Then last week, something shifted inside of me.  My sense of purpose returned.  I am here to advocate for these kids, to be their voice.  I don’t get to love them with my hugs right now, but I do get to love them by telling their stories, sharing their pictures.  I love them by letting God use me to find them sponsor families.  Right now, it’s enough.  It’s what it needs to be. 

So, I started out as woo-hoo girl, an extremely excited warrior ready to beat back the forces of darkness and beat down poverty with my enthusiasm.  Then I saw said poverty and lost my woo and hoo for awhile.  Warrior Girl had to freak out and numb out and figure out.  Now, my woo-hoo is bigger than ever, my convictions stronger than ever before.  Armed with stories that I’ve seen with my own eyes and smelled with my own nose and felt with my own fingers and toes, I am reentering the battle fully submitted to the only Warrior powerful enough to love these kids unconditionally, save these kids from destruction, and call each one tenderly by name.  My God, the Rock of my salvation.  Where I am weak and self-serving, He is strong and boundless in His love.  He does not take M&M breaks (Not that there’s anything wrong with that….).

Not hurting my joy-mood in the least:  Joseph just Facebooked me this about Bosco: “I found Bosco playing soccer and running around with other boys, I mean big boys!”  Um, how much does our God love?  Bosco, who wasn’t going to live.  Bosco, who wasn’t going to keep his leg.  Bosco, who’s prognosis was doubtful.  Bosco, an orphan in a picture-the-most-remote-place-you-can-and-go-further village in Africa with gangrene taking over half his leg a few short months ago is PLAYING SOCCER!!!  My God can do ANYTHING.

Here is part of my meeting with Harriet.  When Alex saw my reaction to her name, he started filming the crazy muzungu crying and hugging the bewildered African girl.  One of the biggest lessons that God laid on my heart while I was over there is how much He loves each one of us.  There is no end to the extent of His love.  He holds us in His hands.  Each of these precious orphans is His special child. 

On the bus on the way to Adacar the morning that we met Harriet, God led me to Acts 4.  I shared with some of the team on the bus the following verse: “They did what Your power and will had decided beforehand should happen” (Acts 4:28), saying that God had already decided beforehand what would happen in Adacar that day.  It wasn’t up to us what would happen.  God had already decided, and we just needed to be ready and willing to be His hands and feet.  I had no idea that God had decided to lead us right to Harriet’s home!

Check out the following video, which features photos from four of the HopeChest care points we visisted in Uganda.  Most of the photos are provided courtesy of Ashley Bryan from Embrace Point.

Read back through posts.  I did want to clarify one thing.  The 20 100-kilo bags of posho that we bought with donations.  We used a small part of it for the 12 homestead visits, and we distributed the rest of it to people in a line.  Women brought scarves and bags that we filled with scoops of posho until it ran out.

Update on the well: After getting representatives from all three communities who use the broken well, along with a mechanic, to look at the well, we’ve gotten agreement to fix it and we’ve gotten an accurate assessment of what it’ll take to do that.  Hopefully the people of Adacar will be drinking clean water very soon.

After Adacar, the rest of the trip was fun.  Hard to transition from what we were doing to being tourists all of a sudden.  We drove back to Jinja, stopping along the way to feed a baboon.  We took a boat ride on the Nile, to the source of the Nile, and a tour group of school boys from Kenya took pictures of the white people.  WE were the tourist attraction for them.  Ha! 

We ate a fabulous meal at the Gately, and it was very weird to see other muzungus.  I was almost like, “What are YOU doing here?”  Oh yeah, I’m white, too.   It was good to spend time as a team and process the week.  The next day, Arthur stopped by our hotel with paper bead necklaces made by the girls and disciplers at Rapha.  I bought a ton of them to sell and raise money for the kids.  We left for Kampala and the market.  I bought more beads there, and Martin and I bought drums to bring back.  I can’t wait to see some of those drums played at Southside, and I gave two to Elliott.  I have dreams of him playing a jimbe with some boys in Adacar some day.   The muzungu better start practicing now.

