I often wonder how Jesus felt after he came down from the mountain.

The scripture is full of places where Jesus “slipped away into the hills,” and I've known the weight of why He did that. The sea of faces. The hands outstretched. The need. Ever growing.

How did He feel when He came from being face to face with His Father, back to the life of human need. And demands.

This is the hard part about meeting with God. It is so good. So good you never want to leave. And yet the world is waiting for you to offer them a piece of bread.

Or send them tax-deductible receipts.

Whether I am back home in Uganda, or in the USA, the need is always there.

How to meet with God in the middle of “real” life. When the only real life I've felt is resting in His arms.

So I stop for a moment from licking a pile of envelopes.

The sun dips low and orange past the mountains, setting them ablaze.

The soaking music sings, “the whispers of heaven,” and I try to think about what that means.

These whispers of heaven.

In the midst of every day life.

I breathe.

And I can feel Him again.

He is still here. I am still His daughter.

Even though I feel different.

I am still His. And He is still my shelter.

So much so, that last week when two of my precious little ones in Uganda ran away from home, I had nowhere to run but to my Daddy. Nothing I could do. I was stuck in Canada. So I soaked. And I prayed, and I released them to Him, because after all He is their Daddy too, even though they struggle to know it.

So I prayed God would Father them. Take that orphan spirit clean from them, and make them whole.

I actually wonder if the resting produced more than the striving.

Because come Monday, there was a change in them. Over the phone, I hear the reports. Reports of how the Father touched them.

He is the only one who can love a heart back to life.

I think Jesus carried the mountain around inside Him. He kept it close.

The mystery of that Holy meeting.

He wrapped it around His heart and stopped to let it fill Him anew.

He handed out the bread and fish, all the while contemplating in His heart, the goodness of the Father.

So maybe we don't have to leave the mountain.

Maybe we can carry it.

And force ourselves to take moments to remember,

to let it fill us once again.

The new year finds me open and receiving, resting in these arms that long to carry me that I always seem to push away.

After all the clutching and striving. After all the cement stained floors cradling a thousand tears. I let him hold me. I let God love me back to life. I get off the crazed swirling monotony of days and empty hands and babies and dirt and sweat. Because Uganda, while I love it, takes my little heart and rubs it raw.
Too busy to tend it; I falter.

I need a safe place to be still.

Sometimes we have to come to the end of ourselves to finally come home.

No longer a mother. But allowing myself to just be a daughter.

One

who is loved.

I find this revelation hard to receive: God the Father loves me as I am, just as much as He loves Jesus. He loves me just as much whether I am sleeping, or yelling at someone, or praying for the sick and spending myself on the poor. Whether I feel far from him, or close to him, my identity does not change. I am His.

That His love is not a temperature gage.

Does not rise and fall with my good and bad actions. Not dependent on what I do, but just because I AM. I am His girl.

The Father's heart is a deep-boned thing, something that covers and calms every anxious voice, every fearful thought, every long to do list. It is life-changing.

To know this. It shifts everything. Because

I no longer have to do for approval.

I move from approval.

My heart learns the lesson again. And again.

How to stop and know. To know. And believe. And receive. His love.

I had a vision.

Me and Jesus on a beach.

I am a little girl busy building my sand castle. Jesus wants me to come join him for a swim in the water. But I refuse, because I want to build this castle to show him. To show him he can be proud of me. He insists. Come join me. Be with me. So I relent. We play in the water for hours. When I come back to the beach, my sandcastle has washed away. But I did not feel the pain of it. It was as if it no longer mattered. Because His presence was so real and so sweet.

I look up further on the beach and there is a large castle, built of stone, made for a princess, like a backyard play house. And as I enter I realize it's big enough for me and Jesus to fit inside.

And I did nothing to build it.

I come out of the dream, and I know:

Everywhere all of us dying on our knees, when we could be with Him.

This is His furious longing.

And He is able. To cover our hearts with His hands. All the dissapointments, and the shattered dreams, the betrayals, and the back-stabbing. His hands hold them and absorb them into His heart.

So much healing in this place. So much healing for me. So much revelation to bring back.
These women, these girls, are loved exactly as they are, regardless of their actions.

