the Journey

2012-01-18T08:15:00.000-08:00

over here again. humbled.

Can you imagine the stench?

Joseph has walked and Mary ridden 90 miles in the scorching sun, the wind whipping around their faces and caking them with dust from the dirt road. More sweat pours from Mary’s brow as she experiences the pains of labor for the first time. The stable is packed with all the travelers’ animals. Flies buzz around them in the heat and the air is heavy with the smells of sickly sweet hay and kmanure.

And into this, a baby enters.

I have witnessed this kind of birth before. Woman sighs and baby falls right into the dirt and in the dark of a tiny mud hut with the light of just a thin candle our eyes search for something, anything, sharp to cut the cord. Water is a luxury and too far to fetch at this hour so we wrap the baby in whatever filthy rag-scraps we can find without even wiping her off first.

Joseph, still merely a child himself, searches for anything he can find in the dim light to cut the cord and swaddle his child, probably rags carrying the afore mentioned stench and the dirt of the journey. Trembling and exhausted they wrap Him as best they can, and swatting flies away lay him in the same trough out of which these animals have been eating.

Behold, the Savior.

And in this moment God fulfils every promise and every prophecy. This, God’s perfect time. God does not wait for the world to get ready, He enters right into the mess.

He makes Himself very least, no more status or opportunity than an easily overlooked infant in the slums where I spend so many hard hours. Very least so that He can commune with the very most desperate – you and me. He doesn’t mind that I am not ready yet and He doesn’t mind the wretched condition of my heart or the stench of my sin. God’s time is now and He enters into the mess, ready or not.

His perfect timing, now. Now is where He has called us. And we are just not ready yet. We need to clean up the house a bit and pray a little more and seek more counsel and we don’t know how to do that yet and oh, we have our excuses. And God says, “I’m here now, and I am ok with the mess because I am here for the messy.”

God doesn’t need us to be ready for Him; He has been ready for us since the beginning of time and the Messiah is here calling us to commune with the Holy One, to eat at His table.

I want the house to be organized and kids to be clean and nicely dressed and I want dinner to come out of the oven on time, but at the end of the day they laundry still piles and there are still crumbs in the corner and can anyone remember if I brushed my teeth today? And it can’t be the New Year yet because I am just not ready for it to be a new year yet.

But I remember when I wasn’t ready to move to Uganda. I remember when I wasn’t ready to kiss the people I loved the most goodbye. I remember when I didn’t have enough money to start a ministry, and I remember when I wasn’t old enough to be a mother, and I remember when I didn’t know how to parent. I remember when I couldn’t cook for fifteen people and when I didn’t want to share my house and my things and my life with sick people and addicts. I remember when I was afraid of the slum community that now holds hundreds of friends and when I was terrified that my daughter would never walk and when I was scared that we would never heal after tragic loss. And I remember that never, not once, was I really as ready as I wanted to be. And I remember that God kept all His promises, every last one, in His perfect time.

This new season looms and I don’t know what is next. But He doesn’t need me to be ready for this season because He is ready. He just needs me to be clinging to His feet.

Now, God’s perfect time.

2012-01-16T07:49:00.000-08:00

I really am going to start publicly sharing His 2011 miracles soon (you know, one day, when there is a calm season... ;) ) In the mean time, I am blessed to be guest posting here today..

One of my very favorite things about gazing out at my backyard is our sunflowers. Seeds brought from dry Karamoja and planted in the fertileJinja soil grow at least ten feet tall and radiant, heads lifted to the sun.

Much to my dismay though the time we get to enjoy the flowers’ bloom always seems brief in comparison to the time we have been waiting – days of pulling seeds from the dead heads and drying them in the sun before carefully pushing the back into the soft red dirt. Weeks of waiting and finally some tiny green shoots. Weeks of watching as the shoots become thick stalks and climb into the sky. Weeks of wonder as small buds open into something glorious and beautiful.

And then so soon, they bend their heads and begin to die. And something in me is so sad as I watch the flowers seemingly loose their splendor. But my children are nothing but excited. They rush to the backyard and I cringe as they hack the stalks down and pull off the flowers that are now bigger then their faces. I look at the bare garden and feel loss, but they feel only eager anticipation. Because they remember: next time, there will be more.

Always, the shoots spring up and reach for the sky. Always they bloom beautiful and then always they bow, bending low to the earth and waiting for my children to run wide-eyed in wonder to the harvest. And always, we plant the seeds and next time there is a bigger harvest, more flowers. Many more. They remember: beauty from ashes.

I see beauty in the outcome and sadness in the death, but they know beauty in the process.

This is what my loving Father was teaching me every day of the last year, this beauty in the process. That while a healed and whole family is a marvelous thing to behold, the process that got us there is where He was most glorified and where He drew us to Himself. That a wound al healed and covered with smooth new skin is not nearly as wonderful as the relationship that was built while I bandaged that wound everyday for 8 months and cried tears and laughed stories of my Savior. That dreams die and plans change and seasons end, but He is not dome yet. He sees the seeds that come with al the endings and He is faithful to turn them into harvest, into beauty.

Sometimes we look out at our lives and it seems the garden is empty – plans dead as withered leaves, dreams laid waste. Could we rejoice in the season of waiting, believing that God who brought Jesus out of the black tomb and brings green shoots out of hard earth will bring new life out of all dark seasons too? Could we know that beauty is in this whole process, the waiting part too, not just the end result?

This year, I have beheld exquisite flowers, glorious outcomes that could have only been designed by God himself. I have watched Him make family out of strangers. I have watched Him sell a book that I never intended to write. I have watched my little girl walk with her foot flat on the ground for the first time in all five years of her life. I have watched alcoholics become moms who work hard to provide for their families. I have watched my 16 year old walk through processing the abuse in her past and learn to jump rope and have her childhood finally restored to her after nearly 4 years of living in a family. I have watched God answer prayers that I hadn’t even spoken yet.

As I gaze in wonder, I remember how He brought us out of the dark and the hard. I remember how He protected us from the pounding rain and the scorching sun, baby green shoots clinging to Him for dear life. I remember that as we reached high to the Son, He came down and pulled us closer. We turn out heads up in awe and we know what is around the corner, but we look expectantly to the bowing and the bending and the death of all we had planned because we know – in Him, there will always be more. Glorious hope.

2012-01-06T06:16:00.000-08:00

“I just want to remember,” she says matter-of-factly, and she pulls the covers right back up over her head.

It is well after our 8 o’clock bed time. I have been sunk deep in the couch and in the Word knowing that 13 pairs of feet were tucked snugly in 13 beds. But as I make my way from the couch to my room, something catches my eye and I peek my head in the girls’ bedroom.

There flat on the cold, hard tile floor is my 11 year old with her blanket pulled tightly around herself. It doesn’t look as if she has rolled out of bed; it looks intentional. I nudge her awake. “Honey, what are you doing on the floor?” Why would anyone ever choose to sleep on this, the hardest of surfaces, with a comfortable bed just inches away?

“Remember,” she mumbles sleepily, “I just want to remember. Some people don’t have a bed,mom. I didn’t have a bed, mom. God gave me a bed. And I wanted to remember what it was like to not have one.”

We have to remember. Because how can we ever move forward if we don’t look back? This God, He makes promises and in remembering we see the truth: this God, He keeps promises.

A new year is such a perfect invitation to remember. I look out over this vast blankness, yet to be filled with His promises and fulfillments, yet to be riddled with hard and splashed with joy. It threatens to be overwhelming. For a moment, pondering the how's and the why's and the what-if's seems much more alluring than meditating on these promises printed on thin paper. In knowing who I am not, I forget who He is always: powerful, able, faithful. But then I think back over the hard and the joy of last year, the faithfulness of God in each one of those moments and I know that I can move forward with this Father holding my hands.

I peek my head back in a she’s sound asleep, her chest rising and falling against the tile. I kneel there for a moment and think hard about all He has done, how far He has brought us. I am completely overwhelmed by His goodness and His faithfulness. We can do tomorrow. We can do this year, with all of its unknown and all of its hard and all of its joy because we trust in this God who has given us so much to remember.

Will you join me this month in remembering? I have spent the last month of quiet pondering all that God has done this year. Allowing myself to be completely overwhelmed by the beauty of life with this Savior friend by my side and in awe of the miracles He has performed, big and small, on our behalf. I had to ponder and cry and laugh and lay prostrate on the bathroom floor in gratitude for all that He has done. And now He is whispering, "It is time to share. Tell my people what I have done for you."

So with no fancy writing and no eloquent words and no worrying about punctuation (because His works are too perfect to be embellished), I am going to spend this month remembering out loud His goodness, taking a cue from my 11 year old daughter and remembering all He has given and knowing that in Him there in only more to come.

Thank you for praying us through 2011. Please rejoice with us at all He has done!

Shout for joy to God all the earth!

Sing the glory of His name; give Him glorious praise!

Say to God, "How awesome are our deeds!

So great is our power hat your enemies come cringing to you.

All the ends of the earth worship you and sing praises to you;

they sing praise to your name."

Come and see what God has done:

He is awesome in His deeds toward the children of man.

He turned the sea into dry land;

they passed through the river on foot.

There did we rejoice in Him who rules by His might forever,

whose eyes keep watch on all the nations -

let not the rebellious exalt themselves.

Bless our God, O people;

let the sound of His praise be heard,

who has kept our soul among the living, who has not let our feet slip.

For you, Oh God have tested us; you have tired us as silver is tried.

You have brought us into the net; you have laid a crushing burden on our backs; you let men ride over our heads.

We wnt through fire and water, yet you have brought us into a place of abundance.

Come and listen, all you who fear God;

let me tell you what He has done for me.

Psalm 66:1-12,18

2011-12-15T10:38:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas!

Praising our Wonderful Counselor, Almighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace!

incredible photos by Mandie Joy

2011-11-24T11:16:00.000-08:00

Tonight, I rock a baby who is not mine.

For the fifth time this year, we have a foster-baby.

I snuggle her close and gaze into her eyes as I feed her a bottle and sing Jesus over her. I kiss her forehead and pat her back just as if she were mine. I swaddle her tight and I tuck her in beside my pillow as if she were mine. But Jesus said, “Not this one.”

When we offer to foster a baby in the midst of our craziness, and when people learn that we are fostering another baby, they make the “you’re crazy” face. (come to think of it, people make that face at me a lot ;) ) “Don’t you already have your hands full?”

Yes. My hands are full. My heart is full. My life is full. And that is why I do it. Because faith is a verb. Faith does. Love does.

And because someone, somewhere did it for me.

My babies grew in someone else’s womb and someone else did the hard labor of bringing them into this world. Whether they remember the person or not and whether we know the person or not, my children did not survive the first years of their lives on their own. Even though for most of them the early years were not ideal, and even though I was the one chosen to teach them about consistent meals and bear hugs and pajamas, someone, somewhere carried. Someone, somewhere held. Someone, somewhere fed.

And with great hope I believe that one day in Heaven I will know who these people were and I will be able to embrace them. To these people, wherever they are, I am incredibly grateful. I feel so privileged to be able to do the same for a Momma who can’t right now.

We say “Yes.” Our hands are full. And we believe we have been filled to spill out.

Today we are thankful to love in the gap.

2011-11-01T14:17:00.000-07:00

The last few weeks have been so full of God’s blessings and extravagant surprises. Every day another gift, beautiful and unexpected. I feel spoiled rotten by the God of the universe, His love just too good and too perfect for little, broken me.

I shared this with a close friend recently, giggling with surprise and awe like a little girl who just received a marvelous present from her Daddy. His response was perfect. “He loves you, Katie. You’re one of His favorites.” He laughed and I laughed but it stuck.

One of His favorites. That is what I have felt like this last two weeks. Lavished with love. But isn’t that what He wants every one of His children to feel, all the time? Each and every one of us created perfectly in His image. Each one cherished. Each one “one of His favorites”. How would life change if we thought of each other as such? If each person that approached us we treated as beloved of God, cherished by God, one of God’s favorite people?

I carried it with me today. As I bought beads from women in a slum I thought of them as His favorite people. As I counseled a mother struggling with alcoholism I wept that one of God’s favorite people was struggling like this. I rejoiced with a grandmother who for the first time proclaimed Jesus after watching Him heal her granddaughter miraculously last week. And I smiled at the Joy that I knew God found in her – one of His favorites.

The God of the Universe delights, DELIGHTS in you. In me. In them. Could we rest in that? Could we live like that?

In a horribly atrocious accident, a traditional healer in Masese mutilated a sweet little boy’s throat and mouth. Believing it to be beyond repair I took him to the main government hospital where we spent the next 12 hours.

Most of the time I just breeze in and out of this place – drop someone off, bring someone food, welcome a new baby into the world. But today we just sat. One operating room and 12 patients ahead of us – we sat and sat. And it was as if I had been given new eyes. I looked at the cold hard cement floor and the cold hard faces of the people who work there. Glimpses of things I had just experienced at Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital a few weeks earlier with my own daughter flashed in my brain in a horrible contrast to this place I was now seated.

Ward 9 is the accident ward. A little girl came in with her ear cut off. A mother carried a baby that had fallen into a pot of boiling water. A man came in with his hand mangled, ripped to shreds by a piece of machinery, in need of amputation. Someone’s wife died. Someone’s mother died. Someone’s baby died. All those people right there in that cold cement building and all of their lives drastically altered in just a moment. In just an instant their realities changed – forever. I couldn’t stop thinking as I sat there about how the next days weeks and months would play out for each one of them with their new, different realities. And I looked at all off them. All of that pain and all of that suffering and all of that sorrow and all I could think as I looked at each of those faces was “You. You are one of His favorite people.” And I prayed they would know it. I prayed they would know that God was holding all this chaos in the palm of His hand, even this pain having purpose.

A year ago today, I was one of them. I sat in a small cement room in a village hours away and life as I knew it fell apart. Ceased to exist. A little girl that had been mine for 2 years went back to live with the mother God has given her at birth. And thus began a journey, even that pain had a purpose.

Months later Jane and her birth mom, Nancy showed up at my doorstep. Nancy had lost her job and they had been evicted from their house. They were both sick and now they were homeless. So they moved in. After lots of loving and lots of encouraging and lots of days when I felt my heart would just be ripped out of my chest as I watched my baby girl learn to call Nancy “Mom” they moved out again. We had found Nancy a job translating and cooking for Amazima, we had enrolled Jane in Kindergarten, and it was time for Jane and Nancy to be their own family – still good friends with, but separate from ours.

I just longed to tell all those people in that hospital that a year later, I can say, “Yes. This is the hardest year I have ever done.” But I can also say, “I would do it again if He asked me.” Because Faithful God did not let go of our hands. This new life has been hard to learn. But we have learnt it. Life changes in an instant and God sees all of it, redeems all of it, uses all of it for His good.

And as I look back over this year I realize something. Such purpose in the pain. Our beautiful, spoiling, extravagant Daddy didn’t want to just give Jane a family. He wanted to give Nancy one too. This wonderful Father of ours, He didn’t want just Jane to come to know Him, He wants Nancy to come to know Him too.

Because Nancy, she is one of His favorites.

2011-10-17T21:04:00.000-07:00

It is after midnight and I lay her in yet another new bed in another new place. Strangers-turned-friends have opened their home up to us, the wanderers, during this quick trip throughout the United States.

As I lay her head on what seems the twentieth different pillow in three weeks it occurs to me that once again she will wake up in a place that is not where she fell asleep. And as soon as I realize this I realize something else: she will wake up happy as long as I do not get out of bed first. I know this to be true after over 2 years of mothering this precious soul. If she can wake up and see my face their next to hers on the pillow, she will not mind the new place.

I am overwhelmed at that kind of trust.

I want that kind of trust.

The last three weeks have been a whirlwind that my publishing team calls “promoting the book.” For me it has been a sanctifying and stretching time of testifying over and over and over again His faithfulness in our lives. A time of noticing the little surprises that He puts in front of me every single day.

I am the Israelites, forgetting so quickly. Just so not wanting to be in this foreign place away from my children, not wanting to be looked at or praised or criticized, I am tempted to grumble, even to worry, even to forget. But I can’t because in front of thousands, it is my turn to testify. And in testifying, I remember. I remember the miracles and I remember all the long way that He has carried us. And as I remember, He continues to surprise and carry still. I share our story. And each time, with each word, I know it a little deeper: God IS who He says He is.

Trustworthy.

And slowly but surely I am learning to trust my Father in the way that my three year old trusts me. Learning to just allow Him to carry me, take me where He wants me and know that I will still wake up in His arms, and in His arms it is safe. Even when I wake up in unfamiliar territory.

In an effort to really sink in deep into His safe and loving arms, I am unplugging. The last three weeks have been a time of being “on”, sharing our story with many and praying and believing that they will be encouraged and God will receive all the glory. And so now it is time to be quiet. Time to listen instead of speaking. Time to trust fully in Him instead of worrying about silly comments on silly articles. Time to turn “off” – both my mind and my computer.

I will be back in Uganda with my girls on Wednesday and we will spend this month enjoying each other, enjoying our Father, and trusting Him to do whatever He wishes with this book and this testimony. He has done big things and we have wonderful stories and I cannot wait to share them with you in November.

He is behind and before. We trust Him. To Him be the glory.

2011-08-15T07:43:00.000-07:00

Rummaging through our box of paperwork, I find it and it hits me unexpected.

Her birth certificate, the one her birth mom stuffed in her bag as she sent her off to a “better life” at her uncle’s when she was only five. And at the top is a blue stamp that reads Siripi Rhino Camp.

Camp. The word hits me like a punch to the gut and I fight the urge to vomit. In Uganda, the word camp does not mean summer fun or starlit skies. In Uganda the word camp means war, displacement, hunger, hurt, trauma.

I can’t really wrap my mind around the fact that my beloved daughter spent the first years of her life in a place that is so beyond my comprehension.

Camp, this word that I want for no one in this world and hate for my daughter, this is all we have of the first years of her life. She remembers almost nothing from before her uncles’ house, and life leaves me with this word to ponder.

I want her to be a baby so I can strap her on me and hold her there and she will feel secure and safe and protected. I want to be the person who taught her to write her name and how much fun it is to make mud pies, and I want to be the person who laughed with her when she lost her first tooth. I want to know where the scars came from that she can’t remember the stories about, and I want to be the person who wiped her tears when she fell.

But I know that is not how God intended it.

He did not choose me for those moments, He chose me for these. I entered motherhood through a different door, and I get a different kind of stretch marks.

I believe that this is how He has loved us and I do not pretend to know why. But I know that He who did not spare His own Son will also graciously give us all things we need, and so I cling to believing this is for good.

I believe that He held her all the years that I didn’t. I believe that He stood beside her in the line for porridge that the UN workers passed out, and I believe that He clasped her hand as she made the long journey from Arua to Masaka without her first momma, and I believe that she leaned her head into His shoulder as she fell asleep on hard dirt floor to the sound of her uncle’s drunken fury. I believe that He carried her all the way here to this new family and I believe that His hand is on her still.

And maybe the missing pieces just allow me to trust Him more.

So I kneel beside her bed and I whisper His name over her and when I look at her face, I see His. I am thankful that He did choose me for now, these moments.

He is a good Father. And I can trust in that.

2011-08-05T12:42:00.000-07:00

Today I look around and my breath catches in my throat.

Surely I should take off my shoes. Or fall to my knees. Or raise up my hands. Surely this moment is holy.

Not because of anything spectacular. This morning is going the same way every morning goes. Still in my pajamas, hair disheveled, placing porridge dishes in the sink before grabbing another cup of coffee, I look around.

Regina moves into place beside me to help scrub the dishes. All four of her once-malnourished children play in the yard in front of us, strong and healthy. We both look out the window at them and look at each other and smile and don’t say a word.

As we look back out the window, Makerere walks by, not limping, raking the leaves in our back yard. He looks up and he smiles and I think of whole months when he didn’t smile and whole months when he just couldn’t leave his alcohol addiction and whole months when I could see his leg bone.

And it fills up my heart and I know it with my whole body and it tumbles out of my mouth in a barely audible whisper, “God has been good to us.”

Some days, babies die and children don’t obey. Some days, friends won’t leave their addictions or take the ARVs that could save their lives or listen when I try to share the gospel. Some days the hurt of the world muddles my vision and I forget to remember that every moment is holy and I could live here on my knees with shoes off and hands raised if I would just choose to see it.

Tomorrow or next week or in ten minutes I will forget. A devastated friend will sit on the couch and I will struggle to find words that encourage. I will cry as I peel carrots over the open, already-stained pages of Psalms. But right now I breathe deep and bend knees and raise hands high. And I say it to you and I say it to me: God has been good to us.

And to Him, the Good Father, I say thank You.

2011-07-22T12:41:00.000-07:00

“I thought that if she was just going to die anyway, I should let her die quickly. Then I wouldn’t have to love her, and it wouldn’t have to hurt. Anyway, if she lives, she’ll just grow up to be like this. Who wants to live like this?”

5 months ago my friend Regina, a Karimojong woman who picks fallen branches off our street to sell as firewood and occasionally stopped in for water, came to me desperate. She and her 4 small children had been evicted from their house because for the fourth time in four months she had been unable to pay their rent. As I looked at the three youngest, all on the brink of starving to death, I will admit I judged her. I had been providing the family with food for a while now, how did the children still look like this? But as she breathed the words above I understood. If one’s hope is not in Christ, she simply believes that life is hard and then you die. If this is the case then of course, of course, run from the hard. If you know the pain of losing a child and you know that you will, eventually lose this one too, then obviously your only choice is to run. Immediately, my judgment turned to sorrow.

I don’t think I have to tell you what happened next. Regina, Girl, Capata, Salimu, and baby Katie moved in. They needed a place to go, they needed some hearty meals, and Regina needed someone to teach her how to love her children. Someone to teach her about the Savior.

“I am entrusting you with much,” He whispered.

4 months ago Makerere, the resident “crazy man” of Masese showed up at my gate with his leg burnt to the bone. Believing that his leg was salvageable even after several doctors alleged otherwise, I continued to bandage it daily. The only problem? As soon as Makerere went home each day he again fell pray to the addiction that has haunted him for years. Drunk and stumbling around the slum, his leg would get dirty and he would forget to eat. There was no way it would heal if he kept this up. His house had been burnt down, the reason for his leg wound, and all Makerere really wanted was to die. We begged him to move into the small house in our backyard. (This little house serves as a place for men or families to stay while we minister to them so that both my family and our guests can maintain a semblance of “normal” life while living in community.)

Friends advised against it. “You can’t move the crazy guy into your back yard. You can’t let the crazy guy sit at your table.” But the vote from the kids was unanimous. Yes you can. We packed his remaining belongings (a lantern, an extra shirt, and half of a chair) into our van and made him part of the family.

“I am entrusting you with much,” God whispered.

Last week a grandmother approached me at worship in Buziika and handed me a 6 pound 7 month old. I wasn’t really sure he was breathing. His mother is dead, his father is gone, and this grandmother is just not really sure what to do with him. Figuring he would need at least a month of high fat milk dropped into his little mouth every twenty minutes before he was ready to live in Buziika and be bottle fed by Grandma, we again made the decision to grow. The two of them hopped in the van to come home with us while Grandma learns to take care of sweet baby Juma. In conversation on the way home it was apparent that Grandma had some confused ideas about Jesus and witchcraft. I sighed as I realized that taking care of babies wasn’t all we would be teaching her.

“I am entrusting you with much,” He whispered.

Today Regina and all 4 of her children are incredibly healthy and happy. Though we will miss them terribly, it is time for them to move out, to stand on their own two feet. Regina has been doing some work around the house to build up some savings and with this money and a small loan from Amazima, will begin selling tomatoes and onions to make an income and support her family herself. She is a beautiful mother. She is a beautiful friend.

Makerere’s leg is almost completely healed. Only some pink granulation tissue and lots of smooth brown skin cover the area that was once festering with infection. Makerere is 3 months sober. He will stay here for a bit longer because he is afraid to relapse, but soon he will begin attending vocational school. This face that was once constantly sullen is now ever-joyful. Makerere smiles and sings songs he has learnt at church as he rakes our leaves or picks eggplant from our garden.

While Grandma and baby Juma are still fairly new, Grandma is learning and Juma is already growing. They are a sweet addition to our days.

