Week 26+27+28+29+30

Whoaaaa. It's been ages since I've blogged. I've almost forgotten how to do this. Almost.

It's funny; it's like pulling teeth to make myself sit down and write, but once I do, I love it. Right now, I'm sitting in my hammock between two beautiful trees, sipping tea, listening to Rend Collective, and yelling at the dog to leave me alone. I'm telling you, Rocky is the most annoying creature I've ever known. "He just needs to be loved!" my sister would say. Whatever, Rocky. I've got important stuff to do.

[Update: It started to rain, so, naturally, I started to dance. Rocky joined, but he soon began biting my ankles, so I sent him away.]

A lot has happened over the past few weeks. Our IChooseYou kiddos have been on holiday for the past weeks, so I've had the blessing of spending a lot of quality time with them. Though this time has been somewhat challenging for me, I am so thankful that I got the opportunity to experience the things that I did. Prepare yourself, I have five weeks to make up for. This post will be long.

I'm going to be real with you: school holidays is not my favorite time. I like order. I like a schedule. I like consistency. So when my order, schedule, and consistency are thrown out the window for five weeks of craziness, I get a little out of my comfort zone. It took a lot of willpower just to keep myself from just staying in my bed all day with endless episodes of The Big Bang Theory as my only brain stimulation. Televisions shows at least have the order and predictability that I so love. But alas, I did not stay in bed for five weeks, but instead visited many families, ate at many tables, and fell even more in love with my Ugandan brothers and sisters than I was before. I was able to meet the parents, siblings, and friends of many of our IChooseYou kids, those I otherwise would not have been able to meet. In just an hour at their homes, I got to know some of our kids better than I have in months of seeing them at school. It was truly remarkable, to see them in their homes, with their families, living their normal lives. I feel like I got to see parts of them I've never seen before.

I became somewhat of a fly on the wall during my time in Namatala. They were no longer on their best behavior for this mzungu. I experienced a lot of things that made me feel uncomfortable, things I did not like. I saw children digging through the trash for food, people intoxicated before two in the afternoon because they hurt so much that they so desperately seek escape, and children being disciplined harshly and violently. It was not my first time to see any of these things, and I know that they are very common occurrences in the lives of these children. But I have grown somewhat used to my little bubble at school, where every child wears a uniform and is treated equally by their teachers. Things in Namatala are not equal. Some children live in houses and some in round huts. Some children have their own bed and some share with four or more family members. Some children have several sets of clothing and some only have one. Some children have both parents at home and some only have a mother or an aunt or a grandmother or a neighbor. I so desire for every child to have the very best, to have what they deserve. But they don't, and that's difficult to reconcile. I saw a lot that made me feel sick, angry, and confused. I have seen awful things that I cannot unsee. 

Cultural fact: it’s a huge honor in Uganda to have someone visit your home. By visiting a home you are expressing that they are worthy of being visited and that they are capable of providing a meal, a nice place to rest, and, above all, company that you would want to keep. Over the past few weeks I have eaten loads of matoke, rice, beans, potatoes, and posho. [If it is offered to you, I don’t recommend taking any pele pele (hot red pepper) with your food. Those little guys are deadly.] The generosity of these people continues to astound me. They have so little, and yet will not even think twice before placing a heaping pile of food before their (obviously well fed) visitors. Honestly, it doesn't really make sense. The poorest are the most giving? The desolate are the most joyful?  I have also seen great beauty over the past month. I have seen great generosity and selflessness. I have seen beautiful families come together through adoption. I have seen so many mamas who are working as hard as they can to give their children the very best. I have seen little children find joy in the smallest of things. I have seen God reach down and move in the lives of these people that He loves so fiercely. I have seen awful things that I cannot unsee, but I have also seen beautiful things that I cannot unsee. I used to think that time in Africa was separated by good seasons and bad seasons. Some days are happy, some are sad. Sometimes it's glorious, sometimes it's hard. But I no longer believe that is the case. It is always hard. It is always scary. It is always a battle. A cynical view, yeah? Oh, but I also believe that it is always beautiful, always sacred, always worth it. It's both/and, every single day. 

