Right now there is more luggage than free space on the floors in my bedroom. I'm leaving for Uganda one week tomorrow, and yet I feel like I'm in a very different place than I was last year before I left.
While I'm excited and full of anticipation, I also feel the heavy weight of these things I carry. Part of me won't allow myself to believe this trip is actually going to happen until I set my feet on those red dirt roads. God seems to be reminding me daily that this trip is His to give or to take away. Reminding me to hold it with an open hand, to lay down my expectations, and to be willing to let Him use me in ways I don't expect.
Life has been racing forward at warp speed for the past few weeks. My job has had me in every corner of this province from the farthest North, and to the farthest South, East and West. And in a matter of less than a week I'll be going from the Rocky Mountains to the African Sahara. From -47 C wind chills last week to the sometimes oppressive heat of the equator. And as I run, race through each day it seems I carry the worry that somehow this whole thing is just going to slip right through my fingers.
Somehow there are people who just know. They know that words are my love language. And somehow they just know what to say when it needs to be said. A friend that I treasure tells me to lay all that I carry, all these expectations, all these things I still need to do, to just lay them down at the foot of the cross. A co-worker who reminds me that I'm so much more than I let myself believe. A card from a friend that flows with words of encouragement and hope. This is why I speak this language the best. Because I know that these, these words that were spoken or written, they cost something. And because of that, they are words I won't forget.
I was wondering if it is really possible to radiate joy in a way that other people can't miss, despite wading through the mire of this human condition we all battle against. To be real in a way that says, here I am, all of me. To be real in a way that allows you to look someone in the eye and communicate to them just how important they are. And just today, I got a letter in the mail from Esther, my Compassion Child in Uganda. She writes in her careful printing "Jaimee, I want you to know that the joy of the Lord is your strength." After 12 years of letter writing and finally meeting face to face two years ago, somehow even she just knows what I need to be reminded of.
And so I hope that I'll be updating you from the field soon. I'll be in Uganda for a total of 3 weeks, mostly at Eagles Wings Children's Village with a week of eMi in the middle.
These kids right here are what motivate me to fight for wild and crazy joy.
While I'm excited and full of anticipation, I also feel the heavy weight of these things I carry. Part of me won't allow myself to believe this trip is actually going to happen until I set my feet on those red dirt roads. God seems to be reminding me daily that this trip is His to give or to take away. Reminding me to hold it with an open hand, to lay down my expectations, and to be willing to let Him use me in ways I don't expect.
Life has been racing forward at warp speed for the past few weeks. My job has had me in every corner of this province from the farthest North, and to the farthest South, East and West. And in a matter of less than a week I'll be going from the Rocky Mountains to the African Sahara. From -47 C wind chills last week to the sometimes oppressive heat of the equator. And as I run, race through each day it seems I carry the worry that somehow this whole thing is just going to slip right through my fingers.
Somehow there are people who just know. They know that words are my love language. And somehow they just know what to say when it needs to be said. A friend that I treasure tells me to lay all that I carry, all these expectations, all these things I still need to do, to just lay them down at the foot of the cross. A co-worker who reminds me that I'm so much more than I let myself believe. A card from a friend that flows with words of encouragement and hope. This is why I speak this language the best. Because I know that these, these words that were spoken or written, they cost something. And because of that, they are words I won't forget.
I was wondering if it is really possible to radiate joy in a way that other people can't miss, despite wading through the mire of this human condition we all battle against. To be real in a way that says, here I am, all of me. To be real in a way that allows you to look someone in the eye and communicate to them just how important they are. And just today, I got a letter in the mail from Esther, my Compassion Child in Uganda. She writes in her careful printing "Jaimee, I want you to know that the joy of the Lord is your strength." After 12 years of letter writing and finally meeting face to face two years ago, somehow even she just knows what I need to be reminded of.
And so I hope that I'll be updating you from the field soon. I'll be in Uganda for a total of 3 weeks, mostly at Eagles Wings Children's Village with a week of eMi in the middle.
Hi Jaimee ,
ReplyDeleteWhat a JOY to read your blog . I got your blog last night and sent a comment ,but then lost it , so hope this works tonight . Enjoy your friends there and give them a hug from this Grandma .....Grandma P.