This house I call home, it is where people flock for help. For a glass of water, for a welcoming smile, for a story of redemption, for a place to belong. “Come and listen,” we say. “Come and listen to what He’s done for us. For you.” These 8 will leave, but more will come. They always come. I don’t know why us and I don’t know why here. Our house is a wreck and dinner is late. We make a ruckus in the grocery store and we don’t get invited out much because surely we will bring a screaming baby or worse, crazy people. We are late to church and sometimes we get there and one doesn’t have shoes and one forgot to comb her hair. We are the messy ones. And we pray and we pray that we could spill out the grace God has so lavished on us.

13 pairs of eyes look at me as if I hold the world. I pray they learn from me half of what I learn from them. They are growing. Trauma from their pasts surfaces and we fight to cling to truth and joy. The days feel long but the years are so short. Time slips away and these little people transform into big people and I pray only that they are becoming people who know Him more.

“I have entrusted you with much,” He whispers.

The book releases in October. I know what this means: more eyes on us. I struggle with the thought of it. All I want is more eyes on Him. I am just a broken mess, grabbing for His feet, reaching out to touch His cloak, thankful for His mercy that washes over me. I am just a little girl, relieved to crawl into His lap and curl up there.

He has entrusted me with so much. And from those who much has been entrusted, much more will be demanded. We want only to represent Him well. So I have taken some time away to feel the weight of it all. 13 little girls, the families in the back yard, friends, family, people in Masese, people in Buziika, people in America looking at me. And satan whispers, “Run. Run and run and run. No book. No blog. No more homeless people in the guestroom. Lock your doors. Take these 13 and just shut yourselves in and stay away from all these eyes because you are not good enough to have so many eyes on you. Run.”

But I look out in the yard and I see only redemption. I see God making thorn bushes into pine trees. I see Him filling our holes with His blood. I see traumatized children that struggle sometimes but laugh mostly. I see them embracing these one-drunk, once-lifeless, once-starving people who are growing in a merciful, healing Father. I see lives changed and I see eternities changed. I see family where there once was only loneliness. And I don’t know why He chose me, this broken little girl, to witness all of it.

I look up. And His voice is so much louder than satan’s. “I have entrusted you with much and I have demanded of you much. But only with me will your life bear much. So run. Run and run and run into my arms. Run. Run and run and run into this world sharing this story that has Me at the center. This making of disciples, it is my business. And I am with you always and my burden is light. I spill through your brokenness and I will be glorified. I promise. I will be glorified.” And that is all I want.

I sat in the heaviness. And I weighed the risks of sharing our entire life, all of it, the joy and the sad, the beautiful and the ugly, with the whole crazy world. And I know. That if on the other side of that risk is the possibility that someone may see Jesus in our brokenness and know that there is grace and purpose in theirs too, then the whole crazy world is welcome. For a glass of water, for a welcoming smile, for a story of redemption, for a place to belong. For a glimpse of a Savior who uses even us, the messy ones. “Come and listen to what He’s done for us. For you.”

We look up. We are thankful for the mess. We are thankful for the much. We are thankful for a story to share, the story of His death and His story in our lives.

Would you pray with us? That as eyes turn to us, they would see only Him. That however, whatever, wherever He would be glorified. He will.

2011-07-22T00:26:00.000-07:00

Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters;

and you who have no money, come buy and eat...

Listen to me and eat what is good,

and your soul will delight in the richest of fare..

You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace;

the mountains and the hills will burst into song before you,

and all the trees of the fields will clap their hands.

Instead of the thorn bush will grow the pine tree,

and instead of briers, myrtle will grow.

This will be for the Lord's renown, for an everlasting sign which will not be destroyed.

Isaiah 55

2011-07-21T08:23:00.000-07:00

He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together

Colossians 1:17

2011-07-10T04:45:00.000-07:00

“There is no event so common place but that God is present within it, always hidden, always leaving you room to recognize Him or not to recognize Him.” - Fredrick Buechner

laying low.

learning lots.

thank you, thank you, thank you for your prayers and encouragement.

photos by Tina Weir

2011-06-03T02:41:00.000-07:00

Around here, we live bent low.

Tuesday morning ladies from Masese stream through my front door. We have moved our weekly meeting from the slum of Masese to my living room because I have been up all night with new foster baby and can’t imagine getting all 14 of these little people out of the house. Excited about a change of pace and my sweet friends in my home, I enlist the help of darling Tamara and 13 eager little girls to give these ladies pedicures. We wash and we rub and we paint. I rub lotion into old scarred feet and think of the journeys they have traveled. I whisper thanks for the ways they have blessed me and the things they have taught me, and here in a puddle on the hard tile floor, Joy overflows.

It is on this same cold, smooth tile that I kneel hours later, face inches away from the burn on Makerere’s calf. The stench doesn’t even bother me anymore. And while it looks horrific to outside eyes, I remember what it looked like months ago and ever so slowly, I can see the healing. I can see the healing in the blood red life that spills out as I bandage and in the smiling eyes that tell me stories as I work. Laying on my belly with a surgical blade I scrape out the dead and do my best to preserve the new pink tissue that is starting to form around the edges. He laughs and says, “I have told you now all the stories I have! It must be your turn.” And I tell him a story of a Heavenly King born as a pauper and of a Body broken for me and for him and for each one of us. And I don’t even realize but there are tears on the tile and I sit astonished that messy, inadequate, ungraceful me would get to share such a story.

We sit in the dirt, not worried about the red stains and serve 400 plates of food to sponsored children on Saturday. I look into these faces and remember them nearly 4 years ago, destitute and hopeless and starving. Afraid of my funny white skin. We feed them lunch and we feed them God’s Word and we watch them transform. We feel like family now, no one noticing these skin differences. The suns rays beat down the glory of God and covered in mud and chicken broth I know that this is contentment.

Our family sits on the street corner down town sharing ice cream and laughter. My daughter bends low to offer a homeless man her popsicle and as he cries that no one cares about him she looks straight into his face. “We will be your family,” she asserts, and she means it. We kneel on the pavement and we pray and people stop to look but we hardly notice because we were made for this.

We bend.

I bend to sweep crumbs and I bend to wipe vomit and I bend to pick up little ones and wipe away tears. I bend over a big pot of stew and I bend to fold endless laundry and I bend over math books and spelling sentences and history quiz corrections. And at the end of these days I bend next to the bed and I ask only that I could bend more, bend lower.

Because I serve a Savior who came to be a servant. He lived bent low. And bent down here is where I see His face.

He lived, only to die.

Could I?

Die to self and just break open for love.

This Savior, His one purpose to spend Himself on behalf of messy us. Will I spend myself on behalf of those in front of me?

And people say, “Don’t you get tired?” and yes, I do. But I’m face to face with Jesus in the dirt, and the more I bend the harder and better and fuller this life gets. And sure, we are tired, but oh we are happy. Because bent down low is where we find fullness of Joy.

Praying for you as you bend today for whoever is in front of you. He will meet you there.

2011-05-27T04:12:00.000-07:00

This week. Mother's had their babies blown from their arms, the storm too strong. Other's clung tight as their infants breathed their last in my best friend's back seat, blood transfusions and machine-oxygen not enough to revive.

I hold the hearts in my thoughts and I pray harder. I lock eyes with this one momma, baby growing cold in her lap and I whisper, "I know." And I murmur a prayer over her but there really aren't words so we just cry and we hold each other all the way home. I remember too well what it feels like to go home without your baby. To wake up the next morning fuzzy and not want to be this woman because things like this only happen in movies and on new stations, not to me. Please, God, not to me?

And no, it won't be ok, but it will be glorious one day when you lock arms in Heaven. And it only hurts this deep because you loved so deep and that memory, that love is what you live on some days.

So we bow down and we pray for you mothers. We snuggle close the babes still here. And while the head spins, "where is God in this mess," the heart knows the answer, "right here."

God is right here with us. And He knows.

This pain, this is what He did for us. Willing. He knows this hurt because He chose it to save us.

And that love is what we live on every day.

2011-05-03T05:35:00.000-07:00

I can see the women with their eyes wide as they tremble in front of the empty tomb.

They listen to the angel's words – can it be? - and they scurry, terrified and full of joy.

Terrified and full of joy - I live there. It is possible to be afraid of what obedience might bring next and be full of thanks and overflowing joy and TRUST anyway. This giddy anticipation because we see all that He has done for us and we believe that He can only bring more good. Good, even in the ugly.

They see Him and they fall and the grab hold of His feet, clasp them, tangible, real feet. I live there too. Just holding on for dear life, choking back joyful sobs into the feet of my Savior.

Risen from the dead. And He does that with my life, this broken body, these broken dreams.

Beauty from the ashes. Beauty from the torture and the nail scars and the blood red life spilling out everywhere. Beauty from the black of the tomb.

Sitting in her own feces, my two oldest found her. Dogs licking her face, flies swarming her wounds, the ten pound, three year old little darling that would teach us to stretch even more.

She had been living with her uncle who though he loved her was only 17 and had to go to school early each morning with no choice other than to lock her just outside the front door – sometimes with a little food if he had any. There she sat, unable to walk or even crawl as the dogs ate her food and the children of Masese threw stones and sneered.

So Margaret scooped her up and brought her home. It was a hard day and there was too much, but what was the alternative? And though I was anxious and unsure we would be enough, in these terrified moments I find myself full of joy, so we gave her a bath and a warm cup of milk and the rest… the rest is just grace.

Two months later and 15 pound heavier she was ready to go to the village and join her grandmother who is ready and excited to raise her. A few nights ago I stood long on the front porch as they drove away. This happy, healthy, redeemed from the brink of death baby that I had poured my heart into and her sweet uncle who was rejoicing in seeing her well and being about to take her to her grandma’s in the morning.

Tears welled, but a smile swept across my face. To give of ourselves, to give all – this is happiness.

Lochoro’s grandmother lives about 10 hours north of here and while she has been welcomes to always contact me if she needs anything, the likelihood that I will be seeing those sweet chubby cheeks or hearing the high-pitched squeaky voice that I have grown to cherish any time soon in pretty close to none.

Yes. It is hard. But oh, it is good. Because obedience – its all I can do. And Trust – its all I have.

Today we welcome baby Eden into our home and our family. She is three weeks old and coming out of withdrawl from whatever drugs her mother was using when she was born. We will keep her for a month or so, until some friends of mine can find a more permanent solution or family. We have been so loved. The only thing we know to do with that love is give it away.

And as the women in the tomb, I tremble. Because who wouldn’t tremble at the feet of this Savior? At just a glimpse of all He might have planned? But I trust and I fill with Joy and Peace and I overflow with Hope just as promised.

This morning I bend low, clasp His feet. Whisper thank you that He can use my broken self to heal another and another. His love spills out and we spill over – terrified (the good kind!) and full, so full of Joy.

2011-05-03T05:19:00.000-07:00

I can see the women with their eyes wide open as they tremble in front of the tomb.

They listen to the angels words – can it be? - and they scurry, terrified and full of joy.

Terrified and full of joy - I live there. It is possible to be afraid of what obedience might bring next and be full of thanks and overflowing joy and TRUST anyway. This giddy anticipation because we see all that He has done for us and we believe that He can only bring more good. Good, even in the ugly.

They see Him and they fall and the grab hold of His feet, clasp them, tangible, real feet. I live there too. Just holding on for dear life, choking back joyful sobs into the feet of my Savior.

Risen from the dead. And He does that with my life, this broken body, these broken dreams.

Beauty from the ashes. Beauty from the torture and the nail scars and the blood red life spilling out everywhere. Beauty from the black of the tomb.

Sitting in her own feces, my two oldest found her. Dogs licking her face, flies swarming her wounds, the ten pound, three year old little darling that would teach us to stretch even more.

She had been living with her uncle who though he loved her was only 17 and had to go to school early each morning with no choice other than to lock her just outside the front door – sometimes with a little food if he had any. There she sat, unable to walk or even crawl as the dogs ate her food and the children of Masese threw stones and sneered.

So Margaret scooped her up and brought her home. It was a hard day and there was too much, but what was the alternative? And though I was anxious and unsure we would be enough, in these terrified moments I find myself full of joy, so we gave her a bath and a warm cup of milk and the rest… the rest is just grace.

Two months later and 15 pound heavier she was ready to go to the village and join her grandmother who is ready and excited to raise her. A few nights ago I stood long on the front porch as they drove away. This happy, healthy, redeemed from the brink of death baby that I had poured my heart into and her sweet uncle who was rejoicing in seeing her well and being about to take her to her grandma’s in the morning.

Tears welled, but a smile swept across my face. To give of ourselves, to give all – this is happiness.

Lochoro’s grandmother lives about 10 hours north of here and while she has been welcomes to always contact me if she needs anything, the likelihood that I will be seeing those sweet chubby cheeks or hearing the high-pitched squeaky voice that I have grown to cherish any time soon in pretty close to none.

Yes. It is hard. But oh, it is good. Because obedience – its all I can do. And Trust – its all I have.

Today we welcome baby Eden into our home and our family. She is three weeks old and coming out of withdrawl from whatever drugs her mother was using when she was born. We will keep her for a month or so, until some friends of mine can find a more permanent solution or family. We have been so loved. The only thing we know to do with that love is give it away.

And as the women in the tomb, I tremble. Because who wouldn’t tremble at the feet of this Savior? At just a glimpse of all He might have planned? But I trust and I fill with Joy and Peace and I overflow with Hope just as promised.

This morning I bend low, clasp His feet. Whisper thank you that He can use my broken self to heal another and another. His love spills out and we spill over – terrified (the good kind!) and full, so full of Joy.

2011-04-21T23:38:00.000-07:00

“I don’t want to do this,” I half scream at her, half plead to God. “I don’t want to walk this path, I don’t want to be this person, I don’t want to raise this daughter who doesn’t know who she belongs to and sometimes hugs me tight but sometimes pushes me far. I don’t want to let this birth mom live with us, knowing she can leave whenever she pleases and rip these wounds wide open again. I don’t know if I can do this.”

“I don’t want to do this,” she sobs into my shoulder. “I don’t want to tell another parent that her child is dead. I don’t want to hold another baby while he struggles to hold on to life, ultimately failing. I don’t want to feel responsible when children in my care die. I can’t do it.”

We sit in the lantern light late into the night and the tears stream. We sit broken and I choke out the ugly words, words that have been there but I have been too appalled to voice, “I think sometimes, I am afraid to trust the will of God.” Ugly sin. All these shortcomings, all these iniquities, I let them flow. “I mean. I do trust Him. But sometimes I am still afraid of what He might bring next.”

We sit long and spill the ugly, inadequate tears and we let His light fill up the holes.

I murmur, thinking out loud. “God did not give me a spirit of fear… perfect love drives out fear… do not be afraid I am with you…” I know these words well; they are etched in my heart. Do I believe them? “Am I dumb enough to think that things would be better if I was in control? That things like this would not happen if I was in control?” It hits me. “If I was in control, I would not send my only child to die for this crazy world.”

I think of Him who would carry my burden. I think of a pool of blood drenching my brokenness and I can hardly stand as I think of Him bent low carrying my sin – that too heavy cross - and all of this.

He knelt in the garden and He prayed, “Abba Father, everything is possible. Take this cup from me.” (Mark 14:35)

“I don’t want to do this.” My Savior. Fully God, but fully human. He knows. He knows sorrow to the point of death, anguish and sweat like great drops of blood, this fear of what might come even at the hand of the Father. “Yet not my will but Yours,” He says. Can we follow His lead?

Yesterday we pressed the blood out of the lamb, the stench enough to make one gag. We kneaded bread free from yeast reminding us to be free from sin – only by the blood of this Savior. We are reminded to run hard from our distrust, “Not my will, Father, but yours.” We eat the bitter green and remember bitterness in life and the way our Savior has just soaked it all up. Remembering all the long way He carried those Isrealites, remembering all the long way He carried that cross, and remembering all the long way He has carried us. Oh, how He has carried us!

Now my tears flow not because I don’t want. I am crying because how can I not when I think of this life blood flowing from His side and Him in such anguish thinking of me, of all of us. I weep knowing that each time I hide my face, refuse to take this cup the Father has given me, I drive those nails deeper and He in great pain hangs there willing.

No. We wont’ hide. Today we approach this cross unworthy and we grab onto the Saviors feet and we cling tight and we let this blood cover and pool and we remember the ugly stench of our sin and we believe that when He rises Sunday we will rise with Him, He will take us by the hands and pull us with Him yet again allowing us to rise into His glory.

Daily I turn my gaze in distrust. Daily I remember the Jesus who already washed clean this mess and I fall to my knees, sorrowful and repentant. How can I not trust? And He reminds me that I must die with Him – not just that once but every single day – choosing to throw off the distrust and walk with Him in the newness of life. Daily. Hourly. Sometimes seemingly every five minutes.

Today I gaze at my Savior and I know: courage is not the absence of fear.

Courage is to say, “I am afraid,” but walk it anyway. Courage is to stand broken and limping and look into these faces around us, His faces, and say, “Not my will but yours Father.” Courage is to say, “I don’t want to do this,” but to grab tight to a slaughtered Son and let His blood pool in my sin-holes and allow Him to pull me with Him into glory.

Today we remember the moment that we were engraved into the palms of His hands and we believe that He holds us there still. Tonight, He dies and I learn to live. To live willing to spill out, spill out and let Him fill.

Praising Jesus for a sister to sit broken with.

2011-04-13T13:43:00.001-07:00

breathing deep

2011-03-25T03:04:00.000-07:00

I stand at my laptop in its corner on the kitchen counter, stew bubbling, children playing, clock ticking. I stand here and I read the prayers of friends and strangers alike who love my family enough to spend their time whispering to Him on our behalf. Tears stream and I am blown away by this love and His grace.

I look around and I type out words and layers of my heart peel back, bare on the screen. Yes, this is life, Yes, this is real, Yes this is happening.

Monday morning the gate rattled and there stood Jane and her birth mom Nancy. Evicted from their home, Jane’s leg wound still festering, and in desperate need of a shower and some love.

So we opened the gate, and my heart, a little wider.

And it hurts from the moment I wake up until the moment my head hits the pillow. And this that I once wanted – my daughter back – it’s not what I want anymore and this is not how I wanted it. Now it comes with a grouchy grown woman who doesn’t know Him and doesn’t care to love us back or take responsibility for anything. Now it comes with my four year old, confused and traumatized who calls two women Mommy and only half obeys and does things that she didn’t learn in my home and wears the wounds of the last six months on her sleeves.

But in the hard, I see the healing. In the mess of it all, I see the redemption.

One step forward. Two steps back. And He doesn’t let go. He doesn’t let go.

I spent the whole weekend trying to come up with a solution. Begging God to show me what to do. Should they live here? Should they live near by? Should I keep Jane? Should I try harder to make sure her birth mom is taking care of her and has the means to do so?

The answer is, I don’t know.

There are the obvious arguments: She has a living birthmother! Of course she should stay with her! Or. Her birthmother is obviously not caring for her, she is still bonded to you, take her, that is what is best.

The thing is, this is real life and so there is this huge gray area in the middle and that is where we are living. In the gray area. That is adoption though. Big, beautiful, scary, confusing, unnatural, redemptive, tragic, wonderful gray.

I found myself diving back into 1 Kings 17, a story I felt so strongly led to just days after Jane was taken from our home in November. Over and over this widow reminds me of whom I want to be, and the end result of provision reminds me of who my God is.

Elijah asks her to make Him some bread but the old woman does not think she has enough. Regardless, she takes the little she has and obeys. She is faithful with the little that she has already been given. And, as she remains faithful in the things she has been asked, He is faithful to provide more, exactly enough, exactly when it is needed.

I do not need to know the answer. There may very well not be one right now.

However, I do know what to do about it. Obey. Do what I know to do. Love like Jesus. Invite in the stranger, accept the outcast, live the Gospel. Be faithful with the little that is entrusted to me and watch Him be faithful in the big picture. He always provides, exactly enough, exactly when it is needed. He asks me to take this next step and I protest, “but I don’t have enough!” Not enough grace, not enough love, not enough strength, not enough time. And the widow reminds me to be faithful anyway. Of course I do not have enough. But I have Jesus and He, He is always enough.

I am faithful with little. He is faithful with much.

So we breathe in. We put one foot in front of the other. We love each other well and we laugh until we cry and sometimes we just cry but He holds us then too.

Holds us even now and knows best even now and loves these dear ones even more than I do, even now.

He who promised is faithful. Not necessarily faithful in what I want or see fit, but faithful in His promises. And He has promised to prosper and not to harm, He has promised a hope and a future. For Jane, for Nancy, for Patricia, Grace, Sumini, Joyce, Scovia, Sarah, Tibita, Hellen, Mary, Zuula, Agnes, Margaret, Prossy and even me. He has promised to give good.

So we try our best to obey, to do what we already know to do - love like Jesus, open up our home and share what He has so graciously given us, preach the Gospel with our lives, breathe Him deep this moment. We do what we can do and then we let Him take over because oh, how His power is made perfect in my weakness!

Bottom line is, I don’t really like Nancy. But I can’t help but love her, and out of love I deeply desire to spend eternity with her. And in light of eternity, nothing else matters.

So I give Jesus the trauma and the confusion and the rolling eyes and the pinching and the things that Jane says that I didn’t teach her and I smile big and I laugh hard at the gift of one more day. I give Him Nancy’s heart and Jane’s too and I thank Him for 14 pairs of flip flops again and watermelon juice on eager chins and her toothbrush back in the cup on my sink and hurt that draws us closer and a home where strangers become family.

I can trust God. I look at my life and I see the miracles and because of what I know, I can trust Him for what I don’t know. Because of what I have seen, I can trust Him when I can’t see.

And when I don’t know what else to be, I am thankful. Thankful for you and your prayers that carry us and His love, through you all, that never runs out. We covet your prayers. We SO appreciate them. He must become greater, we must become less.

2011-03-21T03:46:00.000-07:00

Wishing with all my heart right now that the internet was not the internet and was a safer place for me to share the specific cries of my heart.

Right now though, we are just asking for prayer.

I am so thankful for the Body of Christ who will lift us up during this especially difficult season.

I am so thankful for the Spirit who intercedes on my behalf before I even have the words to pray.

I am so thankful for God’s grace that never runs out and is enough for today and enough again tomorrow.

2011-03-04T00:22:00.000-08:00

“I am so old. My whole body hurts. I have suffered much,” her eyes shine with joy as she speaks, “oh, I am suffering. But whatever He wants. Whatever God wants!” And she laughs and she laughs.

We sit in our circle in the dust of a slum and we share our hearts and our prayers. Jja Ja Maria, who looks to be a hundred years old and reaches no higher than my shoulders, is the last to share.

Her life, it has been hard. She is in Jinja because she had to flee from the war in the North that tore apart her life and her family. Her son was shot last week by a soldier on the border of Uganda and Sudan and frail, little Jja Ja had made the 13 hour bus ride in the stifling heat and watched as they had lowered her last living child into the ground. The journey had taken almost a week and when she came back she found her grandchildren sick and even though her whole body ached from travel she still took them to the clinic and continued bending over her work so that she could make enough money to put food on the table. Now she is back and we are happy to embrace her and ask about her journey and ask how we can pray for her.

“What ever He wants," she chuckles.

I look at the joy that is spilling out of her wrinkled face and I repeat the words that she has spoken in my head and that doesn’t make sense. She is hurt and she is suffering and she is laughing about it and sparkling with beauty and radiating Joy.

That doesn’t make sense. Not to me. Not yet.

But she already knows what I am just learning. That even this, it is from Him. Even this, it is Holy ground. This thing that I label suffering, it is really Joy.

“Does disaster come to a city unless the Lord has planned it?” Amos 3:6

I live with these human eyes, and with these human eyes of mine I label. I label one thing as good and one thing as bad. I label moments as blessing or burden. And I forget that all this labeling, it is not my right, not my place, not mine to do. To declare what is a gift in my life and what is a curse is to eat from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, to sit in the garden full of abundance and beauty and choose the forbidden. The knowledge of good and evil, that was never intended for me. Could I, like Jja Ja Maria just quit my labeling and say, "Whatever God wants. Whatever HE wants!"

Because God IS. “I AM.” He tells Moses and still today He IS. And if every good and perfect gift is from above, and a Good and Beautiful God can create only good and beauty then these moments that I choose to label as loss and suffering, they are really good and beautiful, perfect gifts?

“See now that I, I am He, and there is no god besides Me; it is I who put to death and I who give life. I have wounded and it is I who heal.” Deuteronomy 32:29

Suffering, pain, loss, shame – all these things I have blamed on a broken world, Satan even. But can’t a broken world and even Satan only give what God allows? Suffering, pain loss and shame are only these things because I label them as such. Because I, a sinner, choose to eat from the tree, choose to turn away from nail-scarred hands and ignore the grace and miss the gift. He is beautiful and everything He creates is beautiful and if I choose to label it suffering I am choosing to miss the beauty that is freely offered me.

