I see you. God says, as my heart breaks. I know. He says, as I turn into the covers to cry. If you ask Him for compassion, if you ask Him, to help you love. He will blow your heart wide open. Love, such a beautiful thing. But it hurts too. Last week, my children told me their Auntie’s called them stupid. Told me many things which tore me in two. All I want is to protect them. To have them grow up in a home full of love. To have them bring the Kingdom of heaven to earth.
I have to be honest and say its been one of the rougher seasons for me and I am so looking forward to our break in May. It’s been a rough ride (literally) driving up and down bumpy roads back and forth to Kampala trying to be gracious in the face of persecution, trying to re-file my NGO. I have been very heart-heavy lately–just fighting exhaustion from all the stress, the traveling, and unending to do lists, and all the holes in the ministry that still need to be filled. We pray for revival, but it seems slow. We pray
This is the season of waiting. The dust makes tornadoes in the road and the wind whips. The clouds gather heavy with expectation and they pause. A pause that sounds deafening as the moment before a birth cry. And a question. When will the rains come? Splinter thick, hope embeds her mark on the soul. We have a promise. It will come. Like dreams remembered in sleep barely
There was a lot of singing. Singing in a language I do not understand, but could decipher through the laughter and uplifted hands. Someone translated a line for me: “Tell Pharaoh we are not going back to Egypt.” This is the beginning of a new life. A life safe from groping hands. Safe from the threat of disease. After the girl’s got the eviction notice, we didn’t have much time to act. But God always knows what we need before we know we need it. We found a house in just two days (which needs some work–seems to always be
Caught in the crossfire of bullets they only wanted to survive it. To outrun the cycle of war, rape, and the blaze of huts as they were destroyed. They promised them safety. A future. Maybe even a marriage. A truck out of hell, out of the heart of darkness. But it would cost them something. Just a body. Just a soul. Just a life. When the Ugandan People’s Defense Force (UPDF) rolled out of Congo in a billow of dust and sand it took the beautiful, fair-skinned Congolese women with it. Traded one hell for another. Dropped them off in
It’s so hot in Gulu that I feel I might actually be losing brain functionality. Dry season. In Africa. Winds like the Santa Ana’s sweep through the town scattering dust into people’s eyes. Nothing like a hot Thanksgiving in November to make you feel normal. It’s dry and it’s dusty, but it doesn’t hinder our progress. We have a lot to be thankful for. In just the last four months… *We’ve taken in 11 girls and 13 children from the camps into a home where they receive safety, love, a family, food, counseling, discipleship, life skills, parenting skills, medical care,
It’s amazing what a single month can do to change a person’s life. A month ago they did not smile. Now, everywhere the sound of laughter and children showing off their teeth. The same children who a month ago would cry in their mother’s lap. Now they play. Like normal kids. Like our kids. They build blocks and race cars. A month ago they did not dream. Now they sit around in circles and talk about going back to school or learning to do catering to continue the baking skills they’ve learned at our house (not from me, I know
“The city will be rebuilt on her ruins.” Jeremiah 30:18 (Pamela, age 16, raped, with daughter Maria–they live in our house) Here, they do not cry. But I watch an Acholi girl cry. I think in the end, what scares her most, what scares all of them, all of us, most, is being alone. I think of her—being left. They promised to stay, but left. I think of the moment she knew she was pregnant and how a place inside her wanted to die. Not wanted. That belly, a scarlet letter. And home is now a place of disapproving looks
“Home is where one starts from…. In my end is my beginning.” -T. S. Eliot- The love of God is such that when we lay something down He is faithful to give us something better than we thought possible. For the past week my prayer has been God—your will…(but if I can put a special request in…..)I’d sure love to have my own space. After close to five months of looking much like a pack mule melting in the midday sun and staying in rooms where I dig through my exploding suitcases looking for that one thing I’m almost positive
Writer. Missionary Coach. Recovering perfectionist. I want you to know that you are loved and already good enough. I am about helping people move from brokenness into wholeness. Together, we'll make a more beautiful world.
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