Every single day is hard. And every single day is glorious. May the Lord be praised. 

I spent a fair amount of time this holiday at the Amina sewing/beading club. This is where some of the IChooseYou mamas work, creating jewelry, bags, and many other things to generate an income for themselves. I made it known to the children that I would be there every morning during the holiday. Some, though not many, came in the mornings with their mamas. I brought something each day to entertain; a volleyball, stickers, nail polish, story books (Sweet Pickles), sweets, and my Jesus Storybook Bible. Peter and Gift especially loved reading the Sweet Pickles books together. I was so happy to see her delight in them, I've sent a few books home with Gift. I know with absolute certainty that she appreciates them more than anyone else could. I enjoyed this time of paying special attention to few children at a time. I was able to get to know them individually, without loads of other kids around. I even got to take some of them to the market to get a treat. It’s always funny to see what they choose. Sometimes it’s ice cream. Sometimes a soda or tub of yogurt. And sometimes, in the case of Peter, a loaf of bread for his aunt. While the other kids enjoyed their sweet treat, he marched straight to his aunt and handed it to her. That Peter. I love him.

I went with my housemate/workmate Kate to pick up her parents from the airport in Entebbe. They stayed in town for a couple of the weeks. It was such a blessing to have them around; even though they are not my parents, having the parents of someone I love around was so comforting.They asked me questions, bought me lunches, and really, just acted like a mom and dad. I so loved having them around for a short time. [Love ya, Robin and Jimbo!] We took a few of our kiddos over to the hotel where they were staying. One day, we just wandered around the beautiful hotel grounds with a few of our girls. We stopped to pose in front of the flowers and enjoyed the playground that we are much too big for. It was childish and silly and fun and wonderful. I love these beautiful hearts.

Sarah, Allen, and I have started a lovely tradition of playing a game I like to call, “Janky Sorry.” It is similar to the traditional Sorry game, but with a few “janky” elements. For one, we shake the dice in a shaving cream cap. Yeah. Not to toot my own horn, but I’m pretty good at it. I always win (Unless the headmaster joins us. Man, that son of a gun sure knows how to roll a six). Actually, Allen beat me last week for the first time ever. I've included a photo of the smug champion.  

I tagged along with Kate and her parents to Sipi Falls, a collection of waterfalls only an hour away from our home. We hiked for a couple of hours to see three of the falls. A recently discovered fact about me: I love waterfalls. It’s amazing that something can be so powerful, so majestic, and yet so gentle and soothing. I mean, people have waterfall sounds machine to fall asleep. But waterfalls are seriously powerful! They can sweep you away! I just think it’s crazy. We spotted exotic birds, chameleons, and, the wildest of all creatures: college aged boys going for a swim in the icy pools. [I absolutely loved the chameleons. I spent the next few days researching how to purchase and take care of a chameleon. I have since decided that the fascinating creatures are too high maintenance for me. But I still really like them.] I managed to carry myself along the slippery path with grace and dignity, until the very end of the hike, when I fell on my butt. I guess we can’t be graceful all the time. At the end of the hike, we had a nice lunch and bought locally grown coffee beans. Do I know what to do with coffee beans? No. I will probably just put them in decorative bowl.

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I continued to visit to my pals at CRO (Child Restoration Outreach) during the holiday. I am absolutely crazy about these kiddos. They are so full of joy. They, like all children around the world, love to play pretend. Over the past couple of weeks, I've seen them turn mud into dinner, brooms into guitars, and old playgrounds into castles. They are truly wonderful children, and I love spending an hour a week in their presence.