On Friday I got a call from Jane’s birth mom that she had gotten her leg stuck in the chain of a bicycle. Five hours later I walked into a hospital room where she lay sedated, her heel bleeding and her tendon exposed, but untouched. The nurse saw my appalled, grief twisted face and shook her head. “God is good,” she whispered. “God's grace...She could have lost that foot.”

“God’s grace,” I thought, and I wondered what if she had? What if the tendon had been ripped clean through and she never were to walk again? What of when she was ripped from my life and left with a woman who doesn’t even care to supervise her and so she lays here hurt and bleeding and so far, far away from me?

What if God’s grace is not when He saves us, but that He saved us.

“Surely, just as I have intended, so it has happened and just as I have planned so it will stand.” Isaiah 14:24

Just as He intended. Even this, planned by God.

And if this is what He intended (and it is), then that means that every moment – the moment when my daughter’s tiny fingers were pried from around my neck, the moment in that hospital room, the moments when I hold babies and watch as they breathe their last and their mothers crumple to the floor and the moment when a dear grandmother hears that her son has been shot, and the moments when the laundry piles over my head and the children bicker and hurts from their past make them do the unspeakable and I don’t even know how to parent – every moment is His grace, a gift. Could I look and say, "whatever He wants, this is my gift for today."

God, who is Good and who is Beauty, and who saved us, even me undeserving, He can only give grace.

And I have a choice. I can let those wounded hands pull me close and I can choose to see the grace in this moment or I can again label, choosing to ignore the gift.

I see it deep in Jja Ja’s eyes, she knows. Even this suffering, He did this. He did this, not because He doesn’t know the ache – He does. He did this, a gift to me.

For the good of me. For the good of her. For the good of us, those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. For the good of all this world and the glory that is His.

And I know in that moment, I can choose to label the ripped open heel and the ripped open family or I can choose to count it as a gift, God’s grace. And the beauty is not in the circumstance or the label but the fact that in His graciousness He is here with me anyway, regardless of the circumstance or the way I choose to view it. The grace of being near to Him in trial, as long as I can chose to see it, is certainly the greatest grace of all.

This is what Jja Ja knows and this is what I am learning. God’s grace is not blessing, earthly reassure, our security or even the security of our children. God’s grace is not that all is “well” and right in my eyes. God’s grace is not when He saves us but that He saved us.

Here I am face to face with Jesus in the dirt and all I have to do is choose to see, accept the grace offered freely. His compassion and His mercy, this Grace, it never fails. Each moment each breath, is a gift simply and only because I get to spend it with Him.

Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23

Whatever He wants. And I am thankful.

** Ps. I am reading this FABULOUS book that is healing my heart and helping me to see more clearly. One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. If you don't have a copy, you should get one, TODAY and prepare for your view of life to be forever altered - for the better.

2011-02-17T04:38:00.000-08:00

“Jesus! Mama, baby Jesus! I want to see! I want to see Jesus!,” shrieks my littlest darling.

How can I refuse? I lift her, for what seems like the hundredth time this morning, to the manger scene on the living room bookshelf. She gazes in wonder, oohs and ahs, gingerlyfingering the cornhusk baby in his twig and banana fiber trough.

“Jesus, Mama,” she whispers.

And so, the nativity scene that once was packed away each year after Christmas remains on the bookshelf still, because my darling baby, in all her wondrous excitement reminds me daily of who I want to be, the kind of life I want to live.

A wide-eyed, expectant child, gazing in wonder on a beautiful Savior.

In the middle of a broken, sin-crushed world, my soul cries out, “I want to see! I want to see Jesus!”

I want to see Jesus.

My darling Karimojong sister Maria, who is battling severe, gripping alcoholism, and her sweet baby are living with us still. People wonder, even gasp, that I would let her join us at our table. Isn’t she a poor example? Why would I subject my girls to that?

I want to see Jesus.

Newborn baby Noah snuggles to my chest as his mother lays dying in a hospital bed. He cried through the night and I feed him and kiss his pink toes and pray over his little life. Why do I do it? Don’t I have my hands full enough already?

I want to see Jesus.

Zulaika, her severely malnourished baby and her 8 year old daughter move into our home while we teach Zulaika how to care for her children and find her a job so she can continue to do so. They have lice. They do not bathe. Fear creeps up the back of my throat and I wonder, what if all my children get sick? But we have taken in sick people before, and each time He hedges us in protection. People ask, do I feel that I am being responsible?

I want to see Jesus.

Jane and her birth mom spend the weekend in our guest room. I figure if I cannot parent this my daughter, the least I can do is teach her mother about our Savior, invest time in their lives, pray over them while we love them. My heart breaks in two as her high pitched, breathy giggle once more fills my home and the pain threatens to paralyze me, but I won't let it.

I want to see Jesus.

Strangers eat at our table, bathe in our showers, sleep in our beds, share our everything. And I fleetingly wonder if it wouldn’t be better for my girls if I maintained some semblance of normal, but He shows me that HIS definition of family is not at all limited by my own.

I want to see Jesus.

I want to see Jesus and if I don’t step out, how can He come in? If I don’t give all of myself, my home, even my family, how will He be magnified?

Do I want my children to be safe? Absolutely. Do I want them to have a “normal” family dinner sometimes and be healthy and not be subject to the rage of an alcoholic or the hurt of friends dying and siblings leaving? Of course. But more than that I want to take a cue from my baby girl.

I want to whisper to them excitedly each morning, “Look, Jesus.”

I want them to see Jesus. In my life. In my actions. Lifted High. Magnified. In our neighbors, no matter how sick or dirty. In our home.

I want the best for my children, I do. And I believe with all my heart what is best is for them to have a mother – a crazy mother even – wide-eyed in wonder, recklessly chasing after her Savior.

More of Him. We want to see Jesus.

Today, we remember...

2011-01-28T04:11:00.000-08:00

“Mommmyyyy!” I heard a yell as I bounced quickly along the pitted road that leads to our program in my 16-passenger van. I stopped quickly, turning the van around to go back for Prossy who had been walking home to get something.

“How did you see her?” said my Dad who was visiting at the time.

“I didn’t! I heard her yell, ‘Mommy’” I replied.

“But everyone calls you Mommy. Even people we don’t know call you that around here,” Dad questioned.

“Yea, but I know when it’s mine.” I explained matter of factly..

And then I thought about what I had said and tears began to well. How incredible, what God has done for me. For us. It is true, hundreds of people in this area call me Mommy. Even people who I have not met before recognize me as the woman who cares for the children in this area and call me Mommy before even having made my acquaintance. On any given day, I can drive down the road between my home and Buziika and if it is the right time, when kids are heading home from school, I will hear “Mommy! Mommy!” being shouted about every two seconds as I pass all the children on the road. I smile, as I hear them yell, Mommy.

But for 14 “Mommy”s, I stop. I can hear the difference. I know.

My family is all things unconventional. But it is real. Real because God has knit our hearts together in a way that only He can and real because no matter what anyone says or thinks, I am their Mommy, and they are mine.

Three years ago a doe eyed 5 years old looked at me and asked, “Can I call you Mommy?” And life changed forever.

I wrote then:

She called me, “Mommy.”

My heart swelled up into my throat. I have only known these little people 4 weeks and I feel a love for them that is different than my love for anyone else. This is love that wants to protect, and comfort and take away all pain. Thisis a love that consumes my every move. She called me, “Mommy.”

Could it be that the God of the universe would choose little inadequate me to be the mother of these three beauties? Yes. Dear blog world, I am officially a mother.

Sometimes God gives me these assignments, and I wonder if He knows what He is doing. Shouldn't He choose someone older, or at least wiser? Someone smarter or more patient or.. something. But I offer all that I have to the greatness of His plan.

Our God is a God of miracles. About an hour ago, my oldest daughter was discharged from the hospital with the diagnosis of a broken collarbone and some soft tissue damage. Of all things that could have happened to her (she was under a brick wall for goodness sake!) she has only these injuries, both of which will heal just fine with sometime and care. Tonight she will spend her first night with her sisters at my house. Unfortunately, my bed was crammed enough last night with only myself and two of my girls in it, there is no way all three of us will fit in there. So they will sleep in their very own room across the hall.

Today after church we went out to lunch and Scovia andMary tasted ice cream for the first time. The faces they made were priceless; I guess they didn’t expect it to be so cold. They also discovered the joy of the bathtub a few days ago, and I think they have taken about twenty baths since they havemoved in.

Maybe I will never sleep past 7:00 in the morning and maybe I will never have time to brush my hair and maybe I will never be able to eat a full meal without getting up anddown a million times. It’s worth it. Maybe it will always take me twice as long to do everything and maybe I will never have a really clean house and maybe my days of staying out late with friends are over. It’s worth it. Anything I have togive up is worth just that one minute when they look at me and call me, “Mom,” when those little hands grab mine and those big eyes look at me as if I hold the keys to the world. It’s worth it.

Because I have finally fulfilled the stipulation of the law that a foster parent live with their children for 3 years before they are granted an adoption order, and because I have finally finished writing the book which will allow me to pay for these adoptions, we have filed our court paperwork and are waiting on a date. So soon, we will all be related on paper! I will no longer be their ‘foster mother’ or their ‘legal guardian’ but their on-paper, real-deal, adoptive MOM! Legally, this means very little is different, and to my heart it means nothing, I have already been their mom there for ages. Still, it feels like a milestone and I wanted to share so that you could praise God with me.

I don’t have many words. I look at my life, at how far we have come since that first morning when Scovia called me Mommy, I look at my daughters, and I AM THANKFUL.

2008...

Today...

He sets the solitary in families...

If you have never considered the miracle of adoption, I would highly reccomend it.

In 2010...

2011-01-08T05:51:00.000-08:00

We loved a lot...

and we laughed a lot.

We had the privilege of teaching people about our Savior, Jesus!

Amazima began work on the new fellowship site. It is now complete with toilets, a kitchen, a chapel, and a playground where all our children laugh, eat, play and learn about Jesus!

Joyce turned 7. I love watching her grow and delight in her tender heart and sensitive, compassionate spirit!

We all had the chicken pox.

We made new friends

Margaret turned 12. JOY just shines out of this precious girl.

Hope came to live with us.

Tibita turned 9. Such an awesome helper and encourager of her sisters!

We tried some new things.

Sweet Jjajja Grace was getting sicker. So we moved her in next door so we could care for her better.

She had active tuberculosis. But that didn't stop my girls from wanting to love on her!

Patricia and I visited friends and family in America.

Zuula turned 11. Her gentle spirit is a blessing to all she meets.

Gwen came to visit, twice! And took her babies HOME!

Napongo and Alapea came to live with us for a bit while we nurse Napongo back to health.

We learned to fish.

Papa (Daddy to me) came to visit!

Scovia turned 8. This girl's spirit is CONTAGIOUS. When she laughs, she laughs with her entire body. She is a light.

Our dog had puppies.

Sarah turned 9. Her sweet spirit and her wildly creative imagination blow me away every day!

We started homeschool and LOVE every minute!

Sumini turned 7. To think she was once my baby! She is such a joy - always full of hugs and smiles and energy!

Sweet Jja jja Grace went to live with Jesus.

Agnes turned 12. I am so proud of the leader she is becoming. She reminds me so much of 12 year old me! Can't wait to see what God has in store for her!

We finally ALL know how to swim. This makes pool days much more relaxing for Mommy.

Hellen turned ten. She can make me laugh even on the hardest days.

Amazima continues to grow!

Our dog had puppies. again.

Jane and Grace turned 4. I know that God has marvelous plans for these two little angels!

We finished the playground!

Patricia turned 2. And was still as sassy as ever.

Prossy turned 15! So blessed by my oldest daughter! What a beautiful leader.

Maria and baby Agnes came to live with us

Auntie Shana was still the best baby sitter ever.

Jjaja came to visit. She is such a blessing to us!

Mary turned 10! Love her humble heart and her awesome faith in Jesus.

I had to upgrade to a bigger pot to cook the stew in... too many people living at our house! I'm so blessed to have lots of help in the kitchen.

Some things happened that we do not understand. We miss out sister every day.

Amazima kept right on growing. Awesome children and awesome staff, thank you Jesus!

baby Winnie came to stay for a while.

His love carries us through.

I will extol the LORD at all times;
his praise will always be on my lips.
I will glory in the LORD;
let the afflicted hear and rejoice.
Glorify the LORD with me;
let us exalt his name together.

I sought the LORD, and he answered me;
he delivered me from all my fears.
Those who look to him are radiant;
their faces are never covered with shame.
This poor man called, and the LORD heard him;
he saved him out of all his troubles.
The angel of the LORD encamps around those who fear him,
and he delivers them.

Taste and see that the LORD is good;
blessed is the one who takes refuge in him.

Psalm 34:1 - 9

2010-12-22T12:02:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas!

hold the ones you love

Always Enough

2010-12-06T04:06:00.000-08:00

I hear the desperation in her rough, scratchy voice, see the bags under her eyes as she wearily replies to the prophet, “I don’t have any bread – only a handful of flour in the jar and a little olive oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take home and make a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it and die."

I know this kind of desperation.

But the prophet knows more. And he says to her, “ Don’t be afraid. Go home and do as you have said, but first make a small loaf of bread for me from what you have and bring it to me. and then make something for yourself and your son. For this is what the LORD, the God of Israel, says: ‘The jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry until the day the LORD sends rain on the land.’”

So she went. And she did exactly what he said.

Do I know this kind of trust?

To Hope, when nothing seems to make sense. To Know that He knows best, even when what He is asking of me seems impossible.

I don't know much, but I am learning, and God is showing me this: I beg Him to bring me close to His heart. Orphans get us close, this is how He sees us. Adoption gets us close, this is how He brings us into His family. The poor, the widow, the prisoner, the beggar, they get us so close to His heart, these people are dear to Him. But nothing gets us closer than injustice. I think of a Savior, who spent His whole life doing nothing but good - saving and healing and feeding and helping - dying on a cross like a thief or a murderer. A Father, a Father who desires good things for His children even more than I want good things for mine, a Father who could have stopped it at any time, watched it happen. For me. For you. And I weep at the injustice of it. And I think that while NO part of me wants to be here, not at all, this is where I asked to be. Closer and closer and closer to His heart. He knows this pain. He knows what it is to lose a child to the injustice of a broken world. And so while I still cry and beat my fists on the floor, I find comfort in that, and ask to be closer still.

The ending of this story is Redemption. As is the ending of ours as we continue to place our hope in Him.

This weekend we put up the tree that has watched our family grow year after year. We still hung 14 angels on the tree. We still have 14 stockings. Only 13 sets of little hands helped make our tree glitter, but still 14 places are notched out in my heart.

Amy Grant sang in the background, “do you wonder, as you watch my face, if a wiser one should have had my place? But I offer all I am for the mercy of your plan.”

I think of Mary. Young. Tired. Alone. Completely unable to understand why this would be his plan for her. Chosen. Carrying our Savior into this broken world.

Jesus is coming. And I am young, and tired, and completely unable to understand why this is happening. But I am chosen, instructed to carry the story of our Savior, to shine His light into a broken world. His love and His strength, they will not run dry until He gets here, fresh rain on a parched land. And I wait in hope for Him.

“So there was food every day for Elijah and for the woman and her family. For the jar of flour was not used up and the jug of oil did not run dry, in keeping with the word of the LORD spoken by Elijah.”

Always enough.

2010-11-02T05:01:00.000-07:00

I’ve written this in my head a thousand times. A thousand times, words have failed.

For over a year, I have been mom to 14. Today, my heart is still in love with 14 beautiful little girls, but only 13 of them are in my home. Only 13 are sitting at my table for breakfast. Only 13 are being reminded to brush their teeth. Only 13 are putting on pjs and being tucked snug in bed. Today, only 13 little voices are screaming “happy birthday” to me.

The story is long and intense and messy. And right now, the story is ours to keep and to process. In short, Jane’s birthmother who abandoned her with an auntie when she was just a baby, showed up wanting her child. Obviously, my heart doubted that this would be the best thing for my baby – she’s been mine for two years and was completely uncared for before that. We had everything in our favor. We had all the proof, everything on our side. And custody was granted to the birthmother. It involved horrible things like seeing my baby with her formerly soft shiny hair filthy and matted together and driving six hours home to tell her “twin” sister and the others that she would not be coming home. There were moments that I thought I wouldn’t breathe again, and there still are.

I was so proud of my baby girl. She was so brave. So big. So beautiful. She stuck a flower in her hair and entertained her baby sister while lawyers argued. She held her head high and she tried to smile. She shared her ice cream with anyone who wanted some. She told me not to cry, that it would be ok. She is only 4. I am so proud of her, my baby. So strong.

The Lord is here and He is telling me things and a part of me just doesn’t want to listen. I do not want to be this person. I do not want to be a woman who has to grieve the loss of her child. I do not want to have to walk my children through the sorrow and the trauma of losing a sister. And here I am. I do not want to get out of bed and I do not want to breathe. But I will. I do. For thirteen more.

I looked at her as I walked away and I knew the Lord was telling me that we loved her back to life. I knew He was telling me that she knows His love and that He will go with her where I can’t. We stood in the gap for Jane. We spoke up for her when she could not speak up for herself. I fought. So I trust. I cling to His promises. I believe Him.

People have been praying. So many people praying so hard. And I thank you from the very bottom of my heart. I can feel it. I don’t want to feel at peace, I want to crumple on the floor, but I feel my arms being lifted. I know that the loss of a sister will mold and shape each one of my children, but I know the way their mother reacts to it will too. So we sit on the floor and we squeeze each other’s hands and we cry and we beg God for mercy. We beg and plead for Him to keep our little sister safe, happy and strong. We praise Him because He is God, because He knit this family together, because we know and believe that He will be glorified. We ask for your continued prayers. For precious Jane. For us. For what, I am not exactly sure. We will all grieve differently and need differently and God will meet these needs according to his glorious riches. He has already started. I wrote last that my family wants to go to the hard places for Jesus. I had no idea the hard place He was going to take us to. Still, our only desire is that He be glorified.

14 pairs of sandals. 14 church dresses. 14 twin beds. Jesus, fill this emptiness.

I will choose praise. I will choose thanks. I will choose today to put one foot in front of the other with 13 in my home and 14 in my heart.

For with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge, the more grief. Ecclesiastes 1:18

2010-09-28T04:54:00.000-07:00

For it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe on him, but also to suffer for him. Philippians 1:29

In May I stood in front of a crowd of 500 people and spoke of our sweet adopted grandmother, Grace:

“Grace is an 80 year old woman, blind and all alone. The cold rain drips through her grass thatched roof and onto her face which she covers with a plastic bag. AIDS makes it impossible for her body to fight off any illness, including the tuberculosis that is wreaking havock on her already-emaciated frame. Malnutrition makes it impossible for her to even sit, let alone walk.

Today, Grace is an 80 year old woman loved by many, and loving the Lord with her whole heart. She is warm in her hospital bed. With the help of medicine and Jesus, Grace has gained weight, partially regained her sight, and is able to stand up to greet me. Today, Grace is still dying. But today Grace is dying with dignity, with love surrounding her, and with a place prepared for her in Heaven.”

In June, just a week after I came home from my time in the states, Grace went to that place prepared for her. Though still warm in her hospital bed, she had once again deteriorated to being unable to even hold up her head. She could barely speak, but rather just groaned or moaned to let you know she could hear you, that she was still here. I was able to be with her just hours before she went to be with Jesus. Her poor little body simply could not fight anymore. As I held her hand in those last hours, I w

hispered to her not to be afraid. That even though she was in immense pain, Jesus had not forgotten, He was preparing her place and soon she would be with Him forever. As I spoke the words into her ear, my heart said a silent prayer, “Soon Lord. Quickly Lord. Please. Please, please.”

Selfishly, I was devastated by her death. Selfishly, I hated having to tell me sweet little girls that there beloved grandmother was no longer here. Selfishly, I miss her sweet, hilarious personality and her kisses and her whispers in my ear. But more than I am sad, I am so thankful for our time with her. I am thankful for what we learned from her and what she learned from us. I am so thankful that God brought her into our family. And I am beyond thankful that she is now safe with Him.

A few weeks after we lost our sweet Jja jja, another friend joined us in our home. Napongo was a severely malnourished, HIV positive, beautiful 4 year old little girl. She had huge, infected wounds on her stomach that was swollen and distended from malnutrition and parasites. It is a common belief here that if you make many small incisions on a child’s stomach and rub local herbs and salt in them, that the swelling will reduce. Obviously this doesn’t work and had left napongo covered in nasty, oozing cuts. At first, I tried giving her 14 year old Auntie (who also happened to be Napongo’s primary care giver while her mother had gone to the big city to look for work) the medicine Napongo needed, clean bandages for her jigger infested feet and infected belly, and nutritious food. When I came back a week later to check on her though, I only found her condition worse. I think I don’t really need to tell you what happened next – we took her home, along with her 9 year old sister Alapea to be our translator since none of us speak Karimojong. (we are learning though!)

Napongo’s is a beautiful story of redemption, healing, and God’s incredible grace. I spent hours upon hours digging the jiggers out that had burrowed deep into the girls’ feet. My sweet children welcomed Napongo and Alapea with open arms and we fed them and loved them just as much as we could. Napongo was put on medicine and began gaining weight rapidly, turning into a healthy, happy 4 year old. Unfortunately, she never quite learned to use the toilet, and I am forever indebted to my children for helping me clean up all the poop left in all corners of the house. Today, Napongo is back at home. Her mother has returned from Kampala and is surprised to see how well she is doing. So far, she seems to be doing a great job of maintaining her care, which is such an answered prayer.

During the time we were caring for Napongo, my sweet friend Ashley lost her daughter to a sudden and unexpected bout with pneumonia. Just days later, my good friend Santina gave birth to a beautiful baby and as I sat on her dirt floor, covered in afterbirth and cradling this precious little life, she announced that she would like to name her daughter Katie. A few days later, my friend Kodette also had a baby, but the baby was almost 3 months early, and after being refused treatment at three different hospitals because of her tribe, this baby girl also went to be with Jesus.

Suffering. Rejoicing. Squalor. Beauty. Love. Pain.

If you have been keeping up with my blog you read about 23 year old Nabakosa, who my friend Renee was nursing and who I promptly fell in love with. Her death just 12 days later was far more devataing that the death of Jja Jja Grace. Of course, I was still rejoicing that Nabakosa, who had lived such a life of neglect and despair was once again with her maker, dancing with angel. But I was also infuriated at how preventable her situation was. She was in her awful state ONLY because no one had cared for her. No one had loved her. No one had even given her a second thought. Just typing it causes me to weep – to have no human interaction, touch or love for almost 23 years is simply unfathomable. My precious children spent hours sitting on our kitchen floor praying for Nabukosa when we were not at Renee’s loving on her. She had such a special place in her heart. When she died, I looked at God and plainly told Him that I was tired of this. Tired of telling telling my children that another one of their friends had died of something preventable. Tired of witnessing the suffering of these precious innocent people and wondering why God didn’t bring them to us sooner so we could do more to help. Trusting in His perfect plan but still wondering.

Today 20 year-old Maria and her 6 pound, 2 year old, beautiful baby girl Agnes are staying with us. Maria brought Agnes to me on death’s doorstep a month and a half ago and asked if I had any medicine that could help her because the baby she had before Agnes died a few years ago. I knew this baby needed a whole lot more than medicine, so we brought them home where I could monitor baby Agnes and teach Maria to make high fat milk and other things that are nutritious for her baby. Our whole family absolutely adores Agnes and Maria and Agnes has gained almost 4 pounds since being here. Most exciting is that Maria has been listening to the Bible read in Karimojong! She carries her “proclaimer” (a little radio-like device that proclaims the Bible in different remote languages) around with her everywhere – there is constantly a man’s voices shouting the Gospel in Karimojong through my house at maximum volume. I cannot wait to see what the Lord will do in her heart.

Today I drove into Masese with my van full of singing children only to find that my dear friend Mary had lost the baby she has been carrying for 7 months. Jja Jja Ruth passed away after she was sent home from the hospital where they said there was nothing more to do. Patricia’s biological sister Shariwa is about to lose her baby to the worst case of malnutrition I have ever seen because she stopped prostituting her self when she came to know Jesus 6 months ago, and now has no money for food. They will live with us now while we nurse the baby back to health and look for a job for momma.