Okay, now I’m just typing because I’m not sure what to do if I get up from this computer.  I guess I’ll start with laundry, maybe make a list or two…maybe sob hysterically, then laugh really hard.  I wish I could be in two places at once, because I love life here but I’m not ready to be here.  I’m not fully here.  I’m somewhere in between, dangling over the Atlantic, equally comfortable surrounded by dirty children or drinking Starbucks.  Not sure what the answer is.  My spirit is not comfortable.  But I guess that’s a good thing. 

Lord, unsettle me.  Keep me from the comfort that stagnates my soul.  I want to be restless in Your Name.

I can’t hit everything that’s happened in the last two days, so I’ll just try to tell a few stories, some beautiful, and some terrible, some encouraging, some discouraging, but all motivating.  Yesterday, we found George William, our sponsored child, who is Elliott’s age.  He was very scared of us, and I quickly backed away and tried to avoid him, because he cried and thrashed whenever I got close!  Awhile later, a young teenaged girl grabbed my hand and pulled me into a concrete building.  They had George cornered in there and were whipping him to try to make him come to me.  He was sobbing and bleating like a hurt animal and writhing on the ground.  The girls were trying to please me.  I shouted, “No-no-no-no-no!!!” But they kept on, so I left, thinking that they’d stop when I leave.  I started sobbing and Greg immediately went in and saved George.  I had to get back on the bus and put my sunglasses on to hide my tears.  I pulled myself together, took a deep breath, wiped my cheeks, and got back out of the bus.  I think everyone thought I was sad because George wouldn’t come to me, not because they’d just beat my boy!  I want to make sure and clarify that his tormentors were young girls, maybe 12-14 years old, not the disciplers or leaders of the community.  Alex went into George’s torture chamber and gave him a lollipop.  George immediately perked up and let Alex hold him for a long time.  I gave him a second pop and rubbed his back.  He’s the same size as Elliott and so shy and precious.  It kills me that he received a beating because of me.  Today I sat down next to him and tried to give him a pop, but he started whimpering and wouldn’t take it.  He associates me with his pain, probably thinks that I caused it.  I’m wrecked about it.  Alex played with him all morning, so at least he’s comfortable with his sponsor dad.  George doesn’t have a daddy here, so I’m glad that he got some quality time with the best daddy in the world.

I spent much of my time in Adacar speaking with Greg and Joseph and learning about the area, the needs here, and talking about our development plan.  There are actually three communities colliding at Adacar, so we have a monumental task ahead.  The well is broken, so we got a mechanic out today to access the damage.  First step.  I have more information and some really positive news, but I’ll wait to share everything until I have a better picture.  So far, we’ve started a daily feeding program for the kids, which includes meat once a week, we’ve hired two disciplers to work with them, and we have the money for the kitchen.  We are in phase one of a three-phase development plan.  My visit to Kayango gives me hope for the future.  Today Colleen, the nurse who came on the trip, spent all day assessing children.  Ringworm is rampant.  There was a young woman with a broken wrist, and they got her to the hospital in Katakwi to have it set.  Total cost for transport and hospital visit?  $10.  An impossible figure for her.

Yesterday, we helped cook and serve the food, including meat for the kids.  We kept scooping, scooping, scooping until we ran out of meat.  We kept scooping, scooping, scooping until we ran out of broth.  We kept scooping, scooping, scooping until we ran out of rice.  We fed 400 kids, but over 500 showed up.  Our hearts were heavy last night knowing that there were over 100 kids at Adacar with rumbly tummies.

I was on broth scooping duty, and as I ran out of broth, Joseph pulled me out and told me that we were going to see Bosco a day early.  Stomach flop, and I was immediately self-conscious of the chicken broth stains down my skirt and congealed chicken fat between my toes.  As I walked away from the feeding area, I knew that we were almost out of rice, and I walked past a long line of children waiting and the older children waiting patiently under the big tree.  Oh no.  Do none of them have plates?  No, no.   Oh no. 

