change the devastation that surrounds us. And as we see Him we’re made more and more aware of our weakness and lack. For months, He’s been challenging me to love more, convicting me of the selfishness that’s found a home in my heart until brokenness overwhelms me. I am nothing. But He IS everything. And He comes and fills us over and over again until every impossibility disappears from our minds and all we can see is hope and transformation, even before anything external has shifted.

Hope & Life Restored

2011-08-29T12:52:00.002+03:00

Mama Sharifa is a precious lady who loves her child in a way that is not always obvious here. From the time she found out she was pregnant, she prayed for the tiny life growing inside of her. But her precious daughter was born with her spinal cord growing outside of her flesh. Mama Sharifa couldn’t eat for days as she grieved for the tiny baby she loved. Sharifa received surgery which left her crippled from the waist down, but gave her another chance at life.

Shortly after this surgery, Sharifa’s brain started to swell, evidenced by her massive forehead. Again Mama took her to the government hospital where she received disheartening news. She would need surgery which would cost her 250,000 Ugandan Shillings which is less than $90, but more than this Mama could EVER afford. She was told even if Sharifa had surgery, the condition would come back and she would likely need more expensive surgery. So she was left completely hopeless. Holding the baby she deeply loved every day, knowing she would soon die, but completely unable to do anything. Mama contemplated throwing Sharifa out. The hopelessness more real than anything else. But she thought about Jesus and knew that he would not be happy if she threw away His child. So she kept her little girl and cried out for a miracle.

And that miracle came for her. As a group of inexperienced, broken missionaries who arrived at her house and offered to pay for the surgery Sharifa needed. Everyone in the house fought to hold back tears as we realized the power of being sent by God to answer a helpless Mama’s prayers. It was one of the greatest moments of my time here. It wasn’t hard or expensive. We just showed up and gave the little we had and it’s changed everything for this little family. It’s restored hope. It’s saved a life. It’s brought glory to Jesus as ours and Mamas only response was to worship Him in that moment.

That’s become my cry. Jesus, use me to answer the cried of the broken. Use my little laid down life to restore hope to hopelessness. Take the little I have and use it so that you can be glorified in a very broken world.

Please pray for Sharifa as she continues to recover from surgery. She needs a miracle to keep her brain from swelling again later in life and to restore movement and strength to her legs. Daddy, finish what you’ve started in this little life!

It’s been weeks since I’ve been able to write...

2011-08-29T12:51:00.000+03:00

Part of that is the busyness of life. Our first Mission School is in full gear and preaching, planning, and showing 20+ visitors around is taking most of my free time. When I’m not busy, half the time my computer can’t manage to connect to the internet and the other half of the time the power is off because the power company is rebelling against the government by shutting off my power every other night.

But I think there are other reasons I’ve stopped processing things on paper (aka Microsoft Word). This has been such a long stint in Africa without a break to the comforts of my home. Ups and downs. Painful experiences. Loss. All of which are running into a blur. Everything seems to be changing around me with people coming and invading my world then quickly leaving again and taking another piece of my heart with them. Children I love die, leave, or go through unspeakable things and my heart becomes overwhelmed by the temptation to disengage. We lost one of precious Mamas a few weeks ago and I actually thought, “Well, there’s too much going on, so I’ll have to process that when I go home.” But that trip is still 2 months away and the tragedies I’m refusing to let my heart feel are piling up.

I’m tired. But in the midst of this battle between perseverance and discouragement, I can’t help but be thankful. I’m standing in the middle of everything I’ve ever longed for. I’ve asked for more of Him since the time I first found Him. I’ve longed to give him everything, to be consumed by him. And I think I’m finally getting it. If I don’t have HIM, I won’t survive! And although that truth scares me over and over and over...although the temptation overwhelms me to grab hold of everything that I believe keeps me safe...this place of desperation is where I want to be. Weak, desperate, needy, but in the arms of the one who holds me. And as I let go of everything else that holds me, He becomes even greater to me and I know I’m going to be alright.

L.O.V.E.

2011-06-07T19:52:00.004+03:00

Every day, I’m more and more convinced of the power of love. We’ve been taught that being a Christian looks like church, evangelism, fancy sermons, reading your Bible, quiet times, etc, etc, etc...But as I walk into poverty so much of that seems useless. When I hold a broken Mama in my arms as she tells me she doesn’t have enough food for her children, the words I once used to encourage seem worthless, ineffective, somehow wrong And I’m CONVINCED the only thing that matters is LOVE...

And I’m more and more convinced of the power that’s in love. The way it changes literally everything in people’s lives. The impact it has on a family who a year ago had no hope in their eyes. Now their mom tells us, our love has made them smile. Powerless women who work each day to keep their families alive who tell us they have hope now because even on the hard days they know we are coming, coming to love. Broken yet strong women who tell us they now know what real love is because they’ve seen it in us as we’ve picked up their children covered in poo and held them even when they were being naughty.

And I’m overwhelmed. That they could see the greatest thing the world contains inside of me. That they could see Him (because He is love), while looking at me. I’m humbled and broken and inspired. To love. Because it matters. It makes a difference. Whether it’s one smile or an entire community transformed. It’s who HE is, and it changes everything!

Broken in His arms

2011-06-03T20:14:00.000+03:00

I’m tired tonight. Not really sure why. Sometimes it seems too much to try to sort out the emotions of my day so I push it all lower, deeper. I try to cover the pain in hopes it won’t be there when I wake up again. But they remain. Mixing with new emotions, fears, burdens until it’s too much to sort out. Some days it feels easier to ignore the brokenness. But I’m learning. That brokenness is the only way to move forward. Because in my brokenness He finds me. In my brokenness He scoops me up. In my brokenness I see His tender eyes looking deep into mine.

So I let it all go and I lay broken in His arms. Broken for baby Sharif. Seven months old. He never cries. Maybe he’s content. Or maybe he’s learned that tears don’t help him, that nobody cares. He’s fat, at least for a baby in Uganda, which is a miracle I’m sure. His mother’s milk has dried up and she can’t afford food. There’s no father and she doesn’t work. Instead she drinks. Day after day we find her in the bar. Drinking the local brew until all her pain seems smaller. Sometimes he sits next to her. On the ground, surrounded by drunk men. Sometimes he stays in their home alone. Their “home.” Words fail as I try to describe the horrors of it. Crumbling dirt for walls. Stones and dirt for a floor. A pile of clothes for a “bed.” No more than 5 foot by 3 foot in size. No light. No belongings. No toys. No hope.

I’ve spent all week trying to come up with a solution for him. Pushing the pain deeper by telling myself it’s not so bad. But tonight I let go and allow the brokenness to come. I sit near my Daddy and tell him how sad it is. I confess the hopelessness I feel and beg God to do something for this precious one.

I tell Him about Brenda who I’m falling in love with more every day. A sad little girl of about four. He body swollen from malnutrition. Her story is unclear, but the pain of it is written on her eyes. We known her for months, but her screams of terror kept us from coming too close. Our scary white skin. Her frail heart. Something changed. A miracle deep in her heart. A few smiles and the next visit she was in my arms. Commanding me to sit next to her and not leave. Telling me more words than I can understand in her foreign tongue. Cuddling into my chest as if all the love she’s ever received is found there. Her mother stays far. Her grandmother unstable. She’s left every day. Alone. With nothing but the potato sack she sits on.

I long to hold her more but the days are short and my responsibilities long. So I allow Him to hold me. To whisper promises in my ear and remind me what He’s done. The transformations. The ones who know Him now. The eyes that are filled with hope again. The faces that smile for the first time. I sit with Him. It still looks dark. My heart is sad. But I choose to trust. I choose to trust that my love pales. But His doesn’t. I choose to trust that the one who holds me, holds them. And I ask that the healing in that touch would heal them.

Me

2011-05-29T21:06:00.001+03:00

I never refer to myself as a missionary...For some reason I don’t really believe that I am. I’d look up the dictionary definition to see, but I don’t want to be proved wrong. It’s easier to believe that I’m not. That I’m just me, trying to make it in Africa, trying to love the poor. Trying to make sense of a world that feels too broken.

I think I grew up with an idea of what it looked like to be a ‘missionary.’ I feel like a harp should play in the background when you say the word. Lights should eliminate it. Years of seminary should come before it and perfection in order to walk into it.

I thought it would be different. I thought I would be different. Because if nothing changed then surely I’m not enough...

But somehow, through thousands of miles, my issues have followed me. And I’m the same little mess I was before. The insecurities that impact my every move. The lies I cling to. The struggles. The fears. The sin. The doubt. They’ve all followed me here. And so some nights I cry myself to sleep, telling God all the reasons I can’t make it here. Because some days I really believe it.

But I’m learning. My pursuit to be perfect, to be enough, or in Christian lingo – to be more like Jesus has moved me very few steps forward. If any. But I’m changing my pursuit. I don’t need to be more like him. I just need more of Him. More of Him in me. More of His love filling my selfish, lustful heart. More of his grace covering my harsh words of judgement. More of his peace that causes every fear to leave my being. I need Him. Today and every day. I don’t just need transformation. I need a Saviour!

So yes. I’m a missionary. And I’m me. Broken. Desperate. Longing. And just as I should be!

in 18 days...

2011-05-29T19:52:00.003+03:00

This one will be in Uganda!!!!!!!!

And this one...

And these ones...

Seriously guys...didn't you just win a free photo shoot??

I CAN'T WAIT!!!!!!!!!!

Heaven's Whisper

2011-05-29T19:18:00.003+03:00

God’s whispering in my ear...

Congo

I push it away, unsure of what it means.

But he whispers again

Congo.

A land of heartache. War. Stories nobody wants to hear. Children forced to be soldiers. Made to kill. Kids as sex slaves. It feels too painful to hold in my heart. Another nation. More hurting. Deeper ache.

So I push it aside, but God whispers into my heart

Congo

So I begin to listen, to wonder without dreaming. To investigate without caring. Trying to respond, but unwilling to hold another nation in my heart. Unwilling to wait for another dream, another passion to be birthed.

I’m scared. Scared to hurt again. To carry an even deeper pain. Scared to start over. That God will ask me to leave this land I love. Scared to be unsatisfied. To hold the heart-burden of yet another land.

But He’s whispering...

And my heart’s beginning to respond.

And the response is YES!!

Feeling small and weak as I look into a massive country of darkness. Not having a clue of where to begin or what I could do. Broken. Overwhelmed by their pain. I say YES. YES Jesus. I want to be where you are. I want to live in you. I want the darkness.

So I follow His whisper. And let it become my own.

Congo

[to clarify...I don’t believe this means I’m leaving Uganda in the foreseeable future. I believe God's allowing me to feel his heartbeat and longings for another nation and I’m just trying to open myself up to the promptings of Holy Spirit. Maybe I'll end up in Congo in the future...maybe I won't. Pic is from pursuingnormal.com amazing stuff!! check it out!!]

Jesus Wins!!

2011-05-29T19:15:00.000+03:00

Today a witchdoctor in one of our communities went crazy and drove through the slum. We’ve heard of at least 7 children dying as a result and possibly several more. Trying to get a full story here is always a challenge as rumours seem to spread faster than any facts. So I have no idea of the details. But my heart aches. And I feel angry.

It isn’t just one witchdoctor, one place, and a handful of kids. That in itself is heartbreaking. But it’s everywhere. Satan driving through, causing destruction, heartache, pain, death. Leaving his mark on communities and families. Trying to claim what’s not his! He’s come to destroy. He’s come to spread lies and darkness.

But as my heart aches for our precious community. As I try to make a little sense of it. I have to believe that God has the final word. I have to believe that he came to bring abundant life, hope to the broken, love to all. And I have to believe it’s those things that will take root in the communities I love!

Risk

2011-05-28T22:07:00.002+03:00

It's because of His love that we are able -and willing- to risk our own hearts

Loving from the inside out

2011-05-28T21:53:00.001+03:00

I’m feeling challenged again. Challenged to stop for the one. To hear their pain. To allow it to hit somewhere deep. I’m sure you think it’s natural for me. And in some ways it is. I do it all day. Every day that I go to work. Every day that I leave my compound. I see it...Need. I stop. I listen. I respond. But sometimes it’s all on the outside. Standard answers to their deepest heart cries. It’s easier that way! Easier than letting their pain actually touch me.

About a month ago, Mama Amena gave her life to Jesus minutes before being baptized. Last week she pulled me aside. She’s pregnant and due any day now. Not that you could tell by her small baby bump. Her husband has been in prison and now that he’s out he has no job. They have no way of getting food. She sends her 3 year old out to beg for food from the neighbours, but her and her unborn baby are left with nothing. She asked for prayer. Only prayer. The natural response was to stop there. We treat children. We buy food for those on our feeding program. A meal would do nothing to actually change her situation. My standard answer at the end of a hard day was to pray and walk away. But I allowed her story to hit a little deeper. I bought her food. I took her to a clinic. And I’ve have carried the pain of her story in my heart for days.

It’s so easy to carry their stories outside of me. So much easier than carrying them in my heart. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m not here to give aid and walk away. I’m here for love. And love encompasses it all. It’s a feeling, an emotion, an action, a choice, a response....it’s everything. It’s dying. It’s living. It’s giving it all. And it’s painful. It rips to the core, cost everything you have. But it’s worth it.

When the Lord is on our side...

2011-05-27T19:14:00.006+03:00

I feel down tonight. I want to lie in my bed and listen to sad country songs and be mopey. Home, comfort, family feels thousands of miles away. I just skyped my sister and looked into the face of my beautiful niece who I’ve yet to meet. The power went and our conversation ended too soon. I want to be there. I want to be laughing with the ones I love most. Holding the precious new life who shares some of my genes. I want to watch my sister enjoy the first weeks of being a mother. Not trapped thousands of miles away surrounded by never ending needs, endless brokenness I can do so little about.

But in the midst of my moping, I’m reminded of this precious little one. If you’ve ever read my blog you know her story. Abuse. Neglect. A family who doesn’t care.