I would like to tell you that as I become more and more surrounded with sorrow and squalor, it gets easier or less painful. But it doesn’t. The brokenness of this world does not become any less sad. Each and every time, it is overwhelmingly devastating that people have to live, and die, like this. While it does not get easier, I have found that I am able to face each one with a little more hope. I always hope that my friends will live here on earth with me, but I tell them all with a new sense of urgency about Jesus because mostly, I want them to live with HIM, whether here or in heaven. I see the sadness, but I also see the redemption.

If we are really following Jesus, we will go to the hard places. Being a Christ follower means being acquainted with sorrow. Because we must know sorrow to be able to fully appreciate Joy. Joy costs pain, but the pain is worth it.

So we go. This is where our family is today and where I hope to stay – loving, because He first loved us. Going into the pit, entering into the sorrow because He entered for us first and because by His grace, redemption is on the other side - again, and again, and again.

2010-08-23T06:07:00.000-07:00

I have been sitting here staring at my computer screen for ten minutes trying to come up with adequate words to describe to you my dear friend Renee. But there just simply aren’t any words good enough. She emulates the heart of Christ more than anyone I have ever met. It is always a blessing to be in her presence and to call her my friend.

Renee lives with purpose. She is intentional about loving people with the love of Christ. She stops for one person and loves that person as if they were Christ Himself in her living room. She spends her days nurturing children who we all swear will surely die back to health, preparing awful smelling high calorie milk, and mopping vomit up off the floor and herself. And she doesn’t complain. Because she knows she is doing it for Jesus. My childhood hero was Mother Teresa. My today hero is Renee, because she might as well be Mother Teresa, just without the outfit and all the publicity. Renee is the kind of person I want to be when I grow up.

Nabakoza and Betty who I blogged about earlier are both in her care and because of that, and my trust in an incredible Savior, I have every reason to believe that they will not only survive, but thrive. Renee is daily doing the impossible, because she follows Jesus into situations that only He can get her out of. My children and I just love watching people come alive under her care.

Renee runs Serving His Children, a non profit ministry that predominantly rehabilitates severely malnourished children while also teaching the children’s mothers or family members to care for them. They visit these mothers both during and after the child’s stay at the SHC house. Most of these children are so sick because they live in remote villages where healthcare is inadequate, that is, if it is even available.. Because of this, Serving His Children does a lot of medical and HIV treatment in these villages.

All of this work requires a lot of traveling, as the villages are usually several hours away from Renee’s house. It requires a dependable vehicle that can handle the insanely bumpy dirt roads of Uganda that often turn into a swamp when it rains. My point: Renee needs a car. And good one. The kind we are looking for costs between 10 and 12 thousand dollars that Serving His Children currently just doesn’t have. All the resources that they do have are spent on food and medicine for these precious children that Renee cares for and their communities.

If I could, I would buy Renee a car tomorrow. But I am asking for your help. I cannot think of any organization I would rather give to, or any individual I would rather support. You can donate and learn more at www.servinghischildreninuganda.blogspot.com or www.servinghischildren.org or you can click that little button right there on the sidebar and donate here noting Renee’s car.

I can’t wait to see God move here…

Also, Nabakoza is improving TREMNDOUSLY. It is nothing short of a miracle, and no doubt due to Renee and Shana’s devoted, round the clock care and a God who more awesome than I can fathom. I am so blessed to call these incredible ladies two of my best friends!

Just in case you were getting too comfortable...

2010-08-18T10:15:00.000-07:00

Poverty and squalor and disease and desolation are REAL.

They have names. And faces that stare back and hands that squeeze mine tight.

They are beautiful people in need of REAL love.

This is Betty.

This is Nabakoza.

They are real people. They are my friends. They are God's children.

Please pray specifically for Nabakoza as she may be nearing the end of her life. At 23, she weighs just 37 pounds (not typos.) She has been severely neglected all her life. My sweet friends Renee and Shana drove 2 hours to the hospital in Kampala only to be told that they would not take her, she was too far gone. After trying four different hospitals, all claiming they couldn't help, they brought her home where we are just trying to keep her warm and cuddled and covered with the love of Jesus. She undoubtedly has been loved on more in the last 4 days than she has been ever in her life. We are so thankful for the opportunity to tell her that Jesus feels her pain, sits here with her, and loves her beyond what she can imagine.

for more of the story and updates on Nabakoza, check out Renee's blog www.servinghischildreninuganda.blogspot.com

teenagers and a lesson from Jacob.

2010-08-02T05:47:00.000-07:00

I come to you humbly asking for prayer. Especially for my three oldest daughters, and for wisdom for me! All mommas know it: teenagers are hard. Three teenage girls are harder. Three teenage girls from different tribes and cultures and pasts trying to live together in one bedroom are harder still.

In an effort to be real, I want to tell you. Adoption is wonderful and beautiful and the greatest blessing I have ever experienced. Adoption is also HARD and painful. Adoption of older children is a beautiful picture of redemption. It is the GOSPEL in my living room. And some times, it just stinks.

As a parent, it stinks to not know when your daughter took her first steps or what her first word was or what she looked like in Kindergarten. It stinks not to know where she slept and whose shoulder she cried on and what the scar on her eyebrow is from. It stinks to know that for ten years of her precious life you were NOT the shoulder she cried on or the Mommy she hugged.

As a child, it stinks to remember your biological parents’ death, not matter how much you love your new Mom. It stinks to have your mom be a different color than you because, inevitably, people are going to ask why. It stinks that your Mom wasn’t there for all the times you had no dinner and all the times you were sick and all the times you needed help with your homework. It stinks when you have to make up your birthday. It skinks when you can’t understand the concept of being a family forever because your first family wasn’t forever.

And every single day, it is worth it. Because ADOPTION IS GOD’S HEART. He sets the lonely in families. Adoption is the reason that I can come before God’s throne and beg Him for mercy, because He predestined me to be adopted as His child through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will— to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves.

My family, adopting these children, it is not optional. It is not my good deed for the day, it is not what I am doing to “help these poor kids out.” I adopt because God commands me to care for the orphans and the widows in their distress. I adopt because to whom much has been given, much will be demanded. I adopt because whoever finds his life will lose it but whoever loses his life for HIS sake will find it.

Some days, my friends, it is not easy. Today, it is not easy. The HURT in my daughters’ hearts is big and real and as their mother, I want to fix it and know that I CAN’T. So I lay it at the feet of my Father and rejoice to know that if we are children, then we are heirs - of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in His sufferings - in order that we may also share in His glory. And I call out to the Holy Spirit knowing that He is able to save completely those who come to God through Him, because He always lives to intercede for us.

A sweet friend pointed me yesterday to Genesis Chapter 33. Esau and Jacob are meeting for the first time in a long time. As Jacob approaches Esau, with his many children following close behind, Esau asks, “ And who are these with you?”

Jacob’s reply: “These are the children that the Lord saw fit to bless me with.”

We get all the questions. “Why do you do it?” “Why so many?” “How in the world…” “Why these specific girls?” “Why the number 14?” “Do you think its ok to adopt as a single Mother? Don’t they need a father too?” “Do you think they will have issues since you are not the same race?” We also get the compliments. “I don’t know how you do it!” “Good job!” “You must be so responsible!” “Your girls must be so well behaved.” We get crazy stares and huge smiles and every look in between.

Adoption is beautiful. Adoption is hard. Adoption is the Gospel of Christ and the promise of God’s love and redemption lived out in our lives. So I ask for your prayers. Prayers for understanding and peace and trust and the power of God that is more than all I can ask or imagine. And to the questions and the comments and the compliments, this is my reply: “These are the children that the Lord saw fit to bless me with.”

2010-06-28T07:29:00.000-07:00

The king's heart is in the hands of the Lord, He directs it wherever he pleases... Proverbs 21:1

I have never been one of those people who enjoys taking a vacation from her children. Don't get me wrong, nap time if absolutely wonderful and even necessary for my sanity, but after a couple of hours of being away from my children, I find myself missing then and ready to be home. A 7 hour school day nearly kills me! Quite possibly this is because so much of my children's lives, especially the older ones have been spent away from me and now I want to soak up every minute. Possibly, it is just because God wired me this way, craving noise and bustle, loving so deeply that I physically ache to be away from those I love.

You can imagine then, that fundraising trips to the US, though brief, are quite a struggle! Don't get me wrong, I LOVE seeing my family and friends, but I simply dread being away from my precious ones for weeks at a time. Last summer when I was in the states, I was so distraught about being away from Gracie (who was the youngest at the time and needed the most mommy love) that I got shingles!

I couldn't stand the thought of leaving Patricia for three whole weeks since she is not even old enough to understand the concept of Mommy coming right back. I knew it would be nearly impossible to get a visa for her though. I knew all kinds of people waiting for visas and others whose visas to the US had been denied. It seemed like a shot in the dark but I was determined to try, and pray, anyway.

I was finally granted Patricia's legal guardian in Ugandan court on April 12, just a month before I was scheduled to leave for the states. I immediately went online to try to book a visa appointment. There were no available appointments until September! Surely not I emailed every address I could find on the website asking if there was anything I could do to expedite the appointment and heard nothing. Each time I called the embassy, I was told the same thing byte the receptionist. She was always very kind, but the answer was, "You must make your appointment online." Other times the person on the other end of the phone would ask if it was an emergency, but I couldn't lie. I selfishly wanted to take my baby with me on a trip, but we weren't having brain surgery. So I just kept telling them that I was coming right back and just really wanted her to visit my family in the states.

The answer was always No.

Not being one to give up easily, Monday morning Patricia and I drove to the embassy. Surely once we got there they would have to give us an appointment! There were only 2 weeks left until we were scheduled to leave. I prayed the whole 2 hour drive to Kampala. Upon arriving and telling the same story to the outside receptionist who unlocks the doors, he just looked at me. "You cannot come in," he said. This was not what I had expected. I stood there stunned, this had been my one remaining hope. I stood there a few minutes longer and he reached his hand under the bullet proof glass that was separating us to hand me a phone. Bewildered I answered only to have the inside receptionist who I had spoken to the week before on the phone reiterate that I was not allowed to come inside. I got it. As I stood there a few minutes, staring blankly and going over the trip back home and a possible stop to get Patricia lunch in my head, the receptionist must have had pity on me. Or he was tired of me standing there looking stunned. Rolling his eyes, he unlocked the door to let me in. Quick to seize any opportunity, we slipped inside. Once we got in though, we still weren't allowed to see anyone. We were simply told by a different man that I needed to try to make an appointment online or email the consular. I was almost in tears as I tried to explain that I had already done that many times.

Granted, none of this was the embassy's fault. They were doing their job for people who had made online appointments well in advance.. But desperate Momma's can do some desperate things!

We drove home feeling defeated and I frantically texted my dad and sweet prayer warrior friend Cindy to ask them to pray and also ask if there was anyone they could contact in the states that could help. They promised to look into it. On the way home from the embassy, I stopped at immigration to pick up Patricia's passport which was due to be ready that morning. Since we hadn't had any luck at the embassy though, I didn't worry when it wasn't finished.

We finally arrived home around 4 and at 6 my phone rang. "Ms. Davis, Patricia's visa appointment is scheduled for 9 am tomorrow." I gasped into the phone, but the woman had already hung up. I texted Cindy and Dad to ask what they had done or who they had talked to and got the same reply, " Sorry Kate, I haven't gotten around to contacting anyone yet!" Of course! I couldn't help but laugh. Only God had granted us this appointment!

As I got over my initial excitement though, I remembered. Patricia's passport wasn't finished like it was supposed to be. You cannot even get into the embassy, let alone have a visa appointment without a passport. They were going to think I was nuts! Frantic once again, I called my good friend Tyler who was in Kampala for the night. He would wait at the passport office for it to open the next mooring and bring the passport to the embassy as soon as it was finished.

This story could last forever if I kept sharing every detail, but it was all SO God oriented. I'll try to simplify. A million more things went wrong. People's hearts were obviously going to be changed by meeting Patricia in the states because satan clearly did not want her there and did not want God's hand seen in this process! Tyler showed up with the passport just as our appointment was set to start, but we needed to fill out an online form with the passport information before they would see us so we headed to the embassy library. I filled out the form at least 9 times, but ever time I would hit the print button, nothing would come out. I used 4 different computers and the library tech guy even came to help me; no one could figure it out. Other papers were printing fine, but for some reason Patricia's visa application would not. At about 11:45 (appointments end at noon) a sweet embassy worker who had seen my frustration let me come use the computer in her private office where we finally got the form printed, only to get to the reception desk and be told that for the visa application they needed a VISA sized photo (has anyone ever heard of that?) not the passport sized photos I had brought (there is about an eight of an inch difference) and they could not see me. "Come back Thursday," the receptionist instructed. Feeling defeated and lugging a hungry almost-two year old who had skipped her nap, I trudged home.

Thursday I woke while it was still dark. I wanted to be the first person at the embassy, just in case our day was a crazy as Tuesday. Of course it was pouring. Our van got stuck in the mud more than once and I, in my white dress (don't have a clue what I was thinking when I put it on), hopped out to push - we were NOT missing this appointment for anything! Once again I prayed and prayed the whole way there that i would have everything I needed and that Jesus would fill the room with peace and understanding. We finally arrived as the embassy was opening. Totally nervous after being warned repeatedly about how difficult the appointment would be, I had brought every piece of paperwork the consular possibly could have asked for and then some. After a three hour wait, it was our turn.

And the consular was absolutely the sweetest woman ever. She complimented Patricia and asked a few questions; she smiled and nodded understandingly as I explained my desire to take her with me. And then she said, "Her visa will be ready tomorrow; have a great trip!" JUST. LIKE. THAT.

I walked out of that office not sure whether to laugh or cry. All the things I had heard, all the papers I had prepared, all the insane obstacles, the hopelessness of the whole situation - the visa would be ready tomorrow! I didn't even mind making the two hour trip back on Friday, I was so thankful! And on May 1, just ten days before we were scheduled to leave, I had Patricia's visa in my hand, a visa I should not have even been able to interview for till September.

We had a marvelous time in the states with my parents and brother, and I think that seeing Patricia definitely changed some hearts. We feel so blessed to have been able to visit, and SO thrilled to be back at home with the ladies! So many people asked me if my other girls were jealous that Patricia got to come, but I can honestly say no; they were praying so hard that she would be able to come with me, "so she wouldn't be sad" and were elated when their prayer was answered. Not to mention that they love Auntie Shana (our AWESOME babysitter) so much and are SO excited to see her once or twice a year, that they hardly mind a few days without me!

Romans says, "If God is for us, who can stand against us?" And God IS for us. We read all the time about God moving mountains and changing hearts and working miracles thousands of years ago, and yet so often we let ourselves believe that those miracles were only for that time period. If I have learned anything in the past three years, it is that this simply isn't true. God hears us and He is alive and working on our behalf at all times, He delights in answering our prayers and showing his power when we place all of our trust in Him. Almost every time a mountain is in front of me, I feel myself starting to panic bit, and laugh at my humanness! God has never been wrong, He has never removed His faithfulness from my life, He has never not done exactly what is best! I am so thankful to serve a Father who loves and cares about little old, underserving me to grant me the desires of my heart. We are truly blessed.

Mountains melt like wax before the Lord of all the earth! The heavens proclaim His righteousness and all peoples see His glory. Psalm 97:5-6

Our prayer is that as you watch the mountains melt, you will glorify the Father with us!

2010-06-11T11:30:00.000-07:00

I am alive! For all of you who are emailing Gwen and Suzanne concerned about my safety! The girls and I are doing wonderfully and are so thankful for your prayers. I took a little break from blogging because I am actually working on writing a book and popped into the US for a few weeks to meet with my publisher, love on my family, and do some fundraising.

I will blog soon, and write something really moving and inspiring... I promise :)

2010-04-20T13:43:00.000-07:00

I spend much of my time in a little slum outside of Jinja called Masese that is heavily populated with Uganda's outcasts, the Karamajong. Those in the community who are not Karamajong are shunned by society for other reasons, extreme poverty or illness or uncleanliness or all of the above. To say that I am in love with the people of this community would be a huge understatment. I do not really even have words to describe the way I cherish these beautiful people. They challenge me, they love me unconditionally, and they allow me to see Jesus in their faces. They have taught me much, one of the biggest lessons being the tension between inefficiency and faithfulness. I want to help them all, to fix all their problems, to successfully find a solution to their horrendous living conditions. But sometimes in an unideal situation there is not an ideal solution. The projects Amazima has strated in this community, are wonderful, but only meet the needs of some of the people, only scratching the surface of the problems. God assures me this is ok. If I continue to preach the Gospel and more importanly LIVE the Gospel in this community, though the outward conditions of the people may never change or may change very slowly, but if these people can come with us to Heaven, a few years of suffering will pale in comparrison. In the mean time, He allows me to see Him in their faces and to love Him in bandaging their wounds and letting their charcoal and mud covered children curl up in my lap.

I have recently been humbled by the privledge to get to know twenty of this community's women on a very personal level. Juliette was a prositute, sneaking quietly away from her home after her children had fallen asleep and selling her body to be able to put some food on the tabel for them in the morning. Veronica was brewing alcohol as a quick way to make money to support her children, one of whom was litterally dying of starvation. On days when alcohol didn't sell, she would bring the mash that it is made from home to her family and they would swallow it until they fell asleep. She was making her children drunk so that they were unable to feel the pains of hunger. Todi, widowed after her third child was born, had recently taken in her sister's five children after her sudden death. "What was my choice?" she asked when explaining the situation to me. "God says I look after the orphans, I look after the orphans." The of them sleep together on the floor in a home about half the size of my giant kitchen table. Jja Jja Maria looks afer her three grandchildren thought she can barely walk due to severe back pain. Kasifa only has use of one arm as a result of polio when she was younger but uses her one good arm to pick through the trash for some food for her 6 children. They each have a story that would blow your mind.

About 8 months ago, I gathered this group of women in the local mud-and-stick church. All different tribes. All different ages. All different hardships. They had one thing in common: they were all trying to support their families and feed their children and they were not succeeding. And they all had stolen my heart. With the help of some sweet friends, I began teaching them how to make these recycled-paper bead necklaces that are all the rage in Uganda. We spent the first few months just getting to know eachother as we learned, crying with eachother when someone announced that their HIV test had come back positive and laughing with eachother when someone made an awfully mishapen bead. And through this porcess something happened that is incredibly rare in this slum community: we became friends.

Last months, one of the members of our group died suddenly. She called me in the morning to tell me that she had a headache, and by the time a friend got there to check on her, she had passed on, probably due to very advanced AIDS that she had been fighting for as long as she could remeber. I was devestated by the loss of sweet Christine with her huge smile and her gentle, cheerful spirit. But I was also full of joy. Just a few weeks earlier, after a lengthy conversation amoungst the women in our group and lots and lots of questions, Christine had given her life to Christ. The next Sunday at church, we celebrated her baptism. Christine may be gone from this earth, but I KNOW where she is. Death does not claim the victory, Christ does. I watched Jesus Christ make Christine a new person in her time on this earth. Her once frail sick body was suddenly able to move with more energy and work with more vigor. Her smile expanded to fill her whole face and there was a new light in her eyes. Praise and thanksgiving were always on her once cracked and bleeding lips; she was quick to encourage all her new friends. While before she complained that she did not have enough, her new Christ-following self thanked God for EVERYTHING right down to the bitter leaves she used to brew her morning tea. At 47 years old, Christine found what she was looking for. He makes all things NEW. And I know that now in Heaven, Christine's once ailing body is now fully restored, made perfect in Christ. I am so thankful.

At her funeral, the remaining 19 ladies stood up and said beautiful things about Christine. And afterward, in a community where the culture is strickly every-man-for-himself, where people can hardly feed their own children, let alone their neighbors, those 19 women pooled their rescources and cooked everyone lunch. The community shared a meal together as they never have before. My sweet friends made sure that Jesus was not only glorified in Christine's life, He was glorified in her death.

For those of you who have been wondering what happened to Jja Jja Grace, our sweet grandma that I had wanted to move in with us: the women took that into their own hands as well. At a loss for what to do one day, I asked the women in 7 of then would volunteer to spend a few hours with her one day of the week. To my wonderful surprise, not seven, but all 20 of them volunteered. I put Jja Jja Grace's 9 different medicines in seven envelopes, one for each day of the week. On Mondays I go to her house, taking enough food and charcoal for the week and the envelopes of pills. Each day, two or three ladies go to Grace's house and wash her clothes, cook some of the food, make sure she swallows all her pills, and just visit. They love it, and so does she. There is only one thing I can think of that feels better than helping your neighbor: empowering your neighbor to help their own neighbors.

There are still days when I walk through Masese and feel completely powerless and totally overwhelmed. The illnesses are more than I can treat even if I sit in the make-shift clinic in the back of my van for 15 hours a day. Sometimes the sadness seems almost unbearable, the problems unsolvable, the wounds unhealable. I will keep trying anyway. In an unideal situation, there is often not an ideal solution, this side of Heaven. But this is what I know: Resurection is real. Life is more powerful than death. Light can pierce darkness. I may never see the end of horrendous situtaions on this earth, so instead of trying to fix the situation here and now, I will focus on helping these people come to Heaven with me, so that we may say together "Death and sadness have been swallowed up in a victory. Oh Death, where is you victory? Death where is your sting?" Christ has overcome the mess that is this world and I am humbled to get to witness His salvation on a daily basis.

Recently, one of my favorite men in the world, my dad's big brother and my Uncle Denny passes away after a long and gueling battle with cancer. He may have been one of the kindest, gentlest men to ever grace the planet. He knew what it meant to live simply and LOVE deeply. I believe that I am a better person because of his example of selfless, unconditional love. (If you haven't noticed, I have been blessed with A LOT of examples of selfless love in my family, and I am so thankful.) I know that every person in my family and everone in the town of Williamsport is morning the loss of this wonderful man. But we know where He is. Unlce Denny, like Christine, found what he was looking for. He is now a new creation. The way he lived his life makes his death a celebration of the day we see him again. I bet he and Christine will be friends. How I can't wait to embrace them both one day.

**Will you please consided buying a necklace (or 10!) from these sweet ladies who are working so hard to support their families and see positive change in their community? You can purchase them here http://147millionorphans.com/uganda-necklaces. Check back often because we have four new designs coming soon! Thank you, always, for your continued prayers and support.

2010-03-22T09:45:00.000-07:00

In 2005, a Dinka girl of about nine or 10 was brought to Uganda with a family seeking refuge from the war-torn region in Southern Sudan they hailed from. The young girl, who we’ll call Hope here for the sake of security, did not come of her own accord. She was actually kidnapped by an uncle who, it seems, intended to turn her into his family’s slave. Scared, homesick and alone, Hope was desperate to find a way home to her mother and father whom she loved and missed dearly. But having no money, no knowledge of Uganda’s languages and no friends to help, she found herself trapped in a foreign country and under the control of a demanding and often cruel uncle. (Hope thinks her father, who has many children from many wives but was particularly fond of her, probably tried to find her but was ultimately too poor and old to track her down.)

She lived with the family in a mud house where she was required to cook, clean and take care of the children. With 5 adults and 10 other children to clean up and look after, Hope had her work cut out for her. The family was not kind. For three years she was forced to work from dusk to dawn, was given little to eat and was beaten so often that even the neighbors took pity on her. But she was a smart girl. She learned both English and Luganda quickly, listening to and practicing with the neighbors whenever she had the chance. She was also resilient. Despite working 12-hour days 7 days a week and being verbally and physically abused by the men and boys she lived with, her spirit was not broken.

Then one day, Hope fell for an older boy. He was the son of another Sudanese family that occasionally visited her family. She doesn’t know for sure, but she suspects he was 17 or 18 years old at the time. Hope was 13. I don’t really know the circumstances, but I suspect she craved love, safety and affection so much that it wasn’t terribly difficult for him to lure her into sleeping with him. Maybe, she reasoned, if he really loved her he would rescue her.

What this one act actually amounted to was a broken promise, a broken heart and a baby in Hope’s belly. It wasn’t long before her family discovered she was pregnant. She might as well have signed her own death warrant. In the Dinka tribe, there is little mercy for girls who become pregnant out of wedlock. In fact, it is not unusual for members of her clan to kill unwed pregnant women. They consider it their right and that’s probably what Hope’s family intended to do to her. After all, now that she had been “tarnished” there was no way she would ever be able to secure a substantial dowry for the family. They now valued her even less than they had and they were angry with her for depriving them of the cows, goats and money she would have one day been traded for. And so the family began to beat her more often and more severely, often using her belly as a punching bag in an effort to kill the baby too. They would beat her until she was unconscious, and then beat her some more.

