...the talk

today was our saturday gathering: we have about 100-150 children on saturdays, and do a bible story, give them nutritious (polite way of saying: NOT tasty!) porridge for breakfast, break into groups to do a more in-depth bible study/accountability group, and do music/drama/dance, and then give them tasty, and nutritious rice and beans for lunch.  

today’s in-depth lesson (once we split the boys and girls up): sex (there is still a very high rate of AIDS here and very young girls becoming pregnant (and thus, young, SINGLE, mothers)). the girls in the group ranged from 8 years old to 15. i talked with them about AIDS, other sexually transmitted diseases, pregnancy, heart issues that come with having sex, and  God’s law. to demonstrate the heart loss that comes with sex, i called one of the home girls up, (swabullah who is 13) and gave her a sheet of paper. in the demonstration for each guy that she had sex with, a large piece of the paper was torn and thrown away, until after just three tears she was left with nothing but a tiny scrap.  i want them to understand that there is a bond that is made, formed, a connection that is so strong that the breaking of it is absolutely wrenching when two people have sex. i want them to know and believe that they are indescribably special, beautiful, worth only one man being with them. i want them to know that their hearts are a prize that is only to be held by God, until marriage, because the alternative, the heart break that comes with it, i cringe with pain of my own at the thought of them having to bear.  but sadly, here, many of the women think that if they have sex with a man, he’ll stay and take care of them (provide food, a roof over their head, etc).  this never happens. instead, the men leave to go to another woman once this one either becomes sick with AIDS, or pregnant.  leaving behind a trail of sick women, who are single mothers, unable to provide for and feed the child, both then are hungry, in poverty, the girl grows up without a father figure, and the cycle repeats itself. 

at the end of the discussion/lesson they asked questions. one of the 10 year old girls asked “what do you do if you are very young, our age, and your parents are making you get married, for money”.  i was somewhat ill-equipped to answer this. see, i’m not actually in the main city of kampala, but on the outskirts, in a village district called “busega”  and am not completely knowledgable of all the legal/illegal things that occur within their culture. i had a female translator for this session so i let her answer that, as she grew up here, she knows the culture more, and the legal availabilities to children.  i later asked deborah (my female translator) how old the men are that the parents force these young daughter to marry are (young = 8-12), and the answer shocked me: 40’s-50’s ( i was thinking she’d say: 20’s, 30’s at the most (which is still NOT acceptable).  i’ll be 30 on the 29th of this month, and am therefore old enough for these girls to be my daughters.  that motherly instinct in my heart broke. (i would like to think that i would let myself starve or turn my own self to the streets before i auctioned off my 10 year old to someone old enough to be her father or grandfather) my heart cried out: how could they?!!! this righteous indignation began to rise up in me, and all i could do as deborah was talking to her was drop my head and pray.  i want so badly to protect them, to make a way so that desperation does not take precedent over what is right.  but i can’t.  everyday i think about the contrast of lives: the lives of these children here, and the lives of children where i once called home. i don’t have any answers, or even any profound statements to follow up this short story of today.  

on my way home yesterday, trapsing along on the same dirt road i do everyday, i heard a sad cry in the distance.  there are sad cries, and cries of pain, highly distuingshable to my ears, and possibly every female with a motherly desire in her.  as i continued walking, i saw a tiny little guy walking, shuffling his feet along the dirt toward me.  i soon saw that he had one hand on his head, rubbing it, and his sad cry grew louder as i came closer.  i came to him and bent down, eye level with his which were full of large tears. and he immediately walked into my arms, burying his little head in my chest, one hand still on his head.  not yet well-versed enough in the luganda language to communicate with a 3 year old, a man who was near by walked and i asked him what was wrong. the man shrugged his shoulders and casually said “he must have been beat. his parents beat him”.  all i could do was hold him, rub is back, and tell him in my best lunganda that he is good.  i love these moments of embrace. i do not love the tears, the hurt, the suffering, the sadness, but, that even on a dirt road, on my way home, that i can still embrace and love, and nurture the sad heart of a child in need.  