But what’s on my mind tonight isn’t the way her sad eyes looked at me when she was too damaged from abuse to even speak. It’s not the way she grabbed onto my arm and begged me not leave her home because she knew when I did she would be beaten. It’s not the scars that covered her face from being beat with a metal pole. No, instead I can hear the words she sang in her tiny voice as we drove back from the hospital, her leg in a cast from being beaten by her family. She sang, “things are ready (are already) better, things are ready better, when the Lord is on our side, things are ready better, things are ready better....

And I’m challenged. I’m inspired by her little broken life to pick myself from the pain I feel and look to Him, to trust Him. To know that He’s making it all better. To believe him again for my life and for theirs.

One of the amazing guys I work with just made this video which relates to this post because it has our slum kids who have nothing dancing, so I was going to post it here since it relates and all but I can't figure out how so if you want to watch it you'll have to go HERE!!! It's worth it!! :)

From a Woman in Africa....

2011-04-26T16:50:00.001+03:00

I know poverty because poverty was there before I was born and it has become part of life like the blood through my veins. Poverty is not going empty for a single day and getting something to eat the next day. Poverty is going empty with no hope for the future. Poverty is getting nobody to feel your pain and poverty is when your dreams go in vain because nobody is there to help you. Poverty is watching your mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters die in pain and in sorrow just because they couldn't get something to eat. Poverty is hearing your grandmothers and grandfathers cry out to death to come take them because they are tired of this world. Poverty is watching your own children and grandchildren die in your arms but there is nothing you can do. Poverty is watching your children and grandchildren share tears in their deepest sleep. Poverty is suffering from HIV/AIDS and dying a shameful death but nobody seems to care".

" Poverty is when you hide your face and wish nobody could see you just because you feel less than a human being. Poverty is when you dream of bread and fish you never see in the day light. Poverty is when people accuse you and prosecute you for no fault of yours but who is there to say some for you? Poverty is when the hopes of your fathers and grandfathers just vanish within a blink of an eye. I know poverty and I know poverty just like I know my father's name. Poverty never sleeps. Poverty works all day and night. Poverty never takes a holiday"

Honored

2011-04-26T16:49:00.001+03:00

I’m overwhelmed that I get to do what I do every day.
I’m walking with the most amazing women on a beautiful journey.
Sitting with them each week, I get to teach them about the God I love and watch as they encounter Him.
Soaking in his presence with hearts open
They share their stories with me. Some heartbreaking. Abandoned by husbands, sick children, death.
And the positive. Jobs, more money, experiencing God’s presence.
They cry with me, laugh with me, trust me.
They pull me aside to share their hearts.
They beam as I tell them I believe in them and get excited at their victories.
They teach me things. How to serve, to hunger, to live in community.
They are my friends. The ones I love.
I have the best job in the whole world!

God is Good

2011-04-26T16:46:00.001+03:00

22,000 children die every day due to poverty...
GOD IS GOOD
That’s one child every 3 seconds...
GOD IS GOOD
One in every 12 children dies before celebrating their 5th birthday
GOD IS GOOD
200,000 child slaves are sold every year in Africa
GOD IS SAVIOR
1.8 million children die every year as a result of diarrhoea
GOD IS HEALER
More than 800 million people go to bed hungry every day, 300 million are children...
GOD IS A FATHER
Last week Isma died at the age of one month from a sickness completely curable in the America....
GOD IS GOOD
Julianna has been beaten and threatened repeatedly but the police have done nothing....
GOD IS DEFENDER
Sierra watches her mom be raped and beaten almost every night by several men ....
GOD IS LOVE
Haura is paralized due to malaria which is completely preventable....
GOD IS PROTECTOR

It doesn’t change.
No matter what your circumstances say...No matter what happens.
He is good. He is good. He is good.

Heart Vision...

2011-04-26T16:43:00.000+03:00

I want to be one who looks at impossibilities as opportunities not stopping places. I want to be one who dreams the dreams others are too scared to hope for. One who allows problems to become my spring board into the glory of God. Death can’t stop me. Disease won’t sway me. They will only push me deeper, make me run faster.

I want to walk into the darkness and find the lost light. I want to look into the hearts of prostitutes, drug addicts, witch doctors and pull out the treasures inside. I want to see the value in the hundreds my path crosses each day. My opinions unaffected by what the world says but only by what God says about each one.

I want to love. I want to give myself, my money, my time, my heart. I want to surrender everything. I want to run hard. I want to go wherever he whispers. I want to see the ones written on His heart and bring them home. I want to be unfazed by danger. Count my life as nothing. See only the longings of His heart.

I want to understand the cost. I want to see Him bleeding on the cross, his eyes burning for me, for them. I want to feel the unimaginable love that led Him there, feel the fiery passion of His heart that longs for them to come home. I want see only Him, to care only for His desires. To give all I have so that He can have the reward of his sufferings.

**This blog was inspired by reading something by Michelle Perry who runs a children’s village in Sudan. You can read her amazing writings here...

To all of you who say you couldn’t...

2011-04-18T22:04:00.002+03:00

People who hear about my life usually have one of two responses...

Some say they are jealous. Which I don’t actually get...It’s not like I won the lotto or found Prince Charming. I chose this life...So if you’re jealous, come try it out!

Others say they could never do it. Which I also don’t understand...

What I do is easy. What I do is so much bigger than the cost! Yes, I’ve given up lots... I’d love to watch my sister’s belly grows bigger and be there to hold the tiny life growing inside of her. I’d love a Starbucks at the end of a stressful day! It frustrates me that Skype is my only form of contact with some of my closest friends. But that’s such a minimal part of my life.

What I do every day is EASY!! I love. I sit in the dirt and love. I visit homes and get invited in for tea and fruit. I hold babies and hope they don’t pee on me. I play games with the sweetest kids in the world. I make ladies laugh by attempting their language. It’s easy. It’s fun. And you CAN do it!

I LOVE my life. At the end of the day I often sit in my home and think about how amazing what I do is. On Friday I feel a little sad that it will be several days before I go back to work again. On Sunday night I’m excited that the next day is Monday and I get to go back to what I love. Being a missionary isn’t noble. It’s the most amazing thing in the world!!

Without a degree. Without qualifications. Without any kind of training except time spent in His presence. You can love. You can give yourself. You can be Jesus to a dying generation!

So if you’ve told yourself the lie (or let satan tell you the lie) that you could never do...give it a try! Stop what you’re doing for 6 months and see how it is!! Maybe you’ll find that giving yourself to the ones Jesus loves is the only thing worth living for!

Just trying to Survive

2011-04-18T22:03:00.000+03:00

Last night I got all dressed up, wanting to escape from an intense week I made plans to go to town, have a nice meal, go bowling, sing karaoke. As I put on my nicest clothes, did my hair, put on makeup, I got a call telling me one of my babies was in the clinic next door.

The day before I’d been worried for his life and rushed him to the clinic. At 7 months old he looks and acts like a newborn. He is lifeless, malnourished, dehydrated, and close to death. I tried to do everything I could for him but the doctors assured me he would be fine so I had to trust them and send him home. He wasn’t fine and almost died that night. So the next morning, his Mama rushed him back to the clinic in our village. As I sat with Mama and gave cuddles to her precious one the differences between my western upbringing and her Ugandan life were stark. What I was about to spend for fun is more than she would make in the next month. Just what I spent on a nice meal could have paid the rent she is about to lose her house over...

I see nights like this one as survival out here. “Getting out” of Africa...forgetting for a minute the tragedy I’m faced with every day. Some days I feel like I can’t do another day if I don’t escape it all and do something fun.

But survival for her looks completely different. There’s not a moment in her day when she can focus on her own pleasures. She could never spend a penny on “fun”; never spend a night on herself. Survival for her looks like rushing her dying baby to a clinic. It looks like begging a landlord to be able to stay in the only home she has. It looks like desperately begging neighbours to wash their clothes so she can afford food for her children that day.

What’s survival for you? Is it a Starbucks every morning? A haircut every few months? A new outfit? A meal out with friends? I don’t believe any of that’s wrong. If I burnout I’m useless to kids like Abdul. But maybe there’s a way to view it differently. Maybe we keep telling ourselves there’s nothing we can do. Maybe we believe we don’t have any money to give? But their survival depends on it...So maybe for a moment we can give up something we need to “survive” so kids like Abdul can live another day.

Back to Love

2011-04-17T21:35:00.000+03:00

This week I took several days off. It had been an intense couple of weeks with lots of visitors to keep happy, tasks to be completed, and injustices to fight. I was tired and with much encouragement from the rest of the team, I decided a couple of days off might help me feel like myself again.

My friends joked that a day off for me would be hanging out in Kasubi without the infamous blue t-shirt that is our Rev Life uniform...And I did in fact find a sneaky way to get into Kasubi and hold some babies. It was logical...I needed to use the car to pay bills and they needed a ride to Kasubi, but mostly it was an excuse to get my arms around some precious kids for at least few minutes. It’s the best thing in the world to have a job I love this much!!

The day before I was to have time off I felt anxious. I literally had knots in my stomach and was in no way looking forward to not being able to go to work. Four days at home seemed like too much, and several times I considered how I could convince everyone else that it was ok for me to work. I knew I was being irrational so thought I should let Jesus speak. He spoke to me about stripping away everything external...

You see, I know who I am when I stand in front of the poor. It’s easy. It’s me. I know what I can offer. I know I can make a difference. But what about when it’s just me...when I’m no giving anything away...am I still enough??

So day one of the 4 looming days off began and I woke up ready to DO something... I thought if I had to stay at home I could at least write a preach for mission school or strategize how I want to save the world. I could intercede for some injustices that are on my heart...anything! But I couldn’t do any of that. Instead I was drawn in by His whisper. I love you...

I know....nothing spectacular...A revelation I should have down by now. But somewhere along the way, as I’ve sought desperately to pour love into everyone else, I’ve forgotten it for myself. I’ve forgotten that I’m Daddy’s little girl. I’ve forgotten that everything that’s true for them is just as true for me.

So the last few days have been full of being loved on by Daddy. Him reminding me that I’m enough. That I’m OK. That I’m perfect and beautiful and deeply loved. I feel settled again. The busyness of life seems quiet again as I relax back into His arms. Their cries haven’t stopped. I could list off dozens of families with different situations that cry out for a miracle...while I was resting, a baby was abandoned by her mother and has nobody to care for her...a grandmother and her special needs little girl are sleeping outside because they’ve been kicked out of their home. Nothing external has changed, but I’m at peace.

I’m held by a God who is so much bigger than it all and I am the most loved girl in the entire world. So this week I begin feeling settled in the arms of the one who loves me most of all. And I pray I can stay there no matter what comes along. Safe, secure, loved. And me and my Daddy will go bring a little more hope into some very dark places so that they too can feel safe, secure, loved...

Only Him!

2011-04-14T21:00:00.000+03:00

This week I met a four year old girl who lost her legs. Well, ‘met’ is an overstatement. She rode the back of her young friend who walked toward me. Upon seeing my white skin, she shrieked loudly and her carrier walked away to calm her down. Those around me then told me her story. At the age of two she lost her legs from a train passing on the railroad just meters from her house.

I can’t get her out of my mind! I hear her shriek over and over and imagine what it would have been like the day that changed the rest of her life. Disabilities here are hundreds times worse than they are in the west. They don’t just change what others think about you and impact what you’re able to do. They change everything. Her family can’t afford a wheelchair, so she will only manage to get around as long as she remains small enough for someone to carry her. Chances are she won’t make it to school, won’t get a job, won’t have much of a future. Chances are she will live and die in a slum.

The sad stories are common, but for some reason this one is under my skin. I think it’s because with most the children I meet, no matter how sad their stories are, I am able to do something. If they are sick, I take them to a doctor. If they need an education, I can send them to school. If they are starving, I can bring them food. I am not able to change everything for them or for everyone I meet, but I can help meet the biggest needs and the ones that stir my heart.

But her most obvious need I can do nothing to meet. She needs legs. I’ve got boxes of clothes, a budget to treat kids medically, and the ability to bring various forms of aid. But legs? Only Jesus can give her those.

But as I hold her in my heart, I realize she’s no different than the rest of my kids. No matter their story or the situation they are living in, their biggest need is JESUS. He’s the one who can heal their hearts and take away the scars of abuse. He’s the one who can speak hope into the desperate hopelessness they live in. He is the one that takes everything that has been stolen from them and returns it 100 fold.

Some days it’s easy to feel like I can change the world. Kids who a few months ago couldn’t even smile, run and play freely. And I know I’ve been a part of their transformation. A boy who almost lost his leg from an infection joins us at our football club every 2 weeks and I remember the hours I sat with him at our clinic watching them squeeze the infection out. A Mama who a few months ago was so trapped in witchcraft she refused to treat her dying son chooses Jesus and I’m grateful I took those bold steps to teach her about Jesus when she seemed so far from Him.

Some days it’s easy... it feels like I’m doing a good job and making a huge impact. And I’m not trying to diminish that. But the truth is, it’s ALL Him. He’s the one. He’s the answer for them. He’s the only solution. He’s the only one that can fill darkness with hope. He’s the only one who can take their pain and transform it into something beautiful. He’s the only one that can fill Africa with the most amazing love. And my life is just the smallest part of that much bigger picture!

Clashing Cultures

2011-04-14T20:54:00.002+03:00

Two worlds colliding. The precious ones I spend my days with. The women who I can exchange less than 100 words with, but who have become some of the ones I hold closest to my heart. The families who struggle daily to survive. They entered my house. My house with a bathroom bigger than their entire living space. Ceilings double the size of the height of theirs. Pointless decorations that cost as much as they would earn in 6 months. Water flowing from a tap. Electricity. A warm shower. Beds that if were in their houses would sleep 5+. Here sleep one. It’s such an honor to welcome them into my home. It’s such an honor to bow to my knees in the cultural way and thank them for coming. It’s a precious moment to serve them sodas and cakes and watch them delight at the little I give.

