barefoot

i ran across a blog titled “the barefoot gospel” and it really made me think heavily about life back in the states, upon my return. i’m pretty blessed to go to an incredible church, that serves and welcomes the homeless community into it’s doors, but, others, i know, are not so blessed to be part of such a spiritual family.  i think about life here, now. the dirt roads i walk, the tent church we meet in.  the encocos (chickens--the luganda word is just waaaaaaay more fun to say!) that run around the tent of our meetings, the cows i pass on my walks there, the half-naked children i pass that always greet me with a “hi auntie carmen!” and then run up and grab my hands, and i think, surely this is far more a picture of the kingdom than the fine clothing and jewelry we are used to adoring ourselves with, than the late model vehicles we drive. what really really matters? what do we give account for?  what are we working and striving toward?  do we strive as much to reach the lost, the burdened, the weak and weary as we do other things that pleasure us.  do we strive, work, run with diligence this race marked out for us, to bring as many long side of us as we can?  

"therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart"--hebrews 12:1-3

 what we work the hardest for, that is where our heart lies.  what have we made the gospel?  are we living our lives, that it reflects how we reach “the least of these”. the least are not necessarily the poor, they are also broken, sick, the odd ones, the outcast, the eccentric ones.  they are the ones outside of our comfort zone. do we dine with the ones others raise an eyebrow at, and greet the ones that go unnoticed, or worse, ignored. do we go far enough outside of our comfort zone to bring them to Him?  if we are reaching them, who is?  we are ALL called to reach them, in some way.  it can be a simple greeting, or an invitation to a bible study, or an invitation to dine with you and your comfort zone friends after church.  it’s so easy.  my sister once said, after witnessing a family member’s tantrum “it’s so much easier to just love people” that’s actually when it hit me, it really struck my heart, just do it, just love.  make up your mind that is what you are going to do, be: love. just be it: love. let Him be love in you.

we cannot, simply cannot sit by idly while others perish still broken and lost.  

“if sinners be damned, at least let them leap to Hell over our dead bodies. and if they perish, let them perish with our arms wrapped about their knees, imploring them to stay. if Hell must be filled, let it be filled in the teeth of our exertions, and let not one go unwarned and unprayed for.” --charles spurgeon

:update: 

snake-pocalypse

well, what i first thought was a spider bite--lots of spiders here! (48 hours ago), turns out is more likely the bite from an adder snake. they’re bad dudes. really, google “adder snake, africa” you’re better off meeting mike tyson in a dark alley than encountering one of them.

anyway, it went from a small bite/puncture wound, apparently inappropriately blamed on the most vilest of all creatures-a spider, to a mere 18ish hours later my hand swelling to the size of a small child’s boxing glove, turned red as well, and proceeded to extend the swelling and redness to my wrist and forearm.  the medication originally prescribed when it was but half my hand swelled (day after bite) did nothing, and that night, i cried from the pain--the first time physical pain has brought tears to my eyes in a long time. it went from feeling like a nail was driven through my hand to every bone in my hand being broken.  the redness in the hand also developed a blue-ish undertone to it, and thus, the swelling also proceeded to the size of the aforementioned children’s boxing glove. unrecognizable as a hand almost. the mere act of trying to bend my hand made me feel like it was going to split open.  i went back to the doctor the next day (2 days post bite--today), and he was a bit surprised too. the puncture wound itself was not the source of concern, but the venom/poison/reaction spread to my whole and and forearm.  he gave me an anti-inflammatory there and had me stay an hour, holding my entire hand/arm upright for an hour to see if it reduced in swelling. it did not. further confirming this british national who has received honors from the royal family, to state it was the bite/venom of an adder snake.  i’m actually quite lucky--google it, seriously. anyhow, since i leave for the states on the 2nd, i was asking him what do i do if it keeps getting worse, since already in the past 48 hours it went from a small blister to my whole hand swelling 5 times it’s size, turning blue-ish red, and my forearm swelling/discoloring too, he looked at me for a minute and said amputation to prevent it from spreading more. not sure if it was his british humor, when i said “nah, you’re joking” he just looked at me.  i do remember looking at my hand at one point, when it resembled more of a boxing glove, reddish/blue in color, feeling as if all the bones were breaking,, and thinking: You can have my hand, You’ll give it back to me one day.  and He would.  one day.  either way, it’s not good if it was to get worse, it was already that bad at 48 hours, i’d hate to see it at 96 hours...since at this point too my hand had lost feeling.  i emailed a few people and relayed these latest developments, deploying my prayer warrior team, and, within an hour, my hand had decreased in, to about 1/3 what it was.  it’s still swollen--but at least somewhat recognizable as a hand now! and no longer blue-ish in color as well!  though i am returning to the states, with a pretty maimed hand, at least i’m returning with both, and i don’t have to learn to write with my left hand after all! :)  as far as how maimed my hand will be, i’ll know more within the next few days.  

(He makes) all things new

a boy.  he asked me: when you've been a murderer, like me, how can God use you? how can God know you?  can you still go to Heaven? 

i could only answer: it's only about Jesus.  those acts were nailed to the cross with Him.  you are only His son now. when He sees you, He sees love, not was was done before you knew Him. 

he smiles and nods his head.  i pray he feels this, believes this. 

 the one who conquers will have this heritage, and I will be his God and he will be my son--revelation 21:7

they have had so much pain, hardship, and suffering in their young lives, yet, i find constant that there is peace and joy in their countenance.