Alex and I piled into the truck with Joseph and took off for Ngarium.  We arrived to find Christine, his mother, the Teso widow for the area, Joyce, and the elders of the community meeting to plan a big celebration in our honor for the following day, when we were expected.  Surprise!  We’re a day early!  We felt bad.  Everyone had pooled their food to cook a big meal.  When they saw us arrive, Christine got in the truck with us and everyone else filed away.  Meeting adjourned.  The celebration starts now.

Bosco was washing clothes when we arrived at his home, and someone went to fetch him.  While we waited for him, Christine and several elders of the community brought us chairs.  Everyone grouped around us.  I got out bubbles and started blowing them at the kids.  They LOVED it.  Oklahoma peeps, bring lots of bubbles when you go in two weeks!  When Bosco walked up, I handed the bubbles to the girl in front of me and smiled at him. 

Rather than try to describe our meeting with Bosco, Alex recorded most of it, so when we get back home, he’ll edit it and stick it on the blog.  Our time together was a dream come true, and I can’t wait to share it with you.

Before, during, and after our time with Bosco, I was filled with so much joy.  I smiled so hard that my head hurt.  I was just so happy to be with him and his family.  Later that night, the hard reality of his life started to sink in.  We both held his baby brother, the one who had malaria.  Joseph said he looked worse than when he’d seen him a couple of months ago.  His hair was too light, his nose was running, he was congested, and he had a cough.  I have no idea what’s going to happen to him.  Bosco is 13, but he looks about 8.  Christine has 5 kids, and after Bosco, the other ones are spaced about a year apart.  Bosco’s leg is healing, but he still has pain near his ankle.  The doctors have said that he needs more nutrients in his diet or he will not continue to heal.  Joseph has been supplying him with silverfish, which the doctors have said will help.  He explained to me what the leg looked like when he found him, and it’s so much worse than I could have ever imagined.  It was gangrenous and open all the way down to the bone, with pus oozing out from the bone.  The entire leg was covered with 1000s of flies, and at the knee, his bone was flaking off in pieces.  All this was happening to him and he had NO PAIN KILLER.  I cannot IMAGINE his agony.  And yet, while he was in this pain when Joseph came to profile him for sponsorship, he somehow managed to smile the sweetest smile for the picture that eventually made it to my refrigerator door. 

I am so thankful for the Oklahoma City team from Lindsey’s church going in two weeks.  Our time was so short.  I hated to leave so soon, but I’m comforted knowing that an awesome church is coming to spend time in Ngarium alone.  That all their focus will be on these sweet people.  I love being part of Ngarium’s sponsor team, knowing that I can pop over whenever I visit Adacar, but that this incredible church body is investing as a community in Bosco’s village.

We spent an interesting night in Katakwi.  No one showered, the electricity and water turned off at night around 10pm and turned back on this morning at 7am.  We stayed in concrete cell blocks, and some kind of wild beast thrashed against the fortified metal gate.  I actually got my best night’s sleep yet.  Maybe I like roughing it.
 
We all pooled the money that we’d collected in donations and agreed to use it on whatever need arose during our trip.  The hardest months for the people of Adacar are May and June, before the harvest.  They are hungry right now.  We took the money that we had and bought 20 100-kilo bags of posho (cornmeal, the staple of their diet).

We talked to the leaders of the community about who were the neediest members of the community, and we made 12 care packages, each made up of a 20-lb bag of posho, two bags of salt, a bottle of cooking oil, and a bar of soap.  We spent the morning with several of the community leaders walking to each homestead and distributing the care packages, singing “We Are Walking in the Light of God” in four-part harmony as we walked.  At each homestead (mud hut), we stopped and presented the gift and spoke a blessing or prayer over the recipient. 

At our second stop, we came to a 16-year-old girl whose father had died and mother had left.  She was taking care of her three younger siblings, and still managing to attend school and win first in her class for physics.  I stood there listening to the translator talk, and I felt prompted to ask David what the girl’s name was.  He looked at the list and said, “Harriot Achom.”  Our God is so good.  Alex will upload a video soon of my reaction to her name, but those of you who follow my blog know who this is.