--fast forward to this morning, when the 100-150 children from the community come, and guess who came running into the tent, jumping into my arms as soon as we saw each other: my dirt road friend!  we cuddled for a good 30 minutes until i had to go to the front to do the large group bible story.  this is love, to hold, to support, to offer a place of security, though it be only a perceived security: the sadness in these hearts can be soothed with a simple embrace. 

we often get so caught up in trying to do the big things that we neglect to see that such a simple small thing, may be the biggest thing to somebody. 

 love.

 love.

 joy!

love. 

more stories:

(i decided that i would start blogging more regularly given that i only have a few more weeks here, and i have not done well at all in updates :) ) 

his bloated and distended belly, full of worms and parasites, was exposed to the air as he stood on the side of the dirt road, and waved at me calling out: “byeeeeeeee! auntie carmen! see yoooooou later!”  i smiled and waved at him, stopping in the dirt road to exchange smiled and greetings with him for a moment.  i was inside his house a few weeks ago: his small one room house that he lived in with his mother and siblings. in the small black plastic garbage bag was a new piece of clothing, a ziploc bag with supplies to do an art project, and a small toy.  he was delighted to receive this, and his mother was delighted to welcome us into her home. she had spent the day before cleaning it, making sure the floor was clean, that she could wash the cloth on the couch and chairs, and eagerly welcomed us in. 

i think about the “humble” home i grew up in, or i thought it was humble then...it’s all a matter of perspective, and my perspective changed many years ago when i sat walked down the dirt roads of afghanistan.  i saw a picture recently, that struck a chord with me, especially given my new residence. i see that picture and i think about the prespective i had growing up, and after i was on my own, and then the perspective i have now.  

what true need is, what true poverty is, what true hunger is, what true desperation is: it is a mother not knowing how or when she will be able to feed her child, it is a child whose belly is distended and round, full of parasites and worms, resembling a 8 month pregnant woman’s belly which is full of a baby.  i find moments everyday where i am so incredibly overwhelmed, and my heart breaks on a daily basis, all i can do is continue to put those shattered pieces in His hands, put those distended bellies in His hands; my hands are small and insufficient, my heart is weak and broken, but it is through small insufficient hands, and weak and broken hearts that He works. they are not only someone’s child here, they are His child too.  just as it breaks my heart to see them suffer, it breaks His heart, most assuredly even greater than my own.  my broken heart, their suffering is much more fitted for His hands than my own. 

meandering update:

i decided i needed a long walk today, the short 1/2 mile walk from my house to the children’s home and back isn’t cutting it; so, i convinced my translator to take the long way with me for exercise.  we walked down a long and winding dirt road, to where our surroundings were nothing but wetlands, marshes, and heaps and piles of trash.  we came to one of the largest churches in the busega district (which is technically where i live), where for the last 4 years they have been building a new, larger church; in the meantime they are meeting in what can only be described as a very, very, very large barn.  1,000’s of people meet here weekly, waiting for their new church to be finished.  while walking around (a detour form our planned long walk), i encountered a man, a man with a large scar extending across his entire face, holding a semi-automatic weapon.  i was curious if the pink book would work in this culture (bytheway, unless you already know what the pink book is, i most certainly will not tell you, it’s top secret!), so, i smiled as we were walking, stopped for him to describe where they were in the process, and i looked at him, smiling, and asked, “is that real?” tiling my head slightly and pointing to his semiautomatic.  before he could answer, i smiled and asked if it was loaded.  he stood there for a moment, both eyes looking at me, examining me, his right eye (which his large scar cut through) along with his left eye, didn’t break from me--then! he smiled, nodded his head and said “yes.”  he smiled again and invited my translator and me to an event there saturday which will have 1,000’s of people from other connected churches.  he began describing what a big put on it was, and how i should come and they’d love to have me.  so, i suppose that yes,yes, the pink book works here too.  he continued the tour, showing us the grounds, the prayer garden, etc. :)  lesson: when a man with a semi-automatic weapon invites you to a church get-together, you smile, thank them, and accept. :) 