But it’s not easy. It’s not easy to watch two realities clash. My Western wealth with their African poverty. How do you make sense of that? How do I sit on my computer tonight knowing that what was spent to purchase it could feed dozens for months? How do I cope with visiting them tomorrow with the differences in our lives clearer than ever? How do I sit in their homes the size of my bed and accept it as the way they live, and then come back to my three bedroom home?

It’s not an easy reality I live in. It’s not as easy to forget poverty when it enters my home, when it sits on my couch, and admires my decorations. I have no way to make sense of it. So tonight I go to bed wrestling and uncomfortable. And maybe that’s the best place to stay...

What if ??

2011-04-14T20:40:00.002+03:00

What if the most exciting part of you day was waiting for a garbage truck to come? Waiting for it to empty its contents onto the mound you call home. Eagerly searching through the filthy remnants of someone else’s life, trying to find a treasure so that you and your children could survive another day...

What if each day you woke up feeling anxious because you have no way to feed your children? Listening to the cries of each of them begging for food you can’t give them. Holding their small skeletons that grow smaller and smaller with each day. Desperate to save them but having no idea how...

What if after all the children in your closet sized home are asleep, you too fall asleep with tears running down your face? Ending each day feeling hopeless and broken? Not because your car’s broken down or you got a pay cut at work but because your children haven’t eaten in days...

What if your child was sick and you had no way to care for them? What if she was crying out in pain, but there was nothing you could do because you don’t have a cent in your pocket? What if you hold them and rock them to sleep and are unsure if they will wake up again??

What if someone broke into your dark reality to offer you hope? What if someone fought for you when you had no strength to fight the cold reality of your life anymore? Not letting their inability, responsibilities, or complacency hold them back any longer but telling you about a Love that changes everything...
What if that person is YOU? What if YOU stopped listening to every excuse and decided to be the one to make a difference in an orphan’s life? What if your life laid down changed the life of another forever? ...

More More More.....

2011-04-07T23:03:00.001+03:00

Today I drove right past abuse. It still feels surreal. To see it happening. A helpless girl beaten by a stick with all the strength of a grown man. To jump out of the car unsure of what to do but knowing nothing is not an option. Physically shaking but trying to remain strong for the one who now clings to my arm. Wanting to scream at the injustice but holding back everything in me to keep relationship with a deranged family...desperately praying for wisdom, favor direction...possibly the most intense moment of my life...

But then I sit in a meeting and hear about another nation with even more pain. Unlike this developing one I call home. I listen as a man tells me the hopelessness of Sudan. A nation trapped in war. Every person having a story of rape. I cringe as he tells me having a roof isn’t a necessity for most of them except for the one month a year that it rains...so they sleep in the open. Refugee camps where thousands have fled from the homes in a desperate attempt for safety, only to be left to die at the hands of their government. Brokenness my eyes have never seen. Pain my heart can’t bear to comprehend. And I’m reminded, even though I’m surrounded by poverty every day...it’s bigger than even this.

Then I come home, trying to relax after a painful day. Desperate to forget. Trying not to fall in a puddle of tears on my cold tile floor. Broken, yet knowing there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing. Then I receive an article on the war in the Congo. My housemate tries to read it out to me. She stops in the second paragraph, unable to read out the horrors that are the everyday reality of hundreds of children. I read it quietly to myself but I can’t write it here. I can’t write it here because I fear most of you reading this aren’t ready to know. The deadliest war since the time of Hitler. 4million murdered in one nation in 5 years. Tragedy after tragedy that I could never repeat. Yet children as young as three are living it.

It’s bigger. The pain is bigger than your corner of the world. The pain is bigger than your reality. Maybe for some this knowledge is crippling. Maybe for some it stops you in your tracks and keeps you from trying to do your part. But for me, it spurs me on. It tells me I’m not done yet, I can’t grow tired, I can’t become discouraged. There’s so much more. The battle is bigger. There are darker places to invade with his hope! So I’m not finished. I can’t stop here. So I continue. I carry his heart. I carry his hope into the darkest places I can find and I watch as His amazing love turns it all around.

More More More.....

2011-04-07T23:03:00.000+03:00

Maybe...

2011-04-07T22:56:00.000+03:00

Mama Sierra was saved last week...

But her story continues. Prostitution. Alcohol Abuse. Rape. Physical Abuse. She’s surrounded by pain, by darkness. Today she asks us, what do I need to do? How can I know Jesus? Do I need to pray, to fast?

What would you tell her?

Does she need to stop drinking? Does she need to stop sleeping around? Does she need to find another escape from the pain of abuse that could never leave her mind?
Religions says yes. Repent. Turn from your sin. You are wrong. You are a sinner.
But what is JESUS saying?? What does LOVE say?

It says come to me. It says I want you. It says I’m here. It says you are perfect.
So she comes. She falls in a heap on the floor. She lays like a baby in the lap of one of our team members. And the presence of God engulfs her. His peace overwhelms her. His love fills her. She’s drunk, she’s likely being raped every night, possibly still receiving her only income by selling herself. But she’s finding Him. In brokenness, pain, and sin she’s finding the one who loves her most of all.

My theology is being rewritten here. Things I knew in the West, don’t stand in the face of poverty. Principles fall to threads. Beliefs are challenged. Everything changes. But I’m finding Him. In the faces of the ones He longs for, I see His passionate love. As they share their bleeding hearts with me, I encounter His amazing passion. In brokenness, pain, and hopelessness He is there, taking me deeper, filling me with His love, and showing me the reality of His Kingdom.

I don’t really know the answers. I probably have more questions now than when I arrived, but as I pour out love, outside of religious boundaries and rules. As I welcome the hardest of hearts, the most broken sinners into my arms, they are running to Jesus! They want Him and they are finding a love they have never known!! So maybe this is it. Maybe this is church. Maybe pure and faultless religion is this....love, rawness, vulnerability...maybe the Kingdom of God is actually upside down from what I’ve always known.

Maybe...

2011-04-07T22:53:00.000+03:00

Finding Him

2011-04-03T17:25:00.000+03:00

For several years God’s hidden me away in the closet of his presence. Quite literally for years, I experienced His presence in storage closets and hallways, desperate to find Him wherever I could. That’s not a formula, but life in dorms and busy households left me searching for a place to find the fulfillment to my deepest longings. Unsatisfied by church services and Bible studies, I poured through my Bible, looking for those who had encountered the living God. Searching their lives for secrets on how I could do the same. I read stories of modern day revivals and cried out for God to allow me to experience the same, unsure in my heart if it was even possible.

But God honoured the burning desire of my heart. He allowed me to experience His presence, to actually feel Him all around me. To hear His voice speaking directly to me. To feel His embrace. I spent hours with my face buried in the carpet, lower, lower, lower...deeper into His presence. Burning longings satisfied as I met with the Living God!

Then I left all this. Thinking my training season was behind me and I was ready to go out and change the world, I moved to Uganda. I left churches, ministry schools, mentors, and heart friends and moved to another nation. I wondered how I would find His presence again. As crazy as it sounds, I actually wondered if I would find the presence of God outside of church and meetings and conferences.

But His beautiful presence has found me here. My new encounter times happen in the dirt. As I sit surrounded by kids jumping up and down in excitement and longing, I feel Him calling me closer, telling me I have what it takes to change their lives. As I breathe in the beautiful scent of trash, sewage, and kids who haven’t bathed, I know somehow He is in even this. As I walk through a slum greeting every person I see in hopes that my simple Lugandan could one day be the thing that pushes them into the Kingdom, I feel His hand guiding and strengthening me. As I watch dozens of kids cram onto a small dirty mat and soak in His presence, I feel Him closer than I’ve ever known.

Maybe that’s the key I’ve been searching for since I was saved 11 years ago. Maybe the key into His presence is to lose ourselves. Maybe pure religion actually is caring for orphan and widows not attending another meeting. Maybe he actually does care for the the broken and the hurting and come to meet their deepest longings. Maybe the poor, the mourning, the hungry are actually the ones who are blessed by Him and have so much to teach us about encountering God. Maybe if we forgot about ourselves for a few minutes, we would find everything we’ve ever longed for and find it in a way we never expected.

Choosing to See

2011-04-01T22:24:00.000+03:00

I just typed starvation into google images...I don’t recommend it. Picture after picture. Bones, ribs, protruding from bodies. Cries. Desperation. Hopelessness caught in pixels.

I’m surrounded by poverty every day. Story after story. Person after person. Home after home. It engulfs me. And it’s easy to become hardened by it all. I love and a child dies. I give my heart and they’re taken away. I see change only to see it go back to how it was before. I lead someone to Jesus and the next day they are drunk again. I don’t know how to process it all some days. I don’t know how to let my heart feel, love, sympathise and then peel it off the floor so I can do the same the next day. So sometimes I forget. I forget to love and I protect myself. I become hard, untouchable, unmoved by it all.

But I’m desperate. Desperate to feel. To fully love, not just in my actions but from the depths of my heart. To give as if each one was my own child. To feel their pain as if it were my own.

And so I look at their faces. I see into the eyes of children whose faces remain captured in an image long after their bodies have wasted away from poverty. I scan the internet for photos that cause my heart to feel again. I look into their eyes and remind myself that they’re not just a statistic, but a loved child, a person, a soul. And I feel the pain of it all again. Overwhelmed. Broken. Unable to make sense of the pain that’s so much bigger than my small corner of the world.

All I can do is weep. The only response is brokenness. But as my youth pastor used to say when I would cry my eyes out in his office growing up, “at least you know you still feel.” At least my heart remains soft. At least I haven’t forgotten the reality of their pain. And tomorrow I know I can love again, love fully. Embrace with more than my arms. Give what money could never buy. Love in a way that touches the deepest parts of them.

I’ll choose to see. No matter the cost, no matter the brokenness, not matter how overwhelming. I will stay in poverty and I will SEE.

worth the cost

2011-03-29T00:22:00.000+03:00

Amy Carmichael said this: “Satan is so much more in earnest than we are–he buys up the opportunity while we are wondering how much it will cost.”

This quote hit me like a brick wall tonight...

Satan is stealing our babies. While we weigh the cost. While we decide if it’s worth it. While we tell ourselves we need more time. He takes them.

Every few seconds, another one dies. Every minute, a precious soul is given to prostitution. Every day, hundreds lose their chance at life....while we wait.

Is it worth it? Can I do it? Maybe later...God’s still preparing me. Am I called to Africa? Is God asking me to adopt? Will it be too hard? Can I afford to go? I’m called to something else...

While we question, he takes another. The ones Jesus bled for. The ones He loves the most. The ones that burn on His heart. The ones He weeps for....The ones He asked us to rescue. Satan is grabbing...

While we sit in our warm, comfy homes. While we work for things that will be burned in an instant. While we give our lives for something that won’t last. Another one is his. A child is abused. Another one orphaned. A baby contracts HIV. Another child is forced to be a soldier. A 5 year old is raped.

Are they worth it? Stop counting the cost. Put down your calculator. Your 401K. Your retirement plan. Stop counting. Stop asking the questions that don’t matter.

This is the question: is HE worth it? Will you say YES to Him? Will you actually love the ones He loves? Will you look outside your home?

IS HE WORTH IT?

Does what He did on the cross mean anything?

If you still need to know the cost, look at HIS life. It will cost you the same. It will cost you your dignity. It will cost you your friends. It will cost you your comfort. It will cost you everything, your very life.

But IS HE WORTH IT??

Is His longing, his desire, his passion worth it?? Will you pay the cost??

That’s what religion is...that’s what loving Jesus is. That’s what Christianity is. Loving and caring for the orphan and the widow.

Will you pay the cost????

pain in the streets...

2011-03-20T21:35:00.000+03:00

Tonight I drove through Kampala just before midnight. I stopped at a light waiting for my turn to go. Less than three feet away from me was a little girl of about six sitting on the curb in the middle of the road. She was all alone. Without a second glance, it was obvious she was a street girl and that curb would be her bed for the night. She sat rocking back and forth, eyes closed, fast asleep. A large truck drove just behind her and she woke for a moment before her eyes closed again.

How do you respond to that? How can I just drive by? How can I leave this precious soul there with no one to hold her or wipe her tears. I work in hard situations every day. I hold malnourished children, children who will die without a miracle, sit in homes the size of a standard closet, see situations that make me want to weep. My heart breaks on an almost daily basis as I hear story after story of pain, neglect, abuse, hopelessness, sickness, and on and on...But the hardest stories for me are the ones outside of my grasp. The ones I have to pass by. The ones I can do nothing to change.

So I drive past this precious soul, longing to do something but feeling trapped outside of her broken world. And my heart hurts a little more for the poverty all around me. I don’t know how to respond. And maybe that’s ok. Maybe it’s a reminder of why I press on. As I love a community and see change, hope, life return it’s easy to let that be all there is. But it’s so much bigger! There’s so much more! So I persevere. I love. I give. I lay down my very life for the ones God’s given me. And I allow my heart to break open for the pain that covers the rest of the earth.

Storms

2011-03-20T20:41:00.004+03:00

I LOVE the sound of heavy thunderstorms. We get them often here. The Ugandans call it ‘male rain.’ Strong, powerful. They call the drizzle ‘female rain.’ Slow, weak...not sure how I feel about that, but I LOVE the ‘male’ rain. It makes me feel small. I need to be reminded of that often. It makes my adrenalin rise as there’s something much bigger all around me. It’s pouring now and I can’t sleep. The storms at night are my favourite. I love to lie in my bed and listen and imagine the rain is the Holy Spirit pouring over me. It makes me feel small. But very loved. I need to be reminded of that as well.

It’s been a challenging week. On Wednesday, Simon and Nicola shared about a preacher they’d heard during their time away who’s seen 500 raised from the dead. We got very excited and thought, ‘if he can do it, we can do it.’ So we went out and tried it. A few days before one of our precious Mamas who we’d been discipling had lost a baby. So we went and prayed with her for the baby to be raised. For three days we’ve prayed; I’ve woken many times in the night to call out to God for this precious boy to live again. But as of the last time I went to Kasubi, he remained in the grave.