God continues to lay Harriot’s name on my heart.  It started at the dinner in Canton, when Brandi pulled her packet out of 150 packets and mentioned this young girl during her talk.  I felt led to search for her in my pile of profile packets.  I prayed specifically for the kind of woman that I thought Harriot needed, and God let me to Kathleen, the perfect sponsor for Harriot (Kathleen, I will call you when I get back sweet woman!).  Throughout the trip, He continued to bring her name to my mind.  Harriot Achom.  Harriot Achom.  And out of 500+ kids in Adacar and only 12 homestead visits, God led me to Harriot.  Our God knows His children, and He cares so deeply about each one.  I am so blessed to be part of His miraculous plan for her life.  He holds her so closely. 

After Harriot, we visited homestead after homestead, bringing provision.  Two stories that stick out are a young woman who had lost her husband to the Karamajong, and an elderly woman who had suffered a stroke four years ago and has not left her hut since.  If she needs to poop, she does it right there and has to wait for her elderly husband to clean her up.  She is gnarled and twisted and trapped by her earthly body.

After our 12 homestead visits, I returned to the bus to get the clothes that I had worn yesterday.  I headed out to give them to Margaret, the head widow for the district, to pass out to someone who needs them.  A few yards out of the bus, I see Harriot and her siblings.  Her younger sister’s dress is falling off of her.  Again, God provides for Harriot.  I hand the clothes to Harriot and she gives them to her sister.  Her sister smells them and smiles.  Clothes that seem dirty to me smell clean and are a blessing to her.  Harriot says, “God bless you.”  God bless me?  He is!  He’s blessing me like crazy just getting to be here with you!  Look at the lengths to which God has gone to bless you!  He teamed up a lady from Ohio and a chick from Georgia and sent the Georgia girl to the middle of Africa with provision for you, because you matter so, so, so, so much to Him!  I was able to tell Harriot about Kathleen, let her know that her discipler has her first sponsor mail from her, and how much God loves her and is watching out for her.  What an incredible encouragement from God.  I’m staring at the kids in Adacar, overwhelmed with the need and the numbers and He reminds me so clearly that it’s about one.  Each child has a name and a story.  And I get to be part of it.

The rest of the afternoon while people distributed bags of posho, I held a little girl in a tattered dress who clung to me with all of her strength.  I gave her lollipops, bounced her, sang to her, and twirled her around.  Marching for miles and singing all morning carrying 20-lb. bags of posho, followed by carrying a 35-lb. child all afternoon.  My arms feel like they’re going to fall off, but my spirit feels so good.  Now if only I didn’t have to leave.

We drove back to Soroti and had dinner at Joseph’s.  Delicious food, wonderful hospitality, and it was so nice to relax in his home and meet his family.  Our time with the kids is over.  The days were long and full, but the week has been too short.  I don’t want it to be over.

“We are taking the longer road, which is longer than the shorter road.” (Reference to how we are getting to Adecar)

“I thought that I had eaten breakfast, but then I remembered that I was hungry, so I must not have eaten breakfast. I went back and got something to eat.” (Reference to why Joseph was late taking the team to Nabukalu)

“I do not know how far it is, but it is not very far.” (Reference to proximity to Adecar)

“I am a friend of the peanut butter.” (Reference to peanut butter bar given to Joseph for a snack)

At the other care points that we’ve visited so far there have been about 100 kids. In Adecar, we have close to 400. Many of the needs are clear in the eyes of the kids, which are yellow from malnutrition. It doesn’t seem to dampen their spirits or their smiles though.

I play soccer for a while. The kids laugh at me as they kick the ball through my legs. Each child wants to challenge me to a one-on-one or a sprint. A teenager turns to me and asks that I take him to America. “Where?” I ask. “Anywhere is fine,” he replies. My heart hurts a little.

I sweat through my shirt and decide to rest and paint nails for a while. All of the kids (male and female) want their fingernails painted. One child has 6 fingers and seems shy about holding out her hand. Megan pulls up her hand, smiles and paints all six nails like nothing’s wrong. The child smiles back.

We find George. He’s trying to hide from us. Scared of the mazungos (white people), I guess. Some teens — thinking that they are helping — spank George to get him to speak to us. We run to stop them. I hold out a lollipop, and George stops crying. Candy — the international language. I tell him that I’m his sponsor and ask if it’s ok to hold him. The woman holding his hand translates. He nods his heads and walks into my arms. He weighs about the same as my own son. He rests his head on my shoulder and sucks on his lollipop. We stay that way for a while.

Lunch is served. I marvel at how hard the women work to cook for hundreds of children. I’m exhausted watching them. George hops down from my arms and runs to the front of the line. Sadly, we run out of meat for the kids. It’s the one day of the week that they get meat. With the money we’ve raised for the trip, we’re able to buy 1600 kilos of posho, which will last for a little while.

Worried about the rain, Joseph hurries Melanie and I off to visit Bosco, our sponsored child in Ngarium (they are expecting us the next day, but the roads are impassable in the rain). We arrive to see the community planning a banquet to honor us for helping to save Bosco’s infected leg. (Last year, we helped Bosco get surgery to keep him from dieing from an infected leg wound.) Unfortunately, we won‘t be able to participate in the banquet, since we are a day early, but we are able to sit with Bosco and his family along with other community members. Melanie gives Bosco a Kentucky shirt and his mother a dress and then shows Bosco photos of our family back in the U.S. as Joseph translates the captions.

And now I’m back in bed wishing I could have done more for Bosco today, but knowing that we will see each other again. Tomorrow is our last day in Adecar … the last community we will visit for our trip to Africa. I’m sad. Well, it’s time for me to go to sleep. Some animal (sounds like a lion or a pack of wild dogs) is howling outside the back gate, and bats are having some kind of mating ritual in the open attic above our hotel room. Do mosquito nets keep out bats?!

Fast forward — we’re painting the latrines bright orange — my favorite color. Happy.

The children welcome us again with songs and dance, and we share beads and balls with them — we’ve figured out the system now so we are able to give out things evenly. The kids are mesmerized by my video camera as I take video of them and then play it back. It just feels good to sit with them as they each practice their English on me and then laugh at me when I attempt their language.

Time to go. It’s been too short. The kids run after our bus as we leave. Sadness.

We make the long haul to Soroti (Soroti House). Driving in Uganda is a little crazy — definitely stretches my faith in new ways. I think I might be able to shake hands with drivers in passing vehicles. A few hours into the trip, we have to turn back. The other car has broken down on the side of the road. After we all jump out of the bus to stare at the engine like we know what we’re doing, we decide to tow the car to a safer location and deal with it later. Car problems seem to be a running theme on this mission trip.

We crash at Soroti House. Amazing food! Seconds for me.

We spend most of the day playing with the kids — handing out handmade dresses and stringing together beaded necklaces. The kids are so eager to get their gifts that they overrun us, and we have to escape to the bus — phew. We definitely need to come up with a better game plan.

I break out some balls and 40 kids challenge me to a soccer game. I keep up with them fairly well until a sink hole wrenches my knee. I hobble of the field — humbled but no broken bones — thank you, Lord.

We say goodbye to the kids and head to the hotel in Bugiri. During my freezing shower, I am repeatedly shocked by the shower knobs. That can’t be good. I turn off the light and the electric shock sends me across the room — I’m getting out of this torture chamber. Melanie and I squeeze into our tiny bed and turn in shifts to tuck in the mosquito nets. I watch a gecko scurry across the ceiling — maybe he’ll catch that spider who has been eyeing my pillow. Time for sleep. Pitch black. The kind of black that makes you forget the light. I squeeze my pillow a little harder and listen as mosquitoes dive bomb the net. Bzzzzz. Bzzzzz. Bzzzz. I hope that the force field holds.