“the pain i feel now is the happiness i had before. that's the deal.”--c.s. lewis

p.s.:

mouse update 2011:

last weekish he (the mouse that has been my unwelcome roommate for about a week) made another appearance, and i squealed--loud. pastor sam came with a 3 foot sugar cane to smash him. mouse ran out of my room, down hall and into kitchen. then, straight out of a cartoon, no joke: under a crack in the backdoor directly into the paws of a stray cat that just happened to be at our back door at that exact moment. :) now, if only a similarly amusing fate would befell the other mouse roommate.  :)

a few stories:

walking on the dirt road today from my house to the children’s home, i looked a 4 foot heap of trash that someone dumped in the middle of the road some days ago, down the smaller dirt road that darts off from it.  there’s yet another large trash heap. children often play around it, hoping to find a carelessly discarded treasures like a juice box with a few ounces of juice still left in it, and i see a small girl, about the age of 3.  she has something in her hand, white and round, which looks like a makeshift ball from my vantage point.  she then pulls it into her chest as she skip over the rest of the trash, picking items out.  she walks from the trash, and i notice what is in her arms, a used diaper. dirty, wadded up.  i pause at this road meeting, waiting for her to come, so i can encourage her to put down the dirty diaper and then so i can wash her hands.  she puts it down before coming to me, and continues to skip on, smiling, radiating joy through her yellowed eyes. 

she carefully balanced it on her head, a one gallon jerry can used to carry water from the well. she then walked, shaking her hips, and giggling at her over-exaggerated walk.  she is 5, and her name is pasha. she’s one of my 15 that i see every day of the week.  her little frame, so full of energy.  after walking 20 feet or so, she takes the jug off of her head and carries it in her hand, and continues toward the house.

during our tutoring time, we finished by playing “carmen says”--similar to simon (says), but i take the charge! :)  they giggle as they mostly look to the older boy in this group, sam who is 8 (the children who are over 10 are still in school, and will be until about 5), to see what they are supposed to do, as they lack confidence in their english skills. i laugh as i tell sam he has a lot of pressure, that if he messes up, they all do, and he laughs too and nods his head. we move from this to the hokey pokey, and begin the process of learning “right” and “left.”

i walk home from the market, with my prized beef sausages (the delight!) and like the pied piper, a line soon forms behind me, one or two will giggle and yell out “hiiiiiiiii auntie carmen!” and upon my turning around, smiling, hand lovingly laying my hand on their shoulders, the others join in, shouting with smiles missing teeth, scarred faces, shaved heads: “auntie carmen!!! hiiii!  HOW are youuuuuu?!”  they are precious, enunciating words, emphasizing certain other words, and dragging out syllables.  i love them.  the joy, the joy strikes me everyday day still!  in the midst of 5 year olds fetching water from a ground well (a stream that has a pipe in the end of the bluff that pours out the water) several times a day, to the ones playing on trash heaps bigger than they are, and school children on their way home, eager to practice their english, the joy strikes me!  

there are solemn faces here, but, they are mainly reserved for the older.  the ones charged with caring for the little ones so full of joy. i suppose the solemness comes from the realization that they are unable to provide steady meals, nourishing foods, and education for their children.  the hopelessness that they learn to feel. the solemness is on the faces of the women, who laid down with men, thinking those men would stay, and they would be provided for.  they of course do not stay, and often leave behind AIDS and a pregnancy.  abortions here happen, they are awful.  the women desperate, scared, abandoned in childhood by their father, abandoned by the man they laid with who they thought would stay and provide, they go to small shacks for these home-done abortions.  many die from this.  others are left in constant pain.  the ones that do not have abortions are left in a constant pain of another kind: the emotional heaviness that comes from knowing they cannot feed their children.  we encourage the young girls, the teenage girls, the women to see them self as a bride of Christ, and find beauty in that, to let Christ love them, and believe that He has reserved something better for them.  but, this society, this situation, this desperation tells them otherwise.  