This went on for several days until a neighbor, who saw several beatings and had compassion for Hope, decided to help. With the help of some friends of mine they went to the police and facilitated the first rescue effort. Rescuing Hope was not easy. Dinka men are fiercely loyal to one another and with a few phone calls word spread rapidly that the police had come to take Hope. Within minutes, angry mob of Dinka men appeared from nowhere and created a human barricade. They refused to hand their “property” over to the police. The standoff lasted a while until the police were finally able to force their way through the mob and rescue Hope. Once they got her, they handed her over to the Sudanese Embassy, which delivered her right back to her family’s home.

The beatings continued and became even worse. In fact, one night, the neighbor informant said Hope was beaten severely until she was unconcious, tied up and forced to sleep outside like a dog. With the help of our friends again, the witness devised another plan to help Hope. This time, Hope would have to be rescued without the help of the police, the Sudanese Embassy or any other outside party. She would have to muster every ounce of courage and faith within her and attempt to run away in the night, when everyone was sleeping. She could bring nothing but the clothes on her back, and she would have to trust the people waiting for her at a designated location. 13 years old, pregnant, battered, alone and with little to lose, Hope courageously slipped away, into the night and into our lives.

On December 4, two weeks prior to her due date, Hope gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy. She was staying with friends that live a few hours from us, but with Hope's family members living all around the community, they felt it was unsafe for her to stay with them much longer. My sweet friend called just to ask me to pray, and over the next couple of days I felt we were absolutely supposed to offer our home to this precious girl and her child. The day after Christmas, our two new family members moved in.

Hope is tall because she is Dinka and doesn't really look 14. The fact that she has a baby makes it hard to believe sometimes. But she is still very much a young girl. She loves to play and giggle ad get her hair done and do "homework" (which I give her since she is unable to go to school with her baby) with my girls. She is also becomming an excellet mother who absolutely adores her son.

When Hope moved in last December, I was told she would be here for only 2 or 3 weeks. My friends were hopeful that when her uncle's refugee status expired in 2010, he and his family would return to Sudan, and Hope could move back in to their home. Hopefully after that, they would be able to help her find her mother. Here we are in March and as that has not yet happened, we are guessing that it may not happen any time soon. It is not safe for her to go stay with her friends, and not safe for her to venture to Sudan to look for other family. While my sweet girls are excited to have Hope around for a while, Hope is understadably grieving the loss of two families: her biological family in Sudan and my friends' family who she thought she would be living with. She has been tossed around so much that she is just devestated right now.

Somehow, she remains resilient. She doesn't often show her tears and spends most of the day playing with Grace, Jane, Patricia and I or joking with Christine and the big girls. My heart is broken for her, but I have been blessed to watch God renew ad transform her day by day. She continues to exude more joy with each passing week.

People who know of our situation keep asking "how I'm doing." And here is the truth: each new person in a home throws off the routine all over again. It takes adjusting. When the new family member is a teenager, it often takes some arguing *ahem* discussion. It takes compromise and sacrifice from EVERY family member. But this is also the truth: I am blessed. We have room. Much more than it is challenging, it is fun. What a joy to provide someone in need of love with God's greatest gift. What a priviledge to provide Hope with a family, to show her that she is not despesible, but loved unconditionally. Hope teaches me to laugh and to HOPE in the face of unimaginable heartache. Our whole family adores her.

Please continue to pray for Hope's heart as she settles in, as I think she will be here for a while. We are still praying about what the Lord's best is for her and her sweet son and will do everything in our power to help her get there.

Lord Jesus, Thank you for HOPE. Hope the person, and hope the promise. Thank you for your hope and redemption in her life and in the lives of all of our family members. Thank you for the blessing of being able to love your children. Thank you for a home that always has one more tiny corner for one more extra bed for one more precious daughter. Thank you for your love that just continues to fill us up as we continue to pour more out. Thank you for the opportunity to pour out more. We want more of you Lord. We want to be more life you Lord. We want to exude your hope to all we meet.

2010-03-09T08:03:00.000-08:00

I will praise the LORD, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name.
Praise the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits-
who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion...

Psalm 103

The Lord has been speaking a lot to my heart recently about healing, hope, and the promise of redemption. It is a lot to put into words, but I'm working on it ;) Until then I wanted to leave you with a VISUAL of healing, hope and redemption. How blessed I am to serve a God who always provides me with tangible examples of His promises.

Those of you who have been following my blog for a while will remeber my sweet friend, Michael. I wrote about him here, here, and here. If you haven't, please read these stories so you can get a full picture of God's miracles in this precious little life! I met Michael in August of last year and felt fairly certain that he was on death's doorstep, or if not, pretty close. His hair was white and fuzzy, his face swollen, his growth stunted, and his skin just about peeling off, all from severe malnutrition. After doing everything I could for him while keeping him in his home and seeing very little imporvement, our family decided to move him in with us as we nursed him back to health. What a blessing it was to watch this sweet treasure's little personality come out as he began to flourish! I dreaded the day I had to take him back to his step mother, who had been the one to so neglect him in the first place, but I was hopeful as I had been meeting with her several times a week to encourage her to care for this little boy (for the record, it is very uncommon for step parents in Ugandan culture to respond favorably to their step children as they are usually the result of the husband having multiple wives and there is a lot of jealousy involved). I call it nothing less than a miracle that not only did she begin caring for him, she began really, deeply loving him, a love that he so deserved but had not experienced until he lived with our family. This once shy, lifeless little boy who I couldn't get a word out of for weeks, now runs after my car each time I drive through his village yelling, "Auntie Kate! Auntie Kate! I love you! I'm fine now! I'm fine now!" with the biggest sweetest grin I have ever seen spread across his face. I could keep writing. I could try to find words enough to praise my Loving Father. They would not be sufficient. I will leave you with this...

He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear and put their trust in the LORD. -Psalm 40:2-3

Michael on the day I first met him, August 2009

Bandaging his blistered and cracked little feet.

Michael after a few days at our house enjoying a BIG peanutbutter sandwich!

Michael the night before I took him back to his home.

Michael a few days ago, February 2010... Talk about a transformation!

"Behold, I make all things new..." Revelation 21:5

2010-02-23T09:49:00.000-08:00

2010 years ago, Jesus changed the world.

I bet, if we would let Him, He would do it again today. And EVERY SINGLE DAY.

I would like to invite you to go with me on a journey. Almost exactly 2 and a half years ago I stepped out of my life of comfort to go on a journey with my Savior. I thought I had a pretty good idea of what this journey was going to look like. I HAD NO IDEA. And I am so thankful, because it has indeed been more than all I could have ever asked or imagined. It is a journey in which I learn a little more every day about God's awesome nature and his extravagant compassion. It is a journey on which I strive each day to give a little more of myself to Him and a little less of myself to, well, myself. I have been opened to ways I never could have imagined to see Jesus's heart for the poor, and His grief over those who neglect them. I have been shown that the way I was choosing to live my life before this journey was not only intolerable, but impossible for someone who claimed to believe in the Gospel of Jesus Christ. And, for the record, I do. This journey has not only changed my perspective, it has changed my priorities. And the best part is this: it is FAR from over.

Recently I have been blessed to listen to the preachings of a man named David Platt. More accurately, I have been blessed to listen to the preachings of a man named Jesus, read to me in all their truth and might, through my computer screen by a man named David Platt. This man articulates beautifully all the God has opened my heart to in the past 2 and a half years and says everything my heart desires to say. The Truth is bold, in your face, and even frightening. IT IS THE WORD OF GOD.

So here is my request. I am begging and pleading with all of you to take 8 hours out of your life to watch David Platt's Radical series. (I am pretty sure it is supposed to span over a period of 8 weeks, but if you are like me you are going to want to watch them all back to back in a day!) Then, after you have been completely blown away, I am asking to really pray about and consider leading a small group in the study of these sermonsas well as the Faith works series that goes hand in hand with it. I believe that if we truly listen to and believe and grasp this word, it will change our nation and the world.

There are tools and all the info you need at www.radicalsmallgroups.com and all questions may be directed to radicalsmallgroups@gmail.com

I am excited to watch this spread, these Truths are compelling and life altering ... It's time to put our faith into action!

my heart spilled...

2010-02-11T11:12:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer: This post was hard to write, and for some it will be hard to read. I prayed before I posted and I do believe that it is what the Lord would have me say. This is my blog, a place where I share my private thoughts and I invite you to remember before you comment that no one has forced you to read it.

She was eighteen years old and she had never been in love with anyone she could touch before. I mean, she had been in love with Jesus since she was little, but this was different, touchable love.
In her eyes he was perfect. He loved the Lord, not to mention he was pretty darn cute. He went to church with her and joined her on silly errands and at family dinners. He made her giggle by saying things that only she found funny. He made her heart flutter when he swept that one always-stray piece of hair out of her eyes.

They were the “perfect couple.” They were desperately in love; one lit up as the other entered the room. They could see their beautiful future together. After high school, they would go together to college, get married, work a bit, settle down and have children with his eyes and her big smile. They would grow old together, laughing at secrets and kissing each other goodnight.

And then God asked her to move to Uganda. At first it was just going to be a year. They could do a year. She would come back and they could still go to college together and all their dreams would still come true. When the Lord asked her to adopt her first children, it became a bit more complicated. She rationalized that her youngest was 7, so in 11 years, she could move back home and be with him. But her children kept getting younger and His call kept getting stronger. She would go back in 13 years, in 17 years, in 20 years. Finally she came to terms with the fact that God was just asking her to STAY. And that when He said He wanted ALL of her, He meant all. She would live in Uganda. But she held on to her love because remaining comfortable was so much easier than dealing with the hurt and the emptiness would be.

Her eyes were opened and her life was changed. She couldn’t pretend to be the same person. She couldn’t sit still in his would anymore, it made her head spin and her heart ache. And still she held on because she didn’t love him any less. She knew God could move mountains and she prayed He could change his heart. After all, such a love must have been God orchestrated.
He made her feel beautiful as she walked through life as a single mom covered in dust and spit up. He appreciated her even when everyone else forgot to say thank you. He believed in her when the rest of the world said raising eighty thousand dollars or adopting ten children was silly. Even from the other side of the world, he cheered her on and he picked her up when she just didn’t feel strong enough. His voice on the other end of the phone turned a rough day right around.

They were moving in opposite directions. They both new it, but they both refused to let go.
So she asked God for a very specific sign. For something that she thought very unlikely if not absolutely impossible. And then something devastating happened. God gave her the sign that she asked for. So she kissed him goodbye and drove away and cried so hard that she doubted she would ever breathe again. She tried not to wonder if anyone would ever love her like that again or how she would do this all alone.

And that’s when He reminded her that she wasn’t. That HE would make her feel beautiful as a single mom covered in dust and spit up. That He appreciated her even when everyone else forgot to say thank you. That He believed in her when the rest of the world thought everything she did was crazy. That He would cheer her on and pick her up when she just didn’t feel strong enough. That His voice whispering in her ear would turn those rough days right around. That He would ALWAYS be faithful. That His love would be unconditional. That He, her ONE TRUE LOVE would never leave or forsake her and would give her heart’s desires. That He would make all things new, ever her shattered heart.

* * *

A few days ago an American woman who had spent about three days of her life in a third world country looked at me and said, “I would SO love to do what you do. I would do it in a heartbeat. Oh, I would take 14 kids in a second!” It is a good thing that I was having a graceful day, because I said, “Aw that’s nice.” But my not so graceful heart was angry. And the not so graceful voice in my head wanted to say to her, “Ok then, do it. I can have you 14 orphaned, abandoned, uncared for children tomorrow. So here is what you have to do: Quit school. Quit your job. Sell your stuff. Disobey and disappoint your parents. Break your little brother’s heart. Lose all but about a handful of friends because the rest of them think you have gone off the deep end. Break up with the love of your life. Move to a country where you know one person and none of the language. And when you are finished, I will be here waiting with your 14 children!” I wanted to ask her what was stopping her, knowing that the answer would be her comfort. I wanted to look at her and tell her that my life was full and joyful and WONDERFUL, but I also wanted to tell her to COUNT THE COST. Because my life IS full and joyful and wonderful, but it is NOT easy. My life is NOT glamorous. I do not expect it to be. I do not think that anything about carrying a cross was easy or glamorous either.

Which brings me to my point. I am not actually that angry about what that woman said, it was just an offhanded comment. But it got me to thinking… How many times to we grieve our sweet Savior’s heart because we refuse to COUNT THE COST? How many times do we choose comfort instead of the cross?

In my NIV Bible, the header above Luke 9:57-62 says, “The Cost of Following Jesus.” Here it is, plain and simple, laid out for us by the Lord. “As they were walking along the road, a man said to Jesus, “I will follow you wherever you go.” Jesus replied, “Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay His head.” He said to another man, “Follow me.” But the man replied, “Lord, first let me go and bury my Father.” Jesus said to Him, “Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” Still another said, “I will follow you Lord, but first let me go back and say goodbye to my family.” Jesus replied, “No one who puts His hand to the plow and looks back will be fit to enter the Kingdom of God.” THIS IS SERIOUS STUFF. A little later in Luke 14:25, “The Cost of Being a Disciple,” Jesus tells the crowds gathered around Him, “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters – yes even his own life – he cannot be my disciple. And anyone who does not carry His cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Will he not first sit down and estimate the cost to see if he has enough money to complete it? For if he lays the foundation and is not able to complete it; everyone who sees it will ridicule him saying, ‘This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.’ Or suppose a king is about to go to war against another king. Will he not first consider if he is able with ten thousand men to oppose the one coming against him with twenty thousand? If he is not able he will send a delegation while the other is still a long way off and ask for terms of peace. In the same way any of you who does not give up everything he has cannot be my disciple.”

In Luke, in the days of Jesus, He expected EVERYTHING of his disciples. Do we believe that He requires the same today? We sure don’t act like it. If you ever read my blog or have heard me speak then you have heard me reference Matthew 25, the parable of the sheep and the goats. Jesus basically looks straight at the crowd and tells them that when He comes back, those who have seen the needy and met their needs will come with Him to heaven. He also says that those who have seen the needy and done nothing will be sent away to “eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.” Right, hell. This is heavy, I know, but I believe that it is TRUE. I believe that the words of Jesus are timeless and therefore still apply to anyone desiring to be His follower today. (Oh, and in case you think you can get away with saying that you have not seen Jesus naked or hungry or thirsty or in need and therefore you are off the hook, let me help you. 30,000 children will die today because of hunger or preventable disease. There. Now you know. Now you are responsible too.) Faith without good deads is DEAD, my friends. Yes, I believe fully in salvation by His grace alone. I do not believe that anything we do or work for will save us. I also believe that if we are indeed saved, meaning that He lives inside of us, we will desire to do what is pleasing to Him. That if we really love Him with all our hearts and all our strength, NOTHING will feel like sacrifice in light of the promise that one day we will get to be with Him forever. Automatically, we will help those in need, we will give our all, we will love our neighbor as our self, because our heart is aligned with His. But so many don’t. This then begs the question: If we are not walking in the words of Jesus, do we truly know Him? Do we really know and believe in the Jesus of the Bible. Because if we do, if we believe what He says is true, our lives will be powerfully, unimaginable, radically different than the lives of those around us. He requires EVERYTHING.

I wonder today if I had been one of the people listening to Jesus as He spoke in Luke 9 and 14, if Jesus would have convinced me to follow Him or if I would have walked away. I believe I would have really really wanted to say goodbye to my family. I wonder about “Christians” today. We wear Jesus on our T-shirts, we wear His cross around our neck and a bumper sticker with His name on it on our car. Have we just laid the foundation without being able to build the building? Does Jesus feel like I did when a woman I didn’t know told me she would love to do what I do but I knew that she never would? Do we claim the precious name of Jesus Christ without counting the cost? Without being willing to REALLY give it all? And does Jesus, in His infinite grace, look at us and say, “Aw, that’s nice,” but really with the furry that he flipped over the tables in the temple want to spit our lukewarm selves out of His mouth?

This is heavy on my heart. I have spent hours typing it to get the words out right and still I feel like I am rambling. If you would like more references on God’s heart for the poor, try Isaiah 56-58, Proverbs 14:31, 21:13, 28:27, Matthew 19:16- 30, Luke 6:20-25, 18:18, James 5:1… Please feel free to add more in your comments! If we believe that these words are true, the way we are living is not tolerable. How can we live in willful disobedience and claim to know Jesus Christ?

I do not claim to have the answers. I do not claim to be doing it right. I do claim to believe that the words of Jesus are absolutely true and apply to me, right now today. I want to give EVERYTHING, no matter the cost. NO MATTER THE COST. Because I believe that nothing is sacrifice in light of eternity with Christ.

Please take an hour of your time to listen to this sermon my David Platt of Birmingham, Alabama. I pray that it would drastically change your life: www.brookhills.org/media/series/radical

well, we got a new pet...

2010-01-28T10:19:00.000-08:00

Meet Franko!

We did have a conversation that went like this, "If we take this monkey home, who is going to take care of it, you guys or Mommy?" To which all my children responded, "We will mom, we will!!!" Today, Franko gripped my leg or sat on my shoulder as I did everything from laundry to making dinner... hm.

I do believe though, that I once had the same converation with my mother about a dog.

2010-01-22T04:22:00.000-08:00

It is dark. It is quiet. The cold rain drips through her thatched roof soaking through the thin sheet she wraps around her skeletally frail body. Grace is 80 years old, blind, and all alone. Her HIV has progressed into full blown AIDS making it impossible for her tiny body to fight off any type of infection. The merciless cough caused by tuberculosis racks her body. In despair she cries out to God, a God she has not spoken to in twenty years, believing he had forsaken her when the AIDS virus took her precious husband and all 6 of her children from this earth. She wails to Him and asks if He can hear her. She knows that her life is near the end. She desperately wants to believe in something, anything, before she departs from this world. She begs the Lord that if He can hear her, if He is indeed real, He would send her a friend, a visitor, some kind of sign that someone out there cares. She falls asleep shivering, with a plastic trash bag over her head to keep the rain off her face.

The next day I make the familiar trek through the Masese III village, Patricia strapped to my back, bandaging wounds, testing for malaria, kissing foreheads. A woman from our beading group (go buy a beautifully handmade necklace and feed a child! www.147millionorphans.com) suggests that I go visit a blind old woman that she has heard of who may need some assistance, so I grab my dear friend Tamara and head deep into the village in the direction we have been pointed. I am not prepared for the sight that meets my eyes. Grace is indeed old and blind, but that only scratches the surface of her troubles. I actually spend a few minutes marveling at the fact that she is still alive. Her body is hardly strong enough to sit up, let alone stand or walk. She has not eaten in three days, and she hasn’t seen in 5 years. What gets to me most is the eerie quietness that surrounds her house, in the very back of the village near a trash pile, all the neighbors gone to work, even the wind seems quiet today. I think for a moment that her tiny mud house is exceptionally dark inside, and then I remember that for her, it is already dark anyway. I embrace this sweet woman, patting her back and kissing her cheeks and I tell her that Jesus loves her and I love her. “He does!” She exclaims. “He has sent me visitors as I asked!” Her excitement turns to a whisper, “I had stopped believing. I did not think God cared for me. Lord, I believe in You.” Tears streamed down both of our faces and together we began to pray to our Father who sees and hears and answers even the smallest of our requests.

All this took place about three months ago and was just the beginning of lots and lots of time spent with Grace. I would take her food a few times a week that her neighbors would help her cook every day. We went to many, many doctor’s appointments getting her treatment for her TB, blood transfusions, and lots of vitamins. When I brought the girls to meet her, they instantly fell in love with her sweet heart and immediately adopted her as their Jja Jja (grandmother). Most Sundays the girls and I pack up a picnic lunch and head over to Jja Jja Grace’s house to share a meal with her, read the Bible, sing and dance. The girls love it and Grace loves the house filled with noise and laughter. On Christmas day we ate lunch at her house and God gave all of us the most beautiful Christmas gift (second only to His Son, of course!) Jja Jja Grace, who just months ago had been too weak to stand, began to walk. She walked around the outside of her entire house (about ten square feet), praising the Lord the whole time. As neighbors came to watch and ask, we prayed with them to accept Jesus. Grace’s testimony was changing lives right before our eyes, and how blessed we felt to be a part of it.

Two days ago I went to visit Grace and was surprised to see that the food we had sent her for the week remained uncooked and uneaten. She said the neighbor who had been helping her cook the food had moved away three days ago, and she had not eaten since. I asked her how she had been taking her medicine, and she said that she feels around for each of her five packets of medicine and swallows one pill out of each. This presents a problem as they are all different, some to be taken 3 times a day, some to be taken two at a time, some with food, and some without. This clearly was not going to work. After talking to more of Grace’s neighbors and finding no one that was willing or even able to help, it struck me. We were going to have to move Jja Jja Grace in with us. To say that the idea of this overwhelmed me would be an extreme understatement. The girls helped me cook Grace’s lunch and wash some clothes for her, and we headed home so that I could think and pray about what to do next.

I rolled around in my bed not sleeping that night, “God are you truly asking me to do this?” And God said, “I think you know the answer. You don’t actually wonder if I am truly asking you to do this, you are just afraid of the inconvenience it may be to you to have a blind old woman in your care.” It was true. Somehow, adopting a grandmother seemed a lot more daunting than adopting a child. But it boiled down to this: Do I believe that Jesus was serious? Do I believe what He said was true? And the answer is yes. I believe that he was serious when He said to love my neighbor as myself, and I believe He meant this even when my neighbor was not tiny and cute and cuddly. I believe when He said to love my neighbor as MYSELF. He really meant to care for others as I would care for myself or my family, and I would never let myself or my family live in such conditions. How different it can be to “believe” the word of God and to take it literally.

As I thought of all the different life changes that would need to take place for us to accommodate Jja Jja Grace completely overwhelmed me, but the only reasons I could think of to NOT move her in with us were completely selfish. We have enough room, we have enough food, we have enough love. We have enough. I kept coming back to Matthew 25, a passage etched in my hear that says:

"When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his throne in heavenly glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'

Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'

The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'

Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.'
They also will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?' He will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for the least of these brother’s of mine, you did not do for me.’

Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.”

I BELIEVE that when Jesus said, “I tell you the TRUTH,” He meant just that, that His words were true and He wasn’t kidding. YES, I believe that I am saved by faith through GRACE. Grace that is freely given and cannot be earned by anything I do. But I also believe that sometimes we rely so heavily on the Grace of God to cover our sins that we blatantly disobey His word and feel ok about it. “Depart from me you who are cursed into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.” THAT is what Jesus will say to those of us who do not care for the least of these. I believe this is true because I believe His word is true, EVERY word is true, plain and simple. That is a heavy, heartbreaking thought. How often have we neglected you, Lord?

“I’m sick,” He said, “will you look after me? Will you invite me in?”

Yes.

In the morning I sat the girls down for a family meeting, something that is quite routine at our house. I already knew what their response would be when I asked them what they thought about Jja Jja Grace coming to live with us; I knew that they would be more than willing, excited even. They are SO MUCH better than me at giving without holding anything back. The vote was unanimous, they jumped up and down and squealed and told me thank you for having such a good idea. I laughed to myself; this was SO not my idea.

We went back to Masese that day and after women’s meeting went down to Jja Jja Grace’s house to invite her to move into our home. Tears welled in her eyes and a grin crossed her face, “God has given me a family,” she cried. “All these years with no one, and He has given me a new family!” What happened next threw me for a loop though; she said no! I looked up and wondered. All that thinking and processing and not sleeping, and she said no. She said that she was too old to start a new life and would be too much of a burden on us. She said that Jesus would be the one to take care of her and we could just continue to do what we can at her house. The girls begged and pleaded, but she had made up her mind. I will not pretend that my selfish, human heart didn’t feel some relief.

As we left, all feeling encouraged by the love God has sewn into our relationships with Grace, I wondered if He just wanted to grow me. If He just wanted to see if I would say yes. If in some small way, I was like Abraham and He just wanted to make sure I was willing to sacrifice it all for Him, only to tell me that I didn’t really have to. Jja Jja Grace may still move in; she may not. I am leaving that one in God’s hands. I believe however that the act of Grace moving into our home was not really the point; God just wanted to work in my heart. I am so thankful that He loves me enough to teach and mold me on such a personal level. I am thankful for Jja Jja Grace and all she has taught me and my family about Jesus. I am thankful for the opportunity to look into the eyes of the least of these and know that Jesus is staring back at me. I am thankful for the opportunity to simply say, “Yes.”