Over the holiday, I most definitely missed my daily interactions with my workmate, Sarah. When school is in session, I come to the office every day. We have a devotional and drink tea. We talk about paperwork and emails. We talk about the children and improvements that can be made. And then sometimes we just have fun. We laugh and crack jokes. We tell stories. It’s the best. I've certainly missed this over the holiday. Sarah and I got together for lunch, and then I asked her if she would take me to “the village”. All of the thousands of villages in Uganda are called, “the village.” I find it hilarious that they talk about their village of origin as if it’s the only village there is. This village happened to be in the district of Manafwa. Her brother stays there with his wife and several children. I convinced Sarah to take me, and so we packed a bag of gifts and took off. 

We took a taxi (a van) from Mbale to Manafwa for two dollars per person on an hour long journey. Taxis that are meant to hold eighteen people usually end up holding around thirty. I introduced Sarah to the term, “packed like sardines”, and she in turn introduced me to the term, “packed like bananas.” And packed like bananas we most certainly were. [Funny side story; while we were driving, a few passengers brought their chickens along. I thought this was hilarious. I mean, chickens! I must have giggled for ten minutes before Sarah whispered to me, "You'd better stop laughing before they think you're mad!"] When we arrived to her brother’s home, we were warmly received. I met the entire family and several neighbors. Sarah showed me around the house, then we sat and played with the baby while her sister in law began lunch preparations. Some of the children led us up the mountain to see their crops. The view from the top wasn't too shabby either.  

On our way down the mountain, we stopped at the home of one of Sarah’s friends. His body is slowly becoming paralyzed, starting in his feet and legs, and now extending to his hands. He has been carried everywhere for the past two years, and now needs assistance even to eat. He is of the mind that the local witch doctor has cursed him with this disease. I was given the honor of praying for him, both for the physical healing of this man and the spiritual atmosphere of his home. I can’t say that his illness left him and he began walking again, but I can say that the Holy Spirit made His presence known in that place. A peace fell upon his hut, and everyone felt it. Thank you for hearing us, Jesus. 

We climbed back down just in time for lunch and a torrential downpour. While we feasted on matoke, posho, beans, and chicken,  rain pounded on the tin roof. Sarah lie down for a nap and I read my book. The peaceful atmosphere was wonderful. We headed home later in the afternoon, and I waved goodbye to my new friends. I am the first mzungu to visit Sarah’s family there. I felt very honored.

Y’all. One day, something awesome happened. Each time I go to Namatala, I pass by a Muslim mosque on one side of the road, and a Hindu temple on the other side. I pray for both places of worship each time I pass, but I am particularly drawn to praying over the Hindu temple. I have had a desire to love the Hindu people ever since I read stories of Amy Carmichael rescuing little Indian girls from temple prostitution. Something in my heart aches for these people, and I so hope Jesus takes me to India some day. I have wanted to go inside the Hindu temple for a while now, but I somehow knew it wasn't wise to force my way in. One day last week, I decided to walk home from Namatala. I walked along, past the tall, intimidating walls that surround the temple compound. I stood at the gate and peeked inside. Should I go in? I wondered.

Wait, He said.

 A few Ugandans came out to greet me; the guard, cleaning lady, and the grounds keeper. We chatted about the temple and its inhabitants. Should I ask if I can go in?

Wait, Emily.

I expressed my admiration for the buildings and the flowers that covered the grounds. I’ll bet they’d let me in.

Wait until you’re invited.

I stood there awkwardly, trying to make small talk, waiting. The cleaning lady looked at me suddenly and said, “You come inside and see!” I couldn't contain my joy. The guard, a woman of around thirty years, looked at me doubtfully. I asked if the leader of the temple (I later found out that he is called a brahmin) would allow me to enter. She said she wasn't so sure and would ask for me. She came back a few minutes later, saying that they would allow me to enter if I gave a donation of 5,000 shillings ($2) to the temple. I agreed, and then slowly crept inside the gates. The grounds were lovely, with many different kinds of beautiful trees and flowers. It was made up of one large temple, with several smaller rooms and buildings surrounding it. I came upon two families playing on the playground. Both of the men introduced themselves to me. One man, enthusiastic and welcoming, was an attendee of the temple and stayed in the living quarters on the temple compound. He owns a shop down the road from the temple. I also met his adorable two year old son. The second man, quiet, but not unkind, was the leader of the temple. I spoke to each of them for a few minutes and they both encouraged me to explore the grounds. They assured me that it was not a problem, but instructed me to remove my shoes before entering the main temple. As I turned to walk towards the temple, the shop owner stopped me with a question. "Are you a Christian?"