she asked me if i was going to die.  i sat there for a moment, in her 5 foot by 5 foot house as she laid on the bed to the left of the chair i was sitting in. i looked at her eyes, and she repeated the question, and i said, “of course i am! and it will be the greatest day ever!” she looked at me a bit confused, so much sadness in her eyes.  my translator told me she was positive (AIDS) and that she had been so for about 5 years, and was afraid of dying. i searched my heart for the appropriate combination of sympathy and encouragement, and explained to her the words of the apostle paul “absent with the body is present with the Lord” and that if she has Christ in her heart, death from this world is a glorious thing. i explained to her that not even i, a mezungu, am guaranteed anything.  i may die that night, i may die in a plane crash, i may die in a car crash when i get home, i may get malaria here and die here, etc.  but, that there is no fear in death.  i explained how satan seeks to steal, kill and destroy, and that i would pray that she would be comforted knowing that when she passes, she will be welcomed into the most glorious kingdom, and that this life is temporary-for everyone.  she nodded her head and smiled slightly. i asked if she had a relationship with Jesus, if she was a christian, and she said she was. i put my hand on her and told her that we would again be reunited as sisters one day, in a place where there is no sickness, hunger, poverty, sadness, etc. she was one of the women who was with a man because she wanted to be provided for, but he left one day, and never came back.  she has a child too now, who is NOT positive, but she struggles to feed him, cloth him, care for him.  we gave them a gift bag-not much, but, new clothes for him, some medicine, and a toy. i can’t fix it, i can’t make their situation better, but, i can love.  i tell myself that-because i suffer in my heart seeing all this suffering and not being able to make it better, completely.  but God says: go. be. love.  i can speak truth.  no one lights a lamp and puts it under a basket.  even the smallest flame drives out all darkness around it.  i see myself as such a tiny flame--so tiny--itsy bitsy flame; but, i am a flame nonetheless, and i am commanded to shine my little light.  it’s so little, but it drives out darkness.  as long as i am there/here i will speak truth, i will rebuke, i will speak life.  i will love. 

i think: there is so much to be done.  there are so many hurting.  there is so much hunger. lonliness. sickness.  i become overwhelmed.  then, i redirect my focus to Him. i can’t do it, i can’t fix it.  He conquers though.  where there is love, there need be no fear.  her frail frame appears in my mind as her question echos: “will you die?”  and i smile, because i know i will-and i want to take her precious face in my hands and tell her how beautiful she is, that she is His perfect bride, and that when she does, she will meet Him, her bridegroom, who NEVER left her. she will meet Him in front of pearl gates and He will take her into His arms, embrace her and her new healed body, and He will welcome her into His Kingdom. 

i want to tell her death is beautiful, but i must tread lightly, my healthy body, my home to go to in the states, then, He tells me that same thing: death is beautiful.  my death of desires, hopes, dreams, wants, comforts.  there is a beauty that consumes you like a burning flame when you lay it all down. when you say, “i only want you Jesus! Your Kingdom! to serve and love You!” and He calls you to walk that.  constant refinement, constant fire, that’s what we feel. in the midst of pain, in the midst of trails, in the midst of realizing that we have totally and completely messed up, we take those broken pieces to Him, and He creates something beautiful.  i put my dreams and hopes and desires in beautifully colored bottles, and i sat them on a shelf to look at, gaze at, aspire for, and then, that wall crumbled-it was knocked down, and all those colored bottles of hopes, dreams, desires were shattered.  i picked up the pieces and took them to Him, and feel at His feet, and said, “i’m sorry Lord for the thing i have made my life, it is Yours now---You make it as You will” and behold, out of those shattered pieces, a stained-glass window, with an image of love.  i cannot describe it, it was an image for me, for us.  as i tell her, “death is beautiful” He tells me the same.

 they sit, eager to learn, hear, be a part of something. be loved.

 it says: "God always wins!"...yes He does! yes He does!  her smile says it all. it's the joy! the joy!

grandmother, caring for her grandchild.  there are many families that look like this.  aunts, uncles, grandparents take in children.

one of the twins of the house, martha (sister is mary :) ).

"he who is full loathes honey, but to him who is hungry, even the bitter taste sweet"--proverbs 27:7

i said this as i held my broken brightly colored bottles that once held my hopes, dreams, and desires. even the hard times, even the fire, even the trails, Lord let my hunger for You be so great that they are sweet to me. 

also! thanks all those that donated! wow! that was a fast response!  :)  i'm so very excited to celebrate my birthday on october 29th with my favoritest.  i cannot think of any other way i'd rather spend it, than to bless them, and fill their bellies and give them an experience they have yet to have!  thank you for being a part of that blessing!  <3 

a love to beheld

this. is. humbling.  and we were welcomed with so much love indeed! oh, Lord, bless this home, those in it! let Your Presence dwell here!

we went on home visits to deliver gifts of new clothes, medicine, crafts, etc.  a picture of one of the boys of a family who received his gift bag.  