2009-12-23T05:49:00.000-08:00

2009-12-15T10:11:00.000-08:00

For eight months, Grace loved to take a bath. Then she turned three. Whoever named the “terrible two s” very obviously had not done three yet. Three is when all my girls learn to say “no.”

I don’t exactly remember when it started. One day, she just wouldn’t get in the bathtub. So I didn’t make her. Judge me if you want; she got in bed dirty that night. The fight just wasn’t worth interrupting everyone else’s bed time. But on the second night when she refused to bathe, I couldn’t just ignore her again. She really needed that bath. So we began the struggle.
Every night it is the same. It starts with me asking her to come and get in the bathtub, to which she quietly replies, “I don’t want.” I, in my kindest, sweetest Mommy voice explain to her that she is three years old. That she does not always know what is best for her and she does not always get what she wants. I tell her that this is about her health and well-being; everyone has to take a bath! She just looks at me, not getting it.

I try a different approach. I say excitedly, “Come on Gracie! Let’s go play in the bathtub!” And she blinks her eyes very fast, big crocodile tears beginning to run down her cheeks. One more plea for sympathy. When she sees that the tears are not getting her anywhere, she begins to shriek, “No bath, no bath, NO BATH!” as if the water may indeed melt her.
I say it more sternly this time. “Grace. Bath time.” I lift her to her feet and half drag her down the hall to the bathroom. Her sorrow turns to anger. She makes her best “I don’t like you mom” face, folds her arms and plops to her bottom. “I DON’T WANT,” she shouts.
So I pick her up. She kicks and screams and eventually I get her into the bathtub. She flails around in there for a bit, letting me know with her wails that I am ruining her life and she may never be happy again.

And then a funny thing happens. As she splashes water on herself she remembers. She likes the bath. The bath is fun. Not to mention a really great way to get clean. In fact most of the time, she doesn’t want to get out of the bath. You see, the bath time struggle is not at all about the bath. It is about obedience. She is three years old and she simply does not want to obey. She thinks it should be her decision whether or not she gets in the bathtub. She is three years old and she is trying to figure out just how much control she has in her little life (at this point, not much).

Maybe I am a really bad mother for not disciplining her more severely for her disobedience, but the reality is, little disobedient Grace reminds me so much of me.

A year ago, Grace was not my daughter. She was a two and a half year old little girl who could not walk, speak or use her hands. She lived with her very old great grandmother who had a very hard time taking care of herself, let alone a very special needs baby. Her grandmother, hunched over and with little Grace strapped on her back would walk seven miles to my house and beg me to please take her burden, her child. And I would say, “No.” It happened at least five times. I didn’t know this woman and I didn’t know anything about her or her child, but I knew this: I was NOT having any more children. I was maxed out. This was it. There was nothing I could do for a child that would never walk or talk. Only an insane person would take a special needs child as their twelfth daughter. I would give Grandma a bag of food and send her on her way. But sometimes, after I sent them away, I couldn’t get that little smile out of my head. Sometimes, that little smile would wake me up in the middle of the night. I would like to tell you that I prayed fervently about whether or not to take her. But I didn’t. I just told God straight, “I don’t want.” I told myself that eleven was enough, NO MORE KIDS.

Weeks passed and I forgot about the little lame girl and her great grandmother. About a month later I couldn’t sleep. I knew God was trying to tell me something, but I couldn’t figure out what it might be. I prayed and I listened. And he spoke as plain as day, “Your next daughter’s name is Sarah.” OK, funny God. I already have a daughter named Sarah. I went back to sleep. The next evening I was chopping carrots for beef stew and there it was again, “Your next daughter’s name is Sarah.” I prayed harder, “God, Sarah already lives here. I’m not sure I can hear you. God really, I don’t want another daughter. I think that eleven is enough, don’t you?” I continued my chopping. As I tucked the girls in bed that night, the extra bed in their room really bothered me. Bunk beds come in sets of two. We had to have six sets of beds to fit all eleven of my children, and with it came that extra top bunk. I had never paid it any attention, until now. After they fell asleep I went and sat in the bed and prayed. And God said it again, “Sarah, Sarah, Sarah.” I began to cry. “Lord, where is she? Where is Sarah? How can she be my daughter if I don’t know where to find her?” For the next several days, I dreamt of Sarah. I prayed for Sarah. I longed for Sarah. I missed Sarah.

A few days later, Grandma showed up at the gate again with her not-so-little baby tied to her back. “Please,” she begged, “God keeps telling me to come here for help.” It finally clicked. “What is her name?” I asked. “Sarah.” The little girl beamed, looked up at me, and said in a squeaky little voice, “Mommy”. Grandma looked as if she had seen a ghost. “She has never spoken,” she said, astonished. We both just turned our eyes heavenward. Ok, God, you win.
I asked the grandmother to please make herself at home while I called my children to have a “family meeting”. We always talk and pray together before making a big change in our home. I always ask the kids for their opinion, but of course my sweet children never say no! They were so excited to have a new little sister, their only concern was that they would now have two sisters named Sarah, and Sarah was feeling a little uncertain about sharing her name. I promised that we would give her a new name once we thought of one that fit.

As I carried my new little girl into the bedroom and put her in a new dress, fear overwhelmed me. What was I going to do? What does one do with a child that may never walk? How would I keep a semblance of normal life for my other girls? Would I have time to continue loving them enough while caring for a special needs little girl? Oh, what were people going to say? God just whispered that His grace would be enough, that His grace was sufficient, that His grace was going to allow me to raise this little girl, even after I had turned her away from my gate five times. Grace.

I took her to several doctors, all of whom said she had cerebral palsy, resulting from a lack of oxygen at birth. All agreed that while she may begin speaking (she had continued to utter only one word, “Mommy”) she would never walk. The fear still overwhelmed me. Some days I felt such sorrow for her poor little body, other days I felt anger. I wondered what life would look like from now on. And God continued to remind me that His grace would sustain me. And only by His grace, a month later my Grace began to walk. Within two months she was speaking, using her left hand a walking several meters without assistance. Today she runs (still a little awkwardly), has full use of her left hand and minimal use of her right, and speaks in full sentences in that same squeaky little voice.

I shudder to think what I could have missed in my disobedience. I am so thankful that God in His grace does not allow me to win. Because usually, the fight is not really about what He is asking me to do. It is not about the bathtub. It is about me, trying to figure out just how much control I have over my little life (at this point, not much). I would like to tell you that now I always do exactly what the Lord asks of me. I would like to tell you that I always seek Him first when a difficult situation presents itself. But sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I still think it should me my decision what I do with my life. He asks, and reasons, and encourages. He gently explains that I do not know what is best for me and that I do not always get what I want. And I just look at Him, not getting it. I whine and sob and shriek, just like a tired, angry three year old.
And so He picks me up, exhausted from struggling, and plops me in the center of His will for my life. And then a funny thing happens. As I kick and scream and struggle, I remember. I like being in the center of God’s will for my life. God’s plan is usually pretty great. It is a whole lot better than mine anyway. I am so glad that He does not allow me to win.

If you were to walk into my house at bath time, you may think I was a pretty horrible mother, letting my child kick and scream and wail on the floor like that. But I think sometimes we have to throw a fit, to been horribly resistant, to appreciate how awesome it is when we finally obey. I am hoping that one day soon, Grace will begin remembering how much she likes the bath before she begins crying, maybe even the first time I say that it is bath time. I am also praying that one day soon, I will begin remembering how much I love and desire God’s plan for my life before I begin questioning, maybe even the first time He asks something of me.

a little late, but...

2009-12-05T01:14:00.000-08:00

Happy Thanksgiving!

we are overflowing with thankfulness for YOU! the outpouring of prayer and love that covers our family is incredible. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

* we opted NOT to tell Patricia later that the turkey she was enjoying was actually due to the fact we had cooked her friend...*

2009-11-20T07:53:00.000-08:00

We have had one of those really great days when I can't stop praising Jesus for this life. The girls are on holiday from school (thank goodness because almost all of them have had the chicken pox!). Today I managed to clip all of their 140 fingernails and 140 toenails, file them and paint them. On a quick trip to the pharmacy I found surgical gloves almost small enough to fit my child-sized hands. During nap time I got to sneak in a long, quiet run. Chocolate chip cookies are in the oven. I feel so full and so very blessed.

But as I sit down, content, something is weighs heavy on my heart. Something that I have been milling over for some time, unwilling to write about it because my words seem too inadequate to describe the ache I feel. However, I know that this is urgent. An emergency. And as adequate as my words may be, maybe I should at least try.

It started a few months ago when my great friends Mike and Suzanne were here to adopt their daughter. In finding out she had HIV, they were obviously broken. Mike made a statement that stirred something within me. He said, "I guess you know that children are out there suffering. You know that children are sick, this sick. But it is different when it is your child. It's just different." And it is. I don't mean this blog to criticize you in any way, Mike, because what you said was true for me too. It is different when it is my child. I spend countless nights awake with dying, or at least critically sick, children. I love them and I cuddle them. I sponge bath them and give them their medicine and wipe up their vomit. I hold them and pray over them and tell them how special they are and how Jesus loves them. My heart really does hurt for them. But it doesn't hurt the way it hurts when I think one of my own children is close to death. It doesn't hurt the way it does when Sumini's fever just won't go down or when Patricia is up all night coughing with her third case of pneumonia in three months. It doesn't hurt the way it does when Margaret's teeth run into Agnes's eyebrow and I can see her bone, and then watch in terror as the doctor stitches it up WITHOUT anesthetic. Somehow, when it is my children, there is a bit more urgency, a bit more panic. There is a bit more frustration at the lack of medical care we can receive here and a bit more google searching of what to do. I am not saying that I am proud of this. I am just letting you know that it isn't just you I have held several children as they died of inadequate medical care. It was horrible and I grieve and cried, but I promise you that I wasn't as devastated as I would have been had it been one of my daughters. Its ugly, but its true.

Its just different when its your child who's suffering. But should it be? This is what I have been struggling with. I believe that this is a normal human reaction. I also believe it is WRONG. I believe that each human on the planet is God's child, perfectly made and beloved and cherished by Him. I believe that His heart hurts like mine does, even more than mine does, when my baby is hurting for EACH and every one of the hurting, dying, starving, crying children in our world at this moment. So I HAVE to believe that if my heart was truly seeking to be aligned with the heart of God, that I would have to hurt for each of these children as well. But sometimes, I forget. Sometimes I'm busy. Sometimes hurting for my very own children just feels like enough. I believe that the world says that this is ok. And I believe it is wrong. And this keeps me up at night.

Angelina is seven years old and barely weighs 15 pounds. You remember that picture that was made popular in the 1980's during the famine in Ethiopia of that little girl (who looked like a bag of bones) curled up next to a vulture? That girl doesn't look nearly as sick as Angelina. Her mother has not had any food to give her in over four months. When Angelina musters enough energy to let out a cry of hunger (she is far to weak to walk or even hold her head up on her own), her mother gives her some locally brewed alcohol to keep her quiet. For four months, keeping her a little drunk has actually probably been what is keeping her alive. The dirt floor where she has been laying her whole life accumulating bedsores is covered in waste, animal and human. Jiggers burrow deep into her little feet causing them to crack and bleed. She is naked, filthy, and cold. It is far worse than appalling.

I bet right now at this moment your heart is sad for her. Is it as sad as it would be if Angelina were your daughter? Angelina is God's daughter. His heart aches for this perfect, wonderfully made child of His. Her circumstances do not surprise Him, but I have no doubt that they grieve Him tremendously.

And it's not just children, because we are all children in His eyes. Grace is maybe 60 years old but looks to be pushing 100. She can't weigh more than 85 pounds. Grace is a mother to six children, but 4 have died of AIDS and the other two have deserted her for a better life. She lives in a 4 by 4 foot room that is pitch black, but she doesn't mind; in addition to being to weak to walk, Grace is blind. She NEVER has any visitors. At night her bones ache against the hard dirt floor and her feeble body shivers with cold. A cough racks her body and her stomach rumbles in hunger making sleep impossible.

Its sad, huh? How sad though? Sad enough that we want to do sometime about it? Sad enough that we will remember Grace tonight as we snuggle down into our beds or next month as we pay the bills? Maybe. But maybe not. Because it hurts, but it doesn't hurt that much. It doesn't hurt the way it would if Grace was your grandmother all alone there in the dark. It does for God. Because Grace is His.

As I snuggle both these sweet girls, as I kiss their cheeks, as I spoon Pediasure into Angelina's little mouth or watch Grace rejoice over the gift of a scraggly old blanket, I allow the tears to fall. The tears that hurt for these people as if they were my family. Because they are my family. And it SHOULD hurt. It shouldn't be different. I desire for it to never again be different.

We are the body of Christ. But do we know what that means? Do we long for our brothers and sisters to be comfortable and fed and well? Do we long for it enough that we are uncomfortable under our blankets at night or eating our pancakes in the morning? Do we feel the hurt that God feels as He watches the body of Christ sit back and allow these precious children of his to perish? Maybe sometimes. But sometimes, we are too busy, or we forget, or hurting for our own children is enough. We are the body of Christ. We need to hurt. We need to react. Their needs to be the same urgency and panic and frustration and desperation as if these were our own children. They are God's children.

Heavenly Father,
Thank you for Angelina. Thank you for Grace. Thank you for creating them perfectly in your image, your precious, beloved children. Thank you for your beautiful plan for their lives and thank you for bringing them into mine. Thank you that they are YOURS. Help me to hurt. Not just a little, but the way you hurt when your children are overlooked and perishing. me to never be too busy or too comfortable to remember the people who suffer. Help me to never stop desiring to do something about it. Lord help us to remember that as the body of Christ, this is our responsibility. Thank you for loving us, even when we forget. I never, never want to forget again.

2009-11-16T03:25:00.000-08:00

I decided to check my facebook today.

The first thing I saw when I opened it up were pictures of my awesome little (much bigger than me) brother at his Bellarmine University signing. I cannot describe how proud of him I am! He is officially a Knight, going to a Division 1 lacrosse school on scholarship! While this is SO exciting, it doesn't begin to be the reason I am the proud big sister I am. Brad may be the most kind-hearted, loyal, genuine guy I know. He loves Jesus, his family and his friends; they always come first. He is an extremely talented athlete, but may still be the most humble guy you will meet. My husband one day may have his work cut out for him, because Brad has taught me what it is to be treated like the most important lady in someone's life. He is a shoulder to cry on and a friend to laugh at everything with. I miss him more every day.

As I looked at these beautiful pictures, I could not hold back the tears, because you see, these pictures are missing something. It's me. The part of my heart that will always stay in Brentwood, Tennessee with my sweet family throbbed and ached. I longed to be here...

I wanted to be here....

(so did Wes. did I mention that because Brad is the greatest friend ever, he HAS the greatest friends ever...)

I wished I could be here...

Every day of my life is filled with immense, extreme Joy. More Joy than anyone ever deserves, the Joy that comes from KNOWING that Christ died for me and LONGING to give my whole heart, my whole life back to serving him. The Joy that comes from standing in the center of His will and just watching Him orchestrate everything perfectly. The Joy that comes from being able to look into a little brown face that seems hopeless and tell her that Jesus loves her. The Joy that comes from being called "Mommy". But that does not mean that it doesn't hurt. Hurt deep in the pit of my stomach where Paul's words, "I want to know the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings, becoming like Him in death" ring true. Where I believe that when Jesus said I must "leave my father and mother and follow after Him," He was not kidding. God's word is simple and straightforward. However it is not always easy. Today was one of the heartache days. Some days I just long for that first home, for my mother's smile as I walk in the door, my dad's bear hug as he gets home each night, and late nights of movies, ice cream and laughter with Brad. Missing things will be a part of this life, because I will hardly ever be able to be with my American family and my Ugandan family at the same time. But, "The Kingdom of Heaven is like a treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold every thing he has and bought that field." Missing things hurts my heart sometimes, but is always a gentle reminder to me that giving up EVERYTHING really IS worth it. HARD and worth it.

Brad, I am SO blessed to call you my brother and my best friend. Thanks for loving me, for loving my girls, for being there for me, supporting me when I may be crazy, and for funny texts in the middle of the night. Thanks for sharing your life with me. Thanks for loving those around you the way Jesus loved and for being kind, patient, loyal respectful, hilarious, wise and humble. I love you so much.

Mom and Dad, Wow. I know that you must (because I do) have moments as parents where you wonder if you could have done better. I think that by looking at your children you know the answer to that... You ARE the greatest parents anyone could ever ask for. Thank you for teaching us about Jesus and loving those around you so well. Thank you for reminding us that ANYTHING is possible and to reach for our dreams. None of this is possible without your love and support. I love you.

*thanks Ms. Dykes for the great pictures!

2009-11-08T04:58:00.000-08:00

Ok, so does anyone actually read my blog anymore? If not, I don't blame you. Our internet has been out for weeks and going to the internet cafe to sit and wait has been on the bottom of the priority list, as you can imagine :)

I don't even know where to start to tell about all that God has been doing in our lives since I last wrote. I know that my words aren't even close to adequate to describe His goodness and love.

A week ago today, I turned twenty one. I sat in awe as I celebrated with 14 beautiful girls who call me Mommy. (Ok one actually calls me "Maamaaaamammaaa") I wondered why God chose me, little ole twenty one year old me, to be entrusted with so much. There is nothing greater than the responsibility of raising a child to love Jesus. Except maybe raising 14. Words are escaping me. Two years ago today, two we moved into this home. In the last years I have learned more about Jesus, about myself, and about life than I ever could have imagined. I am so thankful. So, so very thankful for the life you have given me Jesus, for entrusting me with so much when I deserve so little...

Last Thursday as I was meeting with some women in the village of Masese, one of them got a call from her brother that there was a child dying near the local steel mill and did she know anyone who could help... So it was off to the steel mill where I met the sickest little boy I have ever seen (I know, I know, I say that every time, but I am serious.... God just gears me up for it a little at a time...) David looked merely dead, breathing shallowly as I took his naked, 15 pound, 4 year old body into my lap. His mom was "scrapping", or digging around the steel mill for nickel-sized pieces of scrap metal that she may be able to sell for 2 cents. As we waited for her to come back, I felt sure that this child was going to breathe his last at any moment. When she got back to their closet-sized home, she explained that her husband had left her for another woman last year when she miscarried (often viewed as a curse in rural villages). Since he has been the only one providing an income for her, David and her other 3 children, and since she had never been to school, she began the practice of picking scrap metal. In just 30 minutes in her yard, WITH shoes on, I cut my feet twice... It broke my hear to think of all the physical pain she was having to endure every day as she cut her hands and feet trying to find this metal that may sell for enough to buy them a small sack of corn flour. She cried as she explained that they had not eaten in three days because no one had wanted to buy her metal. I felt certain that David would not make it through the night, and I am guessing I do not have to tell you what happened next. I scooped him up, put him in the car and took him home where my sweet, loving girls welcomed him with open arms, and we gave him all the ORS and Pediasure he wanted :)

The next day at the hospital, we found that David had sickle cell anemia, which was worsened severely by his chronic malnourishment. While they gave him his blood transfusion, I was very thankful for a doctor that, though he may not know it all, knew more than me. I watched David like a hawk all weekend, making sure he had lots to eat and drink and all his medicines and vitamins at the right time, but he continued to weaken after the initial improvement following his transfusion. He cried all the time as it hurt his little body to sit, to stand, to lay... just to be. He finally gained the strength to stand, but shook the whole time. This morning, when his feet began to swell, I took him to the hospital where I asked that he be admitted. Though they won't do anything different, I imagine, I want his mom to be able to sleep with him and I will feel better with someone who knows more than me about sickle cell supervising. Please pray for sweet David tonight...

At the same time all this was going on, three of my children have had very high fever's and Patricia has had severe pneumonia (they are all doing so much better now, thank you Jesus.) Sleep was infrequent for this Momma and I had a lot of time to just ponder the fragility of life. We are but a vapor. I think we know that we could die tomorrow, or worse that our children could, but do we really KNOW it? You know, LIVE as if we know in our hearts that we are just a breath, that we will wither and fade like the grass and the flowers... I know there are days when I don't. I am not meaning to be morbid, simply realistic. Because I know that if I lived like I really KNEW this truth, if I treated everyone as if they were David and might be taken tomorrow, I would love better. I would hug my children tighter and hold them longer. I would tell people thank you more often and I would tell God thank you more often. I am thankful that as I care for sick children often, this is something I am reminded of often, and I pray that it would change the way I life my life.

Francis Chan wrote, "How we live our days, is how we live our lives." I had to read it several times as I let it soak in. Because it is true. So often we find ourselves waiting for a specific moment, a specific call, something special. For what? How we spend our days... that will be our LIFE. Because today could be it. If Jesus came back today and said, "Let's go!" would we be ready? Would we be doing what we want to be doing when we meet Jesus? People say to me often, "You are so lucky that you found your calling, that you know your purpose in life." This statement boggles my mind. I AM so blessed to live the life that I do. But it isn't rocket science. God did NOT part the sky and shout out to me, "Katie! Serve my people." I read it in His word. You can too. We can all see as plain as day that Jesus says the number one commandment is to love the Lord and love your neighbor. I happened to move to Uganda and love those neighbors, but that is not the point. As believers, we should already KNOW our calling; it is to love the Lord and love our neighbors by caring for them in whatever broken state they are in. When He said that "the poor will always be among us" I don't think he meant that as an excuse not to worry about it but as a reminder that there is ALWAYS a neighbor, no matter where we are, in a worse condition than we are. I can only believe that God created us to make this world a little better. That he designed us in love to show that love to others. I just don't know what everyone is waiting for.

I am so thankful for my sweet children and their beautiful example of loving their neighbors and welcoming them into our home without blinking an eye. When my head is thinking (don't judge me ;) ) "Oh my goodness. God? Do you really think I can handle one more? I was just starting to get used to Josephine being here and the meds schedule she is on... are you really giving me another one?" My girls do not question. They see a baby who needs love and carry him off to feed, bathe and dote on him as if it is the most normal thing in the world. Shouldn't it be? While I am starting to feel overwhelmed, they are feeling overjoyed at the prospect of helping someone else. Oh, what I learn from their beautiful hearts... As I remember the brevity of my life, I pray that I can live more like them. I pray that this whisper that is my time on earth would change the whispers' of my neighbors, would strengthen and enrich them.

So hug your children a little tighter and hold them a little longer. Say thank you to people more often and say thank you to God more often. Love your neighbor well today. We will be trying our best to do the same over on our side of the globe :)

2009-10-23T08:14:00.000-07:00

Hello and this is Mary Pat Davis, proud mama and Jjajja (grandmother) to 14 beautiful coffee colored children and also jlovie or Josie Love (my friend's new daughter and my soon to be neighbor)! Amazima Ministries supporters, prayer warriors and blog followers this has been a fun filled ride of 7 weeks in Bukaya. Upon arriving, I had asked Katie where all my street friends of Jinja were as I had not been called Muzungu (white person). She said, "Mom those are the Karamajongs." Oh, I thought... the Karamajongs are the village tribe comparable to the lepers Mother Theresa took care of, that Amazima Ministries is now feeding 5 days a week plus providing food to their families. The parents of these children are not sending them into the streets of Jinja to beg. Thanks for providing approx 8,000 meals a week!! Also, thank you Brittany's Hope Foundation for the feeding grant. Amazima Ministries now sponsors 400 children. They attend school, recieve medical care, and come to Katie's home on Saturday for lunch, Bible study and play time. Amazima Ministries is providing this thanks to your continued support! Thank you, thank you for improving the quality of life for GOD’s beautiful children. It is only possible with you!!

