Among the Inspired

I sat back and wondered today why I haven't been writing more. Because some way somehow writing seems to set free the deepest thoughts in my heart. But then it also uses my realest emotions, and sometimes writing just leaves me feeling spent. And at a time in my life when just making it through the day seems to sometimes take every ounce of strength that I have. It seems my days are filled with driving through some kind of ordered chaos, trying to figure out how to cook with unfamiliar food, or trying to convince my husband that having a cat is a basic human right, and it seems there is not always reserve for digging into the deepest parts of myself.

Life is settling into some kind of routine here and I like that. Because somehow knowing what the day might look like calms me down in the midst of so much unfamiliar. But then again life is always full of surprises. I can tell you honestly that I love it here. And that doesn't come as a surprise to me. I loved it here long before I ever knew I would one day call this home. I loved the culture, and the people, and Uganda was somehow part of me even before I knew this would be my story. And even still, there are some days that are incredibly hard. There are moments I miss the crispness of winter air, and the crunch of snow beneath my feet in a silent forest full of towering white birch. I miss the wide open prairie skies, the vibrance of canola fields in July, the sound of resisting water as I paddle a canoe, the juicy goodness of a fresh strawberry. There are some days when I feel like I am a failure at this business of living in another culture. Sometimes when I misunderstand or am misunderstood and I want to know what it is I need to do or who I need to be in order to befriend and be loved.

And yet even in and through all this sometimes messy transition and fumbling finding my way, I am reminded about the ways my Ugandan friends have inspired me in the first place. I remember returning to Canada inspired by their joy and their resilience. And I am inspired to find that same resilience in me. The ways these people and this country first inspired me are the very things I need to find in myself. And I will, I know I will. Perhaps not all at once, and perhaps not without making another mistake or two, but I write this as a blessed woman, surrounded by people full of patience and grace. Willing to love me as I am. Sometimes I just need to remind myself of that. In some kind of way perhaps being in a cross cultural marriage does add some unique challenges, but somehow the Good Lord knew, that as I lived in this corner of the earth that the very Ugandan that I married would be exactly what I needed. Some kind of buffer between my Canadian self and the culture I am trying to understand. Someone who would so patiently love me and remind me that I don't need to morph myself into someone I'm not in some kind of feeble attempt to be accepted. Someone to remind me that I can live in Uganda in all my Canadianess, love the people and the culture and be loved in return. And somehow in the middle of it all, the soil on these red dirt roads is causing some kind of lasting change deep within who I am.

Among the inspired. A family of children I met in rural Uganda. Newly abandoned by their father, dearly loved by their mother, they were very excited about the prospect of attending school at the new facility our team was designing.

Endurance to Run the Race

It seems that every time I run in a race I gain some kind of perspective. Somehow right in the middle of it, it always ends up being harder than I thought it would be. Particularly if you are running in African heat and humidity, high elevation, and dust. Somehow this prairie girl who comes from the flatlands of Manitoba and would rather run in -30 C than +30 C is learning to adapt, albeit slowly. My heaving lungs gasp for air as I make my way up yet another steep hill, and yet when I make it to the top, tired and red faced, somehow I know it will all be ok.

So today, the runners came out of the starting gate like some kind of bullets. I felt a little silly being at the back of the pack. But I paced myself and ran at a speed I knew I could maintain. About halfway through I started passing people who had slowed to a walk because they had failed to pace themselves. You see there is something about endurance. About knowing when going a bit slower is a little bit ok. And knowing that victory is not always found only in crossing the finish line first. As I neared the last quarter of the race I came up behind a young girl who I could see was tiring. She looked at me with some kind of desperation in her face and said "Can we run together?" And so we did. Ran side by side for that last kilometre, willing each other to just keep on running. At the end of the race I asked her name, and she told me it was Mercy. And I was reminded in that moment, that even though I now live oceans away from the place I once called home, I am kind of doing the very same thing. Getting up every day, going to work, trying to be part of some kind of community around me and loving the people in my path as I do so. I may be on the mission field in a more formalized sense, but in some ways it's not really any different. And in some ways it's not at all the same. There is more material poverty on the streets in which I walk, but here, just as at home, I have the privilege of learning how to love just a little bit better. I hope that I can take each opportunity with an outstretched hand and learn from each experience. Because so far everyone I have met has something to teach me if I'm willing to listen.