i think about standing before Him.  and it brings me joy.  it also brings me sadness and burden.  there is an account i shall give, for how i loved, how i served His Kingdom.  what did i do to the least of these? what did i do for them?  how did i love them?  did i count their lives more important than my own?  how did i value my own life, and what did i define my “life” as?  it is not measurable by our standards, my standards, but He looks upon us and sees through it all, to our heart.  the apostle paul wrote “...if i give my body over to be burned, but have not loved, it profits me nothing.”  i can say this: i never knew love, until i came to africa, i thought i did, but, what i deemed to be love was nothing more than my thoughts and transcendental spillings. for the past 30ish years, i have looked to improve, grow, change by looking at myself, examining myself, but have come to understand, all that looking at self only diverts the eyes from the Model they should gaze upon.  our desire is to be Christ like in our service, love, and outreach, yet, we spend so much time focusing on ourself and how we can become that, that we neglect to gaze upon Him, look to Him who is the perfect example, and then let ourselves become that which we gaze upon. i am convinced we are surrounded by His glory, yet, we fail to see it, because we have fallen into the trap that we need to continue to search ourselves to grow, be refined, increase.  when our eyes are focused inward, they cannot be focused anywhere else, and therefore we rob ourselves of beholding His Glory daily!  when we focus solely on Him, neglecting that self-introspection we have been fooled into believing we need, He then truly becomes our guide, our heart feels and experiences Him, and it radically changes-us! no one ever trains them self in any sporting even, music skill, etc by watching people do it wrong, they focus on those that have perfected the craft, the art, the game, and learn from that.  our lives are no different. gaze upon Him, look to Him!  He is so precious to behold, to look to, to be with, His presence is so very captivating, that surely once we behold it, we shall never desire to look away, at anyone else, including ourself. that is love, true love; a love that shapes and come into us, because we gaze only upon Him.  what an incredible love!

i walk down the dirt roads daily, from my house to the main church center where my 15 await me, along the way, i am greeted by many, children, adults, young, old, healthy, ill, lonely, laughing, hungry, and those that are full and i delight in their simple greetings.  there is such a joy in the little hands that slip into mine, in their calls of “auntie carmen!” and giggles.  and i think about the Father’s love, and my coming to Him. if we are to come to Him as children, what does our joy look like in that?  those children that do not know my name simply call out “auntie mezungu!” and i delight in that even.  there is no religious trap we shall catch ourselves in when praying or coming to the Lord, no thinking “what name of the Lord do i use? Jehova M’Kadesh? Jireh? Rapha? etc”  no! no! no! we just call Him “Father!” “God!” “Lord!” He delights in it, because it is our voices that call it!  when all they want to do is hold my hand, that’s all i want to do, is hold theirs.  i know where most of them turn down to head to their homes, and we will slow the pace of our walk, simply so that we can delight in the presence of each other’s hands a little longer. the joy in just being in that presence.  and His presence is so much sweeter. 

i have only a few more weeks left until i return.  i came to love, to serve, and yet, i am returning with a love i had not known before.  upon realizing how limited i am in what i can do, and thus only being able to gaze upon Him and say, “Father, help!” that gazing has captured me, and my eyes have scarcely looked away since.  those moments when they do, and i find them diverted, i hastily direct them back to their rightful place--Him.  

i will be celebrating my birthday here with my 15 children, and would love for you to partner with me in blessing them for my birthday. i need only 8 more people who are willing to donate $10 a piece, and we will travel into town (a first for most), eat at a restaurant (a first for all (eating meat too, which is typically only a 3 times a year event)), and play at a play place.  i desire for you to partner with me in this blessing for them, there is something so incredible sweet upon giving so that others may be blessed. you can donate through the paypal button on the right side of the screen. :)

side note: :)

--our english lesson today was playing i spy. i thought i’d see how well their receptive/verbally english skills were by doing this. oh, it was a blast. they giggled and ran and jumped with delight when they “spied” what i did. they squealed with glee when what i “spied” was something they were wearing, and then each would beg me to spy something they were wearing for the others to guess. there is an indescribable joy in their hearts.  through all the pain, hunger, worries, and trials, joy presses through--He pushes and pulls them when they are weak, and it fills them with joy. they are wonderful and dearly loved. 

