Uganda Home

As I write this, I am in the middle of Uganda. I moved to Africa, joined a home committed to love, laughter, and service. Everything is new, everything has changed. These past few days have been filled with endless adjustments. Imagine a flood sweeping over the land, my life that is, and I feel a little overwhelmed. I realize I didn’t understand the enormity of my decision to change life this much. There’s nothing like moving so far. It’s a fresh start, a new season.

When I start to describe my new life to people I struggle to find words. All the typical ones work, in some way or another, but they also miss out on a lot. The faces behind the love. The home behind the children. The real reason behind my desire to give up normal and look for something better. I have been thinking about how to share this journey, and as I consider that, I can’t move beyond the missiona

Missions are looked upon negatively by most, for some good reasons. They have been studied by many smarter than I and it has been pointed out that missions imply one person is in power and another is in lower, or ‘the mission.’ This and others are very true points, worth being broadcasted, and have caused me to shy away from using the term for years. When it gets right down to this journey though, here is what I think:

I am the mission.

I am the one who is in need, always having more to learn from those who are different than me. I am in need of miracles, the ones that come when you live and work with the powerless, and they show you that you are the same. I need to be stripped of my safety net, to find who I am without it. I need to see the kingdom of God and the word made flesh in the places we were promised life – the cracks of society and the corners of religion. I need real life, life I can breathe full, without the watered down contentment I’ve been promised. I need to understand the worst parts of the world and marvel at the magnificent. I need to learn the cycle of greed, and break free from the oppression circle.

I am the one who so willingly gives of myself and feels pleased, certain that I have earned points. I am the one who will turn relationships with those different than me into stories all about me. I being the hero, them being the needy. I am the one who might be pretty poor in the bank, but feel rich in my own spirituality.

I am in need. I need these children, this place, this time. I need it to change me, completely.

I am the mission. As I write these stories over these months, they’re changing me.

These next few weeks will be an adjustment, but I will try and write some about what is happening inside. It is currently the battle of finding wonderful in giggles and tears as much as I did the quiet of my old mornings.

Pictures to come later on. The children are wonderful.

Grace and Mercy

Tags

Commitment, Faith, Grace, Mercy, Silence, Trust

I don’t care how much I say I love grace and mercy, I’m really not good at either of them.

When life kicks in I wash my hands, smile at triumphant justice, and think to myself they deserved it.

I learned a very long time ago that there are people who will never repent, apologize, or make amends for the wrongs they have done. We live in an unjust world, where there’s not always an ending to the story.

But when closure comes to the door, what do I love more? Do I choose justice, or do I look for how to grace this life?

When the ends aren’t tied up nicely, forgiveness doesn’t meet my human need for closure.

Act justly

Love mercy and

Walk humbly. (Micah 6:8)

Can I let that be enough? If I dig deep, does He hold more than what someone deserves?

A friend once told me that as I learned about God I would either start to love Him more, or hate Him. And I guess that’s the truth. The hard can change who I am. It’s my choice to either build walls and keep God out, or soften my heart, even when the truth is hard.

And when the quiet whisper came this spring, saying this journey would be about trust, I knew the truth wasn’t going to be great. When the blanket of silence settled, when I couldn’t hear, the truth wasn’t fun.

But is He enough, this Truth, even when I can’t connect with Him? Even when I pray and He declines to respond?

I want Him to be.

There’s a song by Fun though, it says “But I will die for my own sins, thanks a lot. We’ll rise up ourselves, thanks for nothing at all.” And I think they may be my own selfish words. The cracked piece of me throwing stones and rebelling against the way I don’t want to do this grace and mercy thing, and can’t He just talk to me?

This fight between walking humbly and screaming get the hell away from me, God, it’s outside of the church walls I’m used to. I pull so hard, when I should just let go.

And He shows me He might be here too.

Here where I can’t grace, where I need justice and f-bombs, where my prayer language is harsh and fear induced paralysis is often. Here where I can’t comprehend Him being enough. Here where I can be angry, because He doesn’t need me not to be.

That trust, for me, is enough.

Seasons

Tags

Beginnings, Change, moving, Seasons

It started with some updates. To be more professional and such. Since then I’ve taken a blogging hiatus, packed up my words, and moved to my new home here at word press.

The plan was simple. Things would be different this time around. I would have a schedule to keep things fresh. The trip was going to be logged and the process documented – so supporters could really see.

But seasons.

I didn’t anticipate the cracking that would take place, or the friends who would suffer hard.

I didn’t realize I wouldn’t have words, really no words for this moving process, or even a place for pictures.

I didn’t understand reading would keep me praying and praying would be the only thing to save my life when the boxes burst and the bags filled. I didn’t think I wouldn’t want to write.

I knew people would twist, but that tension itself would be tested?

That grace wouldn’t always be easy to give, and that screaming flippity dip and banana balls instead of the f-word would actually be the graceful thing to do? I had no idea.

It’s a season

The whirlwind of it all has thrown me off-kilter, and I haven’t been connecting well.

As goodbyes continue, and meetings begin, that connecting gap feels wide. The foundation isn’t set.

But seasons.

This one’s ending, I’ll  try this next one with more grace.