I know it wasn’t God’s will for this baby to die. (Some of your theology might differ from mine on this, but as I constantly face pain, poverty, sickness, and death, I am more and more aware that everything on this earth is NOT God’s plan.) God created this baby for life! But he has died before he ever got a change to live. I hesitate to even write that because part of me believes the next time I go to Kasubi I will see this baby alive. But in my current knowledge, he has not lived. So back to the point, somewhere in my praying and believing God for what I know was His plan, I’ve lost focus. I’ve believed that my desires, my beliefs, my passions, control God. I don’t know how to explain it really because I believe I’m going after God’s desire, but I know I’ve stepped out of line. Maybe because praying for the dead is so massive to my small growing faith. I thought I had to beg God. I thought if I prayed enough, didn’t allow my faith to be shaken, then God would answer and this baby would live.

But as I lay in my bed, surrounded by the sound of thousands of raindrops hitting my metal roof, I am reminded again of how small I am. My faith doesn’t have to be perfect. My prayers don’t have to sound pretty. My efforts don’t have to be much. Because God is bigger. He’s big enough to surround me and to hold me. And He’s big enough for every child I embrace.

Fire of His Love

2011-03-10T22:34:00.001+03:00

Waiting for inspiration.
...passion.
Something to light my fire again.
To keep me going when days are hard.
I’ve been waiting, hoping, trusting.

But maybe it’s time to do more than that.
Maybe it’s time to jump into the fire...the fire of Your Love...
To search and search and search until I run into you
To stop being fuelled by my own passions and whims
And instead by the burning of your love.

So here I come Jesus. I’m running into your flame.
I’m holding nothing back. I want you. Whatever the cost...

Baptisms

2011-03-10T15:23:00.001+03:00

Video from baptising the women in Kasubi...check it out!!

Loss of Shoes, Lessons Gained...

2011-03-09T00:25:00.004+03:00

Today I ran to Street Club with one of my precious girls. Midway down, she lightened her load by placing her year old sister on my back. We ran, we laughed, we joked in actions since words mostly fail us. A precious moment. Love shared. Identity reinforced.

As we ran down the hill, me trying to catch up to her without dropping the baby now in my care, she stepped on a piece of glass. I couldn’t see any blood or even a scratch but the new limp in her stroll made it obvious she was in pain. I offered her my flip flops, years to big for her feet, and I walked the rest of the way without shoes. The others told her I was in pain to encourage her to return them. I attempted to walk normally to convince her I was fine.

We made it to our location where I expected the return of my shoes, but she kept them for the next 3 hours. I walked, I danced, I stood, I jumped, all while tiny pebbles dug into my feet. A few times I searched the crowd for my friend in hopes of getting my shoes back, but each time the look of pride on her face made me know it was too soon. I led discipleship barefoot, Masitula played games with shoes 5 sizes too big.

I’m in my home now. Less than 2 miles from my friend. She sleeps in her single room house. I sleep in my queen size bed. A few miles away, an entire culture apart. But somehow tonight, the burning in my feet connects me with this precious one. And I don’t mind the pain at all.

To be a child

2011-03-05T17:28:00.014+03:00

Somewhere along the way... when faced with pain, with rejection, with discouragement, I grew up.

Still lost, insecure, broken on the inside. But on the outside, I demanded strength, perfection. I made sure I never needed anyone. That I could make it on my own. I forgot what it means to be a child.

To trust,

to embrace,

to fully live.

I forgot what it feels like to run full speed into the arms of Someone who loves me.

I forgot what it’s like to be held, embraced...to receive love in the deepest part of me.

I forgot what it means to be treasured by somebody else.

I forgot to laugh, to pick flowers, to play pretend.

I let go of all these things so I could feel strong and protected.

My kids are teaching me.

As they run full speed at me until they are held in my arms...
I learn what it means to run into His arms and allow peace to fill me as He holds me

As they push the other children off my lap and demand my attention...
I see what it looks like to know you are loved and wanted by someone.

As they ask me for food, sweeties, clothes, shoes
I get a glimpse of what it’s like to know you are cared for

My kids make me hungry.

They make me desperate for my Daddy. Desperate for His embrace, His tender affections.

As I look deep into their big brown eyes, I find who I am meant to be.

Weak, broken, dependant. Living in a world I can’t understand. I world that never stops dishing out pain. But safe, secure, loved in the arms of another.

I want to be a child again. I want to laugh in rawness forgetting every worry and burden. I want to rest knowing that I lay in the hands of the one who holds the world together. I want to run dangerously, recklessly, hand in hand with my Dad.

new life

2011-02-25T21:36:00.004+03:00

Today I prayed for two unborn babies....

One as I held her Mama in my arms consoling her as she cried. She was completely drunk and through tears told me sad stories I tried hard to make sense of. She has at least 8 other children. Two of which we suspect have fetal alcohol syndrome. Their bodies are small; their actions are different. And now another one grows in the womb. Trying to survive as poison is poured into his/her tiny body. As this baby fights all odds, I laid my hands on her tummy and declared life.

Straight after I walked into Kasubi slum and was stopped by one of our Mama’s who was saved and baptised last week. She’s pregnant with her second child. As her lip quivered and she fought to hold back tears, she told me the story of her last several months. Her husband had been in prison for stealing or being accused of stealing a motorcycle. She doesn’t have a job. Her 3 year old daughter survives by begging food from the neighbours. Mama rarely has anything to eat. Her baby is just over a month from being born; her stomach is not protruding nearly as much as it should. She asked for prayer and I laid my hand on her belly and believed with her that God is the one forming this baby.

Survival here starts young. Some are never given a chance. Never given hope. Never allowed to really live. They’ve not chosen their poverty and often there’s nothing they can do about it. They survive.

Transformations in a water tank

2011-02-15T22:25:00.000+03:00

We went to Kasubi today to baptize those who have recently decided to follow Jesus!! We began with worship. They sang, danced, clapped. Even one of our Muslim Mama’s came and proudly told me, ‘I’m singing too!’ I explained again what baptism meant, that they were about to die to sin, to their old life, and be freed into a new life in Jesus. Then we entered the tank. One by one they came. 20 of them. Three saved minutes before. One saved the day before. Most the others not more than a few months ago.

.......BEAUTIFUL Juliette, saved moments before her baptism......

I held them in my arms and asked them why they wanted to be baptized. The first to come said she used to be Muslim, but she wanted to follow Jesus now. Others said they wanted to be freed from sin, that they wanted to be in relationship with Jesus. So we plunged them under the water. Some resisted, some were scared. But we pushed them under. Pushing who they once were deep into the water and pulling up new creations. And they are indeed new creatures!! Deeply impacted! Hungry for new life! Freed from the bondages that have always held them. Our team gathered around each one to pray as we moved onto the next person.

One of the Mama’s who came is skin and bones, looking as if the wind could blow her over. We suspect she has HIV/AIDs. She falls sick often and is unable to leave her bed. This is how we found her yesterday so I was shocked to see her come. She waited patiently. Sitting in the midst of dozens standing because her body couldn’t carry her. We called her into the water and slowly she came declaring to all that she wanted Jesus! So we pushed her under water. Praying and believing that as she went under, all disease would leave her. She resisted. Or maybe the demonic forces that have controlled her tried to hold her up. Her frail body the most resistant. But we pushed harder and she was immersed. Slowly she climbed the wobbly ladder to make her way out of the tank. She could hardly walk as the power of the Holy Spirit fell on her. She went to the team for prayer and told them she felt like she had been given a new body!! Yes!! She has! A body FREE of disease!! A body WITHOUT AIDs! A body that will NOT die but LIVE!!

......Mama Amaza-receiving her NEW BODY!! Free of disease!!.....

The transformation in Kasubi is unbelievable. I’ve watched it slowly unfold for a year and I still can’t wrap my mind around it. People living in darkness are experiencing a great light!! Such an amazing day in this land I love!!!

Spreading like fire...

2011-02-15T21:41:00.007+03:00

We’ve been doing discipleship in Kasubi for months and finally found a way to baptize all those who had recently decided to follow Jesus. So we taught them for two weeks what it meant and the impact it would have in their relationship with Jesus. Everyone wanted to be baptised, desperate to be freed from what has held them back and enter into a new life with Jesus.

A few weren’t able to make it to discipleship on the weeks we taught about it, so we found them individually and asked if they wanted to be baptized. One of the ones we met with was Mama Katibu. The scars on her face show the pain she’s gone through as does her rough exterior. But slowly, she’s become our friend. She’s a hero to me in a big way as she cares for her step son as if he were her own. Not a common thing in this culture. She doesn’t look old enough to be his mom, but she loves. She has nothing, but she gives.

We asked her if she wanted to be baptized and she said yes. But we were unsure if she even knew Jesus so we pressed on. Mostly I held babies as Timothy explained the Gospel to her. She said she had never made a decision to follow Jesus, but she wanted to. So she did. She repented of her sins and asked Jesus to come and fill her. And we watched as more of the rough exterior washed away.

The next day, as I walked up my favourite road and stopped to great my new sister, the lady she lived with approached me and asked if she could be baptized as well. Without a translator, it was a miracle I understood enough to say yes. So we carried on. Later in the afternoon I approached her again, asking if they were coming to baptism. They said they were, so I asked Mama Kenny if she knew Jesus. She said she didn’t, but that she wanted to, so we explained what it means to be in relationship with Jesus and she too decided to follow Him. Another soul saved. Another child brought home to her father!

.......Mama Kenny baptized within a couple hours of her salvation......

Mama Katibu was saved on Monday. She told her friend about encountering Jesus, and the very next day her friend practically begs us to be saved. I can’t believe how easy it is. It’s like watching a fire spread. They’re running to Jesus. Begging to be saved. Sharing with their neighbours who then desperately want Him. I feel like it couldn’t get better than this. But God keeps promising us more!! I don’t really know what revival is, but I feel like I’m getting a taste!

Finding Love

2011-02-15T21:00:00.002+03:00

I’m overwhelmed to the point of tears. Daily I get to be a part of what God’s doing. Each morning, pressing my ear to the ground, listening for His words, reaching for his heart. And experiencing His amazing love. Then I go. And literally be that love to the most precious ones I’ve ever met.

He says He wants this one, so I wrap my arms around them and show them the way to their Daddy. I feel his heart literally breaking for this child. Then I feel my heart breaking like his. So I stand in front of them. I ask Him what love looks like for this one and then I act...

Sometimes it’s buying fruit for an old lady who thinks she is dying. It doesn’t save her, but it puts a smile on her face and a few days later I find her walking. Sometimes it looks like holding a Mama as she cries. Heartbroken, she sends her children away because her husband has left her and she has no way to provide for these precious three. She’s forced to stop breastfeeding her baby twins too young. She moves into the shack she sells vegetables from because it’s the only place she can live. I offer her nothing, but a hug and a prayer. It doesn’t feel like enough, but the next day she smiles again and tells me she wants to come hear more about Jesus.

Valentine’s Day, Chick flicks, our own longings, tell us love looks like one thing. But I’m finding love in deeper ways than I’ve ever known. I’m finding the love of God as I experience His heart for the broken. I see love as a child is scooped up, not left to cry on their own. It’s in a pair of shoes, or a new dress. It’s in food, schooling, a kind word. It’s in seeing the ones we’re so used to passing by. It’s in refusing to let my massive to-do list be put before the one who stands in front of me. It’s consuming. It’s big. I feel like my heart can’t break anymore, can’t love any deeper. And then I see another one. I look into their eyes. And I’m taken deeper into love again.

Pain...

2011-01-31T21:39:00.000+03:00

It surrounds me like a thick blanket...
Surrounds every part of me and refuses to release its grip.
It’s their pain.
I could go back to my life.
Live as the American girl I was raised as.
Try to forget their faces, their stories, their scars...
On days like today that seems like the easier option.
It’s not mine anyway...
It’s someone else’s pain.
I could just walk away...

So why stay?
Why give?
Why hurt?
Why listen to another story that cuts me to the core?
Why fall in love with another child who will likely die?
Why sweat?
Why sacrifice?
Why give myself to a nation that’s so foreign?
Why believe for the impossible in the hopeless places?
Why dream, why hope...only to face reality again in the next moment?

My sister visited me earlier this month. After a morning in Kinawatake, holding kids, walking in the heat, being tugged on by dozens at a time, surrounded by poverty and hopelessness, she turned to me and asked, ‘how do you do this every day?’

I don’t remember what I said. Some days I don’t know how I do it. Days like today. When the temptation to leave is greater than the joys of staying. When I’m tired and sick. When it feels like work. How do I do this every day?

As she asked me that question, we were on our way to Sadam’s house. His story is in an earlier post. It was the day he was going crazy/demonized/dying? All of the above? It was the day he got saved and healed and delivered. The day we witnessed and took part in one of the most amazing miracles I’ve seen. It was the day I still can’t get my head around, still can’t believe that God used me in that way. Still can’t believe that’s my life...

After it all... after all the emotion, tears, excitement, shock. We walked down the railroad tracks to get a taxi home. As we took in all we had just seen, my sister turned to me and said, ‘this is how you do it, isn’t it?’

She’s right! These stories, these miracles. Knowing from experience that light can invade darkness. Seeing Jesus come through. Hearing His heartbeat for each one. Seeing Him transform the emptiness and pain into something beautiful. It spurs me on...it gives me strength to go into darkness.

It’s not easy. I can feel their pain inside of me as if it were my own. I see their loss and ache for them to know something different. I think I know their stories only to learn of more tragedy. But I love it. I love that I get to experience His heart. I love that I get to hold the ones He loves. I love that I get to watch as their lives are transformed.

And on days like today...that’s enough. I know I’ll do it again. I know I’ll give myself again. I know I’ll risk my heart again. Because I can see His heart, feel His love, live in His grace. And that’s enough. For me...and for them!

Sometimes I make God my size...

2011-01-31T18:46:00.002+03:00

When my life is good.
...my prayers are answered.
...his promises fulfilled.
I know He’s good and faithful...it’s easy to worship, to give Him everything, to crawl up on His lap and tell him my heart...