“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace; where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; and where there is sadness, joy.”--st. francis

awake o sleeper!

she wipes his face clean with his shirt, wiping away the tears and the runny nose. the lovingly rubs his back and then picks him up and holds him close to her chest.  her hand on his back, holding him close to her as she quietly says, “shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay, shhh, it’s okay” and then begins to sing him a soft song.  she is 6 and he is her 8 month old brother.  just two of the siblings that come to our program to receive nutritious food and hear bible stories.  a break from their seemingly impossibly difficult lives, aimed to let them be children, if only for a few hours, yet, they sacrifice, the 6 year olds sacrifice so that their younger siblings can be children there.  

today i saw her bathing the baby.  the one year old was in a large plastic bucket tub, and she gooed and tickled her as she poured the water over her.  she lathered her hands with soap, and gently and attentively cleaned her, so maturely, making sure to get her neck, behind her ears and even her little girl parts. she made faces with her, so that she could laugh, after this, she picked her up out of the dirty bucket water and held her tightly, drying her off and took her inside to dress her.  the “she” doing the bathing for the 1 year old is only 8.  she is so mature, attentive to the little one’s cries, quick to respond and soothe. 

these are just a few examples in the last two days of what the lives of children is like here.  they care for their younger siblings, as “stand-in parents”.  they walk twice a day, some, miles each time to fetch dirty water from running streams.  5 year olds do this, and walk the miles back, carrying 3-5 gallon “jerry cans”--the yellow tubs used to transport water. yet, there remains joy in faces, in smiles, in yellowed eyes.  

we were blessed to have another team from visiting orphans come through for a day.  in the cost of the trip, it includes this day, for us to be able to feed 150+ children rice, beans, and pasha, as well as give them soda to drink.  they come as they are, hungry, dirty, excited--for food and to be loved on.  excited over silly pipe cleaner art projects and puppet shows.  excited to just be...visited.  

my heart is a mess right now. i leave in 2 weeks.  i’m not “looking forward” to leaving and “getting back to the states”. i am looking forward to working again so i can support others that are here, serving the orphaned and vulnerable, i am looking forward to nursing school, so that i can do medical missions, i am looking forward to continuing to press, fight through this change.  there is so much that needs to be done, and now that i have been here, i see there are others, others who gave up everything to come, serve, and love, but, it’s not enough.  the mass of the population that needs help, needs love, needs empowerment, needs hope, is far greater than a supportive ratio that can be offered with those that are here. and this is just kampala/jinja/pallissa.  there are times that my heart is breaking so widely open, crumbling into such ungatherable stony dust that i know only one of two things are possible: wallow in that brokenness and be selfish/focused on the sadness their suffering is bringing me, or wait upon the Lord, and know that by breaking something (my heart) so severely, that surely He is doing something incredible. and, He is, He is doing something magnificant, something with His fingerprints all over it.  

 video of this awesome dance number to come once i have more reliable internet! :)

spidergate: so, anyone that knows me knows of my utter, complete, fear of spiders, a fear so strong, it renders me absolutely useless if i even think one is near me; all i am able to do is cry out: “kill it! kill it! please, kill it! someone kill it! kill it!” i will whimper this over and over and over and over and over until someone, well, kills it. last night, they had their vengence, in a big way, or at least one did. it seems as if one was trapped inside of my mosquitto net, inside of my bed with me.  he mauled me.  imagine you give up oh, say, coffee for lent, or meat...and then, that day comes, and Holy! Holy! Holy! you devour a venti vanilla soy latte with an extra shot of espresso in under a minute--well, that’s kinda like what this evil spawn of the prince of darkness did to me  :( .  it makes me sad. and sore.  i think he was a mutant spider and had razors growing from his spider fangs too-by the looks of the bites :(  he’s probably hiding, waiting to come out and do it all again.  i searched for him, to kill him, and could not find him...i think he’s like a green beret spider, plotting his attack right now actually.  i’d rather have the mouse back--at least i never confirmed that he was a carrier of the bubonic plague, he might have been good and awesome like, danger mouse:

highly unlikely, but possible

***edit* the culprit it would seem is a brown recluse/violin spider--jerk. :(  i will be returning slightly maimed.  this is why i hate spiders. :( i shall feel no embarrassment for my whimpering, shrill, crying please for people to kill spiders for me now.***

and, lastly: i’m a bit of an emily post fanatic, so, believe me, it is driving me a bit mad not to be able to send each of you a thank you card, or even email yet for donating to the best birthday ever for the children in africa fund!  i shall take pictures of this wonderful, great, fun, super, bestest event and post them as soon as i can post party (which will be on the 29th!).  my heart is truly gladdened still at the care and love to donate for this.  i am loved beyond what i deserve for God to call me here, and even further that you all would love these children that i love, and give so that they may be blessed on my birthday.  surely someone is more worthy, and thus, it can only be God, and His love for these children, because i surely do not deserve to be any sort of vessel for Him. <3

which is why i reference this:

"but everything exposed by the light becomes visible—and everything that is illuminated becomes a light. this is why it is said:
   “wake up, sleeper,
   rise from the dead,
   and Christ will shine on you.”
be very careful, then, how you live—not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil. therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the Lord’s will is."--ephesians 5:13-17


let what is awakened in us, be not put out, that flame in us, however small, remain more powerful than even the thickest darkness. that light within us, that flickering, not only brings light and truth to those around us, but also to our own self, our own heart. 

...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.