This is the most important thing in the world: To know we are loved and receive it. And to finally accept ourselves and be free.

The heart is where everything springs from.

And how we view God has everything to

do with how we are going to live our life.

From GRACE. Or from DOING.

This is the calling. The reason we are in Uganda.

The reason Zion Project was born.

A destiny of healed hearts walking in wholeness awaits us.

So much love received, to give away.

The truth becomes real. There is no other way.

And gratitude.

The gratitude of feeling His love. So much more than a thousand gifts.

The plaintive prayers find rest.

I am home.

Will you join me?

*If you are interested in inner healing/the father's heart, a great resource is Catch The Fire School of Ministry in Toronto, Canada. May you be blessed! http://catchthefire.com/

Merry Christmas From Our Family In Uganda!

2011-11-24_14_21_48.mp4 Watch on Posterous

We just want to say thank you for ALL the ways you have supported us in 2011! We praise God for the hundreds of lives touched with His love. 

You are such a special part of our family in Uganda.

And the girls were pretty happy about their presents! New dress, and new shoes! For us in America, very little. But to them, it meant the whole world.

And our Imani women each got new Swahili Bibles! Which as you can see they were stoked about!

Thank you for making it all possible.

If you'd like to make an end-of year tax-deductible donation to us,we would so appreciate it! We are trying to reach our goal of $20,000 for a van to take the kids to a better private school. So far we've raised $4,000.  

Merry Christmas to you and yours!
We'll see you in 2012! 

Love,

Your family in Uganda~ Zion Project

SHOP OUR NEW WINTER LINE FROM IMANI!

After months of hard work, it's finally here! Our new winter line, including our exclusive Karamoja Line, with one of a kind jewelry. Shop ethically this holiday season and give a gift that made a difference to a sex-trafficked woman in northern Uganda. Go ahead, share the love!

www.imanilove.com

 

 

The Girl Effect

Read our latest newsletter about how changing a girl's life can change the world.

Staff team building day at a ropes course where we faced our fears and became a family

What Love Looks Like

So the rain pours sweet and cold. Washes away the dusty road grime. Cleans us. Fresh.

Like His love.

I'm driving home after a long, sweaty day. I hold the tears back. 7 hours at the hospital. No food. No water. Only to find out another one. Another one has HIV.

And she's pregnant.

Alone in this world. And I think of Mama Heidi's words, "What does love look like?" So we stay and wait in the long lines. We hold hands through the ugly words. We pray. And we help her get medicine to keep this monster at bay. 7 hours and I feel barely able to move as I climb into the truck one more time to take Bijou home.

Bijou is a woman we met on outreach while praying for the sick. Another refugee in the slum. Just a girl no one cares for. Just a girl no one wants. Just a girl who might sell herself for a piece of bread.

But we want her. She’s four days past her due date. She’s having pain, but nothing comes.
Not another o

ne. Father, not another.

I won’t let another baby die.
I have no time.

But I know I will pick her up tomorrow to take her to the hospital because she needs our love.

We’re driving home,

when I hear the voices, "Mama Sarita," Although they say my name more like "Sharita." I know they are calling me.

My women. My sheep.

They run up to the truck breathless. I hand out hugs and offer them a ride home. We go a little further. "Mama Sharita!" And we wave and add a few more to our brood. One of our kids from the Nursery School smiles and waves, "Sharita!"

And then I get it.

Father is showing me He knows my name. He knows these children of mine. He knows their needs. And he knows the heart-breaking with every piece of my love given away. So He gives me some of His. Love. The smiles and hugs from my children.

I remember the prophecies: Aids. Babies. Healed. I hold onto those whispers like gold.

Sometime soon a new life will enter this world. And she will live.

Because He loves. Because He loves through people like you and me. We cannot stop. We cannot give up. We cannot look away though it hurts. We stay. Because He loves. We can too. Don't turn your eyes from this:

A woman alone and pregnant. A little lost sheep. Just one. But the one you can be the answer for. One we will be the answer for. We don’t have the money, but Bijou needs a job.

So I know that we will, even before I think about the cost.

I get home exhausted. I open the email and see the donation from a friend and the words that remind me why I do this every day. The Father gives me a hug.

So we give it all away. Because He has enough.

And tomorrow we'll do it again.