But sometimes I make Him small in my own mind. Things he’s told me seem impossible. My heart hurts and my life seems a mess and I wonder if things will ever work out.

But the truth is He is GOOD, He is LORD, He is strong, in control, outside of me. He rules the entire world, and when it doesn’t make sense to me, it’s probably because I’m not seeing everything...

So tonight I look in the face of LOVE and I believe

Inspired to LOVE

2011-01-22T08:59:00.000+03:00

What does love look like??...

I’ve been thinking a LOT about love recently...

What is love? In the flesh...in reality...???

Yea, I know what it looks like in the church...I know how ‘good’ Christians love.

I have the common images that come to mind when we think of loving our neighbour.

But that’s not it.

That’s not enough anymore...

I don’t want a love that allows me to remain comfortable when the One I love the most suffered deeply, gave it ALL

I don’t want to give enough so that I feel good about myself without actually accomplishing anything.

What is love??

What can it accomplish??

How powerful is it??

We know, understand, experience love because Jesus died. That’s our picture!! So I’ve been thinking on what that looks like for me. How do I love like that? If I really LOVED, what would my life look like???

I haven’t come up with an answer that satisfies that question in me. So I thought I’d share some stories that spur me on towards that, painting a picture of what it could look like.

There’s two people who inspire me...
Two people I’ve never met but watched their stories unfold...
Two people who have given it all, gone through the pain, fought for the ones Jesus loves...

So I wanted to share their stories with you...and hopefully inspire you to love more deeply.

The first one’s name I don’t actually know. But I do know she daily lives love. She’s adopted 11 children from all over the world. She cares for them and gives herself to them. It’s not a mission trip. She can’t leave them when it gets hard or she gets tired. Her decision to love will cost her every day for the rest of her life. Many of her kids are troubled, hurting from rejection and abuse, and have various illnesses. There is a cost, but she’s chosen to love.

Her most recent adoption and the reason she became one of my heroes was of a baby named Selah. Selah was born without a brain. Her life expectancy was anywhere from a few hours to a year. But she couldn’t live past that. Many would have advised abortion. I’m sure most of the readers of my blog would say abortion is wrong, even in this circumstance. But this woman didn’t just say abortion was wrong, she took Selah home. She gave herself to a baby knowing she would die. She opened her heart, brought her into her home, allowed her children to get attached and hurt, held her while she cried, had many sleepless night. And broke when this baby died in her arms.

Selah lived 55 days, but her story will live forever...because this lady loved in a way that is not common...as she says it ‘risky love brings honor to God.’

My other hero is a girl called Katie. Katie moved to Uganda when she was 18-19 planning to come for a year and return back for university. But God completely changed that plan. Just a few years down the road and Katie has adopted 14 children. She’s single...young...unqualified by many people’s standards. But nothing has stopped her. She’s found the broken and she’s taken them home...She also has a sponsorship program that sends hundreds to school and feeds them each every day. She recently lost one of her little girls. A toddler she’d given herself to, cried for, laughed with for over a year. She lost her to the girl’s birth mother who had paid no attention to her for her entire life. She’s broken, she’s walking her children through the loss of their sister while trying to process the grief she is living in. It’s cost her more than she ever expected when she visited Uganda a few years back. But she’s chosen to love in a radical way. And nothing will stop her.

I want to love like that. I want to give myself beyond what seems natural. I want to stop at nothing. I want to love like Jesus. Bleeding, dying, willing to pay the cost. Arms wide open. Jesus, teach me to love like you do!

You can read the stories of the two women above on their blogs
*** www.hishandsandfeettoday@blogspot.com
*** www.kissesfromkatie@blogspot.com

Kasubi

2011-01-21T12:15:00.002+03:00

It was darkness, pain, loss. Death was as common as life. Hopelessness ruled. People could barely imagine escaping the hell they lived in. Sewage flowed freely, dropping disease at each house it passed. Their children cried for food they didn’t have. Dignity was replaced by the need to survive. Success was defined only by the ability to keep your children from dying. Fear motivated every action. Avoid death. Stay alive. There were no expectations. They had all been erased by constant disappointment. Even the expectation of outliving their children was left unfulfilled as they held their dying babies in their arms. Emptiness...loss...brokenness...

Then something new came. It felt different from anything they had known. It was foreign, misunderstood. At first it brought mistrust as their ability to hope had been lost completely. The kind gestures were received but filled them with emptiness as they were sure it would disappear as fast as it came. Questions began to stir. What is this light? Who are these ones who look at me so differently? What is this feeling that comes whenever they arrive? Slowly they began to trust. The children first, as is always the case. With the inability to rationalize or consider the future they entrusted their very selves to the ones who had entered their terrain. The adults continued to observe and allowed them to come closer and closer. First they began to return the greetings that were muttered in a desperate attempt to speak the local language. Then they welcomed them into their homes and eventually their hearts. Their shame was replaced by dignity as someone from the outside looked into their eyes and saw more than the poverty and pain. And they began to wonder if they were worthy of more.

Some days everything seemed hopeless as a child died of a preventable disease, a mother lost her job and only source of provision for her family of 6, a husband left to marry another woman. Things seemed stuck; families seemed trapped in a continual cycle of poverty. But the ones who’d come continued to believe, refused to give up or lose hope. They caught visions of what it could be. And slowly it began.

A child who should have died in fire begins school, receives hope. A baby with special needs smiles for the first time as she is held by those who are falling in love with her. Dignity comes as toilets are installed. A child who has been abandoned by both parents and lives with a grandmother too old to care for him is scooped up by those who care deeply for him. His orphan heart slowly begins to understand he is loved. Parents begin to hold their children as they realize the worth a child has. A Mama recognizes the care she’s been given is from Jesus and begins to follow Him. Soon it’s a group of women as salvations spread like fire. They long to enter into the love they’ve experienced and come begging to know how. They become the lovers, the ones who care for their neighbours. Where there is need, there is someone to fill it. Sometimes it’s practical: a word of advice, money to buy food and pay rent, a shoulder to cry on...Other times, in the midst of impossibilities, they cry out for the supernatural and see it fill their homes. Healings become more common than clinic runs. The ones who used to run to witch doctors bow at the feet of the Christians, believing the power in them is the only hope for their situations. Needs are shared. Those who lack ask. Those who have, give. There is no more jealousy and strife. There is love. It reaches every house, touches every heart.

There’s more to come, more dignity, more light, more love. Nobody can stop what’s happening in this place, this love that’s bigger than what anyone has known. They can only go deeper. And they will. Until Kasubi is no longer a slum, but a community of love.

Burning, Longing, Hoping

2011-01-20T18:59:00.000+03:00

For ten years I longed, ached, burned for my dream to become a reality. I dreamed of the poor. I ached to hold the broken. I cried over the broken and refused to be satisfied until I could hold them in my arms. It’s often what spurred me on. Often my source of biggest frustration as the thing I wanted most felt a lifetime away.

A year ago it became a reality. And I stopped dreaming. I was determined to be satisfied. Determined that I would stay, that this would be enough for me. On my birthday my friends asked me what I wanted to do in the next year and I refused to answer. I didn’t want to hope for anything else. I didn’t want to ache again. I wanted to enjoy the dream.

But then I pressed into God. I saw his heartbeat. I saw the ones he aches for and my spirit is full of longing again. I still love what I do. It still feels like I’m ‘living the dream.’ But an aching is being birthed on the inside. New dreams are stirring. New passions rising. I don’t want it. I want only to push them aside and enjoy life a bit longer without this burning to do more. But it’s there. Just under the surface.

I want the darker places. I want the lost. I want the Congo. I want Sudan. I want India. I want war zones. I want the ones living in abuse. I want children with special needs. I want malnourished babies. I want to bring babies home. I want to mother, to give myself. I want to see the impossible. I want to adopt.

I don’t even know if some of these desires are from God. I don’t know if they will ever be my reality. But I know it’s good to dream. Because my Lovers heart is not yet satisfied. He wants the lost. He wants to invade the darker places. He wants the Congo. He wants Sudan. He wants India. He wants war zones. He wants to heal the sick and abused. He wants to feed the malnourished. He wants to put the broken in families. And so I dream. I look into His heart and I burn for the impossible. I burn for the darkest places. I burn for more. And He turns my dreams into a reality. Eeeek!!

No agenda...Just love

2011-01-20T18:19:00.004+03:00

Every morning we do Contact Time. It’s simple and was made up by me and Nicola one morning when we were strategizing about how to build stronger relationships in the communities. It didn’t feel like a moment of inspiration. It was just a strategy. It’s the simplest thing we do. It requires no money. Except the petrol to get there and the nifty blue shirts we wear every day of our lives. There’s no agenda. If we were to write one it would be ‘just love.’

A visitor we had last summer said Contact Time was the closest thing he’s ever to seen to church. What a remarkable statement. It makes me a bit scared really. I’ve been to dozens and dozens of ‘churches’ and none of it looks like what I spend my mornings doing...
I walk into the communities and greet everyone I pass and the ones I have grown to care so deeply for. I scoop up children in my arms as they run down the road to see me. I stop by homes and pray for those who are sick. I encourage the ones who have no hope and no solution to their poverty. I look for ways to help the ones God asks me to. I get dirty and eat food from kids covered in dirt to show them they have something to offer. I step in urine when I forget to watch where I’m going. I sit on a cardboard box and pretend it’s a car to delight the heart of a little boy. I bow to greet a little girl who is being abused to make her laugh and show her I’m not better than her. I celebrate with a Mama who has found a way to make money. I cry over a boy who is dying.

Could this be church? Could it be that easy? Could it be that accessible? No agenda. No music. No sermon. No moral code. No unspoken criteria of who is accepted. No dress code. Just love. Just give myself. Just smile. Just accept.

Could this be church? No agenda. Just Love...

Thoughts from my sister...

2011-01-14T18:39:00.004+03:00

Just over a month ago, I got a text from my sister..."Not my family. Just me. Early January/late December." And one month later she arrived!!!!! For the past week we've been hanging out, playing games, talking, going out for coffee, and allowing her to experience my life. It's been amazing and so good for both of us!! Here are her thoughts about something God did today....

I have only been in Uganda for a week. And in that short time I have a seen a boy healed and a life restored. The first day we were here we went to Kina, walked around and the kids just flocked to the mzungus grabbing hands, arms, legs, waists--anything they could hold onto. They were playful, shy, cheeky, and what kids should be despite the poverty that surrounded them. Somehow they had found life and survived, and then Revelation Life walks in, and speaks value into their existence. The staff and the volunteers, Brits, Americans and Ugandans, acknowledge their existence and tell these desperate starving souls that they matter. That someone
sees them. That they are precious and loved. And none of these little ones shines brighter than Sadam. As we approached, strangers, he took our hands and welcomed us in English--our language. Light and joy radiated from him. He was full of joy. Did I mention that he has HIV? That his arms and legs were bones covered by skin? And while I was amazed by him, when my eyes met those of the team who had been here for months and months, their eyes greeted mine with tears. They were amazed by the strength and vitality in this one. As we were leaving three of them told me that he had almost died over Christmas. They thought they had lost this little one. But God had heard their prayers. God had intervened and light seeped into the darkness. His smile showed the power of God to restore health to the sick.

But today when we went to say goodbye to Sadam my heart broke. This little boy was sitting next to one of the Ugandan volunteers, huddled up in a jacket that swallowed his tiny frame. His face was full of sorrow and pain. When we greeted him, he said, "I am not fine." That alone caused me to weep. His body was full of pain. He was too weak to stand, and he would shake uncontrolably. He had little control over his body. As one, we began to pray for him. Amy told him to say, "Jesus come." And he would, but then would immediately say, "but I'm Muslim." And he would just repeat that over and over again. Amy asked Gerald to share the gospel with Sadam, but he was too distraught over us weeping, and his mom weeping to listen. He tried to get up and walk again, but fell to the ground and Gerald carried him back to his doorstep. Sitting there, close to his mom, Amy asked Gerald to share the gospel with his mom, and Sadam listened as Gerald told her how much Jesus loved her, what he had done for her, and how she could respond. Then they asked her if she wanted to choose Jesus and she said yes, because of what she had seen in her son. So they began to pray and Sadam prayed with them. After that we again gathered and prayed for this little one's healing. God healed him. His headache was gone. He had control of his body again. His smile was as joyful and contagious as it had been before. The pain, the fear, the anxiety had fled and in it's place God had given him peace. A peace that every single one of us felt.

***God has promised us that children will be healed of AIDS and for areas to be completely free of AIDs!! Beleiving this over Sadam and all the slums we are working in!! Thanks to everyone who has been praying for his healing!! He has just received the greatest healing of all!!

from death to life

2010-12-18T22:23:00.002+03:00

We got word that a lady was dying...so we went.

I could feel the darkness as I rounded the corner to her house and knew it was not going to be easy...We entered her house, a dark room about 8 foot by 8 foot in size with few belongings except the mattress she lay on. The lady, Sauba, lay lifeless on the floor. Her intestines were protruding from her stomach...she'd been to the hospital but there was nothing more the doctors could do. She had been sent home to die.

So we knelt on the cement floor next to her and began to pray. She was out of her mind, unable to speak or control her bodily functions. Her daughter and sister sat by her side, wiping the drool from her face and holding her upright so they could poor water down her throat. She was dying.

The darkness clung to us like the dirt we are covered in every day, but we refused to bow to it. Instead we prayed, commanded all darkness, pain, and sickness to go and invited the presence of God into her body. With much fervency we told her about Jesus and what He'd done for her on the cross. We invited her into the love of Jesus. There was no sign if she was even conscious enough to hear our words, but we were desperate for her to know.

We determined to go back every day and pray until we saw her walking. So the next day we went. Praying the same way, believing we would see her healthy again, determined. Trying to bring light into the darkest place most of us had ever seen.

The following day we went again. Full of even more faith than the two days before. Clinging to the words God had given us for her. But as we walked up to her house, we got word that she'd died. We sat in the dirt in the slum we spend most of our week in, stunned. But still we prayed...believing a miracle could happen, it wasn't to late...she could live again.