I stopped dead in my tracks. Caught. Found out. I was hoping that I would be assumed to be just another atheistic Peace Corps kid, like so many that inhabit this city. Oh, no. Would they make me leave? Would they be angry with me? "Yes,” I said slowly. “I am. Is it fine?"

He laughed and smiled. "It's no problem!"

I breathed a sigh of relief and headed into the temple, leaving my Chaco’s on the steps. I crept inside. It was bright and cheerful. There were several statues placed along the walls, some containing money offerings. I was alone for a few minutes, and I prayed and sang and ushered the Holy Spirit in. I was trying to be quiet, but my heart filled with so much joy and hope that it was difficult to not fall to my knees right there. What a glorious thing it was: to be in a place of worship where my God, the one true God, is regularly dishonored, spat upon, if you will, and He still came. He is ignored in favor of a statue, a chunk of rock. The Creator of all things, seen and unseen, the Almighty God, the Ruler of the Heavens and the seas, has been rejected for stone.  And  yet.

When I prayed from that place, He heard me. When I asked Him to come, He came. Everything on this earth belongs to him, even Hindu temples. He loves the people who frequent that place, as much as He loves me. And brothers and sisters, that love is very fierce.

The pastor came in (probably to make sure I wasn't doing what I was doing.) We spoke about the beauty of the place and the people who come there. I walked back outside. I really wanted to take a few photos, but I was afraid it may be seen as disrespectful. I barely had my shoes back on before they asked me if I’d like to take some photos of the temple. Are you kidding me? I took a photo of the smiley shop keeper with his baby, in front of the temple. I then saw the rest of the compound, snapping a few photos along the way. I saw many statues and the cement slab (about the size of a basketball court) covered in paintings of their deities, where they dance during certain Hindu celebrations. There is a small, gazebo looking structure in the center. It was all beautiful and well kept, a rare sight in Uganda.

I waved goodbye to the two families as I walked toward the gate.

As I was leaving, I asked the guards name. Rachel. To my mind flooded everything I know about the Rachel of the Bible. Beautiful, favored, sought after. "Rachel, are you...?" I started.  She smiled and took my hand. "I'm a believer," she whispered. I squealed. Several “praise God”s, “Amen”s, and “Hallelujah”s followed. I encouraged her in her position on the battleground which she has been placed. And then I left.

This experience was an incredible lesson for me on obedience. What if I’d tried to go in months ago, would they still have let me in? What if I’d forced my way in, would I have been received so warmly? Who knows what would have happened. But I do know, without question, that I was obedient, and it turned out beautifully. I am thankful for my time there, and I hope that Jesus takes me there again soon.

Monday was my birthday. I felt a plethora of emotions in the days leading up to it. I was excited to be turning twenty, then sad that I wasn't with the people I love. I was happy to have the experience of celebrating a birthday in Africa, then upset that I wouldn't be doing what I normally do on my birthdays. I almost wanted to forget it was my birthday, but then arrived two giant packages from the States, containing countless gifts and notes from my friends, immediate family, and extended family. I wept. The fact that I am loved so extravagantly by such amazing people never fails to shock me. Thank you everyone who contributed to my birthday mail- you are the best!

The day before my birthday, I  celebrated with both my African and mzungu friends. After church, Callie, Kate and I headed out to Namabasa for snacks and conversation. I took my grape and strawberry lemonade drink mixes along with large bottles of water (I tried to convince them that was how Jesus turned water into wine, but they didn't buy it) and cream biscuits. I love being with Mama Flower and her sweet children. They love me so well and expressed that love through encouraging words and many verses of birthday songs. I cherish my time with them.