The Privilege of the In Between

Somehow I feel as though I have been handed some kind of great and miraculous privilege.  That is, the privilege of living in between. In between cultures and in between worlds. And my deepest and greatest fear is that I will do a bad job of it. That I will somehow close myself off from the beautiful culture around me in the difficulty of transition and as the race becomes a marathon and my heart and my mind grow weary. My greatest fear is that I will somehow not be enough. That someday in the far off future I will land back in Canada callous and unchanged rather than someone who has had their heart shifted and poured out.

I have been reading through the pages of a book on brokenness and I am coming to realize that perhaps in all my weakness and not enoughness, I simply need to offer myself. To strip away pretense, to be willing to do hard things, and to offer myself as imperfect as I am. To have the courage to walk this road even if it means I might get hurt. The words I read are this: "Because when we who are broken give to the broken- this is giving ourselves to Him, the Wounded Healer, the Broken and Given Lover. And He gives us His open and given heart, gives us His very life, gives us union . . . communion" (The Broken Way, 50). I'm reminded that the greatest way that I can be a servant of all is to offer myself, and in an unfamiliar land that is no easy task. Perhaps as I learn to live life in a place very different from my home, I can start small. I can love those around me in small but significant ways. "Love must give to the beautiful people in the backstreets of wherever our feet land, beautiful people living near us and sitting across from us and streaming by us, and no matter what anyone's saying, everyone's just asking if they can be loved. Love gives and every smile says, Yes, you are loved. Love gives, and huge acts to try to make someone happy don't make anyone as hugely happy as simply doing small acts to make someone feel loved. It's strange how that is: everybody wants to change the world, but nobody wants to do the small thing that makes just one person feel loved" (The Broken Way, 74).

One of the greatest blessings of being here long term has been the deepening of friendships I have made on my previous visits here. Somehow these relationships can travel into territory previously not possible when my return ticket was always looming. I have made friends with beautiful people from whom I have learned so much, people from another culture who have let me into their broken places. Places so fraught with pain and hurt that I'm not even quite sure what to do with it. And yet somehow some of these people look back and say that "God is good because He has brought me through some deep valleys, He is my Ebeneezer." I remember back to my culture training and the placement of Ebeneezer stones. A stone of remembrance to mark something God has done. And I see how the great Redeemer has breathed new life into this dear friend of mine.

And so as I begin the journey of meeting new friends and figuring out what it means to love across cultures, maybe God can use this heart of mine to love a few people just a little bit, or a lot more than a little bit. Maybe I'll come home with pieces that are more broken then they are now, and yet I somehow think that the Reflection of God will be seen in all that breaks. "The greatest truths always are the greatest paradox. And what could be a greater paradox than this? Out of feeling lavishly loved by God, one can break and give away that lavish love- and know the complete fullness of love. The miracle happens in the breaking." (The Broken Way, 32).

Child of a King

Eyes as wide as saucers, that is what I noticed about this sweet boy the first time I met him. The language barrier was somehow bridged by his gentle spirit and his wide-eyed smile. This sweet young boy had been abandoned by his mother recently when she and her new husband moved to a new town and left him behind. A neighbour brought him to the gates of Eagles Wings Children’s Village and that is where I met him.

There are many things I don’t understand about this foreign land that has become my home. As I struggle to make sense of this new life around me, I am reminded that in every corner of the earth we all live with deep and broken places among us. 

I once heard a man who works with victims of sex trafficking in Cambodia say that even the very best trauma recovery and rehabilitation programs can at best cobble together a life that is functional. But only the redeeming love of Jesus can take a life full of brokenness and make it whole. Only He can restore Joy and Love in a life that has been broken and battered.  Because His wounds heal ours, His love erases shame, and reminds us we are children of a King. We hold incredible worth.

And so as I look at this precious boy, I see in him hope and a chance at new life. His excitement at learning to read, his streaming tears of joy at spending his very first Christmas morning with present under the tree, they remind me not to overlook the simple pleasures I so often take for granted. Perhaps as he grows and begins to understand his story a bit more he may have to cling onto that redeeming love, to cling hard and to believe that he has been chosen as the son of a King. To be made whole and to take hold of this new life he’s been given and to remember his identity and sense of self is made new at the foot of the cross.

One thing that excites me so much is seeing  the older children becoming leaders and building into the lives of others.

Learning to Read and Write

The reality of not enough

"Jjaja, these children, they are saying their mother left them four days ago and they do not know when she will be back. They have not eaten since then."