But as I sat in my home that night the question that filled my mind was,

did darkness win??...

I knew it didn't...

I know there's always hope,
always light,

I know Jesus always wins...
always has the last word...

But still...did darkness somehow win?...did death have the last word?

But today, I stood in front of almost 200 of our friends from Kasubi and told them about the amazing love of Jesus. In a few words I tried to explain to them how much God longs to be in relationship with them and invited them to choose to follow Jesus. As I spoke and patiently waited for them to respond, I saw two women talking to each other nervously as if asking each other what they should do.

It was the women who two days before we'd knelt beside as we prayed for their mother/sister to be healed. The two who sat in the room as we told thier mother/sister about the amazing love of Jesus. The two who had told us just days before that they were Muslim. They came forward and chose to follow Jesus!!

As I looked at them, hugged them, and tried to express to them how happy I was...I suddenly had the answer to my question. Darkness hadn't won. Death wasn't the end. Instead the darkness and pain of the week before had led to the salvation of 2 precious women. Sickness had lead to restoration. Death had paved the way for eternal life.

And that's always the TRUTH...Hope remains...Love endures. Light conquers darkness!

Love wins.

2010-11-17T18:09:00.003+03:00

Last Tuesday we went into Kasubi slum to tell our friends why we've been visiting. Why we have treated their children medically, sent them to school, and brought different gifts for them. We wanted them to know why we play in the dirt and greet them almost every day...

We told them we love them, that we care about them and what they're going through. We'd already shown them, but we thought maybe we should say it. And then we told them about Jesus and that He loves them and cares about them and what they're going through. And six of them got saved.

Exciting beyond belief, but simple. Love like Jesus and they will know Jesus. So that's what we've done. It's small...it's easy...it takes no talent...but it's bringing the kingdom of God to earth!

This Tuesday I sat with the same Mamas and a few others and told them more about Jesus and His plan for them. After sharing, they wanted to thank us for what we've done and encourage us to keep going even when their kids are naughty. They said we love them no matter what; we never turn the children away; that even when they have poo on them we hold them anyway. And then one of the Mamas said a phrase that sums up my entire desire in being here. She said, since you've come to Kasubi, we've learned how to love!

That's it!! They've gotten it! We've never preached to them. We've never used lofty words. My Lugandan stops at greetings and I think just today I mistakenly told one of the children I was married to a 60 year old visitor I was walking around with. But they've gotten it. Without the words, the lights, the songs, the pulpits, they've gotten the Gospel. They've gotten love and now they are desperate to give it away.

Sometimes what I'm doing seems so small...sometimes I wonder if it's too simple. But then God reminds me that love is enough, love never fails, love always wins!

Rewritting Surrender

2010-10-26T13:41:00.005+03:00

here's a bit of my journaling from a couple weeks ago...
some days life here is hard....but most days it's more like this:

Daddy, what are you saying??

There’s no cost in giving cause it can only be returned. There’s no cost in loving cause you are fully loved. There’s no risk in surrender. Only gain in loss. As you go lower, you will only climb higher.

Man, there’s been such a switch in the past few weeks. I’ve spent my life growing higher, but now I only want to go low. I’ve spent my life trying to get things, but now I want to give it all to you. I can’t surrender fast enough. I try to give it all but then when I look down at my hands they are full again. I try to love until it hurts but find my heart is full again with a greater love than I have ever imagined.

I can’t give it all.

I want to give you everything, but I never run out!

Jesus, Jesus, I’m desperate!! Desperate to give it ALL! Desperate for you to have everything! Desperate to give you more! I love you! I want you to have it all, but I feel like I can’t surrender anything. I expect it to be hard, to be a cost, but as soon as I give it I realize I haven’t actually given anything.

I want everything you have for me. I want to follow you to the low places and the high places....wow, feel like that’s what’s happening...as I follow you lower, you are taking me higher. As I follow you to darker places you are showing me the light of your face. I’ve been having visions of heaven which I never have before. It’s very basic, but it’s heaven and it’s You showing me around and allowing me to see things I’ve never known. A beautiful place where I can just sit an be with you...ruling and reigning as I lay in your lap and hold you in my arms. Hearing the whispers of your heart with your mouth pressed to my ear. I never knew I could know you this well. I never knew I could find you so easily. I thought it would be hard. I thought there would be a cost to life in Africa, but it’s just more of YOU!

Uncommon love...love without limits...love with no grid...fearless...

Jesus, it’s such an honor. It’s such an honor to represent you! To be you to the people here. You really trust me!! That’s crazy and unbelievable...but true!! You trust me. You’ve given yourself to me and now I get to give you away!! You’re so amazing!!!

Heart Exposed...

2010-10-26T13:33:00.002+03:00

Some days Africa seems fine...
Kasubi looks like the faces of the ones I love.
Banda feels like hope and excitement over what it will be.
Other days it’s brokenness, sadness, pain.
I miss Brenda. I’m scared for her.
The memories of our times together are so real in my mind today.

I know what it feels like to hold her tiny frail body when she was in excruciating pain and too scared to even smile.
I remember the way her laugh would delight my heart as she became secure in love.
I can see her running into my arms after her leg was healed assuring me that things were going to be different for her.
I can feel the tears that warmed my cheeks as I walked away from her house after finding her beaten again.
I remember the joy I felt in my heart when I took her to school for the first time and saw her play freely because she knew she was safe.
I can feel the sinking feeling that came over me when I saw the x-ray showing a clear break in her leg...and the same feeling when another doctor told me her arm was broken.
I am all too familiar with the strength of her arms wrapped around me as she begged me not to leave her house because she knew Mama would beat her when I did
I can feel her head nestled into my chest as I explained to her that she was safe and we weren’t going to let her be abused again (a promise I so wish I could keep)

It’s all so real today. I can almost feel her in my arms, almost hear her laugh out loud, see her run full speed into my arms and then away again because she knew I would always chase her so I could scoop her up in my arms.

It’s been 2 months since I’ve seen her but the ache in my heart refuses to fade. She’s my little girl and I want her in my arms.

But my response today surprises me. As I’ve cried my eyes out for over 2 hours now, all I can pray is ‘more.’ I want the broken. I ache to love again. I want to give myself. I want to give it all. I see Him hanging on the cross. I see his love poured out freely over me. I see the way he aches for Brenda and it’s all I can say. ‘Yes, Jesus!’ I’ll love again. I’ll give everything...Bring me another Brenda to give myself to.

Misty Edward says it like this...What does love look like???...Arms wide open, heart exposed...arms wide open, bleeding, sometimes bleeding...
I’m hurting. My heart is really broken this morning and there’s nothing I can do to make that go away. But my response is YES! I’m looking into His eyes and finding what love is and when I see that all I can do is love again...

Jesus in poverty...

2010-10-21T16:27:00.000+03:00

What is church...

What is love...

What is Christianity...

I feel like my basics are being transformed, redefined...All I want is to love. All I want is to give myself to the one who gave himself for me. I walk into Banda and on their faces I see Jesus.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s wrong that I get excited when I find a sick baby, that I love what is one of the darkest places on earth, that I pray for more hurting, abused, desperate children to cross my path. Is that normal? Is that wrong?

All I know is that my eyes are becoming blinded to the natural. I used to look at lack and worry. I used to see pain and lose hope. But now I enter darkness yet see light. I hear cries but see rejoicing. I hold poverty but see Jesus! He’s right there, in the midst of it all. Transforming the darkness, hopelessness, pain, with his amazing love. So that’s where I want to be! Right in the midst of it. Surrounded by dirt, starvation, poverty, and hopelessness. Yet unaware.

I want people to question my faith...how can you believe for that? How can you know she will survive as she breathes her last? How can you transform an entire village? Nation?

Jesus, I’m inspired by your heart. I’m inspired to go after the lost. I’m inspired to know you more!

Extravagant

2010-09-23T17:22:00.003+03:00

Some of the most humbling moments in my life have happened since I've moved to Uganda. A two year old girl who lives in a closet and eats just one meal a day hands me popcorn she's eating as a snack. Her mother, fighting for the survival of her three beautiful girls, has one desire. To take me to her village home so I can meet her family and so she can kill a goat for me to eat. I visit a home of a Mama who has just lost her husband to another woman and been fired from her place of work. She sends out her son to buy us sodas. I try to give back to a friend who constantly invites me into her home by having her over, but she serves and cooks and makes me receive even in my own house.

When I was thinking about these occurrences, I began to wonder why I am so humbled when they give to me but not when my other friends give to me. In fact it's often the opposite. When a friend knows I'm having a hard time but doesn't ask how I am, I'm offended. When a friend invites someone else over but not me, I am hurt. If it's been awhile since I've gotten an email for a friend of family member back home, I begin to question if they care. So why the contrast? How can I be so unbelievably grateful for a pineapple but hurt at a friend who I know actually really does love me?

This is when a huge light bulb came on for me. You see, I enter the places I work desiring to give all of myself to my friends in the slums. I look into their eyes, try to associate with the pain, and want to somehow make life better for them. I'm willing to give ANYTHING. And for some give them more than they've ever received. Some are grateful, some are not. It doesn't bother me much because I'm there for them.

But that's not always the case in my love for my friends. Yea, I love them; I want the best for them; I'll be there for them when they need me. But I expect the same (maybe more) in return. I expect birthday wishes, phone calls, mail, and visits. I expect them to know what's going on in my life and ask me how I'm doing. I expect a lot really. But this isn't love. At least not unconditional love. Check this out:

Watch what God does, and then you do it, like children who learn proper behavior from their parents. Mostly what God does is love you. Keep company with him and learn a life of love. Observe how Christ loved us. His love was NOT CAUTIOUS BUT EXTRAVAGANT!!! He didn't love in order to get something from us but to give everything of himself to us. Love like that!! (Ephesians 5:1-2)

Wow!!! Jesus, help me to love like that!! Because when I love others, it's You I'm really loving. I want to love you well!!

Salvation in Kasubi!

2010-09-20T13:25:00.004+03:00

One of our beautiful slum Mamas just gave her heart to Jesus this morning!! Click here to read the story of one of her daughters and the tragedy of how we met them. Of all the families we’ve helped, she has been the most grateful for our support. She is amazing and so beautiful in every way.

For several weeks I’ve felt like she was ready to receive the Gospel but have not been sure how to do it so I've held back. Today I finally had an ounce of courage and spoke to her about Jesus and some things God had been speaking to me about her family. She was so open and ready and said she wants to know Him!! I kept checking that she understood what we were saying because it seemed too easy. Finally God told me, “Amy, I’ve already told you she’s ready, just go for it.” So we prayed together and she committed her life to Jesus!!

I’m so excited to see what God has for her and her family. She lives in a home the size of a closet with almost no possessions. She has nothing, but after we prayed, she told us all she needs now is a Lugandan Bible. I think we can give her that!!!

I’m sure there are other ways, but to me, this is the Gospel. Not a church meeting or a crusade, but going to people’s homes, sitting in the dirt with them, and inviting them to enter the Kingdom of Heaven!!!

2010-09-14T12:20:00.002+03:00

Yesterday we walked around Banda slum for 2 hours!! We hardly stopped and definitely didn't see it all. Each time we'd get to an alleyway, the ladies showing us around would point each way indicating that there were more houses down that passageway that we wouldn't see. We met a father sitting outside of his house and stopped to greet his six children playing inside. Their house is one of the worst I've seen here. The mud that used to work as walls has washed away leaving huge gaps between the sticks and rocks barely holding it up. We met a mother caring for her 4 children alone after just being abandoned by their father. We stopped to see a small boy who after months of treatment is still very ill with malnutrition.

Those are just a few of the families we met but there are hundreds more!! Banda is made up of 11 zones with over 1 million people living in it. 8 of the zones are slums. We walked around Zone 3B where there are over 1000 children. All desperate.

When we got in the car to go, the two Ugandans I'd gone with were speechless. This might have been the biggest surprise of the day for me because they usually handle the hard things we see way better than me. But they'd been the ones to understand all the Mama's asking what we were there to bring, if we could bring clothes, school fees, medical care, etc. I'd seen the need, but they had heard the cries and had no idea how we could help provide all they were asking for.

But as we drove home in silence, I couldn't help but be excited!! This is our land now! It's no longer a slum filled with hopelessnes, disease, and death. God has given it to us. He's entrusted us with His precious children and we get to fill it with hope, peace, and love!!! Children who have only been told they are worthless and stupid are about to hear for the first time that somebody loves them and things they are beautiful. Children with no opportunities for life outside of a slum will be given a future as they begin school. Children who would have otherwise died will be given medical treatment. And families who have no hope will come to know a God who loves them deeply and has a beautiful plan for their lives!

Get ready Banda!!! Your light has come!!

Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen upon you.
For behold, darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples;
but the LORD will arise upon you, and his glory will be seen upon you.
And nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your rising.

Forgiving and Loving

2010-09-14T11:10:00.006+03:00

This is the picture on my desktop background...

Everytime I open my computer, this is what I see...

I put it up because I missed Brenda, missed looking at her face whenever I wanted, missed hearing her sweet little voice. So I put her as my background hoping it would somehow help. I still miss her.

But what I didn't think about at the time was the woman on the side of the picture that I would also see every day. This is the woman who has caused Brenda unbelievable amounts of pain, been rude to me and the team, and is the reason Brenda is now out of my reach.

Most the time Im on my computer, it's this lady's face I see. Brenda's face is usually covered by whatever program I'm using, but her aunty's is on the perimeter, usually in my view. And each time I open my laptop, a range of emotions rises in my heart. Imense love for Brenda, a longing to hold her in my arms again, fear of what could be happening to her now, saddness that she doesn't live around the corner from me anymore, regret that I didn't do more to save her, and anger and resentment towards her family for not wanting her.

I've forgiven Brenda's family more times than I can count, well at least I've tried. I've begged God to help me. I try to symathise with the aunty's story and the liklihood that she never had a Mama to hold her. I try to tell myself that abuse is all she knows and therefore can't love Brenda as a Mama should. But in spite of all my good intentions, the anger remains as I'm reminded each time I use my laptop.

