African Muzungu

We were playing together. I would hide, she would find me, I would tickle her. I loved every minute of it, and her grin and giggle told me she did too. Then, as she ran around the corner, it happened. She ran her forehead straight into the corner of the metal window frame. I heard the thump and came around the corner to see her small hand clutching her forehead and her eyes filled with pain. But she didn’t shed even a single tear. Usually when a Ugandan child is hurt, they are immediately told not to cry, distracted from the pain, and sent away to continue playing. I can’t do that. I’m thankful for a mother who tenderly comforted me when I was in pain, and believe that is exactly what God would have me to do for these kids too. So I ran to her, knelt down and pulled her into my arms. Silently, she buried her face in my neck as her father watched on. With hand pressed against her swelling head, and face pressed against my shoulder, she quietly waited for the pain to reduce. If ice ...

Everyday I go to school, I say many words, I laugh and smile, and tickle and hug, and exhort and discipline. All of it with one purpose: to make these children know that they are loved. By me, and by Jesus they are so very loved. I know each of their names, and I know their personalities. I know which ones are weak in reading, and which ones are super competitive. I know who is picking on whom, and who has a quick temper. I know them, because I WANT to know them. Because Jesus has given me such a big, uncontainable love for each one of them I am compelled to know them and long to know them better.  However, these children aren’t used to being shown affection. And there are few people that really know them. Many of them have either dead or absent parents. Many of their guardians are more concerned about what to eat for the day than about asking their kids how school went or playing with them. And although I can tell you that “Nkutaka ino” means “I love you very much” in Lugwere...

Last week my students took their final exams while I was at home trying to recover from the threefold onslaught of malaria, an upper respiratory infection, and an ear infection. I was really bummed not to be with them, and very eager to see them when I came back to work on Monday.  However, when I asked my P4 students how exams went, a couple students were quick to pipe up that some of their classmates had ‘copied’ (or cheated) on their exams. My heart fell with the prospect of disciplining them, and I talked very seriously with them for a while. Then I told them they had one day to come and report themselves to me before I started investigating myself to find out who it was.  The following day, 3 of my students admitted to me what they had done. I was glad they had the courage to report themselves, though I realize the fear of their classmates reporting them probably had something to do with it too! I disciplined them accordingly and moved on with my lesson.    At ...

Each day I fight for forgiveness all over again. A month ago, my backpack was stolen from a locked car in a guarded lot during a quick shopping trip. A thousand 'what if’s' and 'I should have’s’ have gone through my head, but what’s passed is passed. Still, I have struggled each day to forgive the ones who robbed me, as each day I look for something, only to remember it was in the backpack. So many small things that to him would hold little value, but for me are an unending frustration. During that first week, Jesus's grace abounded, and as I went through the motions of replacing the two biggest items: my laptop and my passport (!!), I was surrounded by His supernatural peace. I looked for the miracles and found them. I hadn't carried my Moody Bible this time (which I always do!). At the last minute, I left my cross-stitch at home. Somehow, the thieves missed my iPhone which was in the seat pocket under the croissants which they also stole. The irreplaceable thing...

It’s been so hot here. Uncharacteristically hot. We’re in the end of an elongated dry season that has left each of us here begging Jesus for rain. Water sources around town have been drying up, and the city regularly turns off water in order to conserve it.  In Kamonkoli, city water didn’t reach the village for over a week. And even when Pastor called to get the fire engine to bring water from Mbale, they said they couldn’t pick water from dry sources. People in Kamonkoli would line up for hours at the wells waiting for their turn to fill their bright yellow jerrycans. They have really suffered.  In town, with my big water tank perched on top of my roof ready to collect water every second the city has it turned on, I really have had nothing to complain about. Yes, we’ve had days that water ran out and bathing became a luxury instead of routine, but on the whole we’ve done fine. It’s the heat that’s been the biggest challenge. After weeks and weeks of praying, today...

The room had fallen completely still, the stillness of intense attention and interest. It was one of those God moments. When you know completely that the Holy Spirit is present and impacting hearts. When you know the words coming out of your mouth aren't coming from your own mind, but the mind of Christ alive in you. Jesus' presence was palpable. It was during our weekly Bible study and most of my teachers were hearing the term 'propitiation' for the first time. Propitiation. The working out of God's wrath on someone or something other than the deserving person. For centuries, this was seen in the appeasing of God's wrath through the constant stream of sacrificed animals. However, those offerings were only a faint shadow of the true and final sacrifice: the Lamb of God. That dark and beautiful day when the enormity of God's anger for every sinful act, word, and thought of God's people throughout the centuries was poured out on the head of the Perfec...

Everyday I go to teach in the afternoon. Each day as my car comes close to the school, children start dashing for the fence, pressing their faces close and shouting my name… Teecha Melan! Teecha Melan! I drive through the gate, carefully navigating the lumpy ground, running children, construction workers, and materials for the new building.  It’s a bit nerve wracking. Don’t get me wrong, I love my children’s enthusiasm, but I do wish it was a bit further away from my tires :) As soon as I park, a multitude of faces and hands and feet gather around eagerly anticipating the moment I get out of the car and they can finally greet, touch, and hug me. It’s beautifully overwhelming each time. I very selfishly hope and pray it doesn’t get old for them, because it’ll never get old for me!  Each one is hungry for my attention and eager for my affection. And I’m amazed how much I love each of them. And how much that love has changed me these pa...