“o God, be Thou exalted over my possessions. nothing of earth’s treasures shall seem dear unto me if only Thou art glorified in my life. be Thou exalted over my friendships. i am determined that Thous shalt be above all, though i must stand deserted and alone in the midst of the earth. be Thou exalted above my comforts.  though it mean the loss of bodily comforts and the carrying of heavy crosses, i shall keep my vow made this day before Thee. be Thou exalted over my reputation. make me ambitious to please Thee even if as a result i must sink into obscurity and my name be forgotten as a dream.  rise, o Lord into Thy proper place of honor, above my ambitions, above my likes and dislikes, above my family, my heath, even my life itself.  let me decrease that Thou mayest increase, let me sink that Thou mayest rise above.  ride forth upon me as Thou didst ride into jerusalem mounted upon the humble little beast, a colt, the foal of an ass, and let me hear the children cry to Thee, “Hosanna in the highest!”--a.w. tozer from the pursuit of God. 

the wise and strong shall be shamed, and in that, we will rejoice!

i scan the tiny books brought, searching for the most appropriate ones: the ones they can read, with smaller words, the ones that are relevant to what they can understand, considering their lifestyles.  in the midst of this search, i pick up a tiny book, whimsically illustrated, and after only a few moments, i hurridly shove it to the side, “i definitely cannot take this one”.  the book: “christmas”.  is filled with illustrated pages of children, delightfully going through the motions most of us know as christmas traditions.  the words tell the stories of the happy pictures: children decorating the christmas tree with mommy and daddy.   mommy and daddy wrapping presents.  children baking cookies with mommy and daddy and their smiles fill the pages as they eat the cookies shaped like santa claus, christmas trees, boxed presents, wreaths and bows, etc. the last few pages show pictures of the happy family gathered together by the fireplace with stockings hung, goodies from santa claus peaking out, and them ripping through the gifts under the tree.  how can i possibly bring this book to read to them, to have them read, and then, (with my translator) explain that this, this is christmas in america.  mommies in reindeer sweaters, daddies wearing red and green plaid button ups, with heinous ties (picked out by the children as a gift of course!), girls with tightly curled hair with pretty bows, the boys with mischievous grins on their face, in their neatly fitted red sweaters over tiny green button-ups. presents, so many, most children can’t even recall everything they received. mounds and mounds of trash from empty toy boxes, wrapping paper.  and the food, oh, the food.  a glutton’s paradise.  tables and counters filled with dishes of food, and more food that is kept else where because there is simply not room for it.  joyous singing, caroling, gathering together by the t.v. to watch “it’s wonderful life” for the umpteenth time. i think about where i will be this christmas, compared to where i am now.  these are not just faces any longer to me, they are stories, lives, hearts, souls.  i will be in the states for this christmas, and i think about the 8-hour time difference, and how when i settle to watch “it’s a wonderful life” by the fireplace, is just about when they will be waking up. i think about them waking up, and then i think about that morning when the young children i know will be waking up, and the difference.  i think about mostly empty bellies, except for that day, a special day, when they get meat for their meal.  i think about how commonplace it is for a meal to consist of meat where i used to live, and how spectacular it is when they receive it in a meal here. i think about their smiles.  smiles that emerge at the most unlikely of times.  eyes that shine brighter than the stars, just because.  i think about a Jesus that weeps. for them.  i look at tiny hands and i imagine them slipping into His.  i think about his birth, in a manager, with animals-dirty animals, i think about how He had no “home”.  i think about His life, and i think about theirs.  there’s a remarkable resemblance.  john said of Jesus “i am unworthy to even untie the thong of His sandal”.  and i think about my own unworthiness, to be an heir, to have my heart called His home, to be a temple of His presence, even at the typing of that, surely it should be blasphemy--me, a temple for His dwelling.  that’d be somewhat an equal of a pay-by-the-hour flea bag hotel proclaiming itself to be the rest place of choice for the royal family.  surely i should go back and strike that sentence, delete it out--but i will leave it. because chances are, you are the same.  you are a temple for His dwelling, and i want you to feel the magnitude of grace that that statement means, the implications of it all. surely i am so unworthy to serve and love those whose treasures He is storing up more greatly in heaven than even the treasures the most wealthy person on earth has now.  i think about all this, from a christmas book.  that shows everything of christmas in america tradition, and nothing of the meaning of Christmas.  i think of the closeness, the resting of the Holy Spirit that must be upon them, that must hover over this place, on a day that marks the birth of our Savior, in a stable, in a manager, no home, no feast--because their Christmas day here looks much more like that than ours does. 

i continually think about our charge: james 1:27 “....to visit widows and orphans in their distress”

and i think about:

1 john 3:17: “but whoever has the world’s good and beholds his brother in need and closes his heat against him, how does the love of God abide in him?  little children, let us not love with word or with tongue, but in deed and truth”

when you feel you have nothing to give: give a smile--it may be God’s way of telling that person everything’s going to be okay.  only have a dollar? give it to the salvation army bucket, and then read mark 12:41-44. 

never question how God can use you, or how such a simple task can be God-moved.  His ways are higher than our own and he uses the foolish things to shame the wise and the weak to shame the strong (1 corinithians 1:27)

despite poverty, war, illness, no (biological) parents to call your own, joy reigns.  evident in the delight of playing with their "brothers and sisters" by jumping on mattresses.  joy, pure joy. 

the joy in new shoes.  feet that one day will walk on streets of gold. :)

imperfect messengers and a perfect message. He is mighty.

how could it be, that such Holy Words would be permitted to pass through such tarnished lips?  His perfect Word, His perfect Message, spoken by a very imperfect messenger.

i will be speaking His Word, delivering a Spirit inspired message to the people that attend the return ministry service on sunday. i see them, and they are anxious to hear.  the children already ask me such incredible questions. some of the adults believe i have answers.  i do not.  all i know is that His ways are higher than my ways.  all i know is that i am imperfect, He is perfect, and is doing a great work in all of us.

i do not know why they are hungry for food now, and a month ago, i was not, as i was living comfortably in the states.  i do not know why their children die needlessly, and the children i knew in america did not. i do know though, that one day, the clouds will be rolled back, a great clap of thunder will sound, He will descend, "Lord of lords, King of kings" written down His thigh, sword coming from His mouth, angels sounding trumpets, Him dressed in white: ready to do battle, ready to defeat death, finality sin, and call us back with Him.  we will all depart, be perfected, and gaze at His presence. we will all stand/kneel/fall in His presence, we will shout, "Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty" or simply "Holy, Holy, Holy" because no other words could possibly suffice. our once stained feet will stand on His Holy Ground.  our stained eyes, that have witnessed atrocities, that have witnessed needless death, that have witnessed suffering, that have witnessed sin will gaze upon His Glory.

when they ask me: "where is God? amidst this suffering"  i can only respond, He left the cross to prepare a place for you. for me.  there is a matchless Glory that we have yet to see.  even the most comfortable life is but filthy rags in comparison to what He is preparing. i do not have the answers.  the only answer is His ways are higher than our ways.  the only answer is: Jesus.  the only answer is: wait for His glory.

His Glory.  how can we even utter that?  how can i even type that?  i think of this in my mind, but i know what i can think is feeble compared to the matchless mightiness of this. i say that word "Glory" but i cannot fathom what it actually is.  i can say "Holy" but i cannot fathom what that actually is.  i only know that His Holiness is so powerful not even the seraphims could leave their feet uncovered or eyes open to be in It's presence.

i will bring a message on sunday.  i will tell them that we have physical hunger so that we may  now what it is to hunger for God, that we have thirst so that we may know what it is for our souls to thirst for His Word.  i will talk about david and jeremiah.  i will beg them to take their physical hunger and understand that hunger also exist for God.  i will beg them to understand that they desperation they feel when their child is sick, the desperation to see them healed-that same desperation should be there for their souls to be redeemed, to be written, to be known by the Father that will not leave them.  i will tell them of a Bridegroom that will never leave them, and the lonliness they feel, that is their soul weeping for Him.

there is a great injustice we see: hunger, thirst, starvation, death, desperation; but, God did not do that, satan did.  we did it.  sin did it.  we cling to what is Good, abhor what is evil.  there is a day coming, a day of reckoning.  the day the skies open, and He descends.  no more hunger, death, fear, loneliness, desperation.

what does love look like?  it looks like this:
an embrace.  a promise that one day, he will be in a land flowing with milk and honey.  and she, she will meet her Bridegroom, who loves her so much, He left his Kingly throne, died, naked and beaten on a wooden cross, only to rise and prepare a mansion for her.

what does hope look like?  like a pair of silly glasses made from fuzzy pipe cleaners, and a group of people who flew half way across the world to say, "you are beautiful, and loved".  it is a smile amidst hunger, disease, and having to grow up way too soon.









pray. encourage. send. love. there are hands to be held, tears to be wiped, babies to hold and feed.  heads to have hands placed on them and Truth spoken/prayed over them.
what good does visiting do?  it tells them of a value they have.  how Christ would leave His throne for them.  how we would leave our comfort for them. it teaches us to: that same message.
it is speaking Life into a dark place.  even a small flicker of light drives out darkness.  but a tiny flame, in a dark room, brings much light.  be that flame. be that light.