I've considered just changing my background, and possibly with that forgetting all the emotions that lay just below the surface. But I've decided to leave it. I've decided to look into her eyes. To allow myself to feel the pain, to allow myself to acknowledge the anger and bittnerness in my own heart and to try again, each day, each time I go to my computer, to forgive.

I believe in love more than ANYTHING. I've seen love change my heart in ways I can hardly express as I've come to know that I am deeply loved by my Heavenly Daddy. I've seen love transform my kids here as I look into their eyes and see their and see their faces light up, their personalities change, their hearts become open again. I believe love is the biggest, the greatest, the most transformational thing we can do with our lives. But loving this lady is testing this belief in a whole new way.

At this moment I want to walk away, to stop visiting her home, stop caring for her children. And to be honest, I haven't been to her house since I got news of Brenda being taken away. But God has challenged me to love her. He's challenged me to love her in a way that makes an abuser a lover. And I love challenges! So here I go...looking at her face each day, visiting her home each week, and praying for a miracle to take place in her heart... and mine!

Loving Brenda

2010-09-11T18:50:00.021+03:00

On Monday I visited Brenda. She had tiny pieces of plastic filled with leaves and water resting on top of rocks. She was pretending to cook. I was thrilled to see my precious girl, who a few months ago could hardly smile, playing so freely. She chattered away about her project explaining to me which "pots" were matokee and which were beans or meat. She laughed the the whole time and I laughed along with her.

On Thursday I went again having heard her aunty had returned from the village. When I arrived Brenda refused to speak to me, most likely terrified of how her aunty would react. After a few minutes she went into her house and I didn't see her again. Although a sad situation, I was not shaken. I'd seen it happen many times before and knew I was doing all I could to make things better for Brenda and to help her Aunty learn to be a Mama. I was also comforted knowing the holiday was ending and on Monday I could see her at school where she is free to run, laugh, and play. I never expected it my be my last chance to hold her, make her laugh, and tell her how much I love her.

On Sunday I received a phone call telling me her father had taken her back to the village. The grandfather was angry that Brenda had been abused and forced the father to take action. Although somewhat noble, this is where Brenda had been severely abused for her first 3 years of life. She was abandoned by her mother, caned by her step mother, neglected for days on end with almost nothing to eat by her drunken father, and then given over to her grandparents too old to care for her.

I wish I could hold Brenda again. I wish I could hear her laugh her heart out at something that's only funny to her. I wish I could chase her and watch her little legs run through the dust. I wish I could pick her up and make her feel like the most special girl in the village. I wish I could hear her ask me for donuts or samosas. But amidst all the tears, the sadness, the uncertainty as to what will happen to her, I am grateful. I'm grateful I gave her my heart. I'm grateful I loved her well. Im grateful I gave her all I had to give. I'm grateful I told her I loved her every time I saw her even knowing she was unable to say it back.

And that's what spurs me on this week. As I continue to try to process this and feel unmotivated to put my heart out there again. As I fear falling in love with another child. As I see the pain around me and don't know how to respond. I remember Brenda's smile that brought so much delight to my heart and I choose to love. I choose to love Whitney as she cries her heart out feeling unsafe and unloved as a result of being abandoned. I choose to tell Maureen over and over how beautiful and clever and loved she is as she tells me how she can't do anything because that's all she's ever heard. I choose to love, I choose to give, because even though life here is fluid and I never know what can happen to my kids, I know One who doesn't shift, doesn't change' doesn't abandon me. And I know my heart is safe in his hands.

(Thanks to everyone for your prayers and encouragement this week. Knowing you are praying for Brenda has helped more than you can probably know. I feel so much peace about where she is and know God's plan for her WILL come to be! So thanks!!)

Stopping for the one...

2010-09-03T18:36:00.003+03:00

The need is everywhere. You know it's there, known since you were young. Maybe it was the 'feed the children' commercials that filtered in as you watched cartoons. Maybe it was you father telling you to eat your vegetables because there were starving kids in Africa. Maybe it was the missionaries who showed pictures on the big screen at church. Poverty is no surprise.

Maybe my blog grips your heart because it gives a name to the poverty, but the stories are no surprise. You know babies get of malaria. You know children are abuse. You know millions are starving, orphaned, dying of preventable diseases. It's no surprise really.

We are born knowing there's another world. That things don't look there like they do here. And somehow this knowledge makes us think it's ok. It's just Africa. It's how things are there. There's nothing I can do...

But that's a lie. And I'd say the direct voice of satan because what else would he rather you believe? "It's too big!" "You can't change the entire world." "What difference is feeding one child going to have when the world is so messed up?"

Maybe you've heard his voice when you've thought about doing something. I'm faced with this lie often. Poverty isn't another world to me. It's my world. It's my friends. It's the ones I love the most. The ones I hold every day. I see it, know it, touch it feel it...And it's overwhelming. It doesn't get smaller, it doesn't have an end, there's no three step plan to make it go away.

So what can I believe. I can stand in the middle of Africa and feel tiny, invisible really. I know in view of the billions of people in the world, what I do has NO impact. Or I can kneel down, get dirt on my clothes, scoop up a child, hold them tight in my arms, see their face light up, and know that what I do has a huge impact!!

You have the same choice...you can look at the world and all the problems, then look down at your small hands and stay seated behind your computer unable to decide where to begin. Or you can find one. Find one who is broken, one who is hurting, one who is desperate. And you can be their friend, hold them in their arms, and let them know they are worth it.

Mother Teresa said it like this..."if you can't feed millions, feed one."

2010-09-03T18:26:00.002+03:00

(written just after I arrived in Uganda after a break at home)

I sit in my house, surrounded by comforts...trying to adjust back to the world I've managed to separate myself from for three weeks. My children are waiting, waiting with wounds and diseases that need miracles or treatment, bellies that need food, hearts that need love, souls that need a Savior. They're there...less than a mile from my house, waiting...

I know they're there and my heart LONGS to scoop them up in my arms and hold them close, look into their eyes, and show them if even for a moment that they are loved.

But instead I sit in my house. Overwhelmed by the wealth that surrounds me as I see in my mind the homes just down the street. Disgusted by the way the world is but too scared to move. when I first came to Africa, everything was exciting, the way of life, the people, the language, the culture, holding poor children, daily making a difference...I came completely unaware of how my heart would be affected, how my views would be challenged.

and now I'm back...slightly more aware of the impact walking into the slums has on my heart. And I'm scared.

But today I choose again...Aware of the cost, I make the decision I made 11 years ago when I gave over my life to Jesus. I choose again to give until I have nothing left...to love until my heart can't break anymore...to hope until I see His Kingdom appear...to look deeply into His eyes and find the ones he is yearning for.

I don't know what this next season holds...the kids I'll meet, the ones who will break my heart...but I know who I'm doing it with and I know it'll be worth it!!

Buying Shoes...

2010-09-01T01:46:00.003+03:00

I just got back from taking two precious kids shoe shopping...

A year and a half ago Irene was completely bent over, unable to walk normally and in excruciating pain. She spent much of her time crawling through the dirt. Today she walked through a crowded market asking me to buy her everything she saw. She picked out a beautiful pair of black shoes which she will wear to school...

Three months ago, Sharif lay day after day on a mat unable to make the slightest movement without unbearable pain. His foot was swollen 3-4 times the size of the other. He was told the injury was his fault and might result in him losing his foot. Today he was cleared by the doctor and picked out a new pair of shoes to cover his healed foot.

I love my life...

***written a couple months ago***

Two Realities

2010-09-01T01:14:00.003+03:00

**written several months ago**

yesterday I spent my day moving from slum to slum

I walked around kinawataka
held hands with as many children as could latch themselves to my arms
squeezed through narrow alleyways
lifted children over rivers of sewage
tickled bloated bellies begging for food with no sign of relief
told children how beautiful they are

I hung out in kasubi slum
was mobbed by children desperate for a touch of love
spun around a child only to immediately hear 7 others proclaim "and me, and me"
sat down under a pile of kids even hungrier for love than for food.

today I sat at home
ate chili and salad,
drank soda and tea
laid in a hammock for hours, read some, journaled some, listened to my ipod
spent hours on my computer trying to catch up with everyone back home
watched a few movies
played a game with friends...

It feels like two different worlds. Some days I can forget I'm in Africa hidden behind the walls of my western house. It feels like two separate realities. I can't quite grasp how both can exist. A percentage of the world living in abundance while the majority are starving. How can both be on the same planet?

But it is reality as I am reminded by the flock of children that run for an embrace the moment I leave my compound. The slums a short walk away, the children whose faces refuse to leave my mind.

I'm lucky though.

Because although I can forget for awhile and close my door and my mind to the pain in the world, it doesn't take long before a harsh reality brings me back...a phone call about a injured child, the sound of a baby crying, a thought of someone I know who is in trouble. And reality sinks in again. I live in a world of pain, and it's my mandate to do something about it. Maybe it's not as real where you live? Maybe it's a longer walk for you to find the broken. But the pain is still there, the injustice just as real. And your mandate the same...

Response...

2010-09-01T00:17:00.004+03:00

I wish I had a megaphone that could reach the rest of the world
I wish I could shout out the injustices I see every day
I wish I could make you understand as you sit on your comfy couch and watch TV
But their stories seem too precious to shout out to the rest of the world...

I could tell you about Brenda who has been abandoned by her mother and father and so badly abused by her step mother that she can't walk at age 5.
But what if you become just another person in her life who sees her pain and walks away?
I could tell you about Rose who, as the youngest of 6, watches her brothers and sisters rush to the food as she sits hungry in a pile of her own diarreha.
But would it move your hands to action or just your eyes to tears?
I could tell you about Maureen who at age ten has already lost her mother and father, has been uprooted from the only home she knew, and spends her days as the caretaker of a crippled child.
But will you remember in the next hour the pain she can't escape?

What is compassion?
is it the sorrow you feel in your heart as you read the story of an abused child?
is it the way your eyes tear up as you hear of a baby dying of malnutrition?
is it the desire you have to stop the injustice of millions dying of preventable diseases?

If that's compassion it is pointless.
if that's mercy it's useless
it must be more!!!
compassion must turn into action

it would be ridiculous for me to walk the streets of the slums and cry for their pain, feel sorry for them, but walk away without touching them

Mercy requires a response...
Love requires a sacrifice...
But it's powerful...it's worth it...and it changes lives...

Orphans

2010-08-31T19:46:00.004+03:00

Summer is over, the visitors have gone, those who were serving here for a season have moved on and the directors are taking a break in the UK which leaves me out here as the only westerner. Our kids are used to having dozens of hands to hold, bodies to hug, and people to pay them attention, but tonight at Street club we were down to just 5. As the amazing Ugandans I work with ran games, led songs, and taught the kids about Jesus, I was surrounded by kids desperate for a hug, a kind word, a high five... any demonstration of love.

More times than I could count I had 4 or 5 children grabbing my arms or waist, each fighting to be the only one in my grasp as they shouted at eachother, "muzungu wange, Amy wange'" meaning "my white person, my Amy." When I tried to sit, I was immediately covered in children each hoping to be the only one in my lap and disappointed when several more piled on top of them. When I tried to play the games, I was unable to move as they each held on tightly. Even scratching my face was a challenge as whichever child I was holding at the time refused to release their grasp in fear that I would leave them.

You see, Uganda is a nation full of orphans. AIDS, poverty, disease, and war have killed thousands before their time leaving over 1 million orphans. Parents still alove are often too busy trying to survive to give their children the love and care they need. So most who haven't been orphaned in the natural are orphans in their heart. And we see it every day. I've watched one of my precious girls who is fed 2 meals a day at school search the ground to collect each and every pea her classmates have dropped. Life has shown her that she never knows when she will get her next meal so she better eat as much as she can now. Most are unable to share no matter how much you give them because life has shown them that there may not be enough. And although we visit their homes at least twice a week every time offering love, they remain desperate because deep down they still don't know if anyone truly loves them.

But as I watched them tonight and tried to respond to each cry for love tenderly, I wondered if maybe I'm not so different to these hurting children. My home is thousands of miles away, my culture different in every way, but maybe on the inside, I am still an orphan desperately trying to find love. I fear when my bank account gets to low because I am unsure as to if there will be enough. I struggle to be happy for others when they are blessed or used by God, wondering why the same hasn't happened to me. I long to be noticed and loved by friends and mentors because deep down I am still unsure as to if I truly am. In appearance and upbringing, I am worlds appart from my kids, but maybe in the core, we are still the same.

We are also the same in that we have a huge Daddy who always welcomes us into his arms. After a few hours of being needed, fought over, and jumped on, it becomes hard to respond to their need in love. Tonight I escaped to the car with dozens standing outside asking for another hug. But my Daddy never grows tired of my cries for love. Each time I come to Him, no matter how dirty, how beat up, how tired, how needy...he scoops me up in His arms, holds me close, and tells me that I am His!!

Beautiful Friend

2010-08-21T11:36:00.006+03:00

Today I went to church...tried to worship God amidst the off key worship and unfamiliar preaching style. In the midst of it, I sat next to a friend of mine. As we sat together we both thought about the differences between us. She pointed out my recently painted nails and compared them to hers, broken and filled with dirt. I complimented her dress, but she noticed only the difference between her figure and mine. She ran her fingers over my veins very visible under my fair skin. Her darker skin and origin leading her to a completely different life to the one I've known.

At 14 I was just a child, insecure, scared, busy playing sports and trying to figure out who I was...At 14 her childhood ended as she brought a child into the world, alone and with little to offer him.

At 18 I left home for the first time, feeling independent and sure I could do anything...She had another beautiful boy and tried to find a way to care for him.

At 20 I began leading at a ministry, sure that I was making my mark on young lives and gaining a better understanding of who I was...She brought two precious girls into the world, doubling the family she already struggled to feed.

At 21 I began university, confident of the direction my life was heading, believing I could do anything...She had another baby.

At 23 I spent a year at ministry school focusing on healing my heart from all the pain hidden inside...At 23 she had little time to think about her self as her family of 5 became a family of six.