Favorite things while visiting Uganda…
14 children singing christian songs on the way to church
the blue Nile river (the only one flowing south to north...only GOD could make this possible)
nkwagala nnyo “I love you” constantly heard in this household
ordering the standard 20 pizzas for Friday night dinner and the restaurant calling and asking if we have any pizza boxes!??
no TV
outside Sunday sermon at Acacia church with the most incredible view and the wind gently blowing
riding a piki to town for 1,000 shillings (50 cents)
ordering cream for my coffee and the confused server scurrying politely around in the kitchen and arriving 20 minutes later with sour cream
no power so dinner, bath, and bedtime by candlelight
Katie’s children totally excited about a new light bulb in their bedroom! or new toothbrushes
and Katie’s newest family addition, adorable Patricia, named after her Jjajja

Friends and blog readers, my love, blessings, and most of all thanks for making Amazima Ministries International grow and prosper so quickly. These beautiful children thank me all the time and I am sending their thanks to each of you! Also thank you for loving my daughter Katie, who has taught me to live a more faith filled life without a specific plan!!! That is not my greatest strength. Continue to love, love, and love people that touch your life daily, as that is our greatest gift to GOD, our creator who make all things possible!! Katie, you are totally amazing and I love you so much. Love to my dearest husband, Scott and my strong son Bradley. I can hug and kiss you on Monday!! xoxoxo

Full Circle

2009-10-09T04:54:00.000-07:00

Almost three years ago, I walked into an orphanage in Jinja, Uganda and fell in love with the sickest baby girl I had ever seen ( of course, I just didn't know what my life was going to be like...) Her name is Josephine. At a year old she could not hold up her own head or roll over, still had no teeth and was the size of a 2 month old. Mom and I took turns holding her and carrying her all over Jinja. When she was sick, we took her to the hospital and spent evenings holding her while nurses poked and prodded. I sang her to sleep. I cried when she cried. I begged the Lord that she wouldn't die. I went home with Josephine still in my heart and spent counless hours thinking and praying about her.

I watched her grow through other volunteers' pictures on facebook and was so thankful for Julie whose heart had also been stolen by this sweet girl. When I moved back to Uganda seven months later the first thing I did was scoop sweet Josephine, now able to sit up by herself, into my arms. She was still small, still had the same sweet smile, still held my heart. I was working pretty far from Jinja, teaching Kindergarten, but would sneak away in the afternoons to get back to the orphanage and hold little Josephine as often as I could. I would sneak her bananas a give her baths. I prayed and prayed and prayed that her forever family would come soon to take her home. She was happy, but she wasn't growing fast enough, she wasn't developing like the other children, and it was completely out of my power to do anything for her but continue to pray and love on her as much as I could.

10 months ago I sat in my new-found bestest friend Suzanne's house and she mentioned to me that if she ever had another baby girl, she would name her Josie Love. My heart lept. JOSEPHINE. I instantly stole her computer and showed her every picture I had of this precious little girl, talking too fast about what it would be like if Suzanne could bring her home. She looked at me as if I might be nuts and laughed but I left feeling like, just MAYBE, a seed had been planted.

7 months ago, Suzanne, Mike, and their two oldest children, along with some others came to visit. Of course the first thing I wanted to do was take them over to Jinja to meet sweet Josephine, who I of course had started referring to as Josie Love. The Mayernicks had been seriously praying about making her part of their family, but were unsure of what all her special needs may entail. But sweet Josie had done it again, she stole their hearts as well. Not long after they returned home, I got an excited phone call from Suzanne announcing that they felt that God was asking them to make Josie a Mayernick. I watch as their fears and uncertainties turned into excitement and joy. I continued to visit Josie at the orphanage whenever I could, but now I could whisper to her, "They are coming. Your Mommy and Daddy are coming to get you." My heart was full of joy.

Last month, Mike and Suzanne came to pick up their sweet baby girl. In a rountine medical exam that takes place before and child goes to the US, sweet Josie Love tested positive for HIV and TB. As I thought back over the time I had known her, it seemed all too obvious. Yet when she tested negative at 5 months, no one ever thought to re-test her. My heart nearly broke in half for this sweet baby girl and for my devestated friends. If you have ever wondered what it looks like to truly follow the call of the Lord, to truly TRUST God, I invite you to meet the Mayernicks. I was blown away, and truly challenged and encouraged as I watched them process and decide to take Josie HOME, regardless of her condition.

Today Josephine is standing up, holding onto my knees, unaware that I am typing about her on my computer. She is singing and grinning that big grin, the same one that looked up at me three years ago, although now it is full of teeth. Josephine is staying with our family for a bit, while Mike and Suzanne finish some things in the US and we treat her here for TB.

As I look at her happy little face I am marveling at God's goodness, His plans that are greater than anything I could have ever imagined. This sweet baby girl who I fell in love with years ago is going home to live with two of my favorite people in the world. She will grow up down the street from my mom who loves her to pieces and she will live near one of the best children's hospitals in the nation... my words are failing me. I can't even convey how beautiful it all is.

We are priviledge to have a few weeks or a few months to love on Josie Love Mayernick, priviledged to have her family walking life with us, priviledged to watch the Hand of God move in these magnificent ways that only He can. We appreciate your prayers as we take on a few more sleepless nights, a lot more dirty diapers, and an abundance of joy.

Mike and Suzanne, I love you. Your baby girl loves you. Thank you for being the example you are to me, thank you for all you do for Amazima and my family, thank you for loving Jesus.

Jesus, thank you. I don't have enough words. You could do it all by yourself, and you choose to include little me. I am so humbled and so grateful. You knit our stories together so perfectly. Thank you for your perfect plan for Josie, thank you for allowing me to witness it, to be a part of it. Thank you for your love for this precious one.

Full...

2009-10-05T22:34:00.001-07:00

SO MUCH God is doing in our lives right now, SO MUCH He is teaching me, SO MUCH to tell you all! I really want to share these stories in way that glorifies My Father who gave them to me, but don't seem to have enought words... So I am going to share them slowly over the next couple of days.

John is a sweet, 15 year old, Karamojong boy with the most beautiful servant's heart. He lives in Masese's Karamojong area with a very old grandmother - not his own grandmother, just a woman he cares for because she is so old and unable to walk well or find food for herself - and a baby who came from... I don't know where. I am constantly humbled by his sweet disposition, his desire to help this vulnerable grandmother and child even though they are unrelated. How many 15 year old boys do you know that spend their lives serving the least of these in their own community? He is precious.

Every Sunday my family eats lunch at a local restaraunt called Yummies (yea, laugh at it for a minute...) This Sunday John was waiting for us when we pulled up after church. He greeted us sweetly but then turned to show me a quarter-sized hole in the back of his foot. All we could really communicate in the little English he knows and the little Swahili I know was that a bottle had cut him. I could not figure out how a bottle made such a large, deep hole. Unfortunately, for severly malnourished children, even the smallest cut can become a gorge due to the body's inability to heal properly. While the big girls got situated inside, the little girls and I trecked of to the nearest pharmacy to pick up some antibiotic ointment, gauze and tape. After washing his foot as best we could with my bottled water, we bandaged him up good. He looked up and said, "I waited for you. I knew you would fix it." We gave John his food and sent him on his way, promising I would come back in the morning to re-bandage and start him on an antibiotic.

Monday morning, he sat waiting in the place I park my van at 7 am. He was not surprised to see me. As I handed him the antibiotic, explaining how to take it. I kind of wanted him to say thank you. But as I looked in his eyes I knew why he hadn't thanked me. Because this was expected. He knew that I was going to bandage his wound and give him medicine because that is what I do. His trust was much better than a thank you. As I washed the gash and covered it with a fresh bandage, he said once again, "I knew you were coming. You bring medicine like you said. You always come." As I took his sweet face into my hands, I whispered to him that Jesus loves Him and that He will ALWAYS show up, always come, always be there to help him.

* * *

Several weeks ago, Gwen's son Elijah was looking at pictures of some sweet Ugandan children on her computer. In an effort to teach him to be thankful for all that he has, Gwen explained to him that these children were hungy, sometimes not eating for days, some having no mommy or daddy, some unable to take a bath or drink clean water. Elijah looked up at her with no doubt, "Mom, don't worry, Katie will feed them. Katie will take care of them."

Over and over and over again God reminds me. I see these children's blind faith and I LONG for my faith in the Lord to be so trusting. HE WILL COME. I am waiting for Him. I KNOW that He will come and bandage my wounds and bind up my brokeness. He will always show up, just like He says, bringing the medicine, or whatever else is needed.

I look at these precious children. Hundreds and thousands and Hundreds of thousands of them. Hungry, with no mommy or daddy, some unable to eat or bathe for days, never having clean water to drink, never having adequate medical care when they are hurting. Could my faith be like Elijah's? Could I look at you without a hint of doubt and say, "Don't worry. God will feed them. God will take care of them." HE IS COMING. HE IS COMING to bandage our wounds, to bind up our broken hearts, to take our faces into His hands and whisper I am always here. HE IS COMING and all these children that are hurting and hungry and longing for love are going to be scooped into His everlasting arms and told that they are beautiful. They will no longer be hungry or hurting because they will be filled with His spirit. They are the least of these, they are His heart, and He is coming for them and for us. So we wait like John. We are expectant like Elijah. We will not be put to shame.

Lord, I know you will come. I know you are here. Let me bring all my wounds and brokeness to you expectantly, without a doubt. Remind me that all the children I touch, and all the children I don't, are yours. Yours in this broken life, and yours in eternity. Come, Lord Jesus. We wait in Hope.

Some sweet words from Jesus...

2009-10-03T12:46:00.000-07:00

"My dear children, I am with you. I watch closely as you struggle for holiness. Often, you are uncertain of your spiritual condition. You strive to serve but feel conflicted by the times in which you are serving. There are some things that all humanity deals with regardless of where in history they are placed. First, there will always be a difference between the world’s path and heaven’s path. These two paths, while they can run along side each other for increments, will always separate. Ultimately, each man will have to choose. Every man, to a greater or lesser degree, will have to contend with choosing first good over evil and then he will have to make another choice and that is the choice of choosing My plan for his life over his own plan for his life. After that, the choices become even more studied in that the man must choose My plan in each day, in each task and even in each moment. You may say, dear apostle, that this is a difficult call for a man, to study his actions in each day. You may say, this is asking a lot. You are right. I, Jesus, am asking a lot of you. I ask for your full commitment and I do so without apology. Dearest apostles, if you give me your full commitment, there is no limit to what I can do. Look at your life. You have said yes to me on many days. Examine what I have done with your yes answers. Consider what I am building with the commitments of so many children of God who are willing to be directed by the Saviour, their King. I am building a structure of love. I am building a structure through which many are returning. Truly, your hearts, open and filled with My love, call out to others. You provide for Me a welcome to those who feel separated. If they can be taken into your heart for even a brief moment and experience Me, with My love, then they will have the courage to both approach Me directly and to accept Me directly. Please, do not count the sacrifices when you consider your service. Do not count the loss of worldly respect. Count only the souls who are comforted and consoled. Count the repentance and healing of so many who have been restored to unity with heaven. Count the humility that I have bestowed on you, dear apostle, since you began to learn about true holiness. I am your King. I can give you anything. I choose to give you peace and holiness. I choose to make of you a resolute servant. Accept My will in your life and you will then be able to accept all of the graces heaven has stored up for you. "

Message from Anne, lay apostle

Lord, may we seek you path, regardless of how alluring the world's path can look sometimes. May we choose good in an evil generation, may we choose Your plan even when it is harder, may we choose YOU every moment of every day. We want to be fully committed to You. We want the days we say "yes" to become every day. We repent from lukewarmness, from mediocrity, from normalcy. We want to shine so brightly for You that others can't help but see, can't help but feel your love. Let us look at EVERY encounter as an opportunity to show your love. Lord on the days where helping just one more person seems like too much, help me to choose You. On the days when satan whispers "you can't save everyone, why are you trying" let me choose You. On the days when it would be too easy to pop in a movie for my children instead of reading Scripture with them, let me choose You. When harsh words are easier to find than kind ones, let me choose You. Father, like Paul, I know what I want to do, what I should do, and yet I find myself failing, discouraged. Thank You for your grace. Thank You that You who sit so HIGH would look low upon people like me and use us as a vessel for you. How blessed we are to even be called servants, to be able to share in your Kingdom and share your love with others. Thank you for the cross, where you have given us peace and holiness. Father we long to say Yes to You.

He is teaching me to stop for ONE. And it is hard and it is ugly. Because every time I stop for that ONE sick child, that ONE hungry old man, that ONE new baby girl, my mind races with the statistics of how many more there are that I am not touching, not feeding, not saving. God whispers every time though that this ONE is enough. That this ONE is feeling His love and that is eternal. ETERNAL. I think of sweet baby Happy who died at 4 months after we did all that we could. I didn't understand how God had led me to feel so attached to that little girl if His plan was to take her all along. I think of Michael who is back at home with his step mom, healthy now, but more than likely still mistreated. God knows that as a single woman I cannot legally adopt a little boy, how could my heart be so knit to his. I think tonight of Gloria who's brain was so damaged from her high fever she may always be in a vegetable like state. God in His infinite wisdom KNEW that if I had been there a few days sooner, this could have been prevented. But then I think of 14 little girls who have a home and food and a Mommy and know Jesus. I think of 600 Karamajong children, modern day lepers in Uganda, singing about God's love for them and leaving with their bellies full. I think of 400 sponsored children who sometimes show up on Saturday in new clothes because now that Amazima is providing them with all their basic needs (food, education, medical care) their parents can afford to buy them a NEW DRESS. I see thousands of deep brown eyes and feel thousands of little brown hands and I know that even on the hardest day, stopping is worth it. A life changed is worth it, even if only ONE. God's love made known is worth it, even if only to ONE. I will not save them all. But I will keep trying. I will say Yes. I will stop for that ONE no matter how hopeless. Jesus, give us the stregth to say yes to whoever you put in our paths today.

2009-09-29T12:22:00.000-07:00

im tired today so someone else wrote for me.

check out www.joiningthejourney.blogspot.com

Email Hacker

2009-09-26T18:25:00.000-07:00

We apologize for the email received by many .. It was not Katie and we are working desperately to fix the issue ... She is obviously not in Scotland asking for money ...

Gwen

And Baby makes 14

2009-09-25T01:47:00.000-07:00

Well.... While I am waiting for the right time to share our exciting story of God's goodness on Thursday, I wanted to introduce you to the newest member of our family. She is almost one, itty bitty, and we are all absolutely enthralled by her. Meet Patricia.

Day 1

Day 3

Day 5

Day 7

Last week

Lord, had I a thousand tongues, I would praise you with all of them...

2009-09-22T10:44:00.000-07:00

I cannot begin to thank you for your prayers. They have overwhelmed us with the peace, calm and joy that can only come from the Lord.

I wish with all of my heart that I could tell you the WHOLE story of how the Lord showed up and moved mountains today.. But since a certain someone won't be finished legalizing all our new paper work until next week, I feel it is best to wait.

I will tell you this though: Mr. Someone showed up an hour early. I was shaken. The first hour did NOT go well. But at 10 am. Oh, your prayers softened even the hardest heart. The power of those prayers pressed down all around us until the presence of God was so tangible in the room even a non-believer could not deny it. Words came out of my mouth that were not ever planned in my mind.

I meet Mr. Someone again tomorrow and hope and plead and pray he will keep the words he promised me today. I have a good feeling though... How could I not!

He truly IS able to do more than all we could ask or imagine.

I am deeply, incredibly, humbly grateful. So thankful for the Lord and His great mercy and Compassion, that He sits so high upon His throne and would look so low as to take an interest in my problems. So thankful for His word that has been the solid rock I can stand on, the promise I can rest in. So SO thankful for you, brothers and sisters, the body of Christ, standing with me, holding up my arms, encouraging and stregthening my heart.

I would feel so greatly honored if, as you pray for us throughout this week as we are waiting on our papers, we could pray for you as well. There is nothing sweeter than the opportunity to stand together before the Mighty One, praising, thanking, asking for eachother.

2009-09-21T11:09:00.002-07:00

I was not going to share this publicly, but in the interest of having as many prayer warriors on our side as possible, I changed my mind...

The paperwork on some of my girls may or may not be missing something, depending on who I am listening to.

Tomorrow at 10 am my time, a meeting will take place that will determine what needs to be done and if our family can stay as is.

We know that nothing that will take place is outside God's sovereignty, His perfect will for our lives.

At the same time, we are pleading that our God in all His infinite mercy would allow this sweet family that He so perfectly knit together to STAY together.

My human self wants to be worried right now but as I look back at God's faithfulness to our family over the last two years, I can find no reason to doubt.

To the God who softened the hearts of the kings...

2009-09-17T05:16:00.000-07:00

Psalm 97

The LORD reigns, let the earth be glad; let the distant shores rejoice.
Clouds and thick darkness surround him; righteousness and justice are the foundation of his throne.
Fire goes before him and consumes his foes on every side.
His lightning lights up the world; the earth sees and trembles.
The mountains melt like wax before the LORD, before the Lord of all the earth.
The heavens proclaim his righteousness, and all the peoples see his glory.
All who worship images are put to shame, those who boast in idols— worship him, all you gods!
Zion hears and rejoices and the villages of Judah are glad because of your judgments, O LORD.
For you, O LORD, are the Most High over all the earth; you are exalted far above all gods.
Let those who love the LORD hate evil, for he guards the lives of his faithful ones and delivers them from the hand of the wicked.
Light is shed upon the righteous and joy on the upright in heart.
Rejoice in the LORD, you who are righteous, and praise his holy name.

May the mountains melt like wax.

More soon, please continue to keep our family and visiting friends in your prayers.

2009-09-15T03:15:00.000-07:00

"So this is what the Sovereign Lord says: See, I lay a stone in Zion, a tested stone, a precious cornerstone for a sure foundation; the one who trusts will never be put to shame."

Isaiah 28:16

"For this battle is the Lord's, and He will give them into your hands."

1 Samuel 17:47

"God sets the lonely in families..."

Psalm 68:6

"Not ONE of God's good promises failed, every one was fulfilled."

Joshua 21:45

"The Lord will fight for you, you need only be still."

Exodus 14:14

Some things are going on here that are too sensitive to share due to the insecurity of the internet. So I am just going to ask for prayer. Prayer for wisdom and discerment and grace. Prayer that WHATEVER happens, we would act in a manner reflective of the Gospel. Prayer for the protection of my sweet family. Prayer for understanding. We know that God is Sovereign. We know that God is good, no matter what. We know that in all things, He will work for the good of those who love Him and who have been called according to His purpose. We cling to that.

I believe that the GOD OF THE UNIVERSE spoke my family into existence and that God does not change His mind. I am trusting in that.

We are SO thankful for the body of Christ standing with us.

More soon, I promise.

2009-08-31T08:52:00.001-07:00

Do not forget in the darkness what you have been promised in the light.

It happens all too easily. A rough day (or several in a row this week...) and I forget. We all do. It becomes to easy to look around and think. "Why? Why do I do this?" "Why take one more child, why live with less so we can give to others more, why leave family and friends to go to a land of strangers, WHAT am I doing here?" I do not usually forget the answer, "For Jesus. Because He called me to this." But far to often I repeat that over and over to myself and forget what it MEANS. It means that it has been granted to me, it is my PRIVILEDGE, not only to believe in Him, but also to suffer for Him. (Philippians 1:29) That suffering is not alone, but is with Him, and oh what a priviledge it is just to be able to be in His presence, to share that with my sweet Savior. That I do it for JESUS, "who being in very nature God did not consider equality with God something to be grasped but made himself NOTHING taking the very nature of a servant being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death— even death on a cross! Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father!" (Liking Philippians today 2:5-11)

It is so simple, and yet this weekend it seemed hard to remember.

The anger of Friday melted into grief, into crying out to the Lord and asking Him how I could more effectively serve His people. As God would have it, the day after Friday is Saturday, and there really is no better affirmation than 350 children flooding through my gate to worship the Lord and eat chicken together. As satan would have it, later that night I found that several people who I have grwon to love and trust have cheated and lied to and stolen from me. The details are not important, but needless to say, I ended the day feeling betrayed and alone, again questioning, "What is it all for." I woke up (did I ever sleep?) Sunday morning to diahreah all over EVERYTHING in Grace and Jane's bed. (I know that is kind of a gross thing to share, but I am trying to paint a picture of my destparation for you here ;) ). The girls had decided to make the best of the situation and proceed to pain everything in the room with poop. Great. After deciding that church was more important than poop, I threw all the sheets in the bathtub and rounded up the gang, but only after packing up all Michael's clothes, lots of long-life milk and multivitamins for him. He was going home.

I cried through the service at the thought of having to take him back. This precious child that I had so fallen in love with going back to a place where there was no garuntee that his mother would not simply sell the milk we sent with Him. And God spoke so plainly. He did not appologize for my heartache, even better, He shared it. He KNEW. Because the pain in my heart at having to give up a little boy that I have loved for a month did not even come close to the pain it cause Him to give up His only Son. And He did that for me. The pain in my hear that felt so unbearable was just a fraction of what he felt when He sent His ONE AND ONLY CHILD to save us, to allow us to spend eternity with Him. Wow.

That is what it means that I do this for Jesus. HE loved me first. I love Him back. And sometimes it hurts. But even then it is pure joy to even be considered worthy to share in His suffering. That is the promise. Not that He is sorry that it hurts. But that He sees. That He knows. That He is here with us.

2009-08-26T11:15:00.000-07:00

*be warned: I always re-read things before I post them. I didn't re-read this one, it is liable to be messy...

I am processing so many emotions right now; I'm just going to go ahead and let you know that this post will not be eloquent or well written. It will not be a beautifully worded story, but just the ramblings of a mom who is tired today. It will just be, and it will be good enough.

On Thursday of last week,I went to check on Michael, a sweet little boy from the Karamajong village that we took care of a few weeks ago. I found him with open sores all over his body. As a result of severe malnutrition, Michael weighs just ten kilos at 6 years old. He is no taller than Jane (my two and a half year old). His skin is breaking and unable to repair itself because his immune system is so weak. His hair is white as snow and his skin is yellow and splotchy and his smile and little bug out eyes can melt your heart and light up the room. Michael is fearfully and wonderfully made, created in the image of my Savior.

I have warned myself over and over that I must NOT start bring home children from the Karamajong village. We feed them lunch and supper every day and twice a week I drive my van, the trunk loaded with a mini pharmacy, into the middle of their village and treat anything I can. And I told myself and told myself that I would not bring them home for treatment, that twice a week visits were all I could handle right now. I wanted so badly to guard my heart because here's the thing: once you take one, you may end up with 13. I knew that once I had taken one sick child from this village home for rehab, there would be not stopping point because these children are ALL ALWAYS sick.

But as I looked at Michael, I saw no alternative. He needed to be bathed in warm water every day. He needed milk and eggs and ORS and multivitamins and fresh fruits and vegetables and there was no way I could get him all those things regularly where he was. Even if I did, there was no guarantee that his parents would not sell these things and continue only feeding him posho (corn flour). So he came home. He tested negative for HIV, TB and typhoid and we began a pretty rigid deworming routine as well as a highly caloric, protein packed diet. In the last 5 days he has gained 2.5 pounds (that's a lot if you only weigh 20!) but he has gained more than that. I have watched him transform from a lifeless, expressionless little boy who slept all day and was unresponsive to a over-the-top cheerful, sometimes down right ornery little boy who hardly ever stops smiling and loves playing games with other children. The transformation has been remarkable.

I will keep him for about another week as I begin counseling his father and step mother (this is the biggest issue, often second wives do not want to care for their husband's other children and sometimes even write them off as cursed or not worthy of food and provision...) about the most nutritious foods for him, frequent meals, bathing, ect. My heart will break to take him back and yet I will know that it is what is best for him and his family.

Wednesday as I met with the Karamjong children for Bible study a woman walked up to me and handed me a baby that I presumed to be dead. And then she breathed.

The mother told me that she was quite positive that she (the mother) had HIV and therefore was not breastfeeding her 10 pound, 9 month old little girl. I asked, quite obviously, what she had been feeding her then? And this was the response that awaited me, "Nothing. We have no food." Um. NO wonder the baby looked dead. She almost was. I pleaded the mother to let me take her with me, to be tested for HIV and be fed. The mother instanly agreed but fist wanted to show me her house.

I think I have seen it all. And then this happens. Thier house was made of cardboard and was smaller than the bed I sleep in at night. On the floor lay filthy old rags on which they slept and a pile of charcoal which they cooked on (when they did have food, I guess). I almost dropped on my knees right there. It was one of those I-just-don't-have-a-clue-what-to-do-next moments. So I did the only thing that comes naturally to me. I scooped her up. I prayed for her mother and the 6 other children living in the house/box and promised to return. I drove as fast as I safely could to the nearest semi-good hospital and then to get some high energy formula.

For the first 24 hours, I could hardly stand to look at sweet baby Patricia (her parents had not named her for fear she would die, and I could think of no one better to name her after than my precious Mommy). The hurt and the hunger in her lifeless little eyes was simply unbearable. Every time I changed her diaper, more big fat worms (we are talking really large, earth worm sized) had come out. I cried for the things this child has had to endue for so long. And I cried to know that though I deworm her now, the minute I take her back to her mother, the worms will return. Her HIV test came back negative and I am praising Jesus for that. She was diagnosed with severe pnemonia and malnutrition. She can hardly sleep at night for coughing so much.