That evening, I went with some of my ex-pat friends to everyone’s favorite place (Thank the Lord for Endiro!) for dinner. I blew out the Batman birthday candle my mom sent me in the epic packages of birthday wonder. We talked, laughed, and ate the chocolate cupcakes made from a box of cake mix my mom sent me.

On the morning of my actual birthday, my lovely roommate Kate made me a special birthday breakfast, just like my mom always does. It means so much to me that she did this, but it means even more that she pays attention to my constant ramblings about who I am, what I like, and what my mom always does for me on my birthday. She’s a special one, that Kate.

My birthday was the first day of the new school term and I was beyond excited to get back to the school. I missed the office, Sarah, and all of the IChooseYou kiddos. The children sang happy birthday to me (I swear, I've was sung “Happy Birthday” at least thirty times over the course of two days), but I was mostly just excited to be with them. It was productive and refreshing, just like I was hoping it would be.

That evening, sweet Callie made my favorite meal, something I like to call, “Pasta Magic”. Pretty much Callie throws tomatoes and loads of wonderful vegetables in a pan, pours it over noodles and it magically turns into my favorite food ever (it’s not really magic, Callie’s just a great cook). My roommates presented me with gifts: a beautiful teapot and a polka dotted dress. Both of these gifts are so “me”, I could cry. We ate more cupcakes and I blew out more candles. I spent the rest of the evening video calling (while wearing my new polka dotted dress) various friends and family, which resulted in more renditions of Happy Birthday.

I am very thankful for my friends and family in the USA, my two wonderful roommates, and my friends here in Uganda. You made this scary, first-away-from-family birthday wonderful. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Honestly, y’all, this month has been really hard. I miss my family and my friends. I miss what I know. It’s really weird to have your birthday away from the people who love you, and I didn't like the idea one bit. I've been thrown out of any sense of routine and familiarity that I've come to know, and I feel insecure and uncomfortable. I don’t always want to be here. Sometimes I just want to pack my bags and head straight home to my mom and my bed and my shelf of books. I want to be where things are familiar, where I’m loved, where I’m known.

But here’s the thing: more than anything in this world, I want Jesus. More than comfort, more than stability, more even than the people I love. I want Him. I want to live with Him, walk with Him, and work with Him. I desire to know Him, more and more deeply. I want my love for Him to grow fiercer, and my understanding of Him to grow deeper. He is what I want. More than anything, more than anyone. Jesus.

When it hurts, He comforts. When I’m confused, He brings peace. When I feel inadequate, He reminds me who I am. More than anything, He’s just here. He makes His presence known in every place, in every thought, in every pit.

Sometimes, when I’m upset, I just want the presence of someone I love. My mom, sister, or best friend usually fill this role. I don’t want to talk or figure out my problem or try to cheer myself up. I just want to be in the presence of someone who loves me. I just want to know that I’m not alone. And guys, Jesus does this. Sometimes He speaks, sometimes he moves me to action, sometimes he gives me a solution to my problem. And sometimes, He just sits with me. He makes his presence known. And He refuses to leave me alone.

Y’all, I’m a mess. I screw up a lot. I feel a lot. I cry a lot. I have seen His faithfulness time and time again, and I still doubt him. I think He won’t show up, or if He does, it will only be to tell me how disappointed He is in me. I doubt His character, His faithfulness, and, most shockingly, His love. I doubt that He’ll come for me. I doubt that He wants me. How could He want me? I’m a wreck. But He does want me, wholly and completely. Know why? Because, thanks to Jesus, I’m made new. I’m made whole. My sins are paid for. He has come for me. He comes. He always, always comes.

My mess is nothing Jesus can’t handle.

My favorite song right now, goes like this:

You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of dust. You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of us.

A mess, I am. But thanks to the love of Jesus, I am made beautiful. A beautiful mess.

Monday was the beginning of a lot of new things: a new school term, a new year of my life, and a new love for Uganda after this challenging season. I’m praying that this season brings lots more growth, lots more love, and lots more Jesus. I’m good, y’all.

Em