This year our paths crossed.

I am filled with so much joy as I live out my life long dream...She is pregnant...

As we sat in church today thinking on the same God, I wondered if the God I've created in my own mind is enough for both of us or just for me...

I know in my mind that God is my Healer. But it's so easy for me to let go of that and instead take some aspirin or go to the doctor. But it's not so easy for my friend.

If I don't have God has my protector, I at least have walls surrounding my house and a night watchman to call on. But my friend sits helplessly as her and her children are bullied by the neighbors. My friend is desperate for a God she doesn't know. Desperate for a Redeemer, a Father, a Friend, a Provider. But is my God big enough for her or only for my Western idea of Christianity? I think I have so much more of God to experience, to know, and to live in because the world I live in is way more desperate than a meeting on a Sunday morning.

(I wrote this several months ago...since then Nalongo has had a beautiful girl, Victoria...please pray for this beautiful family. that they would experience an AMAZING God and all He has for them!!)

Me and beautiful Victoria

A Lesson in Love

2010-08-19T21:44:00.005+03:00

For over year I have struggled with how we love God. He's big, uncontainable, outside of my grasp. If I want to show love to a friend I buy them a present, write them a card, pay them a visit. But God has always seemed outside of that. Too big and mysterious for me to show love for.

But God lays out a clear, somewhat easy way for us to show him love. He says whatever we do for the least of these we do for him. When we love a child, a begger, a widow, an orphan, a homeless man, a single mom, we are loving Jesus.

Mother Teresa tells of a family who has a crippled daughter. When she asks what her name is, they say "'teacher of love' because he keeps on teaching us how to love. Everything we do for him is our love of God in action"

That seems so much more within my grasp than trying to shower a big God with love. I can do that. I can find the least of these and show them love. I can buy Irene a bottle of water when I find her crying for pain in her head. I can bring Rose food so she doesn't spend another day hungry. I can bring Ian some pants se he can wear more than a beat up t-shirt.

It's almost like God's made it easy for us to love him on purpose, made himself small in a way. He knows I can't get my arms around Him, so he says here, I'll make myself small. You hold Brenda in your lap and tell her how beautiful and loved she is, and I will know that through it you are madly in love with me!!

I like that! I like that it's that easy to love our big God! And I like that I get to love him everyday!

Questions...Reflections...

2010-06-30T08:19:00.003+03:00

I'm home for more first break from Africa trying to process all my eyes have seen...all my heart has felt. I went to Africa expecting a honeymoon where all my dreams would be fulfilled and all my desires satisfied. I've come home feeling like I'm barely surviving, crawling out of a battle ground.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE Uganda. I love what I do, I love the children I get to hold every day, I love going to work and knowing I'm having a real impact on precious lives. But it's hard.

I've chosen to wear my heart on the outside, chosen to feel the pain, the joys and sorrows, chosen to love the broken and to be hurt by them. I don't know how to do it any other way and I don't want to...but I'm scared...terrified to go back to it all again. scared to hurt again. to love a child that will die, to love a kid who lives in abuse i can't solve. scared to put my heart out there again.

it's safer here. so much safer. here i can choose who i love. i can stay in my home, stay with people who are strong and together, make friends with people who are more like me.

maybe it's all the flesh vs spirit battle. I WANT to be there. everything in me longs to be with those kids, to hold brenda, to squeeze kizza, to be surrounded by dozens of needy kids crying out for my attention, but i'm scared. and that's a whole other part of me. a part of me that screams out why would i put myself through that again? why would i love again? why would i go back to the battle that feels so much bigger than i am?

so i get to choose... will i stay where it's comfortable.. will i love where it's easy? ...

or will i go...will i go back and love the ones that cause my heart to break? will i pour out all that's in me? will i risk everything i have not knowing if i'll make it back alive... will i stand with brenda as she stands in the midst of abuse and believe for her when she's lost all hope? will i stand by that child fighting against all odds and stay with him until he overcomes? will i give what i have? will i choose to love. will i give it all so Jesus can have his prize? will i lay my life down so He can have the ones he fought for? will i follow him to the darkest places?

Beauty from Ashes...

2010-05-16T16:49:00.002+03:00

Last night I held a precious girl in my arms. She usually stands at a distance only occasionally responding to my calls, but for some reason, she came and laid her head in my lap. I stroked her perfect skin with my hand and watched as a beautiful smile lit up her face. And I was taken back to the first time I saw this face...

We pulled up to her house and saw her standing in the road, a blanket over her head to cover the shame, cotton balls on her face to cover the wounds. Harriet had been left alone with an oil lamp and when a curtain caught fire, she did as well. We drove her to the clinic, cringing at her cries for relief. Every pot hole giving her a reason to cry. I watched as the cotton balls were removed, refrusing to release their grip on the skin underneath, shocked as her lovely dark skin was pulled off, exposing huge wounds covering on side of her face along with her chest and elbow. Shaking, I left the room trying not to be sick.

I'd seen the results of burns...wounds that never heal, scars that become a reason for mockery. A moment of carelessnes that changes a life forever. For days I traveled with Harriet to the clinic and watched them pull away the damaged skin and clean what remained. I cried for her, prayed for her, and tried to ignore the questions rising in my mind of how this could happen to such a precious girl.

But last night as I held her head in my lap, I found no trace of burns on her face. All the questions I'd never really found answers to seemed to settle. Maybe God is mean for letting this precious girl go through unbarable pain. Or maybe he is full of more love than we've ever dreamed. Maybe he held her tightly to his chest as the nurse ripped the skin from hers. Maybe He poured comfort and strength into his beloved daughter so that even in the midst of pain she was able to smile. Maybe he brought a little America girl to the otehr side of the world to tell her how beautiful and loved she is. And maybe He removed the scars from her face so this tragedy would be a moment in her past and not who she is.

As I think of the events of Harriet's life, I am undone byt the amazing love of God for her! Now I just need some revelation of how crazy his love is for me.

Healing and Salvation...

2010-05-13T20:19:00.003+03:00

Another update on beautiful Sharif...

He was released from the hospital last Friday and on the way home from the hospital his mom gave her heart to Jesus!! She said she thought her son would leave the hospital without a foot and since he still has it, Jesus must really love her. Please pray for the precious woman, that she would fall deeply in love with Jesus and that her whole family would be saved.

Also, continue to pray for Sharif. I saw his foot for the first time since surgery a couple days ago and could not believe it!! I had to walk away and went to my house and cried because it was so horrible!! It looks like they have taken a spoon and scrapped out his foot. There is now a hole a couple inches deep and several inches wide on both sides of his foot. He is so brave and doing so well, but please pray for supernatural healing!!!

An unusual package

2010-05-11T22:12:00.000+03:00

I wish I could send you a child so you could see the difference in them....

I'd send you Ian who was once lifeless and still in the midst of laughing, playing children. But now he opens the car door and climbs onto my lap before I even have a chance to get out. He knows he belongs...

I'd give you Brenda so you could see how she once sat emotionless and broken, too hurt to receive love. I'd allow you to hear her declaration to everyone that she wants me and that I am hers. She knows she is loved...

I'd give you Sharif whose life was filled only with darkness, unable to move without unbarable pain he was told was his fault. I'd show you the smile that brightens his whole face and and the light that has come to his home. He knows hope...

I'd send you Rose so could understand how she used to lay lifeless in our arms, too malnurished and scared to grow and move. I'd show you how even as the youngest of a huge family her big personality shines as she laughs and plays and steals the heart of everyone who meets her. She knows freedom...

These are my kids. The ones I cry for and laugh with. The ones I fight for and delight in. The ones I have so much love for I don't know what to do with it. I wish you could know them. I wish you could be changed by their gorgeous faces in the same way I have. I wish you could hold them in your arms and feel unnatural love grow in your heart for them.

But maybe you do know them...they may not look like children with bloated bellies, broken bones, or open wounds...

But maybe there's an Ian in your life who feels out of place and unimportant, but as you visit him regularly and show him you care will begin to find his place...

Or maybe you know a Brenda who is so wounded she can hardly smile, but as you go to her house and bring soda and presents, she will begin to see that it is safe to open her heart again.

Maybe you know a sharif who has been taught only lies and lives under the guilt and burden of them, but as you help meet his basic needs will also help him find the one who can satisfy his deepest needs.

Or maybe you know Rose who in the midst of a busy world, has been overlooked and as a result hidden away. But as you hold her in your arms she will find the freedom to laugh again, play again, hope again.

I wish I could send you some of my children because I think they are the best in the world and I want everyone to know it. But instead I'll let you find the one next to you who is waiting to be loved...

Quick Update...

2010-05-04T12:46:00.002+03:00

Sometimes my life is very surreal...like when the best moment in my day is going to the hospital, lifting up a blanket, and finding that a child I love still has his foot. But I love that this is my life!!

Sharif had surgery last week and was able to keep his foot. He is recovering but very slowly. He may still need skin grafts to enable the wounds to heal properly. But he is not in pain anymore! Please continue to pray for healing and especially that he would receive the love of Jesus. Light is invading the darkness that he has been raised in!! Pray that he will choose Jesus!

Quick Update...

2010-05-04T12:46:00.001+03:00

Healing !!!

2010-04-21T20:00:00.000+03:00

Meet beautiful Sharif...

We found Sharif lying on a mat in his tiny house. At the slightest movement, he cried out in excruciating pain. His foot was swollen double the size with huge pussy wounds on both sides. The only explanation given was that he had stolen a piece of sugar cane a month before and had been bewitched.

We took him to a local clinic every day, but three weeks later his foot was still swollen and very painful. Yesterday we took him to a hospital where he was admitted. X-rays show the infection has spread to the bone which could result in him losing part of his foot. The doctor said the infection could have started as a tiny prick which he wouldn’t have even noticed. It is unbelievable something so small could become so serious. But because the disease was seen as his fault, it had been left untreated for over a month.

Today we visited Sharif in the hospital and were able to share the love of Jesus with him. We told him that the pain he’s in is not his fault. We shared about how much Jesus loves him and that even when we do bad things, Jesus forgives us. We talked to him and his Muslim mother about how Jesus is powerful and can heal every disease. And then we prayed for him. When we finished, we asked him to move his foot and the movement that had caused him pain moments before did not hurt!!! Jesus is healing this beautiful boy and showing His love and compassion through it!

Please pray for Sharif! Pray that all pain, infection and swelling would leave him now. Pray for that every stronghold over his life would be broken. And pray that the amazing love of Jesus would change his heart forever!

Church...

2010-04-14T08:27:00.006+03:00

A five year old boy walks over a mile to church each week. Most weeks he comes on his own. Occasionally his mom, almost 8 months pregnant, walks with all seven of her children or a variation of them. But most weeks it’s just Ian. Five years old and desperate enough to get to church he walks over a mile on his own.

What is he coming for?

Why is he so dedicated to come to a service I dread rolling out of bed for?

It has little to do with the songs being sung or the message that goes over his head. Instead he comes for the cuddles, the attention, the encouraging words, the few moments each week he knows he will not be abused but cared for. He comes to experience love. He has found something in us that he has nowhere else. So he comes to get it every chance he gets. He knows we will be there. He knows we will love him. We are at his house almost daily during the week, but that is not enough. So he comes. Comes far to receive love, to experience Jesus. He may not yet realize that’s what it is. But through affection, kind words, and hugs, he is experiencing the unexplainable love of a huge Daddy!!

This is the gospel. This is church. It’s not the songs; it’s not the message; it’s not the prayers or the altar calls. It’s a little boy experiencing Jesus in the arms of love.

Giving and Receiving

2010-03-27T13:09:00.012+03:00

Meet Kizza and Rose... Kizza is 2 1/2 and an absolute joy! He loves cuddles and laughs easily. He learned to say my name a few weeks ago and melts my heart everytime he does! Rose is 1 1/2 and also absolutely gorgeous! They both get SOOO excited when we come to their house and use all their strength to walk or crawl down the hallway with huge smiles on their faces. But as happy as they get, I think I get even more excited!! Some of my favorite times every week are spent in the tiny room they live in. If I'm feeling discouraged or tired, my mood completley changes after a few cuddles with Kizza and Rose. My heart is so full of love for them!

This is their brother Ian! He was one of the first kids I fell in love with when I moved here. He is so cheeky and loves to dance and make silly faces for the camera. He has changed soooo much in just a few months and I am so proud of him!

Meet Joyce...she is the happiest 3 year old I have ever met! She has so much personality and dominates any room she is in. Even in the midst of the darkness of the slums, her smile shines brighter. She makes us laugh and surprises us with her dynamic personality everytime we see her.

I've written about Brenda several times and just love her to bits. She has the cutest little voice and loves to sing. She takes time to warm up, but as soon as she does, she smiles easily. I can't help but smile whenever she smiles!!

These are the kids I spend my days with. It is not a challenge or a burden. It is a huge joy! I have fallen in love and can't get enough of them. Every Sunday I get so excited that I get to go back to "work" the next day and see the kids I love. If I go a few days without seeing them, I really miss them.

As I was soaking a few days ago, God began speaking to me about the reward for serving the poor and loving these children!!! He told me "I will reward you for loving Ian. There is great reward for loving Brenda..." and on and on. I couldn't stop crying from this revelation. Jesus loves me enough to reward me for doing the very thing he has put in my heart and made me to enjoy.

People worry so much about the cost of serving the poor. People have told me often they could never do what I do. But I think they're missing a huge piece of the picture. They're missing the JOY of holding the ones Jesus loves the most in their arms and feeling His love flow through them. They're missing the overwhelming honor of being used by the Creator of EVERYTHING to change a life from hopelessness to joy! They're missing the great reward that heaven heaps down on us as we serve the poorest of the poor. I am on the beginning of this journey and in so many ways have no idea what it all means, but I'm beginning to feel the joy and excitement of it all!!

He who is gracious to a poor man lends to the Lord, and He will repay him for his good deed!! Proverbs 19:17 That's his promise. So live with your heart wide open. Love freely and give generously, and you will feel like you've given nothing at all!!