--i am still raising money for return ministries to purchase a land on that they can change their community with. build a house for the children.  build a church center.  empower and equip.  there is a vision, please be a part of it.  the land cost $150,000 and the buildings will be about the same, but right now, we just need to secure that land!  be a part in providing a hope, a future, a reclamation, an ability to become self-sustaining.

a story: david is 16.  he is one of the children that are part of return ministries. we recently talked about the story of the prodigal son with the older ones, with honesty in the telling of the harlots/prostitutes.
fast forward a few days later (yesterday) and all the younger children and older children are watching "veggie tales: the wizard of has" (a child friendly telling of the prodigal son--it's veggie tales after all!).  when the son character left home an arrived in has, he was greeted by little green peas (munchkin men--get it, take from wizard of oz! :) )....anyway, at this point, david looked at me with all seriousness, and asked, "are those the prostitutes".  i looked at him again for a second, and i said, "hm?" to make sure i understood him, he restated "are those the prostitutes?  the story?" i laughed and explained to him there would be no prostitutes in this cartoon....it's made for young children, so they change it a little bit....he laughed.  :)

love. give. change! empower!

love. sacrifice. change.

God's sovereignty.  His plans.  His call.  our blessing. our responsibility.

i was talking with 16 year old david today about what america is like, jobs, homes, food, etc, and was explaining to him that for all america and the people there are blessed with, comes much responsibility--to God. the account of our deeds, where our money went: starbucks or feeding the hungry.  a big screen t.v. or a chance at a quality education for an orphaned child, a flashy car, or shoes for the ones with scarred feet. i am blessed beyond measure to myself know very giving people.  to have people in my life that see the needs of others and reach out to meet those needs.

visiting orphans is an incredible organization.  they live out james 1:27, and through short term mission trips, a passion is ignited in the hearts of many people who return to serve ministries that captured their hearts: that's how i came to serve at return ministries here in kampala, uganda.

on september 13th, a church team from california is coming to paint and help beautify the home these children are staying in.  i remember less than a month ago, my comfortable life in the states, not thinking twice about pretty walls and the nice floors of my home, and reflect on my surroundings then compared to where these children live now.  one day, they will have a mansion on streets of gold.  one day they will be clothed with fine linen of purple, but until then, there are those that are stepping in to make where they are now a little prettier. i am posting some "in progress" pictures, as the walls are being primed prior to this teams arrival who will paint and buy new sheets and bed blankets.  i am so filled with joy to think of the new rooms being revealed to my favorites, all 15. :)

if you click on the link to return ministries' site, you'll notice that pastor samuel has an incredible plan for a self-sustaining ministry that will also serve the community.  a large part of this plan is buying land to build and serve on (they are renting now, and need MUCH more space).  i've borrowed my dear friend autumn kerr's fundraising idea (you can read her story here):
if you donate at least $10 (paypal donate button is on the right side of my blog screen and a bit down), then after the rooms are painted, an artist who works with return is going to paint a tree in the girl's and boy's rooms and you will have your very own leaf on those trees--we can put your name and a bible verse too if you'd like, or a word of life: beauty, redeemed, loved, heirs, etc :)
this money will go to help purchase the land so they can began to become self-sustaining with farming, an adequate sized building to serve the community, and later, the building of a guest house to accommodate visiting teams and other groups.

please consider giving up two starbucks, one chic-fil-a visit, etc and help change these children's lives and also the future of kampala as a whole.

now: ("after" pictures to come in a few weeks! :) )

the girls' room

the boys' room

main living area/food serving area

food storage area:

change lives. sacrifice.  love.

a glimpse into the lives you are changing: 

and a bit more of what you are changing:

to quote c.s. lewis:

if you read history, you will find that the christians who did the most for the present world were precisely those who thought most of the next.  it is since christians have largely ceased to think of the other world that they have become so ineffective in this.

***don't let the dirt fool you, this is Holy ground.