I haven’t blogged in almost a year. I have tried. I will sit to write and I can’t finish a post. It has really bothered me because writing has always been my way of processing and reflecting back to what the Lord has done. Since May, nothing has come. It’s not because I have nothing to reflect on or that life has not brought me new experiences. In fact, my whole life has changed. Literally. In every sense of the word “change’, I have experienced it in the last 10 months.
He has wanted me to take it all in. To process alone. To take in the moments and not always share in the public eye that I so easily feel obligated to participate in. It’s been a journey of my Savior and I and those around me in those moments.
Tonight though, I am ready. Ready to try to put my thoughts back into words that will reflect an honest heart.
My days now are mostly administrative, which is never what I saw myself doing here in Uganda, but the Lord has taken me to a place where I am uncomfortable. Imagine that. Not only in a different country, different culture, but into a place where it is hard to balance between the call to serve those here and also administrate those He called me to serve. So instead of just going to the home and holding babies and playing with the children, I am now in the office pouring over budgets trying to keep our food budget from going too high, meetings, and planning. A lot of days I want to just leave that job to someone else and go and do what I want to do, be a momma. But then being a momma is taking care of your household. It is not glamorous.
Glamorous it is not. So often, for my heart’s selfish sake, I detach. I busy myself in the details of budgets, managing, and computer work. I have found that I can hide there and forget sometimes the stories and the eyes that captured my heart and the small hands the Lord used to release mine of everything I held dear to move across the ocean. Some days it’s too much. Just going to the market to pick 50 pounds of beans and 50 pounds of rice, pouring sweat, the stench of the garbage piles makes you nauseated, the countless times you are told the higher price because your skin resembles what they know as money, and needing to use your phone but not having any airtime to call anyone. It does me in. In one hour I am fighting my flesh and the words that come into my mind that I should never say out loud, the anger of how nothing is ever simple here. By the time I drive an hour to the home on roads that will, well, they will just leave you speechless, I am greeted by the children that I love with all my heart. Yet, I am detached somehow. Detached because my day has already been frustrating beyond belief and I don’t have it in me to remember their little hearts and that all I really need to do is stop and listen, stop and hug, stop and touch their hands, stop and be present.
He reminds me. In His sovereignty, which I will never comprehend, He has carried me through today. After a day full of unexpected situations, attacks of the enemy, I found myself at the end of me. Literally. Most days when I get into bed, it’s not a moment too soon because I know His mercy and grace has been spent and I am waiting for the morning, where His new mercies rises with the sun. It is new every morning, and I drink deeply. But today, I found a place where I could just breathe and I cried out to the Lord, “there is nothing left here, Lord. I have exhausted my strength today and what I am facing, as one who needs to have answers, I am utterly helpless. A situation beyond my knowledge and experience. You have brought me here. Take us from here.”
To know this Man…that has been the desire of my heart and it is in the moments which I don’t want, I taste and know more of Him.
I walk into our home, where the children are supposed to be getting ready for bed and there is chaos all around me. I don’t mean just a handful of children a little rowdy before bedtime but 56 children running in every direction, 10 babies crying, darkness because the solar has gone out, children playing in the water they are supposed to be bathing in, clothes flying everywhere as they try to find pi’s. I want to just turn and walk out. It’s beyond. At that moment one of my 13-year-old girls brings me a 10 month old, who she is helping by giving her a bottle.
It hits me. I am in the middle of what I strive daily to make a home, to make the details of the home run smoothly, but ultimately to reveal the love of the Father. Reveal the love of the Father.
The scene around me is not normal. It is the repercussions of a fallen world. Children whose parents were taken from them due to sickness and disease. Parents that just left. Parents that discarded of them. No matter how they ended up there, it was due to an imperfect world, one awaiting the return of our Father. And I stand there and everything around me goes quiet as my heart aches. Aches to the point I feel it. As parents around the world are taking their children out of the bath, telling them to brush their teeth, climbing into bed, and telling them they love them as they kiss their heads and turn out the lights, I stand in the middle of 56 children who don’t know what that is like. The ten month old in my arms, I could rock her to sleep but then what do I do with the other 9 that need the same thing? Oh, my heart. Even writing this my emotions well up again.
Reveal the love of the Father. Father. Father….
He whispers to me, “I am near. Dark is light. Depths are heights, and far is near. I am near. I am their Father. In the chaos, I still hold them in their sleep. Sometimes I even reveal my fullness to them. My sovereignty. Dacia, it covers it all.”
He is good to all, all who call on Him. He hears our cries and He saves us. A much-needed reminder in the midst of a place where suffering abounds. Here in Uganda, in America, in this broken world. A reminder to this heart that so easily gets caught up in the details and needs her heart to be awakened. He carries me. And when I believe I am doing well on my own, He loves me too much to not remind me and place me in the midst of His presence.
A reminder that He, only He, carries me. And He carries those crazy little ones running around. Carries them close. He is the one they need.