The oldest of these children was perhaps 11, the youngest just learning to walk. All I could think of was that I thought I was used to this by now, seeing the reality of people who have not enough. Clearly I am not, and maybe that is not such a bad thing. And I started to wonder what kind of mother could leave her 5 small children all by themselves for the better part of a week. But just as the thought entered my mind, I quickly realized that I don't know what it means to go hungry. Not even a little bit. And my feet are just leaving the starting blocks of starting a long term journey in a foreign culture I don't fully understand. I have been reminded more than a few times these past few weeks that this process is going to take more patience, understanding, and grace, than I alone posses. It is going to be difficult, but I am frequently reminded that the things in life that are worth fighting for are rarely easy. I stand here and I want to become a student of paradox, learning to embrace both the joy and the challenge.

I have been reminded in some small ways these past few days of how this foreign land is becoming home. I walk along the red dirt path and I hear a course of excited voices calling out "Auntie, how are you?"  We assemble in one room and they announce I am here to stay, at least for a few years, and the room erupts in applause, cheering, and screaming.

A young man comes up to me and says "Auntie, now we will see you lots. I am very happy because I know that you love us."

I don't know what kind of challenge the coming months or years may hold. Perhaps that is a good thing. But I know as I walk this journey, I am loved. And for now, that is enough.

Life in the Village is not easy for many of the children

Have you ever seen anyone so excited to get a bag of flour for Christmas?

A piece of candy is a precious gift

These boys were super excited about their toothbrushes

Monthly Newsletter

In addition to updating my blog from Uganda, I'll be sending out a monthly newsletters which will contain updates about the work I'm doing with Engineering Ministries International as well as personal updates.  The blog will probably be reserved for my theological ponderings and stories that are too long to include in the newsletter.

If you would like to receive my monthly newsletter you can sign up at

http://eepurl.com/b9vUvv

Somewhere along the broken road. . .

As I have walked through life these past few weeks, maybe even these past few months, it seems I have felt more deeply the rough and jagged edges of this broken world, of my broken soul. At every turn I am reminded that each of us hold our own cracked and broken pieces and so often all that brokenness gets lived unspoken. But what would happen if somehow I allowed my shattered pieces to flow right on into yours and we found healing in each other's broken places? I am starting to learn that until we realize the depth of our own brokenness there can be no way forward.

Perhaps I become more reflective as I stand on the cusp of a major transition. As I gaze into the heavens and ask Him to take away my unbelief.  That all these big and scary things that I need to leave in His arms, I tell Him I want to believe He is bigger than all of this. That as I stand on the edge of doing this hard and holy thing, I tell Him I want to believe He’s writing this story. Because I know He is, but I can’t see past the here and now and that is more than a little scary. That as I plan to head across the oceans and live in the middle of the hard and messy reality of cross-cultural servanthood; that I would be able to hold out these broken parts of me and that the beautiful souls I will meet will somehow take those and find some kind of healing for their own bruised and battered souls. Lord, let them teach me, teach me to love and live and rejoice in the middle of a hard and angry world. May I give them a piece of my broken heart and my broken soul, and may they find in it thanksgiving and abundance. As I go through this difficult business of transitioning to so many things new, new country, new office, new culture, new life, may they find in me joy and hope even when I can’t see it in myself, in the days that are harder than I know what to do with, in the days when I just want to get on an airplane and come home, may those around me see the light of His love. Because I know that God doesn’t need to use us, the hard and stubborn humans that we are, but He rejoices in doing so. He takes our broken places and makes beauty rise. And is that something that any of us can even comprehend? He walks with us through the painful and difficult places, and perhaps through that, He gives someone else just a small picture of who He is.

Most of us, we don’t want to be bent up, rusted, we would rather be shiny, monolithic, and untainted. But the reality is that we all live with this human condition, broken souls in a bruised and angry world. As deep calls to deep, let us offer up and give away pieces of our broken heart. Let us learn to live content in a world of paradox, joy and pain, love and hurt, let us join hands and do this together. 

There was a day in India when I was trying to test the saturation capacity of the soil. I had 2 young helpers who kept wanting to hold my hands as I tried to dig holes and do tests. I stopped for a few minutes and held out my palm. One little girl placed her hand on mine, and I asked her friend if she wanted to do the same. In that moment they offered me a piece of their broken pasts along with hope for their bright futures.