Friends, I ask for prayer. For these children and for my heart. I have fallen in love with Michael and Patricia. Their sweet faces that arer Jesus. The tear stream down as I write this and have to think about taking them back to their parents, who I will try to help as much as possible, but still have such fear in my heart about. I look at their surroundings and simply wonder how children survive in this harsh world.

I am sad and I am angry. Between no sleep and a million doctors appointments (imagine that in Uganda you wait even LONGER in the hospital than you do in the US...) and Bible club on Thursday and Saturday program tomorrow and trying to raise 13 children and spend enough time with each of them, maybe you will right my saddess and anger of as the rantings of an exhausted mother and maybe they are, but this is my blog and I am going to say what I feel like. I am MAD. I have been sad and broken for these children for so long and it has finally turned into a hardened anger. I am angry that this culture so lies to women that Michael's stepmother believes that she does not have to care for this child who is not biologically hers, though she has ample means to. I am angry that in the "Pearl of Africa" and the most fertile region of it at that, a mother has litteraly NO food to feed her baby, not to mention herself or 6 other kids. I am angry that the result of this is that these sweet ones suffer in their innocence. I have said it before and it still holds true: I DO NOT BELIEVE that the God of the universe created too many children in His image and not enough love or food or care to go around. In fact I believe that He created the Body of Christ for just that, to help these little ones, the least of these. And I believe that except for a handful, the Body of Christ is failing. And its not just me who thinks this. When I'm angry, I like to research so that I can at least feel a bit justified in my rage ;) According to several differnt resources, there are an average of 147 million orphaned children in the world today (this statistic includes children who have lost only one parent as well), 11 million children starve to death each year or die from preventable, treatable illness. 8.5 million children work as child slaves, prostitutes, or in other horrific conditions (making things like that cute baby Gap dress Jane wore today...) 2.3 million children world wide are living with HIV.

That is 168.8 million needy children like Michael and Patricia. Seems like a big number, huh? It shouldn't, because there are 2.1 BILLION people on this earth who profess to be Christians. Jesus followers. Servants. Gospel live-ers. And id only 8 percent of those Christians would care for just ONE of these needy children, they would all be taken care of.

And now I'm just sad again. And I want to take care of all 169 million. But as I look into Patricia's eyes, that since just 48 hours ago have turned bright and smiley, as I smell her hair freshly washed with baby shampoo and snuggle her into her new footie pajamas (side note: is their ANYTHING cuter than a baby in soft cotton footie pajamas?!) God tells me that this one is enough. That He will hold the others while they wait for someone to come along and hold them tight and give them their milk and their medicine. That He doesn't ask me to take them all but to stop for the ONE because that one is Jesus, His son. Stop for the little boy with white haid and scabs covering his body, stop for the baby with feces covering her dress, so weak she can't hold up her hear. Stop and take the ones right in front of me any trust Him with the rest. He whispers that it will be ok and that I can smile because tonight 2 less children are hungry and that is good for today.

My anger is gone and I am just a mom who is tired and going to make another bottle and tuck her children into bed and love them the best that I can, as we as a family love the ones God has entrusted us with. Tomorrow I will brainstorm and pray and come up with the best way to take Michael and Patricia back to their homes, possibly find their parents jobs, or supply them with food and medicine. Tomorrow I will remember that they were never mine to begin with, that they are HIS and He will go with them where I cannot. But tonight I will just be. I will just sit with my Father in my sadness and brokeness and anger and ask Him why His innocent children must suffer and beg Him to move people to action and let Him hold me as I hold the baby He has blessed me with for today.

2009-08-14T12:34:00.000-07:00

It is my 16th Birthday and I am eating sushi at my favorite restaurant with my parents when I tell them that I would like to explore the possibility of taking a year in between high school and college to do mission work. This is unheard of in my family and they say they are not sure and will think about it. I am nervous, but somehow I know it is right. He changes their hearts.

I have just turned 18 and find an orphanage online. I beg my parents to let me visit over break, just three weeks. A month later I am on a plane. I am so excited. I am so scared of being, but I know He is going with me. I fall in love.

I graduate high school having made the commitment to teach Kindergarten for a year at a school in The Middle of Nowhere, Uganda. In August I get on the plane. I’m apprehensive and I cry most of the way because I miss my Mommy and my boyfriend. I am eager, but so uncertain. I trust Him. I teach 138 children how to speak English and to love Jesus.

It is October and I am just not sure I can do it anymore. I live in the smallest room I have ever seen in the back of a pastor’s house. I am more uncomfortable than I had bargained for. No one understands, not people here, not people at home. I am tired. But I am prideful and I am not going to quit. I don’t like this. But I know He has a plan. I learn, I grow, He is there.

It is December and God has spoken very clearly about opening a ministry that sponsors 40 of the orphaned children in the village where I am working. This involves moving into a different house, ALONE. It is big and I cannot imagine how God will fill it up. I am lonely and I am anxious. But I am still trusting. He fills the house, and we now have 400 children sponsored.

It is January and I am looking at a little girl, crushed under a brick wall with no one to care for her or her younger siblings. I offer to take the three home with me until we find them a better placement. I am not really sure what to do with them, but I know they are God’s children. They stay.

It is three days later and the littlest looks at me and calls me mommy. My heart might break in two. Something clicks. I am even more scared than I was the day I stepped on that plane, but I KNOW. Today I have 13.

I have to deliver a baby, give a boy stitches, pull a tooth, give and injection. I am petrified. But no one will do it if I do not. He is present, He holds my hand, they are all fine.

It is August and I must get on a plane back to America to go to college, as I have promised my father. I do not remember how to be a teenager or what it is to be normal Brentwood, Tennessee. I will have to leave my babies. I will have to make new friends. I am sad and I am terrified. He wraps His arms around me. He puts just the right people in just the right places, and they help me and they make me feel at home.

First semester is over and He speaks clearly to me that I cannot serve two masters. “Go HOME,” He says, “and stay.” I am uncertain, but I want to be obedient. He squeezes tighter. I am thankful.

I have to look at my loving parents who have given me everything and tell them that I will not go to college right now, because I feel God wants me to be in Uganda. I know how disappointed and how angry they will be. I am more scared than I was when I got on the plane and more scared than I was when I took my first children. But I know that this IS the Plan. They love me anyway.

It is February and my daughter’s biological father comes to take her away. My heart breaks in half, and I am not sure I will ever be able to get out of my bed again, let alone foster another child. I am more than devastated, but I want what is best for her, what He wants for her. She comes back and her biological father learns about Jesus.

It is March and a lame little girl is brought to my gate. She is undoubtedly mine, but I am still anxious. What if I can’t do it? I don’t know what to do with a special needs child, especially as my 13th child. I am criticized and ridiculed. I wonder. I trust and praise God for her sweet little life. She starts to walk.

I find myself in a village full of starving people that for some reason seem to want to kill me. God says to serve them anyway. I am not sure how it is going to work, or if it is safe. I can’t figure it out, but I know He can. 1,200 Karamajongs, the poorest of Uganda’s poor, are now served hot meals daily.

We keep taking in more children until there are 400 in our program. There is no way we will raise enough funds, but by now I have stopped worrying. He has always provided. Blessings rain from the sky, and all 400 children go to school.

I am 20 years old and have 13 children and 400 more who all depend on me for their care. Who are all learning to love Jesus and be responsible adults and looking up to me. The reality of it all can be a bit overwhelming at times. However, it is always pure joy. There is a common misconception that I am courageous. I will be the first to tell you that this is not actually true. Most of the time, I am not brave. I just believe in a God who will use me even though I am not. Most mornings, before I even get out of bed I am overwhelmed with His goodness, with His plan for my life; I stand in awe of the fact that He could entrust me with so much. Most days, I don’t have much of a plan. I don’t always know where this is going. I can’t see the end of the road, but here is the great part: Courage is not about knowing the path. It is about taking the first step. It is about Peter, getting out of the boat. I do not know my five year plan; even tomorrow will probably not go as I have planned. I am thrilled and I am terrified, in a good way. So some call it courage, some call it foolish, I call it Faith. I choose to get out of the boat. To take the next step. Sometimes I walk straight into His arms. More often, I get scared and look down and stumble. Sometimes I almost completely drown. And through it all, He never lets go of my hand.

warning, this is going to be a long one...

2009-08-10T04:56:00.000-07:00

I have 4 kiddos with malaria and all 14 of us have an awful cold, tis the season in Uganda.
so I decided it was a perfect day to send Christine to her sister's (she is the only one of us that isn't sick and I would like to keep it that way), stay in our pj's, make some fresh squeezed orange juice, and pop in High School Musical for the kids while I cleaned my whole house top to bottom.

Funny, cleaning my whole house can actually make me feel BETTER. (yes, I inherited this from my own mother!) Its nap time now and I figured I better check in on you all and let you know what has been going on with us.

At first I wasn't really going to share a whole lot in this blog, but I decided that in order to be real, one must be vulnerable... so here goes. Tuesday, Ben left. Friday, my dad and my brother left. This morning, my best friends for the last 8 months, Joe and Melissa Terranova, moved back to America. This weekend, I thought my heart may literally break in half. It hurt physically.

Watching the man I love interact with my children and participate in my life was such a wonderful blessing. Watching him leave was much harder than I expected. I emailed a sweet friend this note a few days after he left:

"Ben left Tuesday. I am trying and trying and trying to praise the Father for the sweet time He allowed Ben to but honestly, my heart is just broken. In moments where I never before would have thought about him, driving to town, bandaging wounds, cooking dinner, reading at night, I now miss His presence. It hurts. I want for him to be happy. I want for him to use the talents God has given him! But selfishly I just want him to be here with me, to help me. I never before felt incomplete in my life here. His absence makes my life feel that way a little. I know that I need to cling to the promise that God is all I need to be complete but sometimes it is easier to talk the talk than to walk the walk. My dad and brother are leaving today, and Joe and Melissa, my best friends here are leaving Sunday. It feels incredibly lonely. I know though, that I wouldn't trade this lonely feeling for the days that Ben, Brad and Brad were able to spend here. It was undoubtedly more than I could have asked or imagined (look at their words on my blog!) and I know that their eyes were opened so much more to my work and my life and I am so thankful. SO thankful. He is GOOD."

It was a dark place there for a few days.

In some wonderful quiet time over the last few days, in praising while cleaning my beautiful, wonderful little Ugandan home, God has spoken an immense Peace to my heart. I am just so in love with Him, My Savior. He always has just the right words. Saturday He took me through my relationship with Ben, showing me how He has used Ben's awesome athletic talent to take Ben to the most perfect places, put him in the lives of the most perfect people, grow him in his patience and courage and strength, and ultimately create him as the Ben that I love. For the first time I didn't question how Ben would use his athletic talent for God's glory and saw how God had used that talent for His own glory in Ben's life. Why did that take me so long? He also spoke clearly to me that (of course) it IS His perfect plan that there is not a man in my life right now. I know in this stressful, sometimes just down-right hard life how easy it would be for me to quickly turn my dependence to a person, rely on him for my happiness and advice. Surely that is the last thing God desires for my heart! HE wants to be my lover, my happiness, my source of comfort and strength and wisdom. He has me right here without other adults who could ever take His place while He cements in me my full reliance on Him. Again, duh. So that's the Ben thing, for all those who were wondering ;) I will continue to support Him as much as I can from here and I know he will do the same for me. And we will just continue to trust in God's perfect plan.

Then there is the family. OH, how beautiful it is to see my American family and my Ugandan family under the same roof (come quick Mom!!). But there is always such a great sadness as they leave, that in my heart I know that my WHOLE family will never live on the same continent, will very seldom be TOGETHER in this life. I cannot begin to put into words the gratitude I have for my American family. I am not the only person who has laid down dreams for this ministry to be successful and for my baby girls to have a mother. As much as I have laid down dreams of living down the street from my parents, raising my children near their awesome grandparents, hanging out with my family, they have laid down their dreams for me and our live together. I saw the sacrifice in my dad's eyes as he kissed me good bye (tears flowing just thinking about his love for me!) My parents are the reason that I know what a Heavenly Father's love feels like. My family is the reason that I know how to love. I think of Abraham when God asked him to sacrifice Isaac. He must have had so many questions. Look what God gave him back though. Not just his son, but he continues to make him the father of so many nations. My parents and my brother did the ultimate. They loved me so much, they loved the Lord so much, that they let me go where His plan took me. I cannot imagine their great reward in eternity when they meet all the children, all the families, whose lives were touched because they listened.

It is undoubtedly the "thorn in my flesh" that I cannot be with my whole family at one time. It is my daily reminder that perfect happiness will come only from HIM and it will only come in Heaven. So I, we as a family, will continue to rejoice in His promises and the day that we all sit together at His feet.

Christine said to me Saturday, "Wow, they all loved you so much." It's true. Sometimes I wonder, "Why me?" Why did He chose me to be so abnormal? Why don't I just go to college and get married and you know... have a regular life? I could still love Jesus. Why this? And I am sure my parents and my brother and Ben wonder why, of all the 20 year old girls in the world, God would choose this one to move to the other side of the world. But I know why. I am probably the most well loved little girl in the whole entire world. That's why I am here. From those to whom much has been given, so much more will be expected. I am loved SO well. By Ben. By my parents. By my children. By my sweet friends. By all of you. It only makes sense that God would ask me to share that love across the globe, with children who don't know what that feels like, and I feel so incredibly blessed to do so.

The Peace that surpasses all understanding. Right here in my home, right here in my heart. No doubt it is pushed along because of your prayers. Thank you, thank you.

One more request: On Saturday on her way home from program, little Angela was in a bicycle accident. I happened to already be at the clinic with a few other sickies, when they carried her in covered in blood (she had cut her mouth. why is it that a mouth always seems to bleed so much more than necessary?) She has a few deep cuts on her face and lip, several broken teeth, and a very large wound on her leg. She is staying with us while we inject her with penicillin and pain killers (poor thing) and seems to be improving rapidly. Please continue to keep her little body in your prayers. Oh, and you can pray that we would get over our colds, although I really wouldn't mind one more day of cleaning... :)

2009-08-06T10:38:00.000-07:00

Hello Journey followers! The good news is you get a blog, the not so good news; it's not from Katie. This is PAPA, formerly known as Scott and Dad. Katie's girlsasked what she called her grandfather and she said PAPA, so guess what? PAPA it is, and I must say after spending the week with these 13 beautiful girls,I hope I am their PAPA forever.

If you are looking to read an unbiased story about Katie, you should probably not go on. The Dad in me just can't be unbiased, especially after what I've seen and expereincedthis week. What I want to tell each of you is THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart. Each of you through your prayers, donations, words of encouragement, etcmake a difference EVERY DAY! Yes, it is physically through Katie as she touches these people, but Amazima is not possible without you. What I can assure you is; it's not just one life you touch every day, it is literally hundreds. Allow me to share with you a week in the life of Katie as seen through the eyes of herearthly father.
To set the stage realize that I brought Katie to Uganda in 2007 as a 18 year old. I left her at the baby cottage which certainly was a safe haven with other North Americanvolunteers. While hard to part with her I had a sense of her safety. Of course I didn't realize that in a very short time she would venture out from the safety of the baby cottage to the village of Canaan where the real life of Amzima began.

Brad and I arrived Friday near midnight to Kate's house in Bukaya. I don't know what I expected, but I can tell you this; there is not much I'm going to complainabout from this point forward! At 6:00am Saturday the first child came through the gate for worship, play and food. Over the next few hours over 300 children filled Katie's small yard, first greeted with a single boiled egg (you ever seen 350 boiled eggs in a pot?). Then play and worship led by Katie and Raoul, a terrific young man giftedwith beutiful music and words. This was followed by lunch where all 300+ children formed and orderly line to be served rice, beans and CHICKEN! You can't imagine thelooks on their faces when first biting into the chicken. I don't have the words to express the satisfaction. It's at that point a young girl came crying to Katie. She had fallen from a tree and her head was bleeding. We watched Katie magically perform minor surgery, patch the girl up and send her back on her way. I promise youI've never seen anything like it. Then Bashir came in the house only for Katie to say; "I think he has scabbies, I have to run him to the clinic". Off to the clinic she and Bashir went as Katie's girls handed out bags of food to each child filled with flour, beans and rice (bags they had filled that morning separating by hand each ingredient. Enough for each child a week's worth of meals, although I'm quite sure it actually fed the children's family. Katie and Bashir return, and the diagnosis is scabbies. Katie announced that Bashir would be staying with us for a few days while she treated him. You should have seen the look on the faces of me, Brad and Ben!!. .Surely she was kidding, Nope! The day was not over...off to the Karamonjongs for Katie and Ben to check on little Michael, You've read that story.

Did I say it was still Saturday, day 1 of our visit?

I won't bore you with a day by day account, but thought day 1 would set the tone.
On day 3 it was determined Katie has solved the age old marital problem of raising and lowering the toilet seats. Hers are broken and she simply removed them.When I suggested I would buy her new ones she looked at me like I had three heads. She asked if I knew how many children she could feed for the costof toilet seats? I looked at her like she was nuts, but I can tell you that you can adjust to life without toilet seats when all you can think about isfeeding another one of these children.

The week has continued with more of the same. Today is Thursday and I believe it is the first night Katie has not hosted another sick child spend the night. The power has been outsince last night, but it didnt not stop us from attending a meeting at the school where Katie feeds the Karamonjongs. I watched my daugter masterfullycontrol a meeting with 7 school administrators and determine solutions for arrising conflict. PRIDE moment. Then down the hill to Karamonjongs. You simply can't imagine the poverty unless you see it. The smell is undescribeable. The looks on the faces. I cannot get the pictures out of my head. Walking up the hillKatie, Brad and I had as many hands touching us on each arm and our waists as humanly possible. From our elbows down you could see nothing other than brown little fingers just doing anything to touch our white skin as we headed up the hill for lunch.

To finish our week Katie wanted to take us to Sumini's village; how she ever found this place is beyond my wildest imagination. After a 3 mile walk down railrod track, into the jungle, turn right at the dirt path we came upon this tiny little village. Sumini's biological parents greeted Katie with the joy and enthusiasm I've seldom seen. I had no idea what they were saying so I just smiled and nodded until the witch doctor showed up appearing drunk and begging for us to come to his house. That was enough for me!!

Enough rambling, but I want all of you to know, to see, to smell and to feel the impact you are having on this world. Our President can come to Africa for photo opsand talk the talk, or Katie and her team can come to Africa and WALK the WALK. She and YOU are making a difference in peoples lives every single day!I can't begin to tell you the number of Ugandan people that have approached me in town this week to tell me how much they love and respect Katie. Howmuch they appreciate the impact she is having on the children of their country. It's all possible because ALL of you continue to express your love.

As Brad and I prepare to depart tomorrow I can feel the tears beginning to well up. I will leave my precious Katie for another year, a time period I have a hard time imaging. I know she is in God's hands and he will continue to watch over her and keep her safe.

Thank you dear Katie, Auntie Christine and my 13 beautiful grandaughters for sharing your home, your lives and your love. You have changed my life forever when I didn'tthink that was possible. I will miss you everyday!!

2009-08-04T01:20:00.000-07:00

update at 8:30 pm, wednesday: Sumini has severe malaria, please pray for her! Seein her so sick brings back many emotional memories for Momma...

Friends and Family (and stalkers, just kidding!),

This week has been a wonderful, hard, emotional roller coaster for me. I was hesitant to mention in my writing before that this week my brother, my dad and Ben will be here. Some of you know and some of you don't... Ben was my highschool boyfriend and though I am absolutely still in love with him, the fact that I have decided to live in Uganda permanently complicates things a little. I know people who follow my life closely are probably shocked to hear this, it is just not something I felt comfortable sharing. I have not blogged about this because when your life is an open book like mine, people sometimes feel entitled to say things that are unnecessary or far too personal. I was apprehensive about his trip here (he has been here before, but that was before I had children) and mostly I just wanted it to be a private thing between he and I and the Lord. As God would have it, Ben's time here has been more wonderful than I could have ever asked or imagined. I am so grateful for this time and will continue to trust the Lord with our relationship. I know that His plan is far better than my desires, and I am thankful for that. Thanks for your prayers. Anyway, since I am all a jumble of emotions, I decided to let Ben write this one himself...

I am sure that everyone who reads Katie’s blog has their own picture of what Uganda is, the work Katie does, and the people’s lives that are changed. My own picture of Uganda was filled with many mixed emotions. A part of me was thrilled that I could even have a part in this amazing girls life and could hear firsthand the fantastic works that God has done through Katie. However there was always another part of me that never could get a clear picture, it almost seemed National Geographic, it did not seem real. Now one reason was probably because of the history Katie and I share and how hard it is to be so far away from someone you love and admire so much. Maybe that’s what kept me from really understanding what she does and what drives her. Regardless of my lack of understanding in the past this week I have spent in Uganda has truly opened my eyes to the picture of Gods work here. It is Real.

The story I am about to tell is about a little Karomajong boy named “Michael” who we think is around 3. Before I try to explain in words the emotions and details of this experience I would like to say that this was one of the first times I have wept for someone. Katie and I were up at the school where she feeds hundreds of the hungry, neglected Karomajong children who nearly survive on the small bowl of rice and beans. Once we rounded up the mass of little faces Katie turned to me and said, “Where is that hungry little boy?” I couldn’t even begin to guess who she could have talking about. In the sea of hungry children how could there possibly be one that was so neglected he could stand out? Katie pointed to a small tree where a boy with short white hair sat. I had never seen a face like his. No emotion was in his face as Katie and I looked him over and gave him food and water. I sat next to him as his sad eyes surveyed the food in front of him. As he ate we saw small burn marks on his arm and feet so blistered and cracked I did not know how he walked. Katie told me children can only have white hair if they are deprived of almost all protein for more than 6 months. She knew he needed help and asked for his parents. Only the father came, because the mother was nearing child labor, and Katie asked if we could take him home and clean him up. Katie asked the father for the boy’s name, the father said he didn’t know it as a voice from one of the children said “His name is Michael”. He made no noise as we drove him to Katie’s house. Once there, I began talking off his clothes to wash him only to find more burn marks on his legs and back. Katie thought it was from his mother punishing him with burnt sticks. He asked to go back home, my heart broke as I saw this poor boy being washed for probably the first time in a very long time.

When I finished bathing him, Katie began to perform what seemed a small surgery on the boy’s feet. She started by cutting away the large piece of skin hanging from his heals and inner feet. Then she started to cut out his jiggers, a small bug that burrows deep in the foot, out of his feet. The boy made no noise, but tears were rolling down his face. Katie then began to cut the skin away so the rocks and mud could be dug out of the holes left by the jiggers. Michael wept silently in pain as the rocks were removed. I have never cried like I did when I saw this poor, so uncared for child going through so much pain. Once she had removed all the bugs, rocks, and egg sacs from his poor little feet, Katie ran to the bathroom and threw up. We bandaged him up, put a fresh pair of socks on his feet, and a pair of shoes to match. His face showed no emotion as I sat there holding him. I so wanted for some expression of relief or happiness to cross his face as he slowly rested his small hand on my leg. Michael’s face never changed.

Once in the car I reached into the glove compartment for some kind of treat to give my little friend. I had one sucker with a whistle in the handle. Michael watched me as I blew into the whistle “Wheeeee”. I slowly put the whistle up to his lips as the same noise came out, ”Wheeeee”. His eyes lit up and the round cheeks lifted to show his little white teeth for the first time … Michael smiled. I wish I could put in writing the emotions I felt when I saw the small glimpse of joy on his face. It was an expression I could tell had been hidden a long, long time. Everything finally made sense to me. I always knew the work Katie was doing and always was thrilled to hear about it, but the picture finally made sense. It made sense how someone could leave their family and move across the world, it made sense how someone could give their life to helping others, it made sense how Katie can wake up each day and be eager with excitement to do it again. In that one moment my life was changed. It was no longer just a story I heard, or photograph I saw… it was Real.

As Katie and I rode in the front we would hear the occasional “Wheeeee” and every time we would look back and see that precious little smile on his face. I carried Michael down to his mud hut on the back side of the mountain, to leave him with his family he was so waiting to see. His mother smiled as she saw him standing there, “He looks smart” is what she said. I so wished there was something else I could to for my new friend, I can only hope and pray that his parents will learn to appreciate and take care of him, and through that love and the love of Amazima Ministries he will learn the love that Jesus has for him.

I want to thank Katie and her family for allowing me to come take part in the Journey. This trip has truly been one I will never forget and will always be thankful for. You taught me what it truly means to serve others. You will always be in my prayers. I love you Katie.