Grieving

One of the hardest parts of following this Love, is the refining process that He takes us through; the pain that comes with the shaping.  I am home now and enjoying so many things that come with that.  I have spent great time with the little man in my life making some cool memories. I have enjoyed the company of dear friends as we catch up.  I am using water from the tap and able to go where I want when I want in my own vehicle.  But at the same time I am enjoying these things, there is great pain.  My heart aches.  I equally and simultaneously want to be in two entirely different places at once.  My heart aches to spend another moment with those boys who touched my heart.  It aches to live in the simplicity.  To be immersed in need and so there is no other response but to act.  And then there are these girls who, in the most unlikely way, became some of the best friends I have ever known and what I wouldn’t give for just another moment with them.  I am grieving these losses.  Many disagree and say that it is too intense of a term, but I am telling you that is what it is.  I know because there are spontaneous outbursts of tears throughout the day at random moments that I can’t control.  And because of the fogginess of thought that causes for very slow responses to even basic questions or statements, or the inability to make any decision at all.   There is daydreaming that finds me disengaged from the people around me, making for awkward moments where I am not present with those I love.  I waft in and out of denial, anger, depression, and acceptance. 

 

I find myself having conversations with God like ‘please don’t make me do that again’ or ‘I just can’t handle anymore’.  And I don’t mean it.  Not really.  I just mean this hurts and I don’t know what to do with it.  And I love that He is so in love with me that He just listens and says “Its okay, get it all out, I can handle it.  I know your heart and I don’t just listen to your words.”  And it’s going to be okay, I am going to be okay.  Or at least that is what I keep telling myself, over and over again everyday.  And I think I am doing well until I see that picture, or hear that sound, and then I’ve lost it again.  Once again it looked NOTHING like I anticipated.  But I wouldn’t undo any of it.  There was purpose in this journey.  There is always purpose in the pain, because I serve a God who wastes nothing.  Who uses everything to weave His tapestry with my life.  He began singing this to my soul many months ago “Come away with me.  I have a plan for you, its gonna be wild, its gonna be great, its gonna be full of Me” (Jesus Culture) and it has been absolutely true.  I don’t want to go away with anyone else.  Even if I have to experience a little, or a lot, of grief, sometimes the healing makes it all worth it. 

 

Isaiah 25:1

O LORD, you are my God;

I will exalt you and praise your name,

for in perfect faithfulness you have done marvelous things,

things planned long ago.

 

A Holy Moment

Very few times in my life have I experienced a truly holy moment. 

 

One that takes your breath away. 

 

One that you can never remake. 

 

One that you wish you could stay in forever. 

 

Yesterday was one such moment.  And maybe it happens often and I am just too blind to see.  Blinded by my selfishness, my comfort, my ignorance so I don’t recognize the beauty of His presence.  Yet He still invites me in to another.  It was just another regular day here, nothing unique.  Same types of plans that have filled most of the last couple weeks.  But instead of walking down to see the ex-street kids my housemates and I sometimes hang out with, we decide to go into the slum where they came from and buy some current street kids dinner.  So we go.  To the slum.  To the trash heap where people live.

Where kids sniff airplane fuel to escape the tragedies of their life.  Where we wouldn’t even let our dogs go.   It’s hard to say this, but until you have been here you won’t understand.  I was not real affected.  Living here I’ve seen the poverty, the evil, the heartache everyday, everywhere I go.  As horrible as it sounds, it is hard to be shocked anymore.  I don’t particularly like that fact, and Jesus and I are working that out, but it is the truth.  Not that I didn’t see the disgusting clothes they wear, or think it sad that they call this place home, or wish for them a better tomorrow.  I just am no longer shaken. 

 

We walk through the streets ‘gathering’ kids along the way and end up at a community center type building.  We have managed to arrive with something like 40 boys and a few young girls who latched on to our fingers during the trek.  One of my housemates had a ‘random’ idea earlier in the day to stop by the pharmacy and pick up a few first aid supplies.  Some soap, band-aids, gauze, tape.  Simple things.  She brought it down with us thinking maybe someone might need something.  What a cool God prompting we would find out.  The moment we walk into the building they begin showing us their cuts and sores.  I would just like to point out here that I sometimes get nauseous when people just talk about wounds.  I’m not very good at bodily fluids or anything that looks like it might hurt.  And my friend Georgia is just like me.  So out of three, two of us are pretty sure we may end up passing out.  But then the Spirit of the LORD takes over and says be My hands and feet, live out the scriptures, be Jesus with skin on for these boys and I will be the strength and courage you need.  So we kick into gear creating an impromptu minor first aid clinic.  The boys line up and we prepare our supplies and one by one we clean their scratches, sores, and gashes.  
 

 

We apply gauze and tape; give them a smile and gentle touch.   They are just like any other kids, wanting someone to care about the boo boo.  Whether they are 8 or 18, the touch of someone tenderly and attentively caring for them is food for their souls.  We do this for around two hours.  The food comes and we are able to give them a sandwich bag of beans and chapatti.  Less quantity than I would eat for a snack.  Fights almost break out and the manipulation begins as they swear they did not receive any, even though I watched them eat it with my own eyes.  But after they eat they linger still.  There is only one last boy we are working on.  A two inch gash on the bottom of his foot with red flesh wide open leaving us all cringing just a bit.  Okay a lot actually (You’ll be happy to know, or at least we were thrilled, that no one passed out!).

  

And as he is being attended to, one of the uncles we have with us comes with a boy saying that he wants prayer.  He believes we are pastors and wants someone to pray over him.  He doesn’t know any English so after Joseph interprets for me I tell him I would love to but it won't be in Luganda.  The boy says that is fine.  So I put both hands on this boy and whisper in his ear prayers the best I can for someone I have never stood in the shoes of for even a millisecond.  I have to speak slowly because I am on the verge of breaking down into hysterics in this moment.  I am so grateful the Spirit interprets for me.  I’m not sure what to prayer for, much less how to pray for it.  As I rise and wipe off my sopping wet face, there have gathered another 6 or 7 who all want the same.  They don’t even know what I am saying and yet they want it too.  Yes, half of them were probably high, and maybe it was just because I was a white female, but does it really matter what brings us to His throne as long as we are there.  So I continue on down the line.  I realize later that my lack of surprise may not be all bad.  Because I am not taken aback by their smell or sores or drugged speech, I am able to accept these kids just as they are.  I can immediately shake their hand, give them a hug, listen to them tell their story.  I can touch their head and whisper a prayer.  I can give them a band-aid for their toe and hope it becomes more. 

 

We finish wrapping gash guy’s foot and tell the remaining ones goodbye.  In a moment that didn’t take an ounce of thought, the three of us decide we will come back in a few days to redress his foot and maybe clean some more wounds.  I wonder how many won’t just be physical.  I know that day will be different, and maybe spectacular in it's own way.  But it won’t be this day.  This day I fell more in love with my Savior